CHAPTER TWO

Riley’s spirits sank as she looked at the two images looming on screens above the BAU conference room table. One was a photo of a carefree girl with bright eyes and a winning smile. The other was her corpse, horribly emaciated and lying with her arms pointed in odd directions. Since she had been ordered to attend this meeting, Riley knew there must be other victims like this one.

Sam Flores, a savvy lab technician with black-rimmed glasses, was running the multimedia display for the four other agents seated around the table.

“These pictures are of Metta Lunoe, seventeen years old,” Flores said. “Her family lives in Collierville, New Jersey. Her parents reported her missing in March – a runaway.”

He added a huge map of Delaware to the display, indicating a location with a pointer.

He said, “Her body turned up in a field outside of Mowbray, Delaware, on May sixteenth. Her neck had been broken.”

Flores brought up another pair of images – one showing another vibrant young girl, the other showing her almost unrecognizably withered, her arms stretched out in a similar way.

“These pictures are of Valerie Bruner, also seventeen, a reported runaway from Norbury, Virginia. She disappeared in April.”

Flores pointed to another location on the map.

“Her body was found stretched out in a dirt road near Redditch, Delaware, on June twelfth. Obviously the same MO as the earlier killing. Agent Jeffreys was brought in to investigate.”

Riley was startled. How could Bill have worked on a case that hadn’t involved her? Then she remembered. In June, she had been hospitalized, recovering from her horrible ordeal in Peterson’s cage. Even so, Bill had visited her frequently in the hospital. He’d never mentioned that he was also working this case.

She turned toward Bill.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” she asked.

Bill’s face looked grim.

“It wasn’t a good time,” he said. “You had troubles of your own.”

“Who was your partner?” Riley asked.

“Agent Remsen.”

Riley recognized the name. Bruce Remsen had transferred out of Quantico before she had come back to work.

Then after a pause, Bill added, “I couldn’t crack the case.”

Now Riley could read his expression and tone of voice. After years of friendship and partnership, she understood Bill as well as anybody did. And she knew that he was deeply disappointed with himself.

Flores brought up the medical examiner’s photos of the girls’ naked backs. The bodies were so wasted away that they barely seemed real. Both backs bore old scars and fresh welts.

Riley felt a gnawing discomfort all over now. She was taken aback by the feeling. Since when had she gotten queasy about photos of corpses?

Flores said, “They were both starved almost to death before their necks were broken. They were also severely beaten, probably over a long period of time. Their bodies were moved to where they were found postmortem. We have no idea where they were actually killed.”

Trying not to let her rising unease get the best of her, Riley mulled over similarities with cases she and Bill had solved during the last few months. The so-called “dolly killer” had left his victims’ bodies where they could be easily found, posed naked in grotesque doll-like positions. The “chain killer” hung the bodies of his victims up off the ground, wildly decked in heavy chains.

Now Flores brought up the image of another young woman – a cheerful-looking redhead. Alongside the photo was one of a beat-up, empty Toyota.

“This car belonged to a twenty-four-year-old Irish immigrant named Meara Keagan,” Flores said. “She was reported missing yesterday morning. Her car was found abandoned just outside an apartment building in Westree, Delaware. She worked there for a family as maid and nanny.”

Now Special Agent Brent Meredith spoke. He was a daunting, big-boned African-American with angular features and a no-nonsense demeanor.

“She got off her shift at eleven o’clock the night before last,” Meredith said. “The car was found early the next morning.”

Special Agent in Charge Carl Walder leaned forward in his chair. He was Brent Meredith’s boss – a babyish, freckle-faced man with curly, copper-colored hair. Riley didn’t like him. She didn’t think he was especially competent. It didn’t help that he’d once fired her.

“Why do we think this disappearance is linked with the earlier murders?” Walder asked. “Meara Keagan is older than the other victims.”

Now Lucy Vargas chimed in. She was a bright young rookie with dark hair, dark eyes, and a dark complexion.

