CHAPTER FIVE

Riley stood looking out the window, trying to imagine what the street had looked like in the early morning hours, at the exact moment when someone had driven an ice pick into Robin Scoville’s skull.

What was out there? she wondered.

What did Robin see just then?

The question nagged harder at Riley by the moment.

She said to Chief Brennan, “I didn’t notice that this house has any security cameras. Does it?”

“No,” Brennan said. “The owner didn’t bother to install them in a small rental like this. Too bad, because maybe we’d have a video recording of what happened. Or better yet, cameras might have deterred the killer.”

Followed by her colleagues, Riley walked out through the front door. She stood on the sidewalk looking up and down the street. Again she noticed that Robin’s house was the smallest house in an upscale neighborhood.

She said to Brennan, “I assume you’ve interviewed all the neighbors.”

“As many of them as we could,” Brennan said. “Nobody was awake when it happened, so nobody noticed anything unusual.”

She could see cameras on some of the front porches. In several yards, signs warned that these houses were protected by one or another security company.

“I see that some neighbors have security cameras for their own houses,” Riley commented.

“Most of them do, I’m sure,” Brennan said with a shrug. “But it doesn’t look like any of them are going to do us any good.”

Riley could see what Brennan meant. None of the cameras appeared to be directed toward Robin’s house, so they couldn’t have picked up anything concerning the break-in or the murder. And yet a Nest camera fastened to a porch post of the nearest house caught her interest.

Riley pointed to the house and said, “Have you talked to the people who live there?”

Brennan shook his head. “No, a retired couple named Copeland live there, but they haven’t been at home for a week or so. The neighbors say they’re vacationing in Europe. They’re supposed to come back in a couple of weeks. So they definitely couldn’t have seen what happened. And their camera isn’t aimed at Robin’s house either.”

Not at the house, Riley thought. But definitely at the street in front of the house.

And what had happened on the street was exactly what Riley was curious about right now. Because the couple was gone for an extended time, maybe they’d left the surveillance system programmed to keep a continuous record of all that happened in their absence.

Riley said, “I want to see what, if anything, that camera picked up.”

Agent Sturman replied, “We’ll have to track down the Copelands and get their permission. To see the recording we’ll need their password. Or we’ll have to get a warrant and go after it through the company.”

“Do it,” Riley said. “Whatever we need. As quickly as you can.”

Sturman nodded and stepped aside, taking out his cell phone to make a call.

Meanwhile, before Riley could decide what she and her colleagues should do next, Jenn spoke to Chief Brennan.

“You said Robin was divorced. What can you tell us about her ex?”

Brennan said, “His name’s Duane Scoville, and he plays in a local rock band called the Epithets.” The chief laughed a little and added, “I’ve heard them play. They’re not bad, but it seems to me they’d better keep their day jobs.”

Jenn asked, “Where does Duane live?”

Brennan pointed. “Just over on the east side of town.”

Jenn said, “I take it you’ve interviewed him.”

“Yeah, we don’t think he’s a viable suspect,” Brennan said.

“Why not?” Jenn asked.

“Duane says he and the Epithets were playing a gig over in Crestone, Rhode Island, the night of Robin’s murder. He says he and the band stayed the night, and he showed us a motel receipt. We don’t have any reason not to believe him.”

Riley saw that Jenn looked doubtful.

And with good reason, Riley thought.

It didn’t sound like the local police had done a very thorough job of interviewing Duane Scoville, let alone eliminating him as a suspect. And even if Duane wasn’t the murderer, he still might have important information to offer.

Jenn said, “I’d like to talk to him some more.”

“OK, I’ll give him a call,” Brennan said, reaching for his cell phone.

“No, I’d rather not give him advance notice,” Jenn said.

Riley knew that Jenn was right. If there was even the slightest chance that Duane was their killer, it was best to try to catch him off guard.

Riley said to Brennan, “Could you drive us to where he lives, see if we can find him at home?”

“Certainly,” Brennan said.

Agent Sturman ended his phone call and rejoined them. “I’ve got an agent tracking down the Copelands,” he said. “But I’ve got another case in progress, and I need to get back to headquarters.”

“You’ll let us know as soon as you get anything?” Bill asked.

“Absolutely,” Sturman promised, and strode off toward his van.

Chief Brennan said, “My vehicle is over here. I can take you to Duane Scoville’s place.”

As Riley and her colleagues climbed into Brennan’s police car, Riley noticed the determined expression on Jenn Roston’s face. It felt good for Riley to see her young protégé looking so engaged. Riley glanced at Bill and could tell that he felt the same way.

She’s really turning out to be a hell of an agent, Riley thought.

And the three of them together were becoming a remarkable team.

She decided she and Bill should let Jenn take the lead in interviewing Duane Scoville. It might give her a chance to shine, Riley figured.

And she definitely deserves that.

*

During the short drive across town, Jenn Roston found herself remembering Riley’s actions back at Robin Scoville’s house, and the conclusion she’d drawn about the killer …

“He’s one cold son of a bitch.”

