Killing (The Making of Riley Paige—Book 6) Page 2

  She could see Crivaro turn his face away and she knew he was struggling to keep his anger under control.

  Riley only hoped she could control her own rage at that self-satisfied expression.

  At least some people in the courtroom knew for a virtual fact that Larry Mullins was a monster to his very core. Riley and Crivaro were two of them. The others included the parents of the two victims, who sat together looking very anxious. Their common hope was that Mullins would at least be sentenced to life without parole, or perhaps even the death penalty.

  Surely, she told herself, the case was tight enough for a conviction. She reviewed it in her mind.

  Larry Mullins had been working as a nanny—or a “manny,” as he preferred to call himself—when he’d been arrested for the death of Ian Harter, a little boy under his care. When Riley and Crivaro had been brought in to investigate Ian’s death, they soon discovered that another child, Nathan Betts, had died under identical circumstances under Mullins’s care in a different city. Both boys had been suffocated to death—obviously murdered.

  Mullins had pleaded innocent to two charges of murder, admitting to nothing more than letting the two boys out of his sight during the times of their deaths, and putting on a shallow show of remorse for his negligence.

  Riley had never believed for a moment that their deaths under Mullins’s care had been coincidental, much less that some unknown murderer was still at large. But proving Mullins’s guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt had proven to be another matter entirely.

  From the very start of the trial, the prosecuting attorney, Paxton Murawski, had warned Riley and Crivaro that this was going to be a tough case. Try as they might, the agents and the police had uncovered no evidence to prove that Mullins was the only person who’d had access to the children when they were killed.

  “We’ve got to be careful, or the bastard will walk,” Murawski had told Riley and Crivaro.

  Neither Riley nor Crivaro had known exactly what Murawski had meant by “careful.” But she knew that some attempted plea-bargaining had been going on behind the scenes between the prosecution and the defense. And now she suspected the whole courtroom was going to learn the results of that bargaining.

  Is he going to go free after all? she wondered.

  She shuddered at the possibility, and also at her memory of the moment when she and Crivaro had put Mullins under arrest.

  Right when Riley had been putting him in cuffs and reading him his rights, he’d turned his head and smirked wickedly at her, with a gloating expression that all but admitted his guilt to her.

  “Good luck,” he’d said, obviously confident about hard it was going to be to convict him.

  Riley ground her teeth as the words echoed through her memory.

  Good luck!

  She didn’t believe she’d ever been as angry as she’d been at that moment. She had truly wanted to kill Mullins right there and then. She’d actually reached for her Glock. But Crivaro had touched her on the shoulder and given her a warning look, and she’d finished the arrest in a proper manner.

  And now Riley wondered—if it weren’t for Crivaro, would Larry Mullins be alive today? Of course she’d have been charged with murder herself, and she might have spent the rest of her life in prison. But might it have been worth it to get rid of such a repugnant excuse for a human being?

  Riley half-wished she’d shot him dead that day.

  And now, judging from Crivaro’s angry expression, she suspected that he felt the same way.

  The bailiff returned and asked Mullins to join counsel in the judge’s chambers. Still flanked by guards, the man on trial got up and followed the bailiff out of the courtroom.

  Riley’s heart sank.

  This doesn’t look good, she thought.

  Several long minutes ticked by before the bailiff returned and asked everyone in the courtroom to stand again. Judge Redstone reentered, followed by the lawyers and Mullins himself.

  Judge Redstone announced to the courtroom, “The counsels for the defense and the prosecution have reached an agreement. If the defendant agrees to plead guilty to two charges of second-degree, unpremeditated murder, this trial will be unnecessary and the defendant will be sentenced accordingly.”

  Riley gasped aloud, and so did many others in the room.

  Unpremeditated murder?

  The very idea made no sense to her.

  Frowning at Mullins, the judge said to him, “Larry Mullins, do you so plead?”

  “I do, Your Honor,” Mullins said.

  “Very well,” Judge Redstone said. “Larry Mullins, you are hereby sentenced to two sentences of thirty years, to be served simultaneously and with the possibility of parole in fifteen years.”

  Simultaneously? Possible parole?

  Riley had to fight down her impulse to stand up, to scream, No, that’s wrong.

  She knew it wouldn’t help, so she choked back the words and stayed in her seat. But she couldn’t stop her mind from spinning frantically.

  The man killed two children.

  Why didn’t they understand that?

  The judge thanked the jury for its time and service and ended the trial with a bang of his gavel. The whole room was in an uproar as Mullins was led away to his cell. When Riley finally got up from her chair, she found herself in the midst of an angry and confused mass of people.

  The first thing she wanted to do was talk to Agent Crivaro and ask him what he thought had happened and if there was anything they could do about it. But she only got a glimpse of her partner as he stormed toward the entrance of the courtroom, red-faced with anger.

  Where’s he going? she wondered.

  She couldn’t follow him through the crush of bodies. Instead, she managed to make her way to the prosecution table, where Paxton Murawski was packing up his briefcase.

  “What the hell happened?” she blurted bitterly.

  The prosecuting attorney shook his head.

  “It was the best we could do,” he said.

