Once Chosen (A Riley Paige Mystery—Book 17) Page 11

  A group of reporters was gathered at the front door.

  It’s started, she thought.

  She’d known all along that it was only a matter of time before the media started hounding them for information. Not only did this case involve the murders of two local women, it had some bizarre aspects that the press would love to run with.

  But just how much of all that had they found out?

  Riley and her colleagues just kept walking and pushed among the reporters without answering any of their questions. As harassed as Riley felt by all their shoving and prodding, she was relieved not to hear any questions about the “Goatman,” or about cryptic messages threatening of another abduction on Halloween night. The reporters knew that a second body had been found this morning, and they also knew the victims’ identities, but not much else.

  This could be worse, Riley thought.

  But she wondered how long they could keep some of the more sensational details from leaking out.

  As they entered the building, the receptionist at the front desk stood up and spoke to Wightman.

  “Senator Danson called again just now. He really wants to talk to you.”

  “Damn it,” Wightman grumbled to the receptionist. “If—or when—he calls again, tell him we’re doing the best we can. Tell him I’ll get back to him … well, when I can.”

  “Right,” the receptionist said.

  “Walker Danson’s been calling every several hours,” Wightman said as he led Riley and Ann Marie into his office. “He even called me at home last night. I’m sure he’s heard by now that we’ve got a new body. I wish he could get it through his head that we’re liable to do better work if he’s not pestering us.”

  Riley got a sinking feeling as she and Ann Marie sat down in front of Wightman’s desk. She remembered the state senator’s inscrutable expression when he’d asked her whether she knew Carl Walder.

  It was bad enough that Danson was constantly calling to check on their progress. She was even more worried that Danson seemed to have some kind of personal connection to Walder. If they didn’t solve the case soon, would Danson complain directly to the BAU’s special agent in charge? Politicians had done that before, and it had always raised problems for the investigation.

  If that happened now, how long would it be before Walder started breathing down Riley’s neck, holding her job over her head as he often did? Tangling with Carl Walder was the last thing she needed while she was trying to solve a murder case.

  At least he doesn’t know about Bill and me yet, she thought.

  But of course, it was only a matter of time before he did. Whenever that happened, she was sure Walder was going to make things uncomfortable for her—and for Bill as well.

  Wightman took several folders out of his filing cabinet then sat down behind his desk.

  He opened up one of the folders filled with reports.

  “Here’s what we’ve got on Yvonne Swenson, the vice principal at Pater High School. As you already know, she disappeared two years ago—on Halloween night. The last time she was seen, she was walking home from a Halloween party that had been held in the school gym.”

  Wightman shook his head wearily.

  “I can’t describe what a toll her disappearance took on the community—and frankly, on myself, personally and professionally. Not everybody got along with her, but just about everybody respected and even admired her. She was a widow, dedicated to her work. Nobody could seriously believe she would just run off without telling anybody. We worked like demons trying to find out what had happened to her. Of course we failed.”

  Riley thought hard about what she was hearing.

  She said, “I take it you thought the date was just a coincidence when Allison Hillis disappeared on Halloween last year.”

  “Well, of course it made us wonder whether their disappearances might be connected,” Wightman said. “So we looked for some common thread between Allison and Yvonne, but we couldn’t find a thing. They lived in different neighborhoods, didn’t know each other personally, and didn’t have any acquaintances in common—or any enemies, for that matter. There didn’t seem to be any actual connection between their disappearances—until just now.”

  Riley found herself holding her breath. She doubted that she was going to like whatever he was about to say next.

  He said, “You know, in a town like this, folks disappear from time to time. Sometimes we can figure out why they disappeared, and even where they went. Sometimes we can’t. But that doesn’t necessarily indicate foul play. People can run off for lots of reasons. It just happens.”

  Wightman opened up the other two folders and showed Riley and Ann Marie their contents.

