Riley and Bill arrived at the Behavioral Analysis Unit to find Walder waiting for them at the door.
"We've got him," Walder said, ushering them into the building. "We've got the guy."
Riley could hear both elation and relief in his voice.
"How?" she demanded.
"Agent Paige, you've seriously underestimated Huang and Creighton," Walder said. "After you left, the receptionist told them about a creepy guy who'd been hanging around the clinic recently. His name is Darrell Gumm. Women patients had complained about him. He was always getting too close to them, they said, not respecting their personal space. He also said some pretty unsavory things to them. And once or twice he actually sneaked into the women's restroom."
Riley mulled this over, checking it against her own assumptions about the perpetrator. It could be him, she thought. She felt a flutter of excitement in her throat.
Bill asked Walder, "Didn't anybody at the clinic call the police about Gumm?"
"They were letting their own security guy handle it. The guard told Gumm to stay away. At that kind of facility they do get oddballs from time to time. But Huang and Creighton picked up on the description. They realized he sounded like the guy we're looking for. They got his address from the receptionist, and we all headed over to his apartment."
"How do you know it's him?" Riley asked.
"He confessed," Walder said firmly. "We got a confession out of him."
Riley began to feel a touch of relief herself. "And Cindy MacKinnon?" she asked. "Where is she?"
"We're working on it," Walder said.
Riley's relief faded. "What do you mean, 'working on it'?" she asked.
"We've got field agents sweeping the neighborhood. We don't think he could have taken her very far. Anyhow, he'll tell us very soon. He's doing plenty of talking."
This had better be the guy, Riley thought. Cindy MacKinnon simply had to be alive. They couldn't lose yet another innocent woman to this twisted brute. His timeline was tightening up, but surely she wouldn't already be dead this soon after the abduction. He hadn't had the pleasure of torturing her yet.
Bill asked Walder, "Where is the suspect now?"
Walder pointed the way. "We've got him over in the detention center," he said. "Come on. I'm headed there now."
Walder filled them in as they walked through the extensive BAU complex to the building where suspects were held.
"When we flashed our badges," Walder said grimly, "he invited us to come right in and make ourselves at home. Self-confident bastard."
Riley thought that sounded right. If Darren Gumm really was the perp, the agents' arrival might have been just the denouement he'd been hoping for. He might well have intended to get caught all along, after an all-too-clever, two-year game of cat and mouse with the authorities. Maybe the reward he'd been hoping for all along was fame—a lot more than fifteen minutes of fame.
The trouble was, Riley knew, he could still use his latest captive to toy with them all. And he could well be the type who would do that.
"You should have seen his place," Walder went on. "A filthy little one-room pit, with a fold-out couch and a tiny bathroom that stinks to high heaven. And on the walls, absolutely everywhere, he's got news clippings about assaults and rapes and murders from all over the country. No sign of a computer, he's completely off the grid, but I've got to say, he's got an analog database of psychopathic criminality that a lot of police departments would envy."
"And let me guess," Bill put in. "He had a cluster of stories posted up about our killings—pretty much all the information that's been made public about them for all of two years."
"He sure as hell did," Walder said. "Creighton and Huang asked him a few questions, and he acted as suspicious as hell. Finally Huang asked what he knew about Cindy MacKinnon and he clammed up. It was obvious he knew who we meant. We had enough to arrest him. And he confessed almost as soon as we got him here."
At that moment Walder led Riley and Bill into a little room with a one-way window that looked into an interrogation room.
The interrogation was already well under way. On one side of the table sat Agent Emily Creighton. Agent Craig Huang was pacing the floor behind her. Riley thought that the two young agents actually looked more capable than they had before. On the other side of the table sat Darrell Gumm. His wrists were cuffed to the tabletop.
Riley was repelled by him immediately. He was a little toad of a man, somewhere around thirty, of medium build, and somewhat pudgy. But he looked sufficiently sturdy to be a plausible physical threat, especially to defenseless women caught by surprise. His forehead sloped sharply backwards, making his skull look like that of some long extinct hominid. His chin was all but nonexistent. All in all, he certainly fit Riley's expectations. And his confession did seem to wrap things up.
"Where is she?" Creighton shouted at Gumm.
Riley could tell by the impatient crackle in Creighton's voice that she had already asked that question many times.
"Where is who?" Gumm asked in a high and unpleasant voice. His expression fairly reeked of contempt and insolence.
"Stop playing games with us," Huang said sharply.
"I don't have to say anything without a lawyer present, right?" Gumm said.
Creighton nodded. "We already told you that. We'll bring in a lawyer any time you ask for one. You keep saying you don't want one. That's your right too. You can waive your right to an attorney. Have you changed your mind?"
Gumm tilted his head and looked at the ceiling, mock-thoughtfully.
"Let me think about that. No, I don't think so. Not yet, anyway."
Huang leaned across the table toward him, trying hard to look menacing.
"I'm asking for the last time," he said. "Where did you hide the truck?"
Gumm shrugged. "And I'm saying for the last time—what truck? I don't own a truck. I don't even own a car. Shit, I don't even have a driver's license."
Speaking in a low voice, Walder informed Riley and Bill, "That last bit is true. No driver's license, no voter registration, no credit cards, nothing at all. He really does live off the grid. No wonder the truck didn't have a license plate. He probably stole it. But he couldn't have driven it far in the time he had. It has to be somewhere near his apartment."
Agent Creighton was scowling at Gumm now.
