Riley's heart was pounding in anticipation as she pulled into the little town of Shellysford. Madeline's Fashions was easy to spot. It was in plain view on the main street, and its name was displayed across the front window. Shellysford was a bit more upscale than she'd expected. Some apparently historic buildings had been kept in good repair, and the main street verged on elegance. The rather chic-looking clothing store fit in well with its prosperous surroundings.
Riley parked at the curb in front of the store, got out of her car, and took in her surroundings. She immediately noticed that one of the store's window mannequins was actually holding a doll—a princess in a pink dress, wearing a sparkly tiara. The agents combing this town, though, may have easily have taken this as mere window dressing. Only a small sign in the window suggested otherwise: Collectible Dolls Shown By Appointment.
A bell above the door rang as Riley walked inside, and the woman at the counter glanced in her direction. She looked middle-aged but remarkably youthful, and her graying hair was full and healthy.
Riley weighed her options. Without her badge, she had to be careful. True, she'd managed to get other retailers to talk to her without it. But she absolutely did not want to spook this woman.
"Excuse me," Riley said. "Are you Madeline?"
The woman smiled. "Well, my name is actually Mildred, but I go by Madeline. I like it better. And it sounds better for the name of a store. 'Mildred's Fashions' just wouldn't have the same ring." The woman chuckled and winked. "It wouldn't draw quite the clientele I'm aiming for."
So far so good, Riley thought. The woman was open and talkative.
"Lovely place," Riley said, looking around. "But seems like a lot of work for one person. Have you got any help? Surely you don't do all this by yourself."
The woman shrugged.
"Mostly I do," she said. "Sometimes I've got a teenage girl who works the register while I help customers. This is a quiet day, though. There was no need for her to come in."
Still considering the right approach, Riley walked over to a clothing rack and fingered some of the merchandise.
"Beautiful outfits," she said. "Not many stores carry dresses like these."
Madeline looked pleased.
"No, you're not likely to find anything like them elsewhere," she said. "They're all high fashion, but I buy them from outlets when styles have been discontinued. So by big city standards, these would be yesterday's fashion." Then with another wink and a grin, she added, "But in a little town like Shellysford—well, they might as well be the latest thing."
Madeline pulled a lavender-colored cocktail dress off the rack.
"You'd look wonderful in this," she said. "It's perfect for your coloring—and for your personality too, I suspect."
Riley didn't think so. In fact, she couldn't see herself wearing any of the store's rather posh outfits. Still, she was sure that this dress would have been more appropriate at the country club than what she was now wearing.
"Actually," Riley said, "I was hoping to look at some of your dolls."
Madeline looked slightly surprised.
"Did you make an appointment?" she asked. "If you did, it seems to have slipped my mind. And how did you find out about our doll collection?"
Riley pulled the receipt out of her handbag and showed it to Madeline.
"Someone gave this to me," Riley said.
"Oh, a referral," Madeline said, obviously pleased. "Well, I can make an exception, then."
She walked to the back of the store and opened a wide folding door, and Riley followed her into a small back room. Its shelves were lined with dolls, and a couple of racks standing on the floor were filled with doll accessories.
"I started this little side business a few years back," Madeline said. "I had the opportunity to buy out the stock of a manufacturer that went out of business. The owner was a cousin of mine, so when they closed down I got a special deal. I'm happy to pass on those savings to my customers."
Madeline picked up a doll and looked it over proudly.
"Aren't they lovely?" she said. "Little girls love them. Their parents too. And these dolls are no longer being made, so they're truly collectibles, even though they're not antiques. And look at all these costumes. Any of my dolls can wear any of these outfits."
Riley scanned the rows of dolls. They looked much alike, although their hair color varied. So did their clothes, which included modern dress, princess gowns, and historical outfits. Among the accessories, Riley saw doll furniture to go with each style. The prices of the dolls were all above a hundred dollars.
"I hope you understand why I don't keep this section open," Madeline explained. "Most of my walk-in clients aren't shopping for dolls. And just between you and me," she added, lowering her voice to a whisper, "many of these smaller items are awfully easy to steal. So I'm careful about who I show all this to."
Fluffing up a doll's dress, Madeline asked, "By the way, what is your name? I like to know the names of all my customers."
"Riley Paige."
Then Madeline squinted with an inquisitive smile.
"And who was the customer who referred you?" she asked.
"Reba Frye," Riley said.
Madeline's face darkened.