  He said, “For example, a woman named Deena McHugh vanished four years ago. Her husband was unfaithful and as mean as hell, so even he figured she just wanted to get away from him and didn’t want him to ever be able to find her. Four years before that, a thirteen-year-old kid named Henry Studdard disappeared. He lived with an abusive father, so everybody figured he just ran off as well.”

  Wightman took a long, slow breath.

  He said, “The thing is—both Deena McHugh and Henry Studdard disappeared on Halloween.”

  Ann Marie’s eyes widened. She said, “But you never had any reason to think anything of it until now.”

  Wightman scowled. “No bodies had ever turned up. We had no reason to think they’d been murdered. All that’s changed now that we’ve got Yvonne Swenson’s corpse. What scares me now is …”

  His voice trailed away.

  Finishing his thought, Riley said, “If their disappearance on Halloween is significant, that means there might have been two more murders—and two other buried dead bodies that nobody’s ever found.”

  Wightman nodded silently.

  Riley’s mind clicked away as she tried to process what she was hearing.

  Of course, it might merely have been coincidence that two other people had disappeared on Halloween over a period of several years. Riley had long since learned that coincidences were an inevitable part of investigative work. And as the sheriff had said, people sometimes simply disappeared in a town like this.

  But if they’re not coincidences …

  She suppressed a shudder as she considered the possibilities. Just as Wightman was obviously thinking, perhaps this “Goatman” killer had claimed at least four victims so far, not just two. That would mean there were two undiscovered graves out there somewhere.

  And of course, there was still the killer’s lingering threat:

  THE GOATMAN IS STILL HUNGRY.

  HE WILL FEAST AND SING AGAIN

  ON THE HALLOWED EVE.

  And Halloween was tomorrow night.

  This killer’s schedule sped up, Riley realized. There would be no more gaps of a couple of years between murders. He was on an annual schedule.

  And the clock is ticking.

  Before Riley could ask any questions, the sheriff’s office phone rang. When he answered, Riley could tell that he was talking to his receptionist—and judging by his tone of voice, he wasn’t at all happy.

  “Oh, God,” he groaned on the phone. “Not her again! How the hell did she find out …?”

  He shook his head and said to the receptionist, “Well, I guess it’s public knowledge now, damn it. What a pain in the ass. Just tell Madge I’ll get back to her as soon as I can.”

  The sheriff rolled his eyes as he listened.

  “Well, keep telling her that every time she calls!” he said.

  The sheriff let out a deep sigh and said, “OK, put her through.”

  He covered the receiver and said to Riley and Ann Marie, “I’m sorry, I’ve got to take this call. I’ll be right back with you.”

  Soon Riley could make out another voice babbling irritably on the sheriff’s phone.

  In reply, Wightman said, “Yeah, Madge, we found another body just this morning. And it looks like … well, we’re sure, really … that it’s Yvonne.”


  Riley could hear more shrill chatter.

  Then Wightman said, “Damn it, Madge. I just came from the crime scene myself. I didn’t have a chance to call you and let you know. And frankly, I’ve got other priorities. For one thing, I had to call the M.E.”

  The chatter got louder and shriller.

  Wightman said, “Madge, you’re not helping. I’ve got work to do. If you want me to find out who killed Yvonne, you’ve got to let me do my job. I’m hanging up now. Goodbye.”

  He hung up the phone and stared at it in exasperation.

  Then he looked at Riley and Ann Marie and said, “I’m sorry for the interruption. That was Madge Torrance, Yvonne Swenson’s next-door neighbor. She means well, I guess, but she’s a busybody, and she’s got a head full of theories and doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I’m afraid she’s going to start making a thorough nuisance of herself. We’ll just have to try to ignore her.”

  Riley’s ears perked up at the sheriff’s words. “She’s got a head full of theories.”

  Another thing she’d learned over the years was that even crackpots sometimes have important ideas.

  “I want to talk to her,” Riley said to Sheriff Wightman.

  “Huh?” Wightman said with surprise.

