Blake Pierce - Once Shunned

Sure enough, Sturman nudged Brennan with his elbow and said, “I’ll explain it later.”

Bill had gone to the landing in back of the house. He now came back with Riley’s shoes and handed them to her. As Riley sat down on a footstool and put them back on, doubts started to creep into her mind.

Did I get everything wrong?

She often felt swept with such uncertainties after these exercises.

After all, she wasn’t a mind reader, and there wasn’t anything magic or paranormal about the process she used. It was pure intuition, nothing more or less. She’d been wrong sometimes in the past, and she might be wrong now.

She got up from the footstool and wondered …

Did I miss something?

She looked toward the window and imagined the young woman standing there staring outside, oblivious to the danger that was creeping up behind her.

What was she looking at?

Riley had no idea.

But she knew she’d better find out.

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.