"Oh, dear," she said. "The state senator's daughter. I remember when she came in. And I heard about ..." She fell silent for a moment. "Oh, dear," she added, shaking her head sadly.
Then she looked at Riley warily.
"Please tell me you're not a reporter," she said. "If so, I must ask you to leave. It would be terrible publicity for my store."
"No, I'm an FBI agent," Riley said. "And the truth is, I'm here to investigate Reba Frye's murder. I met with her father, Senator Newbrough, just a little while ago. He gave me this receipt. That's why I'm here."
Madeline looked more and more uneasy.
"Would you show me your badge?" she asked.
Riley held back a sigh. She had to bluff her way through this somehow. She had to lie at least a little.
"I'm off duty," she said. "We don't carry badges when we're off duty. It's standard procedure. I just came here on my own time to find out whatever I could."
Madeline nodded sympathetically. She seemed to believe her—or at least not to disbelieve her. Riley tried not to show her relief.
"What can I do to help?" Madeline asked.
"Just tell me anything you can about that day. Who else came in to work? How many customers came in?"
Madeline held out her hand. "May I see the receipt? For the date, I mean."
Riley handed her the receipt.
"Oh, yes, I remember," Madeline said as she looked at it. "That was a crazy day, several weeks ago."
Riley's attention quickened.
"Crazy?" Riley asked. "How so?"
Madeline knitted her brow as she recollected.
"A collector came in," she said. "He bought twenty dolls at once. I was surprised that he had the money. He didn't look all that rich. He was just a rather sad-looking older man. I gave him a special price. Things were really a mess while my girl and I rang up all that merchandise. We're not used to that kind of business. Everything was in turmoil for a little while there."
Riley's mind clicked away, putting this information together.
"Was Reba Frye in the store at the same time as this collector?" she asked.
Madeline nodded. "Why yes," she said. "Now that you mention it, she was here right then."
"Do you keep a record of your customers?" Riley asked. "With contact information?"
"Yes, I do," Madeline said.
"I need to see the man's name and address," Riley said. "It's very important."
Madeline's expression grew more wary.
"You said the Senator gave you this receipt?" she asked.
"How else could I have gotten it?" Riley asked.
Madeline nodded. "I'm sure that's true, but still ..."
She paused, struggling with her decision.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she blurted, "but I can't do it—let you look at the records, I mean. You don't even have any identification, and my customers deserve their privacy. No, really, Senator or no Senator, I can't let you look at it without a warrant. I'm sorry, but it just doesn't seem right to me. I hope you understand."
Riley took a long breath as she tried to assess the situation. She didn't doubt that Bill would show up here as soon as he could. But how soon would that be? And would the woman still insist on seeing a warrant? How much more time might that involve? For all Riley knew, someone's life might be hanging in the balance right that very minute.
"I understand," Riley said. "But is it okay if I just look around here a bit? I might find some clues."
Madeline nodded. "Of course," she said. "Take as long as you like."
A distraction tactic quickly took shape in Riley's mind. She began to browse among the dolls while Madeline tidied up some of the accessories. Riley reached up onto a high shelf as if trying to fetch down a doll. Instead, she managed to knock a whole row of dolls off the shelf.
"Oh!" Riley said. "I'm so sorry!"
She backed away in the clumsiest manner she could muster. She collided with a rack of accessories and knocked them all over.
"Oh, I'm so, so sorry!" Riley said again.
"It's all right," Madeline said with more than a note of irritation. "Just—just let me take care of it."
Madeline started to pick up the scattered merchandise. Riley hastily left the room and headed for the front desk. Glancing to make sure that Madeline wasn't watching her, Riley dived behind the desk. She quickly spotted a ledger book on a shelf under the cash register.
Her fingers shaking, Riley thumbed through the ledger. She quickly found the date, the name of the man, and his address. She didn't have time to write it down, so she committed it to memory.
She had just stepped out from behind the counter when Madeline returned from the back room. Madeline looked genuinely suspicious now.
"You'd really better leave," she said. "If you come back with a warrant, I'll be able to help. I certainly want to help the Senator and his family in any way I can. I feel terrible about all they're going through. But right now—well, I think you should leave."
Riley made a beeline toward the front door.
"I—I understand," she stammered. "I'm terribly sorry."
She rushed to her car and got in. She took out her cell phone and called Bill's number.
"Bill, I've got a name!" she almost shouted when he answered. "His name is Gerald Cosgrove. And I've got his address."
Remembering carefully, Riley recited the address to Bill.
