Taking, page 14
Riley swallowed hard and thought …
Bliss found it, all right.
But it wasn’t wonderful.
Riley asked, “Are you saying that your friend Bliss went out all alone to find this vortex?”
“Probably,” Amanda said. “After all, this entire area is on a very spiritual plane.”
“But she hasn’t come back at all,” Janine pouted.
Donna sighed and said, “Oh, dear. I hope Bliss hasn’t gone out boondocking again.”
Amanda shook her head and said, “I warned her against that.”
Janine looked dismayed at what her two friends were saying.
“I don’t see anything wrong with boondocking,” she said.
Riley squinted and asked, “What’s boondocking?”
Again, the women looked surprised that Riley didn’t know this already.
Donna laughed and said, “Well, you’d never catch me doing it.”
Amanda said, “It means parking your RV somewhere offsite, without any hookups for utilities. You know, like in a shopping center parking lot, not a real campground. It’s such a waste, not enjoying all the benefits of a motor home. Why go to the expense of buying a wonderful house on wheels and not get full use of it?”
Donna said, “I think boondocking is tacky, and I told Bliss so.”
Janine protested, “I think you’re both being very judgmental.”
Riley sensed that an argument was about to break out, and she certainly didn’t want to get caught in the middle of it. She was relieved to see Agent Crivaro trotting toward them across the Japanese bridge. She figured she could introduce Crivaro to the women as her dad, and that might settle things down a bit.
But Crivaro didn’t come to their table. Instead, he stood just at the edge of the patio and waved one arm, silently signaling to Riley that he wanted her to join him.
Riley excused herself and walked over to where Crivaro was standing.
He whispered, “Where have you been? I thought I’d find you back in the camper.”
Riley stammered, “I—I’m sorry. I just got kind of curious. I mean, this is such an odd place, and—”
Crivaro interrupted, “Well, don’t go wandering off like that. We’re driving out of here right now.”
Riley trotted along to keep up with him.
She said, “What’s going on?”
Crivaro growled, “We’ve got a suspect’s name, that’s what’s going on. And we know where he’s headed. With a little luck, we’re about to catch our killer.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The man felt a familiar rising panic.
Stupid, he thought.
Why do I let things like this get to me?
It was only traffic, after all—nothing that truly threatened him.
But the cars ahead were definitely slowing down. The same thing was happening in the lane to his left.
He checked his mirrors. Traffic was already piling up behind him.
His expensive RV was closed in. He had no choice but to stay in line.
He told himself it meant nothing. But just being stuck among these slow-moving vehicles stirred up a primal feeling of claustrophobic helplessness. It was a fear that he’d always found difficult to control.
He could hear Aunt Florence’s voice as clearly as if she were sitting right here beside him …
“Out of sight, out of mind.”
She’d always said to that to him when he was a little boy.
She’d say it with a tolerant smile whenever she thought he’d done something wrong.
Then she’d gently take him by the hand and lead him to the closet, where she’d shut him in and lock him up in total darkness for many hours at a time.
He remembered the gnawing, lonely fear he’d felt in that darkness—that weird and hideous feeling that very his life was ebbing out of his body onto the closet floor, seeping down between the floorboards never to return.
His aunt seemed to have a way of releasing him at exactly the moment when he imagined he was down to his last ounce of life, that he couldn’t survive for another moment.
Now, as he navigated the sluggish traffic, he tried to tell himself …
It was a long time ago.
Aunt Florence had died of cancer many years back, before he’d even reached his teenage years. She couldn’t threaten him anymore. Besides, he’d learned to come to terms with that trauma in his own really quite brilliant way.
He smiled as he remembered the woman he’d met while camping about a year ago in Colorado. She’d walked toward his RV with a trusting smile, calling out with a cheerful wave …
“Hi, neighbor. My name’s Erin. What’s yours?”
And he remembered her face—how uncannily she had resembled Aunt Florence. He’d sensed his opportunity immediately, invited Erin into his RV to have a drink, and then …
He now felt a warm, delicious sensation as he remembered the killing, especially the way he’d heard the woman clawing and screaming in the tight space where he’d forced her to bleed to death. It was the fulfillment of a fantasy he’d had as a little boy—that he would somehow make Aunt Florence feel the same horror, the same feeling of ebbing of life, that she’d inflicted upon him.
That fantasy had been cut short by Aunt Florence’s early death.
For many years, he’d never dared to hope that it would someday be fulfilled.
But it had been, at least by proxy, and he was glad.
He hadn’t regretted murdering that woman—not for a moment. He’d spent months afterward savoring the pleasure it had given him, the release from those attacks of animal panic that had seized him over the years. Of course, the pleasure had dissipated during the course of a year, and the spells of panic had started to come back.
But by then, he’d known how to find relief from all that horror.
All he had to do was inflict it upon somebody else.
It no longer mattered to him whether his victim resembled Aunt Florence or not. Any woman he found appropriate would serve the purpose.
