Blake Pierce - Once Hunted

Riley remembered how Hatcher had pointed to Bill’s wedding band and said:

“Forget about trying to fix things with your wife. It can’t be done.”

Hatcher had been right, and Bill was now in the middle of an ugly divorce.

At the end of the same visit, he’d said something to Riley that still haunted her.

“Stop fighting it.”

To this day, she didn’t know what Hatcher had meant she should stop fighting. But she felt an inexplicable dread that one day she was going to find out.

A little while later, Bill parked alongside a huge pile of plowed snow outside Kelsey Sprigge’s house in Searcy. Riley saw a police car parked nearby with a couple of uniformed cops inside. But two cops in a car didn’t inspire her with a whole lot of confidence. The vicious and brilliant criminal who had broken out of Sing Sing could make short work of them if he put his mind to it.

Bill and Riley got out of the car and flashed their badges at the cops. Then they walked up the shoveled sidewalk toward the house. It was a traditional two-story home with a practical pitched roof and enclosed front porch, and it was covered with Christmas lights. Riley rang the doorbell.

A woman answered the door with a charming smile. She was lean and fit and wearing a jogging suit. Her expression was bright and cheerful.

“Why, you must be Agents Jeffreys and Paige,” she said. “I’m Kelsey Sprigge. Come on in. Get out of this awful cold.”

Kelsey Sprigge led Riley and Bill to a cozy living room with a roaring fire.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked. “Of course, you’re on duty. I’ll get some coffee.”

She went into the kitchen, and Bill and Riley sat down. Riley looked around at the Christmas decorations and at the dozens of framed photographs hanging from the walls and resting on the furniture. They were taken of Kelsey Sprigge at various times of her adult life, with children and grandchildren all around her. In many of the pictures, a smiling man stood at her side.

Riley remembered that Flores had said she was a widow. From the photos Riley guessed that it had been a long, happy marriage. Somehow, Kelsey Sprigge had managed to accomplish something that had always defeated Riley. She had lived a full, loving family life while working as an FBI agent.

Riley more than half wanted to ask her how she’d managed that. But of course, now was not the time.

The woman quickly returned carrying a tray with two cups of coffee, cream and sugar, and – to Riley’s surprise – a scotch on the rocks for herself.

Riley was in awe of Kelsey. For a woman of seventy, she was extremely spry and full of life, and tougher than most women she’d met. In some ways, Riley felt it was like looking at a sneak preview of the woman she might become.

“Well, now,” Kelsey said, sitting down and smiling. “I wish our weather was more welcoming.”

Riley was startled by her easy hospitality. Under the circumstances, she thought that the woman should be truly alarmed.

“Ms. Sprigge – ” Bill began.

“Kelsey, please,” the woman interrupted. “And I know why you’re here. You’re worried that Shane Hatcher might be coming after me, that I might be his first target. You think he wants to murder me.”

Riley and Bill looked at each other, not sure what to say.

“And of course, that’s why those police are outside,” Kelsey said, still smiling sweetly. “I asked them to come in and warm up, but they wouldn’t do it. They wouldn’t even let me go out for my afternoon jog! Such a shame, I just love getting out for a run in this brisk weather. Well, I’m not worried about being murdered, and I don’t think you should worry either. I really don’t think that Shane Hatcher intends to do any such thing.”

Riley almost blurted, “Why not?”

Instead, she said cautiously, “Kelsey, you captured him. You brought him to justice. He was spending his life in prison because of you. You might be the whole reason he got out.”

Kelsey didn’t say anything for a moment. She was eyeing the pistol in Riley’s holster.

“What weapon do you carry, dear?” she asked.

“A forty-caliber Glock,” Riley said.

“Nice!” Kelsey said. “May I have a look at it?”

Riley handed Kelsey her weapon. Kelsey took out the magazine and examined the gun. She handled it with the appreciation of a connoisseur.

“Glocks came along a little too late for me to use in the field,” she said. “I like them, though. The polymer frame has a good feel to it – very light, excellent balance. I love the sighting arrangement.”

She put the magazine back in and handed the gun back to Riley. Then she walked over to a desk. She took out a semiautomatic pistol of her own.

“I took Shane Hatcher down with this baby,” she said, smiling. She handed the gun to Riley, then sat back down. “Smith and Wesson Model 459. I wounded and disarmed him. My partner wanted to kill him on the spot – revenge for the cop he’d killed. Well, I wouldn’t have it. I told him if he did kill Hatcher, there’d be more than one corpse to bury.”

Kelsey blushed a little.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “I’d rather that story didn’t get around. Please don’t tell anybody.”

Riley handed the weapon back to her.

“Anyway, I could tell that I met with Hatcher’s approval,” Kelsey said. “You know, he had a strict code, even as a gangbanger. He knew that I was just doing my job. I think he respected that. And he was grateful, too. Anyway, he’s never shown any interest in me. I even wrote him a few letters, but he never wrote back. He probably doesn’t even remember my name. No, I’m all but positive he doesn’t want to kill me.”

Kelsey peered at Riley with interest.

“But Riley – is it OK for me to call you Riley? – you told me on the phone that you’d actually visited him, that you’d gotten to know him. He must be quite fascinating.”

Riley thought she actually detected a note of envy in the woman’s voice.

Kelsey rose from her chair.

“But listen to me babble, while you’ve got a bad guy to catch! And who knows what he might be up to, even as we speak. I’ve got some information that might help. Come on, I’ll show you everything I’ve got.”

She led Riley and Bill through a hallway to a basement door. Riley’s nerves quickened.

Why does it have to be in a basement? she thought.

Riley had harbored a slight but irrational phobia about basements for some time now – vestiges of PTSD from having been held captive in Peterson’s damp crawlspace, and even more recently from having taken out a different killer in a pitch-dark basement.

But as they followed Kelsey down the stairs, Riley saw nothing sinister. The basement was finished as a comfortable rec room. In one corner was a well-lighted office area with a desk covered with manila folders, a bulletin board with old photographs and newspaper clippings, and a couple of filing drawers.

“Here it is – everything you could want to know about ‘Shane the Chain’ and his career and downfall,” Kelsey said. “Help yourself. Ask if you need help making sense out of it all.”

Riley and Bill started looking through folders. Riley was surprised and thrilled. It was a fascinating, even daunting body of information and a lot of it had never been scanned for the FBI database. The folder she was looking through was crammed with seemingly unimportant items, including restaurant napkins with handwritten notes and sketches pertaining to the case.

She opened another folder that held photocopied reports and other documents. Riley was a bit amused to realize that Kelsey surely wasn’t supposed to have copied or kept them. The originals had surely long since been shredded after being scanned.