"I'm only a few minutes away," Bill said. "I'll call in his name and address, see what kind of information the Bureau can turn up. I'll get back to you right away."
Bill ended the phone call. Riley fidgeted, waiting impatiently. She looked back at the store and noticed that Madeline was standing near the window, looking out at her suspiciously. Riley couldn't blame Madeline for her mistrust. Her behavior just now had been more than a little odd.
Riley's cell phone buzzed. She answered it.
"Bingo," Bill said. "The guy's a registered sex offender. The address you gave me isn't far. You're maybe a little closer to him than I am."
"I'm driving there right now," Riley said, stepping on the gas.
"For Christ's sake, Riley, don't go in there alone!" he barked back. "Wait for me outside. I'll get there as soon as I can. Do you hear me?"
Riley ended the call and drove away. No, she could not wait.
*
Less than fifteen minutes later, Riley pulled up to a dusty, isolated lot. A shabby-looking mobile home sat in the middle of it. Riley parked her car and got out.
An old car was parked on the street in front of the lot, but Riley didn't see any sign of the truck the witness described after Cindy MacKinnon's abduction. Of course, Cosgrove might well be keeping it somewhere else. Or perhaps he had dumped it for fear that it might be traced.
Riley shuddered when she saw a couple of sheds with padlocked doors at the back of the lot. Was that where he had kept the women? Was he holding one right now, torturing her and preparing to kill her?
Riley looked around, taking in the area. The lot wasn't completely isolated. There were a few houses and mobile homes not far away. Even so, it seemed likely that no one live near enough to hear a woman screaming in one of those sheds.
Riley drew her gun and approached the trailer. It was set up on a permanent foundation, and it looked like it had been there for many years. Some time ago, someone had planted a flower bed alongside the trailer to make it look more like a regular house. But now the bed was overrun with weeds.
So far, the place matched her expectations. She felt certain that she'd come to the right place.
"It's all over for you, you bastard," she murmured under her breath. "You'll never take another victim."
When she reached the trailer, she banged on the metal door.
"Gerald Cosgrove!" she yelled. "This is the FBI. Are you in there?"
There was no answer. Riley edged her way up onto the cinderblock steps and peered through the door's little window. What she saw inside chilled her to the bone.
The place seemed to be packed full of dolls. She didn't see a living soul, just dolls of all shapes and sizes.
Riley shook the door handle. It was locked. She banged on the door again. This time she heard a man's voice.
"Go away. Leave me alone. I didn't do anything."
Riley thought she heard someone scrambling around inside. The trailer door was designed to open outward, so she couldn't kick it in. She fired her gun at the locked handle. The door fell open.
Riley burst into the small main room. She was momentarily dazzled by the sheer number and array of dolls. There must have been hundreds of them. They were simply everywhere—on shelves, on tables, and even on the floor. It took a moment for her to see a man among them, cowering on the floor against a partition wall.
"Don't shoot," Cosgrove pleaded, his hands raised and shaking. "I didn't do it. Don't shoot me."
Riley sprung at him and yanked him to his feet. She spun him around and pulled one hand behind his back. She holstered her handgun and got out her cuffs.
"Give me your other hand," she said.
Shaking from head to foot, he obeyed without hesitation. Riley quickly had him cuffed and sitting awkwardly in a chair.
He was a weak-looking man in his sixties with thin gray hair. He cut a pathetic figure, sitting there with tears running down his face. But Riley wasted no pity on him. The spectacle of all these dolls was enough to tell her that he was a sick, twisted man.
Before she could ask any questions, she heard Bill's voice.
"Jesus, Riley. Did you blow open this door?"
Riley turned and saw Bill stepping into the trailer.
"He wouldn't open up," Riley said.
Bill growled under his breath. "I thought I told you to wait outside," he said.
"And I thought you knew better than to think I would," Riley said. "Anyway, I'm glad you're here. This looks like our guy."
The man was wailing now.
"I didn't do it! It wasn't me! I did my time! I put all that stuff behind me!"
Riley asked Bill, "What did you find out about him?"
"He did some time for attempted child molestation. Nothing since—until now."
This made good enough sense to Riley. This monstrous little man had undoubtedly moved on to bigger prey—and to greater cruelty.
"That was years ago," the man said. "I've been good ever since. I take my meds. I don't get those urges anymore. It's all in the past. You've made a mistake."
Bill asked in a cynical tone, "So you're an innocent man, eh?"
"That's right. Whatever you think I did, it wasn't me."
"So what's with all the dolls?" Riley asked.