He knew perfectly well that he’d been lucky to get away with the first murder, which he’d committed too close to where he lived in Colorado. So he prepared carefully, outfitting his motor home for the job and traveling away from home.
Here in Arizona, he’d stalked and claimed his first victim, then his next, and now …
With his considerable wealth, he figured he could get away with this for a very long time. As a prosperous businessman, he’d learned that money brought great freedom—not just from poverty and need, but also from moral scruples. The way he saw it, morals were for those who lacked the material resources to overcome them.
He’d put morals behind him many years ago. He was too lofty a soul to bother with them.
But he began to feel that anxiety again. The flow of traffic was still sluggish.
What was going on up ahead?
He peered out the driver’s window and glimpsed a police roadblock. The cops there were waving cars on through in the free lane, but the traffic was slowing down at that bottleneck.
Worse, he saw that two big vehicles were pulled over on the side of the road.
They were both RVs—Class A motor homes quite similar to his own.
Fear bit into him sharply now.
Do they know?
Had they figured out that whoever had killed those women drove a large RV, where he had devised his own special “kill room”?
Had he left some telltale clues?
He realized that he might have. He hadn’t checked to made sure his vehicle hadn’t left tire tracks at the murder scenes. He cursed himself for his carelessness.
Worst of all was the possibility of being undone in such a prosaic way—by perfectly ordinary cops conducting a search. Such a fate was unworthy of him after he had committed such elite and exquisite crimes. How could he have let this happen?
As his panic mounted, he fought off his impulse to flee.
No, he mustn’t veer over onto the shoulder and try to charge past the roadblock, or try to force his way along the median strip.
Such rash action would lead to certain disaster. So would trying to fight off the police when they stopped him.
But suddenly an almost eerie feeling of calm came over him.
What am I worried about?
I’m prepared for this.
They won’t find a thing.
All he had to do was exercise his charm and cool and self-confidence.
He smiled as he thought …
I’m very good at that.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Agent Crivaro’s eagerness to get back on the road practically took Riley’s breath away. Gravel flew up behind their RV as he pulled away from the Spring View Campground.
“What’s going on?” Riley asked.
“Just what I told you,” Crivaro said. “It looks like we’re about to nail our guy.”
Then Crivaro said nothing, just eyed the road with an intense expression as he drove. Riley wondered if he was going to offer any further explanation.
“How do you know?” she asked.
Crivaro glanced at her as if he’d forgotten she was there.
Then he replied, “When I talked to the manager back there, he let me look over names of people in the campground register who had come and gone recently. I cross-checked the list with names we had of people who were at the Wren’s Nest Campground when Brett Parma was there. I found a name—David Hunter. He left the Wren’s Nest the morning after Brett Parma’s murder. And according to the register, he pulled out of the Spring View Campground just a little while ago.”
Crivaro’s face looked even more determined as he steered their camper onto the interstate, a four-lane divided highway.
He added, “I’ve got Hunter’s license number and a description of his camper—a great big Class A RV. Better still, the register showed his next intended destination. He’s on his way north to the Cherry Rock Campground. That’s between here and the Grand Canyon, and he’s sure to be taking the interstate, just like we’re going to do. I’ve already called Chief Wilson to put out an APB to the troopers at the roadblocks, and we’re getting someone to watch the campground where the guy’s supposed to be headed.”
Riley’s brain clicked away as she processed what she was hearing.
She could certainly understand Crivaro’s excitement. Not only had David Hunter been at both of the campgrounds where the two women had stayed, he’d been there at the same times they had. And he had the kind of camper they were looking for. All that sure didn’t sound like a coincidence.
This news also seemed to prove that Crivaro had been right about setting up the roadblocks, and Riley had been wrong. The killer wasn’t already long gone, as she had feared—at least not if he really was on his way toward a roadblock right now, which seemed likely.
And yet …
She wondered whether she should voice her lingering doubts to Crivaro.
For example—how could they be sure that David Hunter hadn’t lied when he’d written his next destination into the register? If he’d had any idea that the law might be closing in on him, would he have told the truth about that?
But then she realized something. Even if Hunter had taken off in a different direction, he’d still wind up running into one of the roadblocks, which were placed all around Sedona by now.
Riley let herself breathe a little easier. Yes, it really did seem as though their investigation was about to come to an end. Which made her wonder …
How will it feel to look that monster in the face?
Crivaro’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and tossed it to Riley.
“You answer it,” he said. “Put it on speakerphone.”
Riley took the call, which was from Jay Faulkner, the ME they’d met a little while ago.
Faulkner said to Riley and Crivaro, “I’m just starting to work on the latest victim’s body, and I already did what you said and checked under her fingernails. I also cross-checked with Paco about what he found on his victim. They both had cotton fibers under their nails.”
“Fabric?” Crivaro asked hopefully.
Faulkner said, “Uh-uh. This isn’t threads. It looks recycled—the kind you’d find in soundproofing insulation.”
