The Mockingbird Murders - A John Riley Novel

Chapter 2 - In Search of a Hero

The bartender finished pouring and winked knowingly.

"Lady over there," the bartender nodded to someone behind Riley's back, "asked me to get you something expensive."

Curious, Riley turned. An attractive blonde in her forties smiled invitingly from her table and raised her glass to him.

Suddenly self-conscious, Riley rubbed a hand over his stubble before he could stop himself. He was a mess, and this woman was still flirting with him.

Anyone looking at him wasn't supposed to see Detective John Riley. He had taken steps to be completely incognito, everything designed to blend into the background. He had even adopted a limp to hide what his niece called his "cop walk." A thrift store grey suit, wrinkled and frayed, made up a good part of his disguise. The shirt was stained and unironed, the tie a distant memory. His normally smooth shaven face now hosted a three-day growth of stubble with more 'white hair than black. It was the downside of getting older. Not shaving easily added fifteen years to his appearance, making him look closer to fifty-five when he usually looked no older than thirty-five. The popular saying was "black don't crack" and Riley was living proof of this...if he shaved his face and head to banish all traces white hair. He was even careful to slump on his stool, a simple trick that made his six-foot-four frame much smaller. To all appearances, he looked like just another drunk at the bar, nothing to see here.

Riley managed an awkward smile and nodded to the woman, lifting his glass in thanks, before turning back to the bar.

"Woman like that knows exactly what she wants," the bartender noted, "and right now, that is you, my friend."

"Woman like that is looking for trouble," Riley shrugged and took the glass.

The glass had barely touched his lips when someone placed a battered newspaper article onto the bar next to him. Riley sipped slowly and deliberately, carefully eyeing the article and weighing his response.

HERO COPS CATCH CANEFIELD KILLER was the headline. Directly below was a photo of Riley taken fifteen years before. In the photo, his longtime friend Troy Weekes gave an enthusiastic thumbs up to the camera.

A woman slid onto the stool next to Riley and jabbed a finger at the photo. "John Riley, you're a very hard man to find."

The bartender glanced at the article, mouthed the words and nodded, clearly impressed. "Holy shit, we got a badass in the house."

Riley drained the rest of the drink and thunked the glass down on the counter. The day had just gone tits-up, but he wasn't about to let good booze go to waste. Now if he could only get out of here without making a scene—

The young woman on the stool was attractive, the mass of curls on her head barely under control. Her brown skin and striking green eyes told Riley that at least one of her parents was white. She was exactly the type of victim Lawrence had a history of terrorizing. Murdering.

Riley's blood ran cold.

"However you tracked me down, this isn't a great time," Riley said levelly. He was surprised at the steadiness of his voice. "I'm working." He spared a glance across the bar, but somehow the girl had avoided the attention of the killer. That could only last for so long.

"My name is Melissa Greaves," the young woman said, and then seemed annoyed when Riley didn't react. "We spoke on the phone two days ago?"

Images of a hundred and twenty-three dead girls flashed across Riley's vision. They all looked eerily like Melissa Greaves. Lawrence had murdered them all over the course of twenty-five years. He had never been caught, at least not until now.

"Sure, sure," Riley said soothingly. The name was vaguely familiar, but it was something he would have to figure out later. "I remember now," he lied, "but listen: I'm working a case, and you're about to blow my cover."

"My sister Angie is missing—"

"And in an hour she'll still be missing," Riley snapped. He watched the way Melissa tensed at that and cursed himself. It was her sister that was missing dammit, not a damned puppy. Riley grabbed a napkin and hastily scribbled an address. "Meet me there in one hour. Right now, I need you to get out of here, got it?"

Melissa Greaves took the napkin reluctantly. She glanced in Lawrence's direction and then whirled around to place her back to the bar and the evil man across the room.

"Well, he looks dangerous in a bad way," she noted. "It's the eyes."

"Did he see you?" Riley's heart pounded a little too rapidly for his liking.

"No. I take it that's a bad thing if he did?" To her credit, Melissa looked terrified, but she held her emotions in check well.

Riley reassessed the young woman. He was quietly impressed with her observation. She was quick and smart, that was for certain. She shouldn't have been able to tell who Riley was shadowing. Had he been that obvious? And how had she even managed to find him in the first place?

"You were right. He's a very dangerous man," Riley said simply. Any questions he had would have to wait until later.

Melissa shrugged. "Please don't get yourself killed before you can help me," she said.

"One hour," Riley promised.

He watched her all the way until the door swung closed behind her.

Riley's gaze went to the blonde woman who watched him from her table, a smile teasing her lips. Riley wished for just a second that he could forget Lawrence and go talk to this woman instead. Her plunging neckline was as inviting as her eyes, full of promise and so much distraction. But no, it was not to be, not tonight.

Instead, Riley tilted his head in apology and turned back to the bar and to the job at hand—

Lawrence Conroy was gone.

Lawrence's balding companion stared into his drink, the man deflated now that there was no audience. Riley scanned the room, trying to remain casual in case the man was still there. He still had to remain incognito. Losing his cool because Lawrence had stepped away to the bathroom would be a mistake.

Curly Sue and her clique of friends were no longer at their booth. In a moment, Riley spotted them at the pool table. Curly Sue lined up her shot with her cue, oblivious to the danger she'd just avoided. However, that meant that Lawrence had found a new target, and Riley had not noticed. But how? What had he missed?

"Is there a back door to this place?" he asked the bartender. He already knew the answer, but he was trying to think several steps ahead. He needed to make a plan and fast.

"Out the kitchen," the bartender said, then blurted, "but you can't go through there—"

"I don't plan to," Riley replied. That would be a rookie mistake, a sure way to get caught. If Lawrence even suspected he was being followed, he would be waiting. "What street does the alley go to?"

"Empties out on Gerard. Doesn't go all the way through."

Riley threw a couple of twenties onto the bar, enough to pay for his drinks and a decent gratuity. "Thanks, man."

"Later, hero," the bartender said.

Riley tipped him a wave as he strode toward the exit, no longer slouching, forgetting his character as the drunk. The blonde watched him, eyes wide, as if impressed at his full height.

Dammit! He would not be coming back to this bar now that his cover was blown.

Right now, he had a killer to find.