Blake Pierce: Once Gone

He repeated it several times. Then he said, “You’re positive it’s her?” He paused. “Was there any contact for ransom?”

He stood from his chair and stepped outside the conference room, leaving the other three men sitting in perplexed silence. After a few minutes, he came back. He looked older.

“Gentlemen, we’re now in crisis mode,” he announced. “We just got a positive ID on yesterday’s victim. Her name was Reba Frye.”

Bill gasped as if he’d been punched in the stomach; he could see Spelbren’s shock, too. But Flores looked confused.

“Should I know who that is?” Flores asked.

“Maiden name’s Newbrough,” Meredith explained. “The daughter of State Senator Mitch Newbrough – probably Virginia’s next governor.”

Flores exhaled.

“I hadn’t heard that she’d gone missing,” Spelbren said.

“It wasn’t officially reported,” Meredith said. “Her father’s already been contacted. And of course he thinks it’s political, or personal, or both. Never mind that the same thing happened to another victim six months ago.”

Meredith shook his head.

“The Senator’s leaning hard on this,” he added. “An avalanche of press is about to hit. He’ll make sure of it, to keep our feet to the fire.”

Bill’s heart sank. He hated feeling as though he were over his head. But that’s exactly how he felt right now.

A somber silence fell over the room.

Finally, Bill cleared his throat.

“We’re going to need help,” he said.

Meredith turned to him, and Bill met his hardened gaze. Suddenly, Meredith’s face knotted up with worry and disapproval. He clearly knew what Bill was thinking.

“She’s not ready,” Meredith answered, clearly knowing that Bill meant to bring her in.

Bill sighed.

“Sir,” he replied, “she knows the case better than anyone. And there’s no one smarter.”

After another pause, Bill came out and said what he was really thinking.

“I don’t think we can do it without her.”

Meredith thumped his pencil against a pad of paper a few times, clearly wishing he was anywhere but here.

“It’s a mistake,” he said. “But if she falls apart, it’s your mistake.” He exhaled again. “Call her.”

The teenage girl who opened the door looked as though she might slam it in Bill’s face. Instead, she whirled around and walked away without a word, leaving the door open.

Bill stepped inside.

“Hi, April,” he said automatically.

Riley’s daughter, a sullen, gangly fourteen-year-old, with her mother’s dark hair and hazel eyes, didn’t reply. Dressed only in an oversized T-shirt, her hair a mess, April turned a corner and plopped herself down on the couch, dead to everything except her earphones and cell phone.

Bill stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do. When he had called Riley, she had agreed to his visiting, albeit reluctantly. Had she changed her mind?

Bill glanced around as he proceeded into the dim house. He walked through the living room and saw everything was neat and in its place, which was characteristic of Riley. Yet he also noticed the blinds drawn, a film of dust on the furniture – and that wasn’t like her at all. On a bookshelf he spotted a row of shiny new paperback thrillers he’d bought for her during her leave, hoping they’d get her mind off her problems. Not a single binding looked cracked.

Bill’s sense of apprehension deepened. This was not the Riley he knew. Was Meredith right? Did she need more time on leave? Was he doing the wrong thing by reaching out to her before she was ready?

Bill braced himself and proceeded deeper into the dark house, and as he turned a corner, he found Riley, alone in the kitchen, sitting at the Formica table in her housecoat and slippers, a cup of coffee in front of her. She looked up and he saw a flash of embarrassment, as if she had forgotten he was coming. But she quickly covered it up with a weak smile, and stood.

He stepped forward and hugged her, and she hugged him, weakly, back. In her slippers, she was a little shorter than he was. She had become very thin, too thin, and his concern deepened.

He sat down across the table from her and studied her. Her hair was clean, but it wasn’t combed, either, and it looked as if she had been wearing those slippers for days. Her face looked gaunt, too pale, and much, much older since he’d last seen her five weeks ago. She looked as if she had been through hell. She had. He tried not to think about what the last killer had done to her.

She averted her gaze, and they both sat there in the thick silence. Bill had been so sure he’d know just what to say to cheer her up, to rouse her; yet as he sat there, he felt consumed by her sadness, and he lost all his words. He wanted to see her look sturdier, like her old self.

He quickly hid the envelope with the files about the new murder case on the floor beside his chair. He wasn’t sure now if he should even show her. He was beginning to feel more certain he’d made a mistake coming here. Clearly, she needed more time. In fact, seeing her here like this, he was, for the first time, unsure if his longtime partner would ever come back.

“Coffee?” she asked. He could sense her unease.

He shook his head. She was clearly fragile. When he’d visited her in the hospital and even after she’d come home, he’d been frightened for her. He had wondered if she would ever make her way back from the pain and terror she’d endured, from the depths of her longtime darkness. It was so unlike her; she’d seemed invincible with every other case. Something about this last case, this last killer, was different. Bill could understand: the man had been the most twisted psychopath he had ever encountered – and that was saying a lot.

As he studied her, something else occurred to him. She actually looked her age. She was forty years old, the same age he was, but back when she was working, animated and engaged, she’d always seemed several years younger. Gray was starting to show in her dark hair. Well, his own hair was turning too.

Riley called out to her daughter, “April!”

No reply. Riley called her name several times, louder each time, until she finally answered.

“What?” April answered from the living room, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

“What time’s your class today?”

“You know that.”

“Just tell me, okay?”

“Eight-thirty.”

Riley frowned and looked upset herself. She looked up at Bill.

“She flunked English. Cut too many classes. I’m trying to help dig her out of it.”

Bill shook his head, understanding all too well. The agency life took too much of a toll on all of them, and their families were the biggest casualty.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Riley shrugged.

“She’s fourteen. She hates me.”

“That’s not good.”

“I hated everybody when I was fourteen,” she replied. “Didn’t you?”

Bill didn’t reply. It was hard to imagine Riley ever hating everybody.

“Wait’ll your boys get that age,” Riley said. “How old are they now? I forget.”

“Eight and ten,” Bill replied, then smiled. “The way things are going with Maggie, I don’t know if I’ll even be in their lives when they get to be April’s age.”

Riley tilted her head and looked at him with concern. He’d missed that caring look.

“That bad, huh?” she said.

He looked away, not wanting to think about it.

The two of them fell silent for a moment.

“What’s that you’re hiding on the floor?” she asked.

Bill glanced down then back up and smiled; even in her state, she never missed a thing.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Bill said, picking up the envelope and setting it on the table. “Just something I’d like to talk over with you.”