  “Is she at home?” Riley asked.

  Wightman shrugged and said, “Well, yeah, but—”

  “Good,” Riley said. “Let’s drive right over and pay her a visit.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed Yvonne Swenson’s case folder off the desk, then headed out the door with Ann Marie and Sheriff Wightman hurrying after her.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  As soon as Riley had pulled in and parked behind the sheriff’s car, Ann Marie reached over from the passenger’s seat and tapped her arm. Then the young agent pointed to a window in Madge Torrance’s little house.

  “Agent Paige, look,” Ann Marie said with a slight giggle. “Sheriff Wightman said she was a busybody.”

  Following her partner’s direction, Riley saw what she meant.

  A pair of suspicious spectacled eyes was peeking out at the cars from behind a curtain.

  I guess Wightman is right, she thought.

  She figured that not much happened in this neighborhood that the woman didn’t find about. She just hoped that some of that neighborhood gossip might turn out to be helpful.

  When the two agents and the sheriff got out of their vehicles and walked toward the house, the curtain fluttered and the eyes disappeared.

  The house was a modest duplex with two front doors and a single roofed porch across the front. One of those doors swung open as soon as they stepped up on the porch.

  A tiny, elderly woman wearing a bathrobe and smoking a cigarette popped out of the door and confronted Wightman.

  “I didn’t expect you to show up,” she snapped. “Not after the way you talked to me on the phone just now.”

  Wightman grunted irritably.

  He said, “Yeah, well, coming here wasn’t exactly my idea, Madge.”

  He introduced the woman to Riley and her partner.

  “FBI, huh?” Madge said with a note of stern approval. “Well, it’s about damn time someone called in the big guns.”

  Shaking a finger toward the sheriff, she turned to Riley and Ann Marie. “Maybe the two of you can teach this yokel a thing or two about how to do his job. Come on inside, the three of you.”

  Riley and her colleagues followed Madge into her apartment. Riley almost coughed in the thick haze of cigarette smoke and noticed that an ashtray on the coffee table was overflowing with cigarette butts.

  Madge herded Riley, Ann Marie, and Sheriff Wightman into a crowded threesome on her small couch. Then she sat down in a rocking chair and puffed away at her cigarette.

  “I guess Wightman here told you I was the one who first reported Yvonne missing. I knew something was wrong by midnight that night. She was always home by then, no matter what else might be going on. And I called the police right away, but they blew it off. Nobody got worried until she didn’t show up to school the next morning.”

  Madge added with a grunt, “I guess Wightman has also told you what a pain in the ass I am. Well, the feeling’s more than mutual. I’m telling you FBI gals, this guy’s a public menace.”

  “Now look here—” Wightman began to protest.

  But Madge paid no attention to him and continued to address Riley and Ann Marie.

  “My neighbor’s dead because he didn’t do his goddamn job. If he’d only listened to me two years ago, Yvonne would still be living next door instead of the noisy, smelly bums who inhabit that place now. It’s a damned shame.”

  Riley leaned forward and said to her, “Sheriff Wightman said that you had some theories.”

  Madge scoffed. “Theories, hell. I call ’em facts.”

  “For example?” Ann Marie asked.

  “For example, I know exactly who nabbed and killed poor Yvonne—and that other girl too.”

  Before Riley could ask her who she meant, Madge was laying into the sheriff again.

  “And from what you said on the phone, you still haven’t arrested him! What are you waiting for? And now he’s sending you crazy notes about being the Goatman. What’s all that about, Sheriff?”

  Wightman’s eyes widened with alarm.

  “Now how did you find out about—?”

  “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? And what do you make of it? Do you think he’s gone off his rocker, or is he just trying to scare folks? All I know is, you’d better go scoop him up right away, now that he’s threatening to do it again tomorrow night. The note says something about the Goatman being ‘hungry,’ the way I hear it.”

  Riley could see that Sheriff Wightman was having trouble keeping his temper.