Through his tears, Cosgrove smiled brokenly.
"Aren't they beautiful?" he said. "I collected them little by little. I got lucky a few weeks back, found this great store over in Shellysford. So many dolls and so many different dresses. I spent my whole Social Security check right there and then, bought as many as my money could get me."
Bill shook his head. "I sure as hell don't want to know what you do with them," he said.
"It's not what you think," Cosgrove said. "They're like my family. My only friends. They're all I've got. I just stay home with them. It's not like I can afford to go anywhere. They treat me right. They don't judge me."
Again, Riley worried. Was Cosgrove holding a victim right now?
"I want to check your sheds out back," she told him.
"Go ahead," he said. "There's nothing there. I've got nothing to hide. The keys are right over there."
He nodded toward a bunch of keys hanging next to the wounded door. Riley walked over and grabbed them.
"I'm going out there for a look," she said.
"Not without me, you're not," Bill said.
Together, Bill and Riley used Bill's cuffs to fasten Cosgrove to his refrigerator door. Then they stepped outside and walked around the trailer. They opened the first shed's padlock and looked inside. There was nothing in there except a garden rake.
Bill stepped into the shed and looked around.
"Nothing," he said. "Not even any sign of blood."
They walked over to the next shed, unlocked it, and looked inside. Aside from a rusty hand lawnmower, the shed was completely empty.
"He must have held them somewhere else," Bill said.
Bill and Riley went back to into the trailer. Cosgrove was still sitting there, gazing wretchedly at his family of dolls. Riley found him a troubling sight—a man with no real life of his own, and certainly no future.
Still, he struck her as an enigma. She decided to ask him a couple of questions.
"Gerald, where were you last Wednesday morning?"
"What?" Cosgrove replied. "What do you mean? I don't know. I don't remember Wednesday. Here, I guess. Where else would I be?"
Riley gazed at him with increasing curiosity.
"Gerald," she said, "what day is today?"
Cosgrove's eyes darted around in desperate confusion.
"I—I don't know," he stammered.
Riley wondered—could it possibly be true? Did he not know what day it was? He sounded perfectly sincere. He certainly didn't seem bitter or angry. She saw no fight in him at all. Just fear and desperation.
Then she sternly reminded herself not to let him take her in. A true psychopath could sometimes fool even a seasoned veteran with a total lie.
Bill unfastened Cosgrove from the refrigerator. Cosgrove was still cuffed behind his back.
Bill barked out, "Gerald Cosgrove, you're under arrest for the murders of three women ..."
Bill and Riley escorted him roughly out of the trailer as Bill continued with the victims' names and Cosgrove's rights. Then they shoved him to the car Bill had driven here—a well-equipped Bureau vehicle with mesh caging between the back and front seats. Riley and Bill pushed him into the back seat. They strapped and cuffed him in securely. Afterwards they both just stood for a moment without saying a word.
"Damn it, Riley, you did it," Bill muttered with admiration. "You caught the bastard—even without your badge. The Bureau's going to welcome you back with open arms."
"Do you want me to ride with you?" Riley asked.
Bill shrugged. "Naw, I've got him under control. I'll get him into custody. You just take your own car back."
Riley decided not to argue, wondering if Bill still harbored resentment toward her for the other night.
As she watched Bill pull away, Riley wanted to congratulate herself on her success, and her redemption. But any feeling of satisfaction evaded her. Something kept nagging at her. She kept hearing her father's words.
You just keep following that gut of yours.
Little by little as she drove, Riley started to realize something.
Her gut was telling her thatthey'd gotten the wrong man.OU$nRiley's heart was pounding in anticipation as she pulled into the little town of Shellysford. Madeline's Fashions was easy to spot. It was in plain view on the main street, and its name was displayed across the front window. Shellysford was a bit more upscale than she'd expected. Some apparently historic buildings had been kept in good repair, and the main street verged on elegance. The rather chic-looking clothing store fit in well with its prosperous surroundings.
Riley parked at the curb in front of the store, got out of her car, and took in her surroundings. She immediately noticed that one of the store's window mannequins was actually holding a doll—a princess in a pink dress, wearing a sparkly tiara. The agents combing this town, though, may have easily have taken this as mere window dressing. Only a small sign in the window suggested otherwise: Collectible Dolls Shown By Appointment.
A bell above the door rang as Riley walked inside, and the woman at the counter glanced in her direction. She looked middle-aged but remarkably youthful, and her graying hair was full and healthy.
