ONCE BOUND Page 7

  “Yeah,” he said uncertainly. “Just an amateur at both. I do OK, I guess. A pretty good golfer. I’m not the best bowler in our local team, but we do pretty well.”

  Riley noticed an odd shift in his tone. He was being modest, of course, judging by the trophies. But she also sensed something else.

  Shame? she wondered.

  Why would anybody be ashamed of playing recreational sports? Especially somebody who was pretty good at them? Ryan bragged about his golfing scores at every opportunity.

  She said slowly, “Did your wife like golf and bowling, Mr. Fisher?”

  Fisher looked at her with a curious expression.

  “Well, she didn’t play, but …”

  Riley added, “I mean, was she at all interested in the games? As a spectator or a fan or anything? Or in how well you were doing?”

  Fisher shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “She wasn’t interested in sports at all. Why do you ask?”

  Riley didn’t reply. But she knew that this little fact was more important than it seemed. After all, sports trophies were the most prominent objects in this living room. And yet Reese Fisher had had no interest in sports.

  Riley asked gently, “Mr. Fisher, were you and your wife happy together?”

  Fisher looked into Riley’s eyes and blinked a few times.

  “Of course we were,” he said.

  Again, Riley let a silence settle in the room.

  She was sure that either Bull Cullen or Chief Powell had asked that same question, and Fisher had given them the same answer. But Cullen and Powell had brushed it aside too easily.

  Riley held Fisher’s gaze.

  She didn’t say so aloud, but with her eyes she said to him …

  You’re lying.

  He nodded ever so slightly in reply to her unspoken observation.

  She sat waiting for him to tell her the truth.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Chase Fisher lowered his gaze and slumped in his chair. Riley remained quiet, and so did Bill and Jenn. She sensed her colleagues’ anticipation at whatever was about to be said.

  Finally, Fisher said in a nearly inaudible voice …

  “Reese was having an affair.”

  Riley let his words hang in the air for a moment.

  Then she said, “Did you mention this to the detectives who talked to you this morning?”

  “No,” Fisher said.

  Jenn broke her silence sharply. “Why the hell not? Didn’t it occur to you it might be important?”

  Riley stifled a sigh. Jenn was regressing to her old bull-in-the-china-shop style. Riley darted her a look that told her to keep quiet.

  Then Riley asked Fisher, “Who was she having an affair with?”

  Fisher shook his head sadly.

  “Somebody in Chicago,” he said.

  “You don’t know who?” Riley said.

  “No.”

  “She wouldn’t tell you?”

  Fisher heaved a long sigh.

  “We never talked about it. I’m not sure she even knew that I knew. But I did know. First it was just a feeling. But then I did some … well, snooping. I’d call the hotel in Chicago where she was supposed to be staying, and she wasn’t registered there. I’d call her mother’s rest home too, and the staff would say she hadn’t been there—at least not when she’d said she’d been.”

  As the room fell quiet again, Riley’s mind clicked away, trying to process what she was hearing.

  Finally Fisher said, “I know—I should have told the detectives this morning. I don’t know why I didn’t. It’s just that …”

  His words faded away. Riley sensed that he was grappling with a tangle of thoughts and feelings.

  Then he said, “This sounds weird, but I feel like it was all my fault. Her affair, I mean. It wasn’t that I … well, I loved her, and I treated her well, and I don’t think I was a bad lover. We were married for twelve years, and I did everything … everything right, I thought. Everything a good husband is supposed to do. I built up a good practice, earned good money, tried to give her everything she wanted.”

  “What about children?” Riley asked.

  Fisher shook his head again.

  “We just kept putting it off. It never seemed like the right time somehow. Neither of us could say exactly why. Maybe we had doubts about ourselves, whether we’d be good parents. And as the years passed by, it just seemed to get less likely that it ever would be the right time.”

  Fisher let out a sad, bitter chuckle.

  He said, “Did you know that that Barnwell, Illinois, has been ranked the third most boring town to live in, in the whole Unites States? Except for golf. It’s not a bad town for golf. Even the bowling is considered lousy. Reese and I both grew up here. I don’t guess it occurred to either of us to go anyplace else until we were way too settled—until it was too late.”

  He shrugged slightly.

  “Small wonder she was bored—not just with the town, but with me. She loved literature and the arts. I wish I did too, but I don’t, and I’ve never been able to fake it. And Barnwell is dead to the world as far as that kind of thing is concerned. She did everything she could to liven up this town, like start a choral group, put on plays, organize reading clubs. But nothing took hold. She tried not to act like it, but she was miserable.”

  He squinted pensively.

  “I guess I hoped that whoever she was seeing … could really help fill what was missing from her life. Sometimes I try to imagine what he must be like. Rich, maybe—or at least comfortably well off, with all the taste and culture that I just don’t have. Somebody who could take her to art galleries, plays, symphonies, the opera. I hoped he could do everything that I couldn’t do.”

  Riley asked slowly, “Were you ever unfaithful?”

  Fisher shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t feel especially virtuous about it. I never took enough interest in anyone else, I guess. I’m just too …”

  He didn’t finish his sentence, but Riley knew what he was leaving unsaid.

