Блейк Пирс - Once Lost

“No,” Sinard said. “Whoever did it must have kept those.”

“Agent Roston and I need to meet with the girl’s family as soon as possible.”

Chief Sinard frowned a little.

“That’s going to be pretty rough,” he said. “Her dad, Drew, was just out here a little while ago to identify the body. He was in pretty bad shape when he left.”

“I understand,” Riley said. “But it’s really necessary.”

Chief Sinard nodded, took a key out of his pocket, and pointed to a nearby car.

“I figure you two are going to need your own transportation,” he said. “You can use my car as long as you’re here. I’ll drive on ahead in a police vehicle and show you where the Philbins live.”

Riley let Jenn take the keys and drive. Soon they were following Sinard’s police car toward the town of Angier.

Riley asked her new partner, “What are your thoughts at this point?”

Jenn drove in silence for a moment as she seemed to mull the question over.

Then she said, “We know that the victim was seventeen years old – within the age range of about half of the victims of this kind of crime. It’s still an unusual case. Most victims of serial sexual predators are prostitutes. This one may fall into the ten percent who are victims of acquaintances of one kind or another.”

Jenn paused again.

Then she added, “More than half of these kinds of murders are by strangulation. But blunt force trauma is the second most frequent cause of death. So in that sense this murder may not be atypical. Still, we’ve got a lot to learn. The most important question is whether we’re dealing with a serial killer.”

Riley nodded grimly in agreement. Jenn wasn’t saying anything she didn’t already know, but whatever her misgivings might be about her new partner, at least she was well informed. And they were both facing the possibility of a terrible answer to that last question, both hoping the answer was “no.”

In a matter of minutes they were following Sinard into Angier and driving down Main Street. Riley saw nothing to distinguish it from other Main Streets she’d seen throughout the Midwest – bland and characterless rows of shops, some of them old and some of them new. She detected no hint of charm or quaintness. Riley had much the same feeling about the town as she’d had during the drive across the rolling prairie – a sense of something dark lurking behind the veneer of Midwestern wholesomeness.

She almost gave voice to her thoughts. But she quickly reminded herself that it wasn’t Bill who was at her side, but a young woman she barely knew and still didn’t know if she could trust.

Would Jenn Roston share Riley’s feelings, or even want to hear them?

Riley had no way of knowing, and it bothered her.

It was hard not having a partner she could talk to freely, expressing ideas as they came whether they made sense or not. She missed Bill more with every passing minute – and Lucy as well.

The victim’s family lived in an older but well-kept brick bungalow on a quiet street with large trees in the yard. The curb and the driveway were crowded with parked vehicles. Riley guessed the Philbins had a lot of visitors at the moment.

Sinard stopped his marked patrol car in the street and got out. He gestured Jenn toward a small parking space and stood giving directions to help her squeeze the car into place. Once the car was parked, Riley and Jenn got out and walked toward the house. Chief Sinard was already on his way to the front door, his patrol car still double-parked in the street.

Riley wondered – were they going to meet an innocent grieving family and many sincere and well-meaning friends and loved ones?

Or were they about to encounter people who might be capable of murder?

Either way, Riley always dreaded this kind of visit.

For several long moments, Riley couldn’t put her finger on what struck her as odd about the house where Katy Philbin had lived. As soon as she and Jenn walked in through the front door she had felt a tinge of unease.

As Riley had expected, the living room was crowded with people – well-wishing friends and neighbors, most of them women. In typical small-town style, the community was pulling together to help a family in a time of crisis.

So why did the scene strike her as somehow strange?

Then Riley realized – everything seemed uncannily organized and proper. All the people appeared to be wearing their Sunday best. They had brought food and had arranged it on the dining room table, and everybody was either tending to assigned tasks or eating and talking in hushed voices.

It reminded Riley of many funeral receptions she’d been to, the kind of event that might take place after a burial. It hardly seemed possible that Katy Philbin’s desecrated body had been found just this morning. How had this orderly gathering come together so spontaneously and quickly?

It’s that kind of town, she reminded herself.

Riley felt weirdly out of place in this world where everybody seemed to know just what to do at any given moment and for any occasion. It had been a long, long time since she’d lived in this kind of community – not since she’d been a child, really. And she was far from comfortable about being here in this kind of setting.

All this neighborly activity seemed too rehearsed, too automatic, for Riley’s liking. After all, the girl’s death hinted that something evil lurked beneath this veneer of rural propriety and decency. She couldn’t shake off an irrational feeling that all this kindness and good will was an enormous lie.

Riley and Jenn followed close behind Chief Sinard. He was saying kind things to everybody as he moved among them, and he obviously knew everybody by name.

Sinard struck Riley as truly the perfect small-town police chief. He also had the ruddy complexion of a man who had been exposed to all the weather that the Midwest had to offer. Riley felt sure he’d lived in this part of the country – perhaps this very town – all his life.

Riley remembered that his brother was Forrest Sinard, the FBI’s executive assistant director. She’d met Forrest Sinard a few times, and he’d struck her as witty and urbane, hardly the rural type at all. She wondered how two brothers had wound up following such different paths in their lives.

A man and woman seated in the back of the room were the center of everyone’s attention. Chief Sinard introduced Riley and Jenn to Katy’s parents, Drew and Lisa Philbin.

Lisa seemed barely aware of the two agents’ presence.

“Why not?” she kept asking her husband. “Why can’t I?”

“It’s best not to, honey,” Drew kept saying, holding her hands tightly. “Believe me, it’s best.”

“If not now, when?”

“I don’t know. Soon maybe. Not yet.”

Riley understood what was going on right away. She remembered Chief Sinard mentioning that Drew had been to George Tully’s field to identify his daughter’s body. Now his wife wanted to see the body too, but Drew wanted to spare her the horror – at least for the time being.

Lisa looked all around in tearful confusion.

“She’s my daughter, and I’m her mother,” she said, choking back a sob. “Katy needs me. Where is she?”

Riley felt a pang of sympathy.

Denial, she thought.

It was going to take a while before the reality of Lisa’s daughter’s death sank in.

Meanwhile, Riley guessed that she and Jenn ought to address most of their questions to Drew.

She said, “Mr. Philbin, we’re terribly sorry for your loss, and we hate to disturb you. But my colleague and I need to ask you a few questions.”

Still holding his wife’s hands tightly, Drew simply nodded.