Riley weighed her options. Without her badge, she had to be careful. True, she'd managed to get other retailers to talk to her without it. But she absolutely did not want to spook this woman.
"Excuse me," Riley said. "Are you Madeline?"
The woman smiled. "Well, my name is actually Mildred, but I go by Madeline. I like it better. And it sounds better for the name of a store. 'Mildred's Fashions' just wouldn't have the same ring." The woman chuckled and winked. "It wouldn't draw quite the clientele I'm aiming for."
So far so good, Riley thought. The woman was open and talkative.
"Lovely place," Riley said, looking around. "But seems like a lot of work for one person. Have you got any help? Surely you don't do all this by yourself."
The woman shrugged.
"Mostly I do," she said. "Sometimes I've got a teenage girl who works the register while I help customers. This is a quiet day, though. There was no need for her to come in."
Still considering the right approach, Riley walked over to a clothing rack and fingered some of the merchandise.
"Beautiful outfits," she said. "Not many stores carry dresses like these."
Madeline looked pleased.
"No, you're not likely to find anything like them elsewhere," she said. "They're all high fashion, but I buy them from outlets when styles have been discontinued. So by big city standards, these would be yesterday's fashion." Then with another wink and a grin, she added, "But in a little town like Shellysford—well, they might as well be the latest thing."
Madeline pulled a lavender-colored cocktail dress off the rack.
"You'd look wonderful in this," she said. "It's perfect for your coloring—and for your personality too, I suspect."
Riley didn't think so. In fact, she couldn't see herself wearing any of the store's rather posh outfits. Still, she was sure that this dress would have been more appropriate at the country club than what she was now wearing.
"Actually," Riley said, "I was hoping to look at some of your dolls."
Madeline looked slightly surprised.
"Did you make an appointment?" she asked. "If you did, it seems to have slipped my mind. And how did you find out about our doll collection?"
Riley pulled the receipt out of her handbag and showed it to Madeline.
"Someone gave this to me," Riley said.
"Oh, a referral," Madeline said, obviously pleased. "Well, I can make an exception, then."
She walked to the back of the store and opened a wide folding door, and Riley followed her into a small back room. Its shelves were lined with dolls, and a couple of racks standing on the floor were filled with doll accessories.
"I started this little side business a few years back," Madeline said. "I had the opportunity to buy out the stock of a manufacturer that went out of business. The owner was a cousin of mine, so when they closed down I got a special deal. I'm happy to pass on those savings to my customers."
Madeline picked up a doll and looked it over proudly.
"Aren't they lovely?" she said. "Little girls love them. Their parents too. And these dolls are no longer being made, so they're truly collectibles, even though they're not antiques. And look at all these costumes. Any of my dolls can wear any of these outfits."
Riley scanned the rows of dolls. They looked much alike, although their hair color varied. So did their clothes, which included modern dress, princess gowns, and historical outfits. Among the accessories, Riley saw doll furniture to go with each style. The prices of the dolls were all above a hundred dollars.
"I hope you understand why I don't keep this section open," Madeline explained. "Most of my walk-in clients aren't shopping for dolls. And just between you and me," she added, lowering her voice to a whisper, "many of these smaller items are awfully easy to steal. So I'm careful about who I show all this to."
Fluffing up a doll's dress, Madeline asked, "By the way, what is your name? I like to know the names of all my customers."
"Riley Paige."
Then Madeline squinted with an inquisitive smile.
"And who was the customer who referred you?" she asked.
"Reba Frye," Riley said.
Madeline's face darkened.
"Oh, dear," she said. "The state senator's daughter. I remember when she came in. And I heard about ..." She fell silent for a moment. "Oh, dear," she added, shaking her head sadly.
Then she looked at Riley warily.
"Please tell me you're not a reporter," she said. "If so, I must ask you to leave. It would be terrible publicity for my store."
"No, I'm an FBI agent," Riley said. "And the truth is, I'm here to investigate Reba Frye's murder. I met with her father, Senator Newbrough, just a little while ago. He gave me this receipt. That's why I'm here."
Madeline looked more and more uneasy.
"Would you show me your badge?" she asked.
Riley held back a sigh. She had to bluff her way through this somehow. She had to lie at least a little.
"I'm off duty," she said. "We don't carry badges when we're off duty. It's standard procedure. I just came here on my own time to find out whatever I could."
Madeline nodded sympathetically. She seemed to believe her—or at least not to disbelieve her. Riley tried not to show her relief.
"What can I do to help?" Madeline asked.