Jenn didn’t doubt that Riley was right. She’d seen Riley get into a killer’s mind a number of times now, but it never ceased to amaze her.

How does she do it?

No one in the BAU seemed to know, except maybe for Riley’s one-time mentor, a retired agent named Jake Crivaro who now lived in Florida. Riley herself didn’t seem to be able to explain the process or even what it felt like.

It seemed to be nothing more or less than pure gut instinct.

Jenn couldn’t help but envy Riley for that.

Of course, Jenn had her own share of strengths. She was smart, resourceful, tough, ambitious …

And nothing if not self-confident, she thought with a smile.

Right now she was pleased that Riley had agreed with her about the need to interview Duane Scoville. Jenn felt anxious to make meaningful contributions to solving this case. She regretted some of her own behavior during the previous case she’d worked on with Riley and Bill—the case of the so-called “Carpenter,” who’d killed his victims with a swift hammer blow to the head.

A bitter remark Jenn had made in response to Riley’s criticism kept echoing through her mind …

“I suppose this is where you accuse me of not being objective.”

It had been a cheap shot—especially since Jenn knew perfectly well that Riley had had good reason to doubt her objectivity. As an African-American agent, Jenn had been on the receiving end of some pretty overt racism while they’d been working in Mississippi. She hadn’t taken it well, and she had to admit it had affected her judgment.

She hoped she could make up for all that now.

She hoped she could make up for a lot of things.

She looked forward to a day when, at long last, she could put her troubled past behind her.

As Chief Brennan drove, darker memories began to crowd into Jenn’s mind—the dysfunctional parents who’d abandoned her when she’d been a child, then her years under the care of a brilliant but sinister foster parent who called herself “Aunt Cora.” Aunt Cora had trained Jenn and her other foster children to become master criminals in her own criminal network.

Jenn had been alone among Aunt Cora’s pupils in escaping from her clutches, hoping to make a different and better life for herself. She’d become a decorated cop in Los Angeles, then had made phenomenal scores at the FBI Academy before becoming a full-fledged BAU agent.

Even so, she hadn’t been able shake off Aunt Cora completely. The woman had been in touch with her earlier this year, trying to pull her back into her sphere of influence, even trying to make Jenn beholden to her by helping out on an FBI case.

Jenn hadn’t heard anything from Aunt Cora for a few weeks now. Had her one-time mentor given up on her for good?

Jenn could only dare to hope.

Meanwhile, Jenn’s gratitude toward Riley knew no bounds. Riley was the only person who knew the truth about Jenn’s past. More than that, Riley sympathized. After all, Riley herself had once been entangled with a criminal mastermind, the brilliant escaped convict Shane Hatcher.

Jenn knew more than anybody else did about Riley’s secret, just as Riley knew all about hers. It was one of the reasons Jenn felt such a close bond with her new mentor—a bond based on mutual understanding and respect. Because of that bond, Jenn wanted to live up to Riley’s high expectations of her.

Jenn’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Brennan’s voice as he turned a corner.

“We’re almost there.”

Jenn was surprised to see a huge change in the surrounding community. Gone were all the dignified, gleaming white houses with their flawlessly straight picket fences. They passed down a street littered with modest-sized businesses that included vegan restaurants, organic food stores, and a thrift store.

Then they continued into a neighborhood filled with smaller houses, somewhat shabby but nevertheless rather charming. Pedestrians were a varied lot, from young bohemian types of diverse races to old hippie types who looked like they’d lived here since the sixties.

Jenn felt immediately more comfortable here than she had in the homogenized, ultra-white, upper-class area they’d just left. Still, this was a small neighborhood, and Jenn guessed that it was getting rapidly smaller.

Gentrification is closing in, she thought a bit sadly.

Brennan parked in front an old brick apartment building. He led Jenn and her colleagues up to the front door. There, Riley gave Jenn a look that told her she was to take the lead now.

Jenn glanced at Bill, who nodded at her to go ahead.

She gulped with anticipation, then rang the buzzer for Duane Scoville’s apartment.

No one answered at first. Jenn wondered if maybe he wasn’t home. Then she rang again and heard a grumbling voice over the speaker.

“Who is it?”

The voice crackled for only a couple of seconds. But Jenn thought she heard music in the background.

Jenn called back, “We’re from the FBI. We’d like to talk to you.”

“What about?”

Jenn felt a bit taken aback by the question. And this time she was sure she heard music.

She said, “Um … about your ex-wife’s murder.”

“I talked to the cops about that already. I was out of town when it happened.”

There was another snippet of music, and this time it sounded familiar to Jenn—almost eerily so.

Brennan interjected, “This is Police Chief Brennan. I talked with you earlier. The agents would still like to ask a few more questions.”

A silence fell, then the buzzer rang and the door clicked. Jenn opened the door and she and her colleagues walked inside.

She thought …

It doesn’t sound like we’re exactly welcome.

Jenn wondered why not.

She decided she was going to find out.