Riley and Crivaro exchanged knowing looks.
Faulkner said, “Like I said, I’m just getting started, but I thought you’d want to know that much.”
“We sure did,” Crivaro said. “Thanks for getting in touch. Let us know if you find anything else we should know about.”
“Will do,” Faulkner said, and ended the call.
His expression grimmer now, Crivaro drove on in silence for a few seconds.
Then he said to Riley, “I guess you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”
Riley nodded and said, “Yeah, we’re probably right that he’s fixed up a space in his camper for his victims to die in—probably a bathroom. And he’s soundproofed that room so that nobody can hear the victims’ screams.”
Crivaro shook his head. “Jesus, this is ugly stuff. Well, we can probably count on one thing. Whenever he gets stopped at a roadblock, the cops won’t have to search hard to find evidence of the murders.”
Riley gulped hard as she realized why he was right. She imagined how the bathroom space was set up, possibly with soundproofing all around the shower or bath stall.
And right now, that soundproofing must be gouged and spattered with the blood of two murdered women.
No, the cops won’t have to look too hard for that, she thought.
As they raced northward, Riley was amazed at how much the landscape was changing. No cactuses were in sight, and they soon left the red buttes and hills behind. They were obviously moving to a higher elevation. The highway was lined with tall trees—Ponderosa pines, Riley thought. She found it hard to believe they were still in the same state.
After about an hour on the interstate, Crivaro’s phone buzzed again, and Riley put the new call on speakerphone. This time the caller was Chief Wilson.
He asked, “Where are you guys right now?”
“On the interstate heading north toward Flagstaff,” Crivaro said.
“Have you gotten to the roadblock yet?” Wilson asked.
“No, but we’re almost there,” Crivaro said.
“Well, you’re in luck. The troopers there stopped the guy you’re looking for. The same license plate, the same kind of vehicle, and the same name—David Hunter. They’ll have him nice and ready and wrapped up with a bow on top when you get there.”
Crivaro looked at Riley with a smile and said …
“We’ve got him! We’ve really got him!”
Riley hoped he was right.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
They were just ending the phone call when the interstate traffic began to slow.
Riley’s nerves quickened. The roadblock must be coming right up.
She wondered …
Is this going to be it?
Had they caught up with the merciless killer who drained his victims of blood?
It sure sounded likely, but she couldn’t quite let herself hope.
Once again, Crivaro grumbled about not having lights and a siren, and they had no choice but to stay with the sluggish traffic until they reached the roadblock itself.
Once they were there, a man wearing a tan uniform with a “Smokey” hat tried to wave them through with the rest of the unsuspicious vehicles. Crivaro stopped the RV, rolled down his window, and flashed his badge at the trooper.
The trooper stepped closer to the window, looking skeptical as Crivaro introduced himself and Riley.
The trooper took a step backward, appearing confused as he glanced over Crivaro, Riley, and their modest RV.
“We were told a couple of FBI agents were on their way,” he said. “But you aren’t exactly what we expected.”
Crivaro growled, “Well, we’re the real thing, whether we look like it not. You have heard of going undercover, right?”
The trooper nodded slowly and Crivaro continued, “We’re here to see the guy you stopped—the one with the license plate you were told to look for. We need to pull on over and see what’s going on.”
The trooper waved their RV out of the lane of sluggish traffic over to the shoulder of the road, where a Class A RV was parked along with several Arizona Highway Patrol vehicles. When Riley and Crivaro got out of their vehicle, Riley was startled by how chilly it was outside. They hadn’t driven very far north, but the weather was already markedly more brisk, and Riley wished she was wearing something warmer than shorts.
She and Crivaro headed straight toward the RV. They could see activity inside, which looked like it was being searched already.
A trooper wearing sergeant’s stripes seemed to be in charge of the operation. When he spotted the FBI agents, he stepped in front of them. Before he could complain that no civilians were allowed near the scene, Crivaro and Riley both produced their badges and introduced themselves again.
A name plate above the trooper’s right hand shirt pocket revealed that his last name was Gray.
He took off his hat and scratched his head.
“Are you sure we’ve got the right guy?” he said.
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Crivaro said. “Where is the driver of the vehicle?”
Sergeant Gray pointed at a Highway Patrol van and said, “We’re holding him over there, but—”
Crivaro interrupted, “Good. Don’t let him go anywhere. We’ll talk to him after we’ve had a look inside the RV ourselves.”
Crivaro stepped around the sergeant and headed toward the RV. As Riley trotted behind him, she glanced back at the confused-looking trooper. He really seemed to doubt that they’d stopped the right guy.
She wondered why.
Maybe we should have stopped to hear what he had to say, she thought.
But Crivaro was in too much of a hurry for that. Riley followed her partner into the RV, where a couple of troopers were pulling out drawers, throwing aside cushions, and generally taking things apart as they searched. Riley and Crivaro exchanged glances, and she knew they were thinking the same thing …
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