Once Gone (27 page)

“It sure does,” April said. She gently held her mother’s hand. “Come on. Tell me.”

Riley thought for a moment. That feeling of hers still wasn’t easy to put into words.

“I…” she began, then trailed off, unsure what to say. “I’m not sure I arrested the right man.”

April’s eyes widened.

“I’m…not sure what to do,” Riley added.

April took a long breath.

“Don’t doubt yourself, Mom,” April replied. “You do it a lot. And you always wish you hadn’t. Isn’t that what you always tell me, too?”

April smiled, and Riley smiled back.

“I’ll be late if I don’t get to class,” April said. “We can talk about this later.”

April kissed Riley on the cheek, got out of the car, and dashed toward school.

Riley sat there, thinking. She didn’t drive away immediately. Instead, she called Bill.

“Anything?” she asked when she got him on the line.

She heard Bill heave a long sigh.

“Cosgrove is a strange character,” he said. “Right now he’s a real mess—exhausted and depressed, and crying a lot. I think he’ll probably crack soon. But …”

Bill paused. Riley sensed that he, too, was struggling with doubt.

“But what?” Riley asked.

“I don’t know, Riley. He seems so disoriented, and I’m not sure even knows what’s going on. He slips in and out of reality. Sometimes he doesn’t seem to understand that he’s been arrested. Maybe all those meds he’s taking are messing him up. Or maybe it’s just plain old psychosis.”

Riley’s own doubts kicked in again.

“What is he telling you?” she asked.

“Mostly, he just keeps asking for his dolls,” Bill said. “He’s worried about them, like they’re children or pets that he shouldn’t leave at home alone. He keeps saying they can’t do without him. He’s completely docile, not the least bit belligerent. But he’s not giving us any information. He’s not saying anything about the women, or whether he’s holding one right now.”

Riley turned Bill’s words over in her mind for a moment.

“So what do you think?” she finally asked. “Is he the one?”

Riley detected growing frustration in Bill’s voice.

“How could he not be? I mean, everything points to him and nobody else. The dolls, the criminal record, everything. He was in the store the same time as her. What more could you ask for? How could we have got it wrong?”

Riley said nothing. She couldn’t argue. But she could tell that Bill was struggling with his own instincts.

Then she asked: “Did somebody run a search on Madeline’s past employees?”

“Yeah,” Bill said. “But that didn’t lead anywhere. Madeline always hires high school girls to work the register. She’s been doing it pretty much since she’s been in business.”

Riley groaned with discouragement. When were they going to get a break in this case?

“Anyway,” Bill said, “a bureau psychologist will interview Cosgrove today. Maybe he can get some insights, tell us where we stand.”

“Okay,” Riley said. “Keep me in the loop.”

She ended the phone call. Her car engine was running, but she still hadn’t driven away from the school. Where was she going to go? If Newbrough really was trying to get her reinstated, he hadn’t gotten it done yet. She still didn’t have a badge—or a job.

I might as well go home,
she thought.

But as soon as she started driving, her father’s words came rushing back again.

You just keep following that gut of yours.

Right now, her gut was telling her loud and clear that she needed to get back to Shellysford. She didn’t know exactly why, but she just had to.

*

The bell above the fashion store door rang as Riley walked inside. She saw no customers. Madeline looked up from her work at the front desk and frowned. Riley could see that the shop owner was not at all happy to see her again.

“Madeline, I’m sorry about yesterday,” Riley said, walking to the desk. “I was so clumsy, and I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t actually break anything.”

Madeline folded her arms and glared at Riley.

“What do you want this time?” she asked.

“I’m still struggling with this case,” Riley said. “I need your help.”

Madeline didn’t reply for a few seconds.

“I still don’t know who you are, or even if you’re FBI,” she said.

“I know, and I don’t blame you for not trusting me,” Riley pleaded. “But I did have Reba Frye’s receipt, remember? I could only have gotten it from her father. He really did send me here. You know that much is true.”

Madeline shook her head warily.

“Well, I guess that must mean something. What do you want?”

“Just let me look at the doll collection again,” Riley said. “I promise not to make a mess this time.”