  “I’m just too boring to do something like that.”

  Riley was feeling strangely uncomfortable now. She wasn’t sure just why. But for some reason, this man was reminding her of Ryan again.

  Why? she wondered.

  Aside from a certain physical resemblance, how were they in any way alike? Ryan was vain, self-centered, amoral, and impervious to self-criticism. This man seemed introspective and empathetic, perhaps to a fault—that is, if Riley could believe anything he was saying.

  Be careful, she told herself. She knew that credulity could be dangerous at a moment like this.

  She said, “Mr. Fisher, what you’re telling us could be very important. Do you have any idea how we might find out who your wife’s lover was?”

  “No. I’ve snooped through her office and her computer, looking through letters and emails. I’ve never found anything suspicious.”

  Riley was on the verge of asking …

  “So are you really sure she was having an affair?”

  It was quite possible that the man’s insecurity had made him paranoid.

  She reminded herself that Reese Fisher’s cell phone was supposedly on its way to Quantico to be examined by technicians there. Maybe Sam Flores and his team could find significant text messages or calls.

  Riley leaned toward Fisher slightly.

  “Mr. Fisher, do you think your wife’s involvement with another man might have had anything to do with her murder?”

  Fisher’s eyes widened, as if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him.

  “I—I don’t know,” he stammered. “I can’t imagine …”

  He seemed to be searching for the right words.

  He said, “Surely Reese would never have been involved with anybody who meant her any harm. I just can’t believe that.”

  He sounded perfectly sincere.

  But was he?

  Why couldn’t she tell?

  Riley turned
toward Bill and gave him a nod, a familiar signal for him to ask his own questions. Bill complied, asking about routine details. Did Reese have any relationship with Fern Bruder, the earlier victim? Did Fisher personally know of anyone with grudges or grievances against Reese? Had she been acting strangely lately?

  As Fisher kept saying no in answer to all of Bill’s questions, Riley studied him carefully, trying to be alert for any trace of dishonesty or evasion. She got no clear gut feelings about him at all.

  That worried her—and worried her badly.

  She knew that his alibi was almost worthless. He was certainly well off enough to hire out his wife’s murder if he wanted to.

  And now it appeared that he had ample reason to want to.

  His self-effacement and self-blame might be nothing more than an act.

  I ought to be able to tell, Riley thought.

  In fact, she prided herself on being able to see through facades, to detect evil when it was in the same room with her.

  But for some reason, her instincts didn’t seem to be engaged right now.

  Why? Was his resemblance to Ryan clouding her thinking? The possibility disturbed her deeply.

  Finally, there seemed nothing more to ask.

  Riley said, “Mr. Fisher, we’re terribly sorry for your loss, and we’re deeply grateful for your time. Do you have any plans to leave Barnwell in the next few days?”

  “No,” Fisher said.

  Riley handed him her card and said, “We’d rather you don’t. In fact, we want you to keep in close touch with us. We may need to talk to you again in the near future.”

  Fisher took the card and nodded.

  When Riley and her colleagues left the building, she was surprised at how dark it had gotten. She looked at her watch and saw that it was after nine o’clock.

  As they walked toward the car that the local police chief had lent them, Jenn asked, “So what do we think? Is he our killer?”

  Riley hesitated.

  Then she said, “I don’t know. But somebody had better keep a close eye on him.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As they walked toward the car, Riley was worried, but not about the man they had just interviewed. She had no idea whether or not he could be the killer, and that’s what disturbed her.

  Why were her instincts floundering right now?

  What was she going to do about it?

  She was grateful for the distraction when Bill’s cell phone buzzed.

  Bill took out the phone and looked at it, then said, “It’s a text from Bull Cullen. He says he’s put the three railroad men up in a local motel, and he’s made a reservation for us as well. He wants us to meet him there.”

  Riley was about to protest, but she realized she had no alternate course of action in mind. The day had slipped away quickly and there didn’t seem to be anything more they could look into tonight. Uncertainty was all they had to show for their efforts.

  Her spirits sank further as she got into the driver’s seat and drove the short distance to the motel. It didn’t help to see Bull Cullen waiting for them when she pulled the car up to the motel office. With a wide smile, he directed them to the parking spot outside a numbered door.

  Riley thought that Cullen looked positively gleeful as they got out of the car and followed him into the room he had rented for them. Then she understood why he was so pleased with himself.

  The room was small, with two single beds and a sofa that had been opened up to make a third bed. There was small desk with a chair, a shabby cabinet with an old TV, and very little space left to walk around in. It had to be the cheapest room available.

  Not that Riley cared especially, and she knew that Bill didn’t either. Over the years they’d shared much sparser lodgings and had even slept overnight in cars and vans when it had been necessary. Of course she was sure that these meager lodgings weren’t a matter of necessity.

  This was nothing short of a deliberate slight.

  She could see that Bill was trying to control his amusement, but Jenn looked thoroughly disgusted.

  Trying to sound nonchalant, Cullen asked, “How did your interview go with Chase Fisher? I don’t assume you learned anything new.”

  Riley gave him a sharp look.

