Taking, page 11
Riley winced at the anger in his voice.
She said, “He made a pass at me. I just reacted.”
Crivaro growled, “Well, the next time a guy makes a pass at you, don’t react like a superhero. Just say no. Isn’t that what young women normally do? Is that too much to ask?”
Riley swallowed hard. “No. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t let it happen again.”
“I won’t.”
Crivaro sipped his beer again and stared at his sandwich. He didn’t seem very interested in eating it.
Riley suggested, “Maybe we should have dinner at one of the restaurants. We could try to talk to some more people.”
“Not tonight,” Crivaro said. “We ought to lay low until tomorrow. In the morning we can talk to the Wren’s Nest management, see if we can get more details about Brett Parma—like where she’d come from, maybe where she was headed. Anyway, it’s been a long day. I’m worn out, and I’m sure you are too.”
He pushed the paper plate with the sandwich away and got up from the table.
“I’m going to take a shower and turn in for the night,” he said.
He walked on into the RV without saying another word.
Riley sat alone at the picnic table in the deepening dusk, feeling slightly stunned. It seemed like she simply couldn’t anticipate Crivaro’s mood from moment to moment. Riley knew it was her own fault that he was mad at her right now, but …
Why does he have to talk to me that way?
Sometimes she wondered whether Agent Crivaro cared about her feelings at all.
She remembered something Ryan had said to her over the phone a while ago.
“I think he exploits your abilities. He doesn’t care about you or your safety.”
Was it possible Ryan was right? At least a little bit?
Did Crivaro think of Riley as some sort of freakish prodigy he could shape into his own image, and nothing more than that?
She took a sip of her own beer and thought …
No, Ryan’s wrong.
She could think of plenty of times when Crivaro had shown concern for her. If it weren’t for him, she probably wouldn’t be alive today. He really was like a father to her, even at times like now. It was just that sometimes he was sometimes so sharply critical …
Almost like my real father.
She sighed deeply and stared at her sandwich.
She didn’t feel much like eating either, and she felt very tired. She put the sandwiches and beers back on the tray and carried them inside the RV, where she could hear the shower running in the little bathroom. She wrapped up the sandwiches and put them in the refrigerator so she and Crivaro could eat them tomorrow.
After that she climbed up into her bed above the RV’s cab and pulled the curtains shut, closing herself into a small but reasonably comfortable sleeping space. She stared out the little window into the growing darkness.
It was strange to think that the killer was out there somewhere, living his life, feeling unthreatened, planning his next murder.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” she murmured aloud to him. “We’re coming after you.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Riley was stumbling along a dark trail. The dim light revealed tufts of rough brush encroaching on both sides of the narrow path. Huge figures with raised arms were silhouetted in the harsh moonlight.
Saguaro cactuses, she realized.
That meant she was somewhere in the desert.
She was worried because she’d never been out in the desert at night before, and she didn’t know her way …
Or even what I’m doing here.
With her next step, her foot struck something large and soft lying on the trail in front of her. She looked down and saw a woman’s dead body with terrified wide-open eyes, her flesh so pale that it seemed almost phosphorescent.
Riley’s heart sank with despair.
Crivaro and I are too late, she thought.
There’s been another murder.
She reached for a pocket flashlight to get a better look at the body. The beam fastened on the victim’s forearms, which were slashed wildly like some abstract painting, but no longer bleeding …
Because there’s no blood left in her.
Or was that true? A dark pool on the ground near the corpse seemed to be growing wider.
As Riley stooped down to look closely at the pool, she felt a stickiness under the soles of her shoes.
Her flashlight beam revealed that there was more blood on the ground and that she was standing in it and …
I’m bleeding! I’m bleeding badly!
She shone the flashlight on her left wrist and saw that she’d been slashed there over and over again. Her blood was flowing freely from the wounds, pouring out into the growing blotch in the desert soil.
When she rose to her feet, she almost fainted dead away. The flashlight fell from her hands, and the world suddenly got much, much darker.
She staggered wildly and flailed her arms.
Her hands struck against a hard surface.
She was surrounded by pitch blackness now, and couldn’t see anything at all. But as she turned about and reached in all directions, she discovered …
I’m shut in.
She’d been suddenly locked in some small space, a tiny room.
I’ve got to get out, she thought.
I’ve got to get out before I bleed to death.
She started pounding on the walls, screaming for help …
Riley eyes snapped open as her knuckles slammed against a hard surface.
She quickly realized she was lying in her little sleeping compartment above the cab of the RV.
She was striking her fist against the ceiling directly above her.
She remembered her dream, and she remembered screaming.
Did I scream out loud?
If so, had Crivaro heard her? Had she woken him up? It was an embarrassing possibility. But Riley didn’t hear him grumbling or moving about.
She looked at her watch and saw that she’d slept later than she’d expected. She pulled the curtain open and climbed down from her perch.
A sheet of paper was on the camper’s table.