"You think this is funny, don't you?" she said. "You've got some poor woman tied up somewhere. You've admitted that much already. She's scared to death, and I'll bet she's hungry and thirsty too. How long are you going to let her suffer? Are you really willing to let her die like that?"
Gumm snickered.
"Is this the part where you knock me around?" he asked. "Or is this when you tell me that you can get me to talk without leaving any visible marks?"
Riley had tried to keep quiet, but she couldn't contain herself any longer.
"They're not asking the right questions," she said.
She pushed past Walder and headed through the door that led into the interrogation room.
"Hold it, Agent Paige," Walder commanded.
Ignoring him, Riley charged into the room. She rushed toward the table, planted both hands on it, and leaned intimidatingly toward Gumm.
"Tell me, Darrell," she snarled. "Do you like dolls?"
For the first time, Darrell's face showed a trace of alarm.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked Riley.
"I'm somebody you don't want to lie to," Riley said. "Do you like dolls?"
Darrell's eyes darted around the room.
"I dunno," he said. "Dolls? They're cute, I guess."
"Oh, you think they're more than cute, don't you?" Riley said. "You were that kind of boy when you were little—the kind who liked to play with dolls, the kind that all the kids make fun of."
Darrell turned toward the mirror that was on his side of the one-way window.
"I know somebody's back there," he called out, sounding scared now. "Will somebody get this crazy woman away from me?"
Riley walked around the table, pushed Huang aside, and stood right next to Gumm. Then she shoved her face toward his face. He leaned back, trying to escape her gaze. But she wouldn't give him room to breathe. Their faces were only three or four inches apart.
"And you still like dolls, don't you?" Riley hissed, pounding her fist on the table. "Little girl dolls. You like to take their clothes off. You like to see them naked. What do you like to do with them when they're naked?"
Darrell's eyes widened.
Riley held his gaze for a long moment. She hesitated, trying to read his expression clearly. Was that contempt or disgust that turned his mouth down so sharply?
She opened her mouth to ask more, but the door to the interrogation room burst open behind her. She heard Walder's stern voice.
"Agent Paige, I want you out of here right now."
"Give me just another minute," she said.
"Now!"
Riley stood over Gumm in silence for a moment. Now he just looked bewildered. She looked around and saw that Huang and Creighton were staring at her in dumbfounded disbelief. Then she turned away and followed Walder out into the adjoining room.
"What the hell was that all about?" Walder demanded. You're reaching. You don't want this case to be closed. It is closed. Get over it. All we've got to do now is find the victim."
Riley groaned aloud.
"I think you've got it wrong," she said. "I don't think this guy reacts to dolls the way the killer would. I need more time to be sure."
Walder stared at her for a moment, then shook his head.
"This really hasn't been your day, has it, Agent Paige?" he said. "In fact, I'd say you haven't been at your best during this whole case. Oh, you were right about one thing. Gumm doesn't seem to have had a connection to the Senator—neither political nor personal. Well, that hardly matters. I'm sure the Senator will be gratified that we brought his daughter's killer to justice."
It was all Riley could do to hold her temper.
"Agent Walder, with all due respect—" she began.
Walder interrupted. "And that's just your problem, Agent Paige. Your respect toward me has been severely lacking. I'm tired of your insubordination. Don't worry, I'm not going to file a negative report. You've done good work in the past and I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt now. I'm sure you're still traumatized from all you went through yourself. But you can go home now. We'll handle things from here."
Then Walder patted Bill on the shoulder.
"I'd like you to stay, Agent Jeffreys," he said.
Bill was fuming now. "If she's going, I'm going," he growled.
Bill led Riley out into the hallway. Walder stepped out of the room to watch them leave. But a short distance down the hallway, certainty caught up with Riley. The suspect's face had showed disgust, she was sure of that now. Her questions about naked dolls had not excited him. They had just confused him.
Riley was shaking all over. She and Bill continued on their way out of the building.
"He's not the guy," she uttered softly to Bill. "I'm sure of it."
Bill looked back, shocked, and she stopped and stared at him with full intensity.
"She's still out there," she added. "And they have no idea where she is."
*
Long after dark, Riley paced the floor at home, replaying every detail of the case in her mind. She'd even fired off emails and text messages in an effort to alert members of the Bureau that Walder had brought in the wrong man.
She had driven Bill home and been very late yet again picking up April. Riley was grateful that April hadn't made a fuss about it this time. Still subdued from the pot-smoking incident, April had even been rather pleasant as they put together a late supper and shared small talk.
Midnight came and went, and Riley felt as if her mind were going in circles. She wasn't getting anywhere. She needed someone to talk to, someone to bounce ideas off of. She thought about calling Bill. Surely he wouldn't mind getting called this late.
But no, she needed someone else—someone with insights that weren't easy to come by, someone whose judgment she'd learned to trust from past experience.
At last, she realized who that someone was.
She called a number on her cell phone and was dismayed to hear yet another recorded message.
"You've reached the number of Michael Nevins. Please leave a message at the tone."
Riley took a deep breath, then said, "Mike, could we talk? If you're there, please pick up. It's really an emergency."
No one answered. She wasn't surprised that he wasn't available. He often worked all hours. She just wished this weren't one of those times.
Finally she said, "I'm working on a bitch of a case, and I think maybe you're the only one who can help me. I'll drive up to your office first thing tomorrow morning. I hope that's okay. Like I said, it's an emergency."
She ended the call. There wasnothing more she could do right now. She only hoped she could get a few hoursof sleep.