Блейк Пирс - Waiting

Another photo showed a rough-hewn stone obelisk with the Washington Monument towering far in the distance. Other images were of paths for biking and walking that passed through wooded areas.

The pictures had clearly been taken as sunset approached, creating soft gray shadows, glowing halos, and silhouettes. Riley could see that Charlie had been correct in his opinion that Janet Davis had been “one hell of a photographer.”

Riley also sensed that Janet knew the park well and had chosen her locations long in advance—and also the time of day, when visitors were few. Riley didn’t see a single person in any of the photos. It was as if Janet had had the park all to herself.

Finally came some shots of a marina, its docks and boats and water fairly shimmering as the sun finally set. The gentle calmness of the scene was truly tangible. Riley could almost hear the gentle lapping of water and the cries of birds, could almost feel the caress of cool air on her cheek.

Then finally came a much more jarring image.

It, too, was of the marina—or at least Riley thought she could make out the shapes of boats and docks. But everything was blurred and chaotic and jumbled.

Riley realized what must have happened at the very moment she’d snapped that picture …

The camera got knocked out of her hands.

Riley’s heart jumped in her throat.

She knew the image had captured the very instant when Janet Davis’s world had changed forever.

In a fraction of a second, tranquility and beauty had turned into ugliness and terror.

As Riley stared at the blurred image, she wondered …

What happened next?

After the camera was knocked from the woman’s hands, what happened to her?

What did she experience?

Did she struggle against her assailant until he somehow subdued and bound her?

Did she remain conscious throughout her ordeal? Or was she knocked unconscious right there and then, when the picture was taken?

Did she then awaken to the horror of her final moments?

Maybe it doesn’t matter, Riley thought.

She remembered what the ME had said about the likelihood that Janet had died from an overdose of amphetamines.

If that was true, she had actually been frightened to death.

And now Riley was looking at the frozen moment when that fatal terror had really begun.

She shuddered deeply at the thought.

Crivaro pointed to the photo and said to Charlie, “Magnify everything. Not just this one, all the photographs, every square centimeter.”

Charlie scratched his head and asked, “Looking for what?”

“People,” Crivaro said. “Any people you can find. Janet Davis seems to have thought she was alone, but she was wrong. Someone was lying in wait for her. Maybe—just maybe—she caught him on film without realizing it. If you find anybody at all, get as clear a blow-up as you can.”

Although she didn’t say so aloud, Riley felt skeptical.

Will Charlie find anybody?

She had a feeling about the killer—that he was far too stealthy to let himself be accidentally photographed. She doubted that even a microscopic search of the photos would reveal any trace of him.

At that moment, Crivaro’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He said, “That’s got to be McCune.”

Riley and Crivaro left the darkroom, and Crivaro stepped away to take the call. He seemed to be excited by whatever McCune was saying to him. When he ended the call, he said to Riley …

“McCune has located the costume store where Janet Davis took some pictures. He’s on his way there, and says he’ll meet us there. Let’s get going.”

When Crivaro pulled up to the store called Costume Romp, Agent McCune was already there waiting in his own vehicle. He got out and joined Riley and Crivaro as they approached the store. It looked to Riley at first like a modest storefront establishment. The front windows were filled with costumes, of course—ranging from a vampire and a mummy to fancy dress outfits suggestive of earlier centuries. There was also an Uncle Sam costume for the upcoming Fourth of July.

When she followed Crivaro and McCune inside, Riley was startled by the vastness of the long brick interior, filled with racks loaded with what appeared to be hundreds of costumes, masks, and wigs.

The sight of so much make-believe took Riley’s breath away. The costumes included pirates, monsters, soldiers, princes and princesses, wild and domestic animals, space aliens, and every other kind of character she could imagine.

It boggled Riley’s mind. After all, Halloween only came once a year. Was there really a year-round market for all these costumes? If so, what did people want with them?

A lot of costume parties, I guess.

It occurred to her that she shouldn’t be surprised, considering the horrors she was starting to learn about. In a world where such awful things happened, it was small wonder that people wanted to escape into fantasy worlds.

It also wasn’t surprising that a talented photographer like Janet Davis would enjoy taking photographs here, in the midst of such a rich array of images. No doubt she used real film here, not a digital camera.

The monster masks and costumes reminded Riley of a TV show she’d enjoyed during the last couple of years—the story of a teenage girl who fought and slew vampires and other kinds of demons.

Lately, though, Riley had found that show less appealing.

After learning about her own ability to enter a killer’s mind, the saga of a girl with superpowers and super-obligations now seemed to cut a little too close to home for comfort.

Riley, Crivaro, and McCune looked all around but didn’t see anybody.

McCune called out, “Hello—is anybody here?”

A man stepped out from behind one of the costume racks.

“May I help you?” he asked.

The man cut a startling figure. He was tall and extremely thin, wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt that was printed to resemble a tuxedo. He was also wearing familiar “Groucho” glasses—the kind with an enormous white nose, black-rimmed glasses, and bushy eyebrows and a mustache.

Obviously taken somewhat aback, Crivaro and McCune took out their badges and told the man who they and Riley were.

Seeming utterly unsurprised to be visited by the FBI, the man introduced himself as Danny Casal, the owner of the business.

“Just call me Danny,” he said.

Riley found herself waiting for him to take off the nose glasses. But as she looked at him more closely, she realized …

Those are prescription glasses.

They also had remarkably thick lenses. Danny Casal apparently wore these glasses all the time, and he surely would be quite myopic without them.

McCune opened a manila folder.

“We have photos of two women,” he said. “We need to know if you’ve ever seen either of them.”

The eyebrows and fake nose and mustache all bobbed up and down as Danny nodded. He struck Riley as a peculiarly serious and dour man to be wearing such a getup.

McCune pulled out one photo and held it for the shop owner to see.

Danny peered at the photo through his glasses.

He said, “She’s not one of our regular customers. I can’t guarantee that she’s never been in the shop, but I don’t recognize her.”

“You’re sure?” McCune asked.

“Quite positive.”

“Does the name Margo Birch mean anything to you?”

“Uh, maybe something in the news. I’m not sure.”

McCune pulled out another photo. “What about this woman? We believe she came to your establishment to take pictures.”

Riley, too, looked closely at the photograph. This must be Janet Davis. It was the first time she’d seen her living, unpainted face—smiling and happy and unaware of the terrible fate that awaited her.