CHAPTER FOUR
1454 Words
CHAPTER FOUR
As Riley mentally prepared to reach into a killer’s mind, her eyes met with Bill’s for a moment. He was standing with their other colleagues, watching her. She saw Bill nod, obviously understanding that she wanted to be alone to do her work. Jenn smiled a little as she, too, seemed to pick up on Riley’s intention.
Bill and Jenn turned and led Sturman and Brennan back into the house, shutting the basement door behind them.
Alone on the little landing, Riley looked again at the broken window. Then she walked outside, pushed the door shut, and stood in the well-kept little backyard. There was an alley just beyond the picket fence at the edge of the yard.
Riley wondered—had he approached from the alley?
Or had he slipped around from the front, between Robin’s house and one of her neighbors’ homes?
The alley, probably.
He might have parked a vehicle on a nearby side street, walked down the alley, and slipped quietly through the back gate. Then he’d crept through the narrow yard straight to the back door and …
And then?
Riley took a few long, slow breaths to ready herself. She carefully visualized how the backyard must have looked at that hour of morning. She could imagine the sound of crickets and could almost feel the pleasant, cool air of a September night. There would have been some glow from the streetlights but probably little light from the houses themselves.
How had the killer felt as he’d readied himself for his task?
Well prepared, Riley thought.
After all, he’d obviously picked out his victim in advance, and he would have known a few crucial things about her, including the fact that she was an amputee.
Riley looked again at the broken pane of glass. Now she could see that the contact paper had been cut almost exactly to the shape of the windowpane. That surely meant he’d stood right here and cut the paper to fit even in the dim light, probably with a pair of scissors.
Again that word flashed through Riley’s mind …
Fastidious.
But more than that, he’d been calm and patient. Riley sensed that the killer had been utterly dispassionate—not the least bit angry or vengeful. Whether he’d known the victim personally or not, he’d harbored no feelings of animosity toward her. The killing had been cold-blooded in the fullest possible sense.
Almost clinical.
She made a fist and imitated the gentle but firm blow he must have used to break the glass. Before she reached through the broken pane, she suddenly sensed a spasm of discomfort.
Did he make more noise than he’d expected?
She remembered seeing a shard of glass lying on the floor inside the door. A piece had fallen despite the care he’d taken, causing a tinkling sound.
Had he hesitated?
Had he considered giving up on his plan and quietly slipping away the way he’d come?
If so, he’d quickly regained his resolve.
Riley gingerly reached through the pane and reopened the door and stepped onto the landing, slipping her shoes off as he surely had in order to move about quietly.
And then …
He’d heard a noise upstairs.
Sure enough, the woman had awakened at the sound, and he could hear clattering and thumping as she put on her elbow crutches and started moving through the house.
Riley thought maybe his hopes had sunk for a few moments.
Maybe he’d hoped to creep up on Robin as she lay in bed fast asleep, then drive the ice pick into her ear without her ever knowing he’d been there.
It wouldn’t be like the earlier killing, when he’d murdered young Vincent Cranston while he’d been jogging outdoors. But Riley sensed that the killer had no interest in a consistent MO. All he wanted was to get the killings done as cleanly and efficiency as possible.
But now …
With the woman on the move upstairs, did he dare continue?
Or should he run away before she came back here and found him?
Riley sensed that he froze here on the landing for a moment, struggling with his indecision.
But then …
The woman didn’t come to the back door. She moved on elsewhere in the little house. Maybe she hadn’t heard the glass breaking after all. The killer might have breathed a little easier at the realization, but he still wavered. Did he dare attack the woman while she was up and around?
Why not? he may have wondered.
Disabled as she was, he’d surely be able to overpower her much more easily than he had his earlier victim.
Still, he didn’t want to be sloppy or careless. A struggle might spoil everything.
But he reminded himself that this was urgent business. He was driven by some deep imperative that only he could understand.
He couldn’t back out—not now. When would he get another chance like this?
He summoned up his will and decided to get on with it.
Following in what she imagined to be the killer’s footsteps in her stocking feet, Riley climbed the steps up to the door that led to the kitchen. She turned the doorknob and tugged the door open …
Perfect!
The doorknob didn’t squeak, and neither did the door hinges.
Feeling more and more connected to the killer by the moment, Riley crept on into the kitchen. Ignoring the fact that Bill, Jenn, Sturman, and Brennan were all standing nearby watching her, she looked all around. She knew that the scene had been untouched since the murder. So the same as right now, the kitchen table had been piled with stacks of paper that the woman had been reading.
But where was the woman?
Riley imagined looking through the killer’s eyes, peering through the kitchen archway into the living room. Sure enough, she was standing right there, looking out the window, her attention entirely directed toward whatever she saw outside.
Riley imagined taking the ice pick in hand. Then she walked on across the hardwood floor, her shoeless feet stirring not so much as a whispering shuffle, until she stood right behind where Robin Scoville had been standing.
And then …
One swift, sharp, flawlessly aimed move was all it took.
The long point of the ice pick plunged effortlessly through the boneless passage through her ear into her brain, and the killer pulled the pick just as effortlessly out again, then watched his victim collapse to the floor.
And finally …
Riley felt sure that he was satisfied with his deed.
He was proud of himself for overcoming his uncertainties and going through with it.
But did he pause for a moment to admire his own handiwork?
Or had he slipped away immediately?
Riley’s sense of the killer’s mind dimmed now as she stood looking again at the taped outline on the floor.
There was a lot—too much—that she still didn’t know.
But she felt sure of one thing.
She said aloud to her colleagues, who were now gathered around her …
“He’s one cold son of a bitch.”
Bill said, “Tell us more.”
Riley thought for a moment, then said, “I can’t be sure of anything yet. But I think it’s personal for him—and yet it’s not personal at the same time. I don’t think he hated this woman. He may not have even known her name. But he had reasons for wanting her dead—important reasons, almost like killing her was some kind of …”
Riley paused, trying to think of the right word.
Then Jenn suggested, “Duty?”
Riley looked at her younger colleague and nodded.
“Yeah, that’s exactly the feeling I get. A sense of obligation, almost.”
Riley noticed now that Chief Brennan was staring at her with his mouth hanging open. She’d long since gotten used to people’s surprise when they watched her going through this strange process of hers. And she knew she’d just looked pretty strange, walking trancelike through the house in her socks, pantomiming the moves of the killer.
Agent Sturman, by contrast, didn’t look surprised at all. Of course, as a seasoned FBI agent, Sturman had surely at least heard of Riley’s unique propensities, which were well-known throughout the Bureau.
Sure enough, Sturman nudged Brennan with his elbow and said, “I’ll explain it later.”
Bill had gone to the landing in back of the house. He now came back with Riley’s shoes and handed them to her. As Riley sat down on a footstool and put them back on, doubts started to creep into her mind.
Did I get everything wrong?
She often felt swept with such uncertainties after these exercises.
After all, she wasn’t a mind reader, and there wasn’t anything magic or paranormal about the process she used. It was pure intuition, nothing more or less. She’d been wrong sometimes in the past, and she might be wrong now.
She got up from the footstool and wondered …
Did I miss something?
She looked toward the window and imagined the young woman standing there staring outside, oblivious to the danger that was creeping up behind her.
What was she looking at?
Riley had no idea.
But she knew she’d better find out.
- Writer
