Blake Pierce - Once Forsaken

Autrey didn’t reply. His face reddened with anger, but he kept his voice quiet and controlled.

“Your superior at BAU will be hearing from me,” he said.

“Of course,” Riley said with measured politeness. “Thank you for your time.”

Riley left the office and the administration building. This time the cold air felt bracing and invigorating.

Autrey’s evasiveness convinced Riley that she’d come upon a nest of trouble.

And Riley thrived on trouble.

As soon as Riley got into her car, she went over the information Dean Autrey had given her. Details about Deanna Webber’s death began to come back to her.

Of course, she remembered, bringing up old news stories on her cell phone. The congresswoman’s daughter.

Representative Hazel Webber was a rising politician, married to a prominent Maryland lawyer. Their daughter’s death had been in the headlines last fall. Riley hadn’t paid much attention to the story at the time. It seemed more like salacious gossip than real news—the sort of thing Riley thought was nobody’s business but the family’s.

Now she thought differently.

She found the phone number for Congresswoman Hazel Webber’s office in Washington. When she dialed the number, an efficient-sounding receptionist answered.

“This is Special Agent Riley Paige, with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit,” Riley said. “I’d like to arrange a meeting with Representative Webber.”

“May I ask what this is about?”

“I need to talk with her about her daughter’s death last fall.”

A silence fell.

Riley said, “I’m sorry to disturb the congresswoman and her family about this terrible tragedy. But we just need to tie up a few loose ends.”

More silence.

“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said slowly. “But Representative Webber isn’t in Washington right now. You’ll need to wait until she gets back from Maryland.”

“And when might that be?” Riley asked.

“I couldn’t say. You’ll just have to call back.”

The receptionist ended the call without another word.

She’s in Maryland, Riley thought.

She ran a quick search and found that Hazel Webber lived in Maryland horse country. It didn’t look as though the place would be hard to find.

But before Riley could start her car, her cell phone buzzed.

“This is Hazel Webber,” the caller said.

Riley was startled. The receptionist must have contacted the congresswoman immediately after hanging up on Riley. She certainly hadn’t expected to hear back from Webber herself, much less so quickly.

“How can I help you?” Webber said.

Riley explained again that she wanted to talk about some “loose ends” regarding her daughter’s death.

“Could you be a bit more specific?” Webber asked.

“I’d rather do that in person,” Riley said.

Webber was quiet for a moment.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Webber said. “And I’ll thank you and your superiors not to trouble me and my family any further. We’re just now beginning to heal. I’m sure you understand.”

Riley was struck by the woman’s icy tone. She didn’t detect the slightest trace of grief.

“Representative Webber, if you can give me just a little bit of your time—”

“I said no.”

Webber ended the call.

Riley was dumbstruck. She had no idea what to make of the terse, awkward exchange.

All she knew for sure was that she’d touched a nerve with the congresswoman.

And she needed to go to Maryland right away.

It was a pleasant two-hour drive. Since the weather was good, Riley took a route that included the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, paying the toll in order to enjoy the drive across the water.

She soon found herself in Maryland horse country, where handsome wooden fences enclosed pastures, and tree-lined lanes led to elegant homes and barns set far back from the road.

She pulled up to the gate outside the Webbers’ estate. A heavyset uniformed guard stepped out of his shack and approached her.

Riley showed the guard her badge and introduced herself.

“I’m here to see Representative Webber,” she said.

The guard stepped away and spoke into his microphone. Then he stepped toward Riley again.

“The congresswoman says there’s been some sort of mistake,” he said. “She isn’t expecting you.”

Riley smiled as broadly as she could.

“Oh, is she too busy at the moment? That’s okay, my schedule’s not tight. I’ll wait right here until she has time.”

The guard scowled, trying to look intimidating.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to leave, ma’am,” he said.

Riley shrugged and acted as if she didn’t take his meaning.

“Oh, really, it’s all right. No trouble at all. I can wait right here.”

The guard stepped away and spoke into his microphone again. After glaring at Riley silently for a moment, he went into his shack and opened the gate. Riley drove on through.

She drove through a broad, snow-patched pasture, where a couple of horses trotted freely about. It was a peaceful scene.

When she reached the house, it was even larger than she had expected—a contemporary mansion. She glimpsed other well-kept buildings just beyond a slight rise in the rolling landscape.

An Asian man wordlessly met her at the door. He was about as large as a sumo wrestler, which made his formal, butler-like suit seem grotesquely inappropriate. He led Riley through a vaulted corridor with a floor of expensive-looking reddish-brown wood.

Finally she was greeted by a small, grim-looking woman who wordlessly led her into an almost eerily neat office.

“Wait here,” the woman said.

She left, shutting the door behind her.

Riley sat in a chair near the desk. Minutes passed. She felt tempted to take a look at materials on the desk or even on the computer. But she knew that her every move was surely being recorded by security cameras.

Finally, Representative Hazel Webber swept into the room.

She was a tall woman—thin but imposing. She didn’t look old enough to have been in Congress for as long as Riley supposed—nor did she look old enough to have a college-aged daughter. A certain stiffness around her eyes might be habitual or Botox-induced or both.

Riley remembered seeing her on television. Normally when she met someone she’d seen on TV, she was struck by how different they looked in real life. Weirdly, Hazel Webber looked exactly the same. It was as if she were truly two-dimensional—an almost unnaturally shallow human being in every possible way.

Her outfit also puzzled Riley. Why was she wearing a jacket over her lightweight sweater? The house was certainly warm enough.

Part of her style, I guess, Riley figured.

The jacket gave her a more formal, businesslike look than just slacks and a sweater. Perhaps it also represented a kind of armor, a protection against any genuine human contact.

Riley stood up to introduce herself, but Webber spoke first.

“Agent Riley Paige, BAU,” she said. “I know.”

Without another word, she sat down at her desk.

“What are you here to tell me?” Webber said.

Riley felt a jolt of alarm. Of course, she had nothing to tell her. Her whole visit was a bluff, and Webber suddenly struck her as the kind of woman who wasn’t easily bluffed. Riley was in over her head and had to tread water as hard as she could.

“I’m actually here to ask you for information,” Riley said. “Is your husband at home?”

“Yes,” the woman said.

“Would it be possible for me to talk with both of you?”

“He knows that you’re here.”