It was a note that began …
Riley—
I headed out early to start checking around the grounds. I’ll talk to the management as soon as the office opens, see if I can get any more information out of them. Meanwhile, here’s some stuff I want you to do …
The to-do list only had a couple of items on it. First, Crivaro wanted Riley to reread the small stack of faxed reports they’d gotten from Chief Webster yesterday to see if anything jumped out at her that they hadn’t noticed yesterday. That seemed like an innocuous enough a task.
The second item, though, filled Riley with dread.
Crivaro wanted her to call Brett Parma’s mother, who lived in North Platte, Nebraska.
But why? Riley wondered.
She knew the Tunsboro police had already gotten in touch with the woman. What could Riley ask her that they hadn’t asked her already? Now that she and Crivaro knew that Brett Parma had been murdered by the same killer who had struck a year ago in Colorado, did her partner really think the mother would have any firsthand knowledge of who he might be?
It seemed extremely unlikely.
Riley took another look at her watch. She knew it was two hours later in Nebraska than here in Arizona, but even so it seemed just a little early to call the murder victim’s mother.
She went into the little bathroom and got into fresh clothes, shorts, and a top she thought suitable for the RV life.
Crivaro had already made a pot of hot coffee. Riley poured herself a bowl of cereal and sat at the table.
As she began to eat, Riley worried about Crivaro. Why had he gotten up and left without waking her to come along with him? Was he still pissed off with her on account of her dunking that guy in the pool yesterday?
Had he decided that making her his partner had been a mistake all along?
Was she going to wind up on the next available flight back to Virginia?
She wished she had some idea.
As she ate, she thumbed through the police report again. She didn’t see anything she hadn’t noticed yesterday. Aside from how Webster’s team had bungled the crime scene, it seemed to Riley that they had done a pretty good job of investigating what had initially seemed to be a one-off murder case.
Chief Webster himself had interviewed the owner of the Wren’s Nest Campground, who had supplied him with some of the information that Riley was looking at right now. This included registrations of campers who had come and gone during recent days. Riley said their names aloud as she read them, hoping she’d maybe remember them if they turned up again. But for the time being, there was no reason to suspect any of them in particular.
The Tunsboro cops had also tracked down Brett Parma’s movements during the days before she’d come to the Wren’s Nest Campground. She’d left North Platte about a week and a half ago and had camped out at the Petrified Forest and the Mogollon Rim for a few days each before arriving here. No one knew where she might have been headed after she’d checked out of the Wren’s Next Campground.
The cops had also run a search to see if any campers who’d been at the Wren’s Nest during Brett Parma’s stay had also been at either of the other two campgrounds she’d visited earlier. They hadn’t found any matches.
Riley sighed as she turned the last page of the material and finished her cup of coffee. She realized she mustn’t put off calling Brett Parma’s mother any longer. It wouldn’t do to have Crivaro come back and find that she hadn’t done it yet.
She took out her cell phone and punched in the number for Dale Parma in North Platte.
When the woman answered the phone, Riley said, “Mrs. Parma, I’m sorry to trouble you, but this is Agent Riley Sweeney with the FBI and—”
Interrupting, Dale Parma said, “Oh! I hadn’t known the FBI was involved. I thought it was just the local police down there. I can’t tell you how hard this has been for me. Please tell me you’ve got some news.”
Riley gulped hard.
She supposed that she did have some news—and that was that Dale Parma’s daughter had been murdered by a serial killer. But should Riley tell her that? In his note, Crivaro hadn’t given her any instructions one way or the other.
Riley quickly decided it might be best to be evasive.
“Our investigation is underway, Mrs. Parma. I’m afraid I don’t have anything new to tell you.”
She heard Mrs. Parma groan with despair.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” the woman said. “So why are you calling me?”
Riley gulped and thought …
That’s a good question.
She said, “I just wanted to ask you … a few things.”
Mrs. Parma gasped slightly.
“Good Lord, what could you possibly want me to tell you? I’ve answered so many questions already. I’m exhausted from trying to think of answers.”
Riley wanted to admit that this call had been a mistake, to apologize and say goodbye …
But Crivaro told me to talk to her.
Riley summoned up her courage and said, “Mrs. Parma, I know you’ve already been asked lots of questions, so please forgive me. The FBI just got started on this case, and we need to be thorough and get a fresh start. Can you think of anyone who might have wished your daughter harm?”
“Absolutely not,” Mrs. Parma said. “And yes, I did answer that question already.”
Riley struggled to think of anything more to ask. Nothing that came to mind seemed the least bit relevant, now that they knew that Brett Parma had been murdered by a serial killer, and quite possibly a stranger. What could this woman possibly know that would be the least bit helpful?
Even so, Riley asked …
“Was Brett engaged, or did she have a relationship, a boyfriend, anything like that?”
“I don’t think so,” Mrs. Parma said with a sigh. “You’d think I’d know, living in the same town with my only daughter. But she just … drifted away from me during the last few years. Emotionally, I mean.”