  “But it doesn’t even make sense,” Riley said. “All along Mullins has been pleading innocent to both murders. He was just negligent, he says. But now he’s pleading guilty to second-degree murder for both of them. How could he have been merely negligent and also killed them? How can he have it both ways?”

  Murawski scowled sharply at Riley.

  “Agent Sweeney, you’re new to this sort of business,” he said. “Sometimes you’ve got to compromise—and sometimes these outcomes don’t make sense. And really, this worked out better than we might have expected. We weren’t going to get a conviction on first-degree murder, especially not two cases of it. It just wasn’t going to happen. But the defense knew that Mullins wasn’t going to get off scot-free either. That’s why they proposed this deal. And we took it. End of story.”

  “‘End of story?’” Riley echoed. “This isn’t the end, and you know it. In fifteen years, Mullins might be up for parole. He’ll be the same evil bastard he is today. But all he’ll have to do is play his sweet-faced innocence act for the parole board, and they’re liable to fall for it, and he’ll be back on the streets.”

  Murawski shut his briefcase and said, “So—don’t let that happen.”

  Riley could hardly believe her ears.

  “But that won’t be for another fifteen years,” she said.

  Murawski shrugged and added, “Like I said, don’t let it happen. Trust me, he’ll stay put until then.”

  Murawski turned to leave, but his eyes lit up with alarm at somebody that he saw approaching him. He seemed suddenly to change his mind about heading straight for the exit. Instead, he dodged and ducked in another direction. Riley quickly saw why.

  The four parents of the two victims, Donald and Melanie Betts and Ross and Darla Harter, were pushing their way toward the prosecution table. Without either Crivaro or Murawski and his team still here, Riley knew that she was going to feel the brunt of their indignation.

  Melanie Betts was weeping tears of sheer
fury.

  “We trusted you,” she said to Riley. “You and your partner and the defense team.”

  “How could you have failed us like this?” Darla Harter added.

  Riley opened her mouth, but she didn’t know what to say.

  Ironically, her first impulse was to repeat pretty much what Murawski had just told her—that they couldn’t have gotten guilty verdicts on two counts of first-degree murder, and that this deal was better than it sounded, and anyway Larry Mullins was going to be in prison for a long time.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to say any of those things.

  Instead she said, “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” Donald Betts said incredulously.

  “Is that all you’ve got to say?” Ross Harter added.

  Riley felt dumbstruck.

  I’ve got to say something, she thought.

  But what was left for her to say?

  Then she remembered something that Murawski had said to her a moment ago about Mullins’s possible parole.

  “Don’t let it happen.”

  Riley swallowed hard. Then she spoke with a note of conviction that surprised even her.

  “He won’t get parole,” she said. “He’ll serve his whole sentence—all thirty years of it, if he lives that long.”

  Melanie Betts squinted at her with a puzzled expression.

  “How do you know that?” she asked.

  “Because I’m going to make sure of it,” Riley said, her throat catching with emotion. “I’m never going to let him get parole or early release.”

  She paused and thought hard about the two words she was about to say.

  Then she said, “I promise.”

  The four parents stood staring at her for a moment. Riley wondered whether they could possibly believe what she’d just said, especially after what had just happened in the courtroom. She’d never promised them anything until now—certainly not that Mullins would be punished to the full extent of the law. She’d known better than to do that.

  But now that she’d said it, she knew that she meant it.

  She had no idea what it was going to take for her to keep her promise, but she was going to go through with it.

  Finally, Donald Betts simply nodded. As he began to usher his wife and the other couple away, he looked at Riley and mouthed two words silently.

  “Thank you.”

  Riley nodded back at him.

  The courtroom was markedly less congested now, so Riley made her way out into the hallway. Reporters had surrounded Murawski and also Mullins’s defense attorney and were badgering them with questions. Riley was grateful that the reporters didn’t seem to notice her.

  But as she looked back and forth, she wondered where her partner had gone. She didn’t see Crivaro anywhere inside the building. When she went out onto the courthouse steps, she still couldn’t see him.

  Where is he? she wondered.

  She walked over to the lot where they’d parked their BAU vehicle. She had her own set of keys, so she opened the door and got into the driver’s seat and sat waiting.

  Surely he’ll show up soon, she thought.

  But as long minutes began to pass, she started to wonder.

  She knew that this verdict had hit Jake especially hard.

  Maybe he just couldn’t face me, she thought.

  She tried to phone him, but he didn’t pick up the call. She didn’t want to alert the BAU that her partner was missing. Crivaro would certainly return when he was ready.

  Riley sat in the car waiting for a full hour before she decided it was time to leave. Finally, she pulled out of the parking lot and drove back to Quantico alone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Julian Banfield felt like he was waking up from some terrible dream.

  Or maybe not waking up at all, he thought.

  He still felt foggy and barely conscious. And he had a splitting headache.

  He opened his eyes—or at least he thought he did—and found himself surrounded by complete blackness. When he tried to move, he found that he couldn’t. He knew that this sort of immobilization was a typical symptom of his infrequent nightmares, likely caused by the constriction of blankets he was lying under.