“You can see by the map. Keagan disappeared in the same general area where the two bodies were found. It might be coincidence, but it seems unlikely. Not over a period of five months, all so close together.”

Despite her increasing discomfort, Riley was pleased at the sight of Walder wincing a little. Without meaning to, Lucy had put him in his place. Riley hoped he wouldn’t find some way to get back at Lucy later on. Walder could be petty that way.

“That’s correct, Agent Vargas,” Meredith said. “Our guess is that the younger girls were abducted while hitchhiking. Very likely along this highway that runs through the area.” He pointed out a specific line on the map.

Lucy asked, “Isn’t hitchhiking banned in Delaware?” She added, “Of course, that can be hard to enforce.”

“You’re right about that,” Meredith said. “And this isn’t an interstate or even the main state highway, so hitchhikers probably do use it. Apparently the killer does too. One body was found alongside this road and the other two are less than ten miles from it. Keagan was taken about sixty miles north along that same route. With her he used a different ruse. If he follows his usual pattern, he’ll keep her until she’s almost starved to death. Then he’ll break her neck and leave her body the same way as before.”

“We’re not going to let that happen,” Bill said in a tight voice.

Meredith said, “Agents Paige and Jeffreys, I want to you to get right to work on this.” He pushed a manila folder stuffed with photos and reports across the table toward Riley. “Agent Paige, here’s all the info you need to bring you up to speed.”

Riley reached toward the folder. But her hand jerked back with a spasm of horrible anxiety.

What’s the matter with me?

Her head was spinning, and out-of-focus images started to take shape in her brain. Was this PTSD from the Peterson case? No, it was different. It was something else entirely.

Riley got up from her chair and fled the conference room. As she hurried down the hallway toward her office, the images in her head came into sharper focus.

They were faces – faces of women and girls.

She saw Mitzi, Koreen, and Tantra – young call girls whose respectable attire masked their degradation even from themselves.

She saw Justine, an aging whore hunched over a drink at a bar, tired and bitter and fully prepared to die an ugly death.

She saw Chrissy, virtually imprisoned in a brothel by her abusive pimp husband.

And worst of all, she saw Trinda, a fifteen-year-old girl who had already lived a nightmare of sexual exploitation, and who could imagine no other life.

Riley arrived in her office and collapsed into her chair. Now she understood her onslaught of revulsion. The images she’d seen just now had been a trigger. They’d brought to the surface her darkest misgivings about the Phoenix case. She’d stopped a brutal murderer, but she hadn’t brought justice to the women and girls she’d met. A whole world of exploitation remained. She hadn’t even scratched the surface of the wrongs they endured.

And now she was haunted and troubled in a way she’d never known before. This seemed worse than PTSD to her. After all, she could give vent to her private rage and horror in a sparring gym. She had no way to get rid of these new feelings.

And could she bring herself to work another case like Phoenix?

She heard Bill’s voice at the door.

“Riley.”

She looked up and saw her partner looking at her with a sad expression. He was holding the folder Meredith had tried to give her.

“I need you on this case,” Bill said. “It’s personal for me. It makes me crazy that I couldn’t crack it. And can’t help wondering if I was off my game because my marriage was falling apart. I got to know Valerie Bruner’s family. They’re good people. But I haven’t stayed in touch with them because … well, I let them down. I’ve got to make things right with them.”

He put the folder on Riley’s desk.

“Just look at this. Please.”

He left Riley’s office. She sat staring at the folder in a state of indecision.

This wasn’t like her. She knew she had to snap out of it.

As she mulled things over, she remembered something from her time in Phoenix. She had been able to save one girl named Jilly. Or at least she had tried.

She took out her phone and dialed the number for a shelter for teenagers in Phoenix, Arizona. A familiar voice came on the line.

“This is Brenda Fitch.”

Riley was glad that Brenda took the call. She’d gotten to know the social worker during her previous case.