  “Actually, we did,” she said. “He thinks his wife was having an affair with a man in Chicago. We don’t know who her lover is yet, or if he had anything to do with her death. Or for that matter whether Chase Fisher is a viable suspect. But …”

  She paused, then asked, “Or did you find all that out yourself? I just don’t remember seeing it in any of the reports.”

  Looking stunned, Cullen just shook his head.

  Riley commented mildly, “I guess your interview skills need some work.”

  Cullen looked stung.

  Riley added, “You’d better put a few plainclothes cops to work watching Fisher’s every move. Starting tonight. Starting right now.”

  “I’ll do that,” Cullen said curtly. His face twisted with anger, but he got it under control and asked, “What’s on your agenda for tomorrow?”

  “It depends,” Riley said. “Did the other victim, Fern Bruder, have any relatives in Allardt, Indiana?”

  “Yeah,” Cullen said. “She lived at home with her family.”

  “Did you interview them?”

  “I did. The day after Fern Bruder died.”

  Riley didn’t like being petty, but she couldn’t help twisting the knife.

  “Well, then,” she said. “I guess Agents Jeffreys and Roston and I will need to go there and interview them again. Send me the notes you took, and also the contact information for the police chief there. I’ll want to let him know we’re coming. We’ll drive to Allardt first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Cullen’s face turned red, but he still managed to hold his temper.

  “Great,” he said through clenched teeth. “Then I’ll see you later tomorrow.”

  As he turned to walk out of the room, Jenn said, “Wait a minute. Are those railroad guys we talked with today staying in this same motel?”

  “They are,” Cullen replied.

  “What kind of room did they get?”

  Cullen seemed to be surprised by the question.

  “One that’s pretty much the same as this,” he said.

  Jenn crossed her arms.

  “Huh-uh,” she said. “No way you’re going to stick those poor guys in a coop like this. Go right to the front desk and get them the nicest rooms you can get.”

  “They’re traumatized,” Cullen said. “Maybe they don’t want to be isolated. Maybe they want to be together.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Jenn said. “Did you ask them?”

  Cullen didn’t reply, but his face was reddening again.

  “Ask them and find out,” Jenn demanded. “Even if they do want to be together, get them some kind of suite with adjoining rooms or something. Something that’s a hell of a lot better than this, anyway. If this motel doesn’t have a place nice enough, take them someplace else. Get on it right now. Or else I will.”

  Cullen opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. He left the room without another word.

  Riley could see that Jenn was seething again.

  “That man!” Jenn said, pacing back and forth. “He’s really got some nerve. I don’t care if he wants to stick us in a little hole like this. But disrespecting those poor guys after what they’ve been through? What a bastard!”

  Riley shook her head and said, “Jenn …”

  “What?” Jenn said. “Was I wrong? Tell me.”

  Riley sighed.

  “No, but I keep telling you—we’ve got to work with him. Try not to let him push your buttons. I’ve got a feeling this is going to be a tough enough case as it is.”

  She tested one of the beds and sat down on it.

  She said, “We haven’t had anything to eat since this morning. Let’s order some food and talk about where things stand.”

  Bill made a ca
ll for some pizza and beer. Then the three of them settled into their crowded quarters and went over the case. The topic of discussion, of course, was the victim’s husband they had just interviewed and what little they had learned from him.

  “One thing bothers me,” Jenn said. “He didn’t cry. Was it because he was still in shock, or crying just isn’t in his nature? Or was it because he’s as guilty as hell?”

  Riley gave Jenn a cautioning look.

  “Be careful not to jump to conclusions on account of that,” she said. “People process grief in very different ways. I can’t say for sure that he wasn’t acting, but he seemed deeply shaken to me.”

  “Yeah, but marital jealousy is a classic motive,” Jenn said. “Alibi or no alibi, he could have hired somebody to do it.”

  Jenn thought for a moment, then added, “Of course, there’s still the first victim in Indiana to account for. I’m not sure how she fits into that theory.”

  Riley suppressed a discouraged sigh.

  “Oh, she fits your theory, all right,” she said. “Reese Fisher’s death might just be a copycat murder. Her husband seems like a smart enough guy. He might have read about the earlier killing and seen it as an opportunity to make his wife’s murder look like the second in a series of serial murders. It wouldn’t be the first time something like this has happened.”

  Bill let out a grunt of dismay.

  “Or,” he said, “Chase Fisher might be innocent, and Reese’s lover might be the killer, using the same copycat scenario you just mentioned.”

  “But we don’t know who her lover is,” Jenn added.

  “Or if he exists at all,” Riley added, shaking her head. “I don’t like any of these possibilities. If either Chase Fisher or his wife’s lover committed the second murder, we probably have two killers to deal with—one of whom might be planning another murder right now. If neither Fisher nor the lover is the murderer, we’re wasting valuable time even thinking about them. There’s a serial killer at large, and we’re nowhere near stopping him.”

  There seemed to be nothing more to say. The group finished their pizza and beer in silence.

  Finally Riley said, “Well, maybe we’ll learn more tomorrow when we talk to Fern Bruder’s family. If we can just find a connection between the two victims, that would be progress. Meanwhile, we’d all better get a good night’s rest.”