CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

When Bill emerged from the small BAU plane, Riley could hardly believe how happy she was to see his broad, strong, hearty face. As he came down the steps, carrying his go-bag and looking ready for action, she dashed forward to greet him.

As soon as his feet touched the tarmac, she gave him a big hug.

Bill laughed and said, “Hey, you act like we haven’t seen each other in ages. It hasn’t been that long.”

“It seems like months,” Riley said, leading him to the rented car. “Things have been really crazy here for the last day or so.”

Bill looked around and asked, “Is it always this hot here?”

Riley remembered that the weather back in Virginia was milder. And of course, Bill was getting a blast of the heat after a couple of hours in air-conditioned comfort.

“Hot and humid,” she replied. “And that pretty much describes the case too. It’s a messy one.”

Bill laughed again as he loaded his bag into the car.

“Yeah, from what Meredith told me, I’d kind of guessed that. So you went rogue again, did you? You should have called for my help.”

“No, I shouldn’t have,” Riley said, thinking again of how she’d only have gotten Bill in trouble along with herself. “But I’m glad you’re here now. And on a legitimate basis, too.”

“I hope I can help,” Bill said. “Believe me, the pressure’s on back in Quantico.”

Riley sighed and said, “Don’t tell me—Carl Walder’s on a tear about this.”

Bill said, “Yeah, you know how he gets when rich and important guys get killed.”

Riley certainly did know how he got. The incompetent, baby-faced Special Agent In Charge had always been a thorn in her side. He’d suspended and even fired her on more than one occasion. The fact that he’d always had to relent and put her back on the BAU team hadn’t made him any happier.

As they climbed into the car, Bill continued, “Walder’s heard of all three of the victims—even used to play golf with one of them, I can’t remember which. He wants the case solved soon—preferably yesterday. He’s threatening to send more BAU agents if we don’t get something fast.”

“I just hope he doesn’t come down himself,” Riley said, starting the car engine.

Bill said, “So where are we off to now?”

“To the Atlanta police station. I need to check in with the police chief there. Just don’t expect him to be very happy to see me.”

As she drove, Riley filled Bill in on all that had happened during the last day and a half. Then they started tossing ideas back and forth. When Bill asked if any of the three widows had mentioned anything about their birth families, Riley realized that they hadn’t told her anything of the kind. The idea surprised her.

“It’s not so surprising,” Bill said. “There’s a certain kind of rich guy who doesn’t marry for connections, just for control. They’d never choose a wife whose family might play any part in their lives. They also like knowing that their wives have nothing to go back to.”

What Bill was saying made sense to Riley. The three widows she’d met had been strikingly different in their personalities, but they’d had one thing in common. They’d seemed strangely lost and rootless.

Bill added, “Of course, the wives make that bargain with their eyes wide open. They wind up financially better off than most people, probably better off than they’ve ever been in their lives. It’s a trade-off.”

“It doesn’t sound like a very good trade-off to me,” Riley said. “It makes me feel grateful to have a family to go home to.”

Riley realized she also felt grateful to be exchanging thoughts with Bill again.

They pulled up to the police station and went inside, heading straight for Chief Stiles’s office.

The chief rose from his desk, looking frustrated and perplexed as Riley introduced him to Bill.

He said, “I swear to God, you Feds have got me fit to be tied. I don’t know what to believe anymore. First you come in here saying you want to talk to an incarcerated suspect about God-knows-what, and when I call your boss to find out what it’s all about, he hems and haws and gets all vague about whatever is happening. Then this morning he calls me and tells me that the suspect I’m holding has been cleared and I’ve got to let her go, and he also says I’m now part of an FBI case involving three murders. What next?”

That’s a good question, Riley thought. She wished she had some idea herself.

She said, “Have you still got Morgan Farrell in custody?”

“You got here just in time,” Chief Stiles said. “Now that she’s cleared, her lawyer’s here sorting things out with her. She’ll likely be leaving any minute. Come with me.”

Riley felt apprehensive as Stiles led her and Bill down the hall. After all, her last conversation with Morgan Farrell hadn’t ended well.

She remembered the woman telling her in a bitter tone …

“Really, Agent Paige, this isn’t kind of you.”

Will things be better this time? Riley wondered.

Meanwhile, she had another question on her mind.

She asked Stiles, “How did Andrew Farrell’s killer get into his house?”

“He hacked the security system,” Stiles said. “Sounds like a pretty smart bastard.”

Smart—and deadly, Riley thought.

Stiles escorted Riley and Bill into a conference room. Sitting at a large table were Morgan and her lawyer, a middle-aged man with receding hair and a double chin.

Stiles introduced Riley and Bill to the lawyer, Chet Morris. Riley remembered his name from talking to him on the phone yesterday. The call hadn’t exactly been cordial.

Riley glared at him coldly and said, “I believe we’re already acquainted.”

“Somewhat,” Morris said. “We talked a little yesterday, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Riley said. “I called to tell you that your client was probably innocent.”

She managed to stop herself from adding …

“You didn’t listen. You didn’t even seem to care.”

With a phony smile, Morris said, “Well, as it turns out you were right. I suppose I should thank you for the heads-up.”