“Hi, Brenda,” she said. “This is Riley. I just thought I’d check in on Jilly.”

Jilly was a girl that Riley had rescued from sex trafficking – a skinny, dark-haired thirteen-year-old. Jilly had no family except for an abusive father. Riley called every so often to find out how Jilly was doing.

Riley heard a sigh from Brenda.

“It’s good of you to call,” Brenda said. “I wish more people showed some concern. Jilly’s still with us.”

Riley’s heart sank. She hoped that someday she’d call and be told that Jilly had been taken in by a kindly foster family. This wasn’t going to be that day. Now Riley was worried.

She said, “The last time we talked, you were afraid you’d have to send her back to her father.”

“Oh, no, we’ve got that legally sorted out. We’ve even got a restraining order to keep him away from her.

Riley breathed a sigh of relief.

“Jilly asks about you all the time,” Brenda said. “Would you like to talk to her?”

“Yes. Please.”

Brenda put Riley on hold. Riley suddenly wondered whether this was such a good idea. Whenever she talked to Jilly, she wound up feeling guilty. She couldn’t understand why she felt that way. After all, she had saved Jilly from a life of exploitation and abuse.

But saved her for what? she wondered. What kind of life did Jilly have to look forward to?

She heard Jilly’s voice.

“Hey, Agent Paige.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”

“Sorry. Hey, Riley.”

Riley chuckled a little.

“Hey, yourself. How are you doing?”

“Okay, I guess.”

A silence fell.

A typical teenager, Riley thought. It was always hard to get Jilly talking.

“So what are you up to?” Riley asked.

“Just waking up,” Jilly said, sounding a bit groggy. “Going to eat breakfast.”

Riley then realized that it was three hours earlier in Phoenix.

“I’m sorry to call so early,” Riley said. “I keep forgetting about the time difference.”

“It’s okay. It’s nice of you to call.”

Riley heard a yawn.

“So are you going to school today?” Riley asked.

“Yeah. They let us out of the joint every day to do that.”

It was Jilly’s little running joke, calling the shelter the “joint” as if it were a prison. Riley didn’t find it very funny.

Riley said, “Well, I’ll let you go have breakfast and get ready.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Jilly said.

Another silence fell. Riley thought she heard Jilly choke back a sob.

“Nobody wants me, Riley,” Jilly said. She was crying now. “Foster families keep passing me over. They don’t like my past.”

Riley was staggered.

Her “past”? she thought. Jesus, how can a thirteen-year-old have a “past”? What’s the matter with people?

“I’m sorry,” Riley said.

Jilly spoke haltingly through her tears.

“It’s like … well, you know, it’s … I mean, Riley, it seems like you’re the only one who cares.”

Riley’s throat ached and her eyes stung. She couldn’t reply.

Jilly said, “Couldn’t I come to live with you? I won’t be much trouble. You’ve got a daughter, right? She could be like my sister. We could look after each other. I miss you.”

Riley struggled to speak.

“I … I don’t think that’s possible, Jilly.”

“Why not?”

Riley felt devastated. The question struck her like a bullet.

“It’s just … not possible,” Riley said.

She could still hear Jilly crying.

“Okay,” Jilly said. “I’ve got to head over to breakfast. Bye.”

“Bye,” Riley said. “I’ll call again soon.”

She heard a click as Jilly ended the call. Riley bent over her desk, tears running down her own face. Jilly’s question kept echoing through her head …

“Why not?”

There were a thousand reasons. She had her hands full with April as it was. Her job was too consuming, both of her time and energy. And was she in any way qualified or prepared to deal with Jilly’s psychological scarring? Of course she wasn’t.

Riley wiped her eyes and sat upright. Indulging in self-pity wasn’t going to help anybody. It was time to get back to work. Girls were dying out there, and they needed her.

She picked up the folder and opened it. Was it time, she wondered, to get back in the arena?