“All right,” Madeline said. “But I’m not leaving you alone.”

“That’s fair,” Riley said.

Madeline went to the back of the store and opened the folding doors. As Riley moved in among the dolls and accessories, Madeline stood in the doorway watching her like a hawk. Riley understood the woman’s misgivings, but this scrutiny wasn’t good for her concentration—especially since she really didn’t know what she ought to be looking for.

Just then the bell above the front door rang. Three rather boisterous customers burst into the store.

“Oh, brother,” Madeline said. She hurried back into the dress store to tend to her customers. Riley had the dolls all to herself, at least for the moment.

She studied them closely. Some were standing, but others were seated. All of the dolls were decked out in dresses and gowns. But even though they were clothed, the seated dolls were in exactly the same pose as the naked murder victims, their legs splayed stiffly. The killer had obviously taken his inspiration from this kind of doll.

But that wasn’t enough for Riley to go on. There had to be some other clue lurking here.

Riley’s eyes fell on a row of picture books on a lower shelf. She stooped down and began to pull them off the shelf one by one. The books were beautifully illustrated adventure stories about little girls who looked exactly like the dolls. The dolls and the girls on the covers even wore the same dresses. Riley realized the books and the dolls were originally meant to be sold together as a set.

Riley froze at the sight of one book cover. The girl had long blond hair and wide-open bright blue eyes. Her pink and white ball gown had a spray of roses draped across the skirt. She had a pink ribbon in her hair. The book was titled
A Grand Ball for a Southern Belle.

Riley’s skin crawled as she looked more closely at the girl’s face. Her eyes were bright blue, opened extremely wide, with enormous black lashes. Her lips, shaped into an exaggerated smile, were thick and bright pink. There was no doubt about it. Riley knew for certain that the killer was fixated on this very image.

At that moment, the bell rang again as the three customers left the store. Madeline trotted to the back room, visibly relieved that Riley hadn’t caused any damage. Riley showed her the book.

“Madeline, do you have the doll that goes with this book?” she asked.

Madeline looked at the cover, then scanned the shelves.

“Well, I must have had several of them at one time or another,” she said. “I don’t see any of them right now.” She thought for a moment, then added, “Now that I think of it, I sold the last of those a long time ago.”

Riley could barely keep her voice from shaking.

“Madeline, I know you don’t want to do this. But you’ve
got
to help me look for names of people who might have bought this doll. I can’t begin to tell you how important this is.”

Madeline now seemed to sympathize with Riley’s agitation.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” she said. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but I can’t. It’s been ten or fifteen years now. Even my ledger doesn’t go back that far.”

Riley’s spirits fell. Another dead end. She had taken it as far as she could possibly take it. Coming here had been a waste of time.

Riley turned to go. She crossed the store and opened the door, and as the fresh air hit her, something struck her. The smell. The fresh air outside made her realize how stale the air was in here. Not stale, but…pungent. It seemed out of place in a frilly, feminine store like this. What was it?

Then Riley realized. Ammonia. But what did that mean?

Follow your gut,
Riley
.

Halfway out the door, she stopped and turned, looking back at Madeline.

“Did you mop the floors today?” she asked.

Madeline shook her head, puzzled.

“I use a temp agency,” she said. “They send over a janitor.”

Riley’s heart pounded faster.

“A janitor?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Madeline nodded.

“He comes in during our morning hours. Not every day. Dirk is his name.”

Dirk
. Riley’s heart pounded and her skin grew cold.

“Dirk what?” she asked.

Madeline shrugged.

“I’m afraid I don’t know his last name,” she replied. “I don’t write his checks. The temp agency might, but it’s a rather slipshod outfit, really. Dirk’s not very reliable, if you want to know the truth. ”

Riley took long slow breaths to steady her nerves.

“Was he here this morning?” she asked.

Madeline nodded mutely.

Riley approached her, and summoned all her intensity.

“Madeline,” she urged, “whatever you do, do
not
let that man back in your store. Ever again.”

Madeline staggered back with shock.

“Do you mean he’s—?”