Riley asked, “May we sit down?”

Morris was obviously about to say no when Morgan spoke up.

“Oh, please do. I’m … well, this is all very strange.”

Riley and Bill sat down at the table with them.

Riley looked at Morgan more carefully now. Instead of the orange jumpsuit, she was wearing slacks, a nice shirt, and some sandals—clothes that somebody must have brought her from home. Even so, she didn’t appear ready to return to any kind of normal life. The circles beneath her eyes were dark and she still seemed weak and confused. Riley guessed that the woman still hadn’t gotten any sleep to speak of, and she might not have eaten anything at all during the whole time she’d spent in jail. Her expression at the moment was one of numb perplexity.

Chet Morris peered over his reading glasses at a sheaf of legal papers and spoke to Morgan.

“As I was saying, your husband’s mansion is now the property of his sons—Hugh, Sheldon, and Wayne Farrell. According to your husband’s will, certain investment accounts will be transferred to you. You will be supported nicely …”

As Morris went into details about the accounts, Riley noticed that Bill was staring at the man with distaste.

Riley knew how he felt. She felt the same way.

Instead of coming here simply to get his client out of jail, Morris was taking this opportunity to tell her that the life she’d known and had become accustomed to was over. He was clearly eager to get this whole thing over with.

The cruelty was simply staggering.

But Riley understood the situation better than Bill could. She hadn’t had a chance to explain the ugly tangle of connections—how Chet Morris worked for the same law firm that represented the murder victim, how he had even worked personally for Farrell, and how the DA himself had once been part of that firm. She hadn’t yet told her partner that this lawyer had completely ignored the possibility that his client was innocent of murder.

Riley wouldn’t be surprised if Morris was actually disappointed to learn that his client was innocent. It was probably quite inconvenient for him.

Riley didn’t know much about law, but she couldn’t believe all this was legitimate.

But she reminded herself that neither she nor Bill was here to protect Morgan Farrell from the web of legal manipulations that had been woven around her.

We’re here to solve a murder case.

Chet Morris finished going over the financial information and moved on to another topic.

“I’ve got good news,” he said to Morgan. “Your husband’s sons are concerned about your current problems with alcohol and tranquilizers. So they’ve generously acquired accommodations for you at the Haverhill Dependency Center, an excellent facility just outside of Atlanta. They’ve even paid for your first six months there.”

“What happens after that?” Morgan asked in a dull, apathetic voice.

Morris said, “Well, if you want to stay there, you should be able to meet your expenses with returns from the investment funds you’ve inherited. If not, you can do as you like.”

Morgan said, “In other words, I’ll be on my own after six months.”

Morris shrugged and said, “Well, if you choose to look at it that way.”

Riley wondered …

What other way is there to look at it?

She tried to tell herself that the money Morgan would be getting would probably be enough to allow her to live comfortably—possibly a lot more money than Riley herself would ever see.

But does she deserve to hear about it like this? Riley wondered.

Apparently finished with his business, Chet Morris started putting things in his briefcase.

He said, “If you’d like, I’ll drive you directly to Haverhill right now.”

Morgan seemed to think it over for a moment.

Then she said, “Am I absolutely forbidden to set foot in my home … their home … right now?”

Wincing a little, Morris said, “Certainly not.”

“Well, then,” Morgan said. “I’d like to stop by there, at least. Some of the things inside, my clothes I mean, actually do belong to me. At least I believe they do. I don’t think that my … um, previous stepsons would actually want them. I’d like to pick a few things up.”

The lawyer sputtered, “Certainly, my dear. No one is going to prevent your taking your personal belongings. In fact, I’ll take you there right now.”

“No, you needn’t trouble yourself,” Morgan said.

Then to Riley’s surprise, Morgan turned to her and said, “Agent Paige, would you please take me there?”

“Of course,” Riley said.

Morris hastily handed Riley a folder and said, “Well, perhaps you’ll be so kind as to take Ms. Farrell to Haverhill afterwards. These papers will be all she needs check in.”

The meeting ended, and Morris left the room. As Riley, Bill, and Morgan walked out into the hallway, Morgan said to Riley, “Thank you so much. I didn’t think I could stand being around that awful man for another minute.”

“Me neither,” Bill growled, his face red with rage.

Riley realized that her partner was well aware that Chet Morris didn’t have the best interests of his client at heart. She figured it was lucky that Bill hadn’t taken a punch at the lawyer.

Riley had felt more than a little tempted to do so herself.

But she was glad that Morgan had made this choice. It would give her and Bill the chance to get a look at the scene of the second murder.

Morgan didn’t have any belongings to pick up in the property room, so Riley and Bill accompanied her straight out of the building.

Morgan gasped and squinted when they stepped out of the cool interior into the hot, sunny day. But she didn’t look fazed by the heat. She looked as though she suddenly understood something.

In a hushed, amazed voice she said …

“I’m free. And I’m innocent.”

Riley realized Morgan had just grasped that fact for the first time.

As the three of them walked toward the car, Riley thought about the real killer.

He was out there somewhere, enjoying the same freedom, breathing the same air, looking at the same sunlight, and he was getting ready to kill again …

Unless we find him and stop him.