  But this feels different, he realized.

  Even though his limbs were immobilized, he wasn’t lying down.

  Breathe, Julian instructed himself as he had so often instructed patients. Slow breaths, in and out.

  But his spirits sank as the reality of his situation began to dawn on him. He was bound in a sitting position in complete darkness. Even after several deep breaths, the calm he was trying to generate escaped him.

  Think, he told himself. What’s the last thing I remember?

  Then it came back to him. He’d been looking for Sheila in her office when someone had seized him from behind, and he’d been forced to breathe through a piece of cloth that was wet with some thick, sweet liquid.

  Chloroform, he remembered, his thoughts skittering wildly toward a state of panic.

  Then Julian heard a voice speak gently in the darkness.

  “Hello, Dr. Banfield.”

  “Who’s there?” Julian gasped.

  “You don’t recognize my voice?” the voice said. “Well, I guess that’s not surprising. It’s been a long time. I was much younger. My voice is different.”

  Suddenly a light snapped on, and Julian was momentarily blinded.

  “There,” the voice said. “Is that better?”

  Julian squinted as his eyes struggled to adjust to the light. A face came into view—a smiling man with a long, lean face.

  “Surely you recognize me now,” he said.

  Julian stared hard at him. He thought the shape of his chin looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He didn’t recognize him, and the truth was, he didn’t much care about that at the moment. He was just now starting to grasp his situation, and from what he could tell, it was very, very bad.

  He and the strange man were in Julian’s wine cellar, surrounded by shelves containing hundreds of bottles of wine. Julian was somehow tied or strapped into one of the heavy and elegant wooden chairs that were part of the wine cellar decor.

  A stranger was sitting in another of those chairs, staring at him and still smiling.

  The stranger was holding a glass and a newly opened bottle of wine.

  Pouring some wine into the glass, he said, “I hope you don’t mind—I took the liberty of opening a bottle of Le Vieux Donjon Châteauneuf-du-Pape from just a couple of years ago. I suppose it was rather presumptuous of me. For all I know, you might have been saving it for a much later date. I understand that this vintage is expected to mature very nicely.”

  He held the glass up to the light and peered at the wine sagely.

  He said, “I was tempted to crack open a 1987 Opus One, but of course that would have been way out of line. Besides, I’m very curious about this vintage.”

  The stranger took a sip and swished it in his mouth.

  “It definitely lives up to its reputation,” he said. “Hints of crushed juniper berry, blackberry, raisin, roasted chestnut. Quite a large, bold, bountiful flavor. Not that I’m any expert, but I’d say this was a good buy for the money.”

  Julian was still feeling muddled and confused.

  Don’t scream, he cautioned himself. No one could hear him, and it would only agitate this man. Instead, maybe he should use some of his skills as a therapist. Above all else, it was important to stay calm—or at least appear to be calm.

  “Well,” he said, “now that we’re here, perhaps you would like to tell me a bit about yourself.”

  The stranger chuckled. “What would you like to know, Doctor?” he asked.

  “Surely,” Julian replied, “there’s something you’d like to tell me about why … um … what led us to this particular situation.”

  The stranger let out a raspy sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I’m afraid that’s a rather long and complicated story,” he said
. With that, he suddenly stood up and threw the delicate wine glass so that it shattered against the wall. Then he set the wine bottle down on a decorative little table.

  Realizing that his professional tactics weren’t going to work, Julian began to grasp for another approach.

  “My wife will be home soon,” he blurted.

  The stranger sounded unfazed.

  “Will she? Well then I should get on with the business at hand.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Julian demanded.

  A hurt expression crossed the stranger’s face.

  “Oh dear. I’d hoped you would recognize me by now. Well, that would have been a lot to expect. But I’m sure you’ll remember me before long. I’ve got a surefire way of reminding you.”

  Again, Julian thought he noticed something slightly familiar about the man’s chin. But he certainly didn’t recognize him. The only reality that he could focus on was that he was a prisoner in his own wine cellar and at the mercy of a man who was quite mad.

  Just how he’d been strapped to this chair he didn’t know, but he felt most uncomfortable. Something tight was fastened all the way around his chest, making it difficult to breathe. Now he realized that his feet were bare and cold and wet.

  He peered downward. Although his knees were strapped together, he could see that one of his big silver platters was on the floor. When he moved his feet a little, he felt them swish through shallow water.

  “Yes,” the stranger commented. “I brought a silver platter down from your lovely china cabinet. It’s perfect for the task at hand. It holds about a quarter inch of water, and both water and silver are excellent conductors.”

  Excellent conductors? Julian wondered.

  His eyes darted around, trying to take in as much as he could of whatever was happening around him. He could see that the stranger was wearing what appeared to be rubber-soled boots.

  Then the stranger began to pull on a pair of heavy rubber gloves.

  What on earth … ? Again Julian cautioned himself not to scream.

  The stranger stepped out of Julian’s range of vision for a moment. After some rattling from the direction of the cellar’s breaker panel, the stranger reappeared with a length of heavy-duty insulated cable in his hand. The cable was cut short to expose the wires within.