  He snapped at the woman, “Now look here, Madge, we’ve talked about this, haven’t we? I don’t want you talking to my men behind my back, getting them to tell you things nobody’s supposed to know.”

  Madge shrugged and said, “What if your boys like talking to me? Can I help it if I’m sociable? Running a tight ship and stopping up leaks is your responsibility. I’m just an engaged and interested private citizen. I consider it my civic duty to know all the goings-on here in Winneway. There’s too much apathy in this town.”

  Struggling to get a word in, Riley spoke up.

  “Who do you think killed Yvonne and the girl?”

  Madge nodded brusquely. “Why, Brad Cribbins, of course.”

  Wightman tried to interrupt, “Now, Madge, we went through all this—”

  Madge kept right on talking.

  “Brad was a senior at Pater High School when Yvonne disappeared—or at least he was until she expelled him. She told me all about him. We used to sit right out there on the porch just about every evening, having a drink and talking together. She was a tough disciplinarian as a vice principal—tough but fair. She expelled Brad early in first semester of his senior year, then she disappeared about a month later.”

  It was obvious to Riley that this particular busybody had access to far more than neighborhood gossip. Her interest piqued, she turned to the sheriff and asked, “What can you tell me about him?”

  Wightman shrugged and said, “Brad Cribbins was a bad kid—or he used to be. He began vandalizing churches and graveyards when he was nine years old. Started stealing bicycles soon after that, then graduated to stealing cars. He got into lots of fights, landed a couple of guys in the hospital. He still gets into trouble from time to time.”

  “Why did he get expelled?” Riley asked.

  Madge started explaining before Wightman could say another word.

  “Yvonne told me all about it. Some scared students told her that Brad had brought a knife to school—and not some nice little Boy Scout job, but a real fighting knife. Yvonne ordered a search of his locker, and sure enough, they found enough knives in there to start his own street gang.” She paused for a moment to be sure she had their full attention. Then she added, “He al
so had a list of people he had it in for.”

  “A list?” Riley asked.

  “Yes,” Sheriff Wightman said tiredly, as though he’d been through all of this before. “Yvonne’s name was on that list. She expelled him right away, and she also reported the incident to me. Naturally, when she disappeared, Brad was at the top of our suspect list. But by then he’d settled into a janitorial job at a local mall. His coworkers confirmed that he’d been working there on the night when Yvonne disappeared.”

  Riley’s interest was mounting by the second.

  “What else can you tell me about the list?” she asked Wightman.

  Wightman said, “You’ll find it in the case file you brought along with you.”

  Riley opened the folder that she’d picked up off Wightman’s desk before they’d left the station. She’d tucked it beside her seat in the car and then carried it in with her, but hadn’t had a chance to open it. Now she flipped through some pages until she came across the list. Across the top of the sheet was written in large, crude block letters …

  FOR TERMINATION

  Underneath those two words was scrawled a skull and crossbones. Then came the list itself, with Vice Principal Swenson’s full name at the top, followed by a roster of first names and nicknames:

  Buzz, Smitty, Carla, Jerry, Earl, Ally …

  Riley’s eyes stopped short on that last name.

  “Ally!” she murmured aloud.

  Was it a nickname for Allison Hillis?

  Riley looked up at Madge and asked, “Did Yvonne ever mention Allison Hillis to you?”

  “You mean the poor kid that got dug up yesterday?” Madge asked. “I can’t say she did.”

  “Are you sure?” Riley asked.

  “I’ve got a pretty good memory,” Madge snapped.

  Sheriff Wightman said to Riley, “I don’t think the ‘Ally’ on that list is the same person as Allison Hillis. She didn’t even go to Pater High School. And remember, we searched hard for any other connections between her and Yvonne Swenson. We didn’t find a thing.”

  Riley thought hard and fast. Sheriff Wightman was making good sense, and she had no doubt that he’d done thorough and competent investigations of both disappearances.