The woman was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, “My husband, her father, died three years ago, and I guess she was always a little closer to him than she was to me, and after he was gone I’d go for months at a time without hearing from her at all.”
Riley listened closely as the woman kept talking. Mrs. Parma said she thought that Brett had been restless and lonely, and she sometimes said she hated her receptionist job at the Hanson Family Medical Group …
Riley listened as Mrs. Parma rattled on about how Brett had been so different as a little girl, so cheerful and outgoing, but how she’d changed during her teen years, becoming sullen and sad, and how things were never the same after that.
Finally the woman blurted out a question …
“Agent Sweeney—could you tell me why?”
Riley winced sharply and wondered …
What on earth can I possibly say?
Slowly and carefully, Riley began …
“Mrs. Parma, a killer’s mind can be a terrible mystery, even to investigators like—”
Mrs. Parma interrupted, “No, I don’t mean that. I mean, can you tell me why she went away like that? She went on this trip without even telling me. I’m not sure she told anybody. If she had, somebody could have told her it was dangerous for a young woman to go traveling alone, especially camping. It seems like such a crazy thing to do. Do you know why she did it?”
Riley swallowed hard at a sudden awful realization.
Yes, I know why she did it.
After listening to the woman talk, Riley felt sure the victim’s mother also knew the truth deep in her gut.
She was sick of North Platte.
She was sick of her life there.
Brett Parma had been desperate to get away from everything she’d ever known—including her own mother.
But Riley didn’t dare say all that aloud.
What would be the point in it?
Instead she said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know.”
Riley thought she heard the woman choke back a sob.
“Of course you don’t,” she said. “I don’t know why I asked. I’m being foolish.”
Riley clumsily told Mrs. Parma that she was sorry for her loss, then thanked her for her time and ended the call.
She sat at the kitchen table staring at the phone.
She remembered Mrs. Parma saying …
“I’m being foolish.”
Now that the call was over, Riley herself felt foolish. It took a few moments for her to realize why. The call had been absolutely pointless, and Riley should never have made it. What was worse, Agent Crivaro surely knew it would be pointless, and yet he’d told Riley to do it anyway.
But why?
An unpleasant possibility dawned on her.
Maybe he just wanted me to do something pointless and painful.
Maybe he was trying to drive her away by giving her unpleasant and useless tasks. If so, Riley wished he’d just tell her to go away and get it done with. It seemed cruel of him to drag out the inevitable end of their partnership.
At that moment, the motor home door slammed open.
Crivaro came charging in, red-faced and panting.
He almost yelled, “Come out here and give me a hand. We’ve got to disconnect all the utilities. We’re getting out of here right now!”
“Why?” Riley asked.
“There’s been another murder,” Crivaro said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Riley gripped the dashboard fearfully as the RV tires squealed and a truck behind them honked furiously. Agent Crivaro had veered their motor home sharply into the left lane, cutting off an eighteen-wheeler. As the truck bore down on them, Crivaro swerved back to the right without even taking the trouble to signal.
More angry honking ensued from a driver in that lane.
“Don’t forget you’re driving a small house,” Riley told him nervously.
“What I need is a light and a siren,” Jake snapped.
The idea of a camper barreling along with turret light flashing and siren wailing actually made Riley laugh.
“I know, I know,” Crivaro growled. “Don’t worry, this damned tub won’t go fast enough to get us killed, but at least most traffic will stay out of our way.”
“Some of them are bigger than we are,” Riley commented, as the eighteen-wheeler breezed past them on a downhill slope.
Crivaro didn’t reply.
The traffic on the interstate taking them north was moderately heavy but moving along at a steady clip. But Crivaro seemed determined to pass every vehicle he fell behind. Whenever he swung over into the left lane, he caused the ire of faster drivers. In his frustration, he was switching lanes recklessly, and Riley didn’t think he was making much better time than he would by just staying in the right lane.
Pounding his fist on the steering wheel, Crivaro complained, “Why is everybody being such a pain in the ass? What’s the matter with these drivers?”
Riley wanted to say …
“They value their own lives.”
But Agent Crivaro was in a bad enough mood already. They’d been in such a hurry to get on the road that he hadn’t had time to rent or borrow a regular car. Back at the campground when they’d been frantically disconnecting the utilities, he’d told her that a new body had been found this morning on a hiking trail at Sedona. The police chief there had heard that the FBI was in Arizona investigating a serial killer, so he’d called the FBI’s district office right away, and they in turn had called Crivaro.
And now here they were, driving madly toward Sedona.
Riley could only hope they’d get there in one piece.
The traffic soon thinned out a little, and Crivaro’s lane changes became less frequent and less crazed. No longer so alarmed by his driving, Riley found herself wondering again about another question—whether he might be planning to dump her as a partner. What else was she to think, after he’d given her such meaningless tasks to do this morning?
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