“He’s dangerous. Extremely dangerous. And I’ve got to find him right away. Do you have his phone number? Do you have any idea where he lives?”

“No, you’d have to ask the temp agency,” Madeline said in a fearful voice. “They’ll have all his information. Here, I’ll give you their business card.”

Madeline rummaged around on her desk and found a card for the Miller Staffing Agency. She handed it to Riley.

“Thank you,” Riley said with a gasp. “Thank you so much.”

Without another word, Riley rushed out of the store and got in the car and tried calling the temp office. The phone rang and rang. There was no voicemail.

She made a mental note of the address and started to drive.

*

The Miller Staffing Agency was a mile away on the other side of Shellysford. Housed in a brick storefront building, it looked like it had been in business for many years.

As Riley went inside, she saw that it was a decidedly low-tech operation that hadn’t kept up with the times. There was only one nearly obsolete computer in sight. The place was pretty crowded, with several would-be workers filling out application forms at a long table.

Three other people—clients, apparently—were crowded around the front desk. They were complaining loudly and all at once about problems they were having with the agency’s employees.

Two longhaired men worked at the desk, fending off complainers and trying to keep up with phone calls. They looked like twenty-something slackers, and they didn’t appear to be managing things at all well.

Riley managed to push her way to the front, where she caught one of the young men between phone calls. His nametag said “Melvin.”

“I’m Agent Riley Paige, FBI,” she announced, hoping that in the confusion, Melvin wouldn’t ask to see her badge. “I’m here on a murder investigation. Are you the manager?”

Melvin shrugged. “I guess.”

From his vacant expression, Riley guessed that he was either stoned or not very bright, or possibly both. At least he didn’t seem to be worried about seeing any ID.

“I’m looking for the man you’ve got working at Madeline’s,” she said. “A janitor. His first name is Dirk. Madeline doesn’t seem to know his last name.”

Melvin muttered to himself, “Dirk, Dirk, Dirk … Oh, yeah. I remember him. ‘Dirk the Dick,’ we used to call him.” Calling out to the other young man, he asked, “Hey, Randy, whatever happened to Dirk the Dick?”

“We fired him,” Randy replied. “He kept showing up late for jobs, when he bothered to show up at all. A real pain in the ass.”

“That can’t be right,” Riley said. “Madeline says he’s still working for her. He was just there this morning.”

Melvin looked puzzled now.

“I’m sure we fired him,” he said. He sat down at the old computer and began some kind of a search. “Yeah, we sure did fire him, about three weeks ago.”

 Melvin squinted at the screen, more puzzled than before.

“Hey, this is weird,” he said. “Madeline keeps sending us checks, even though he’s not working anymore. Somebody should tell her to stop doing that. She’s blowing a lot of money.”

The situation was becoming clearer to Riley. Despite being fired and no longer getting paid, Dirk still kept going to work at Madeline’s. He had his own reasons for wanting to work there—sinister reasons.

“What’s his last name?” Riley asked.

Melvin’s eyes roamed about the computer screen. He was apparently looking at Dirk’s defunct employee records.

“It’s Monroe,” Melvin said. “What else do you want to know?”

Riley was relieved that Melvin wasn’t being too scrupulous about sharing what ought to be confidential information.

“I need his address and phone number,” Riley said.

“He didn’t give us a phone number,” Melvin said, still looking at the screen. “I’ve got an address, though. Fifteen-twenty Lynn Street.”

By now, Randy had taken interest in the conversation. He was looking over Melvin’s shoulder at the computer screen.

“Hold it,” Randy said. “That address is completely bogus. The house numbers on Lynn Street don’t go anywhere near that high.”

Riley wasn’t surprised. Dirk Monroe obviously didn’t want anyone to know where he lived.

“What about a Social Security number?” she asked.

“I’ve got it,” Melvin said. He wrote the number down on a piece of paper and handed it to Riley.

“Thanks,” Riley said. She took the paper and walked away. As soon as she set foot outside, she called Bill.

“Hey, Riley,” Bill said when he answered. “I wish I could give you some good news But our psychologist interviewed Cosgrove, and he’s convinced that the man is not capable of killing anyone, let alone four women. He said—”