"Just tell me anything you can about that day. Who else came in to work? How many customers came in?"
Madeline held out her hand. "May I see the receipt? For the date, I mean."
Riley handed her the receipt.
"Oh, yes, I remember," Madeline said as she looked at it. "That was a crazy day, several weeks ago."
Riley's attention quickened.
"Crazy?" Riley asked. "How so?"
Madeline knitted her brow as she recollected.
"A collector came in," she said. "He bought twenty dolls at once. I was surprised that he had the money. He didn't look all that rich. He was just a rather sad-looking older man. I gave him a special price. Things were really a mess while my girl and I rang up all that merchandise. We're not used to that kind of business. Everything was in turmoil for a little while there."
Riley's mind clicked away, putting this information together.
"Was Reba Frye in the store at the same time as this collector?" she asked.
Madeline nodded. "Why yes," she said. "Now that you mention it, she was here right then."
"Do you keep a record of your customers?" Riley asked. "With contact information?"
"Yes, I do," Madeline said.
"I need to see the man's name and address," Riley said. "It's very important."
Madeline's expression grew more wary.
"You said the Senator gave you this receipt?" she asked.
"How else could I have gotten it?" Riley asked.
Madeline nodded. "I'm sure that's true, but still ..."
She paused, struggling with her decision.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she blurted, "but I can't do it—let you look at the records, I mean. You don't even have any identification, and my customers deserve their privacy. No, really, Senator or no Senator, I can't let you look at it without a warrant. I'm sorry, but it just doesn't seem right to me. I hope you understand."
Riley took a long breath as she tried to assess the situation. She didn't doubt that Bill would show up here as soon as he could. But how soon would that be? And would the woman still insist on seeing a warrant? How much more time might that involve? For all Riley knew, someone's life might be hanging in the balance right that very minute.
"I understand," Riley said. "But is it okay if I just look around here a bit? I might find some clues."
Madeline nodded. "Of course," she said. "Take as long as you like."
A distraction tactic quickly took shape in Riley's mind. She began to browse among the dolls while Madeline tidied up some of the accessories. Riley reached up onto a high shelf as if trying to fetch down a doll. Instead, she managed to knock a whole row of dolls off the shelf.
"Oh!" Riley said. "I'm so sorry!"
She backed away in the clumsiest manner she could muster. She collided with a rack of accessories and knocked them all over.
"Oh, I'm so, so sorry!" Riley said again.
"It's all right," Madeline said with more than a note of irritation. "Just—just let me take care of it."
Madeline started to pick up the scattered merchandise. Riley hastily left the room and headed for the front desk. Glancing to make sure that Madeline wasn't watching her, Riley dived behind the desk. She quickly spotted a ledger book on a shelf under the cash register.
Her fingers shaking, Riley thumbed through the ledger. She quickly found the date, the name of the man, and his address. She didn't have time to write it down, so she committed it to memory.
She had just stepped out from behind the counter when Madeline returned from the back room. Madeline looked genuinely suspicious now.
"You'd really better leave," she said. "If you come back with a warrant, I'll be able to help. I certainly want to help the Senator and his family in any way I can. I feel terrible about all they're going through. But right now—well, I think you should leave."
Riley made a beeline toward the front door.
"I—I understand," she stammered. "I'm terribly sorry."
She rushed to her car and got in. She took out her cell phone and called Bill's number.
"Bill, I've got a name!" she almost shouted when he answered. "His name is Gerald Cosgrove. And I've got his address."
Remembering carefully, Riley recited the address to Bill.
"I'm only a few minutes away," Bill said. "I'll call in his name and address, see what kind of information the Bureau can turn up. I'll get back to you right away."
Bill ended the phone call. Riley fidgeted, waiting impatiently. She looked back at the store and noticed that Madeline was standing near the window, looking out at her suspiciously. Riley couldn't blame Madeline for her mistrust. Her behavior just now had been more than a little odd.
Riley's cell phone buzzed. She answered it.
"Bingo," Bill said. "The guy's a registered sex offender. The address you gave me isn't far. You're maybe a little closer to him than I am."
"I'm driving there right now," Riley said, stepping on the gas.
"For Christ's sake, Riley, don't go in there alone!" he barked back. "Wait for me outside. I'll get there as soon as I can. Do you hear me?"
Riley ended the call and drove away. No, she could not wait.
*
Less than fifteen minutes later, Riley pulled up to a dusty, isolated lot. A shabby-looking mobile home sat in the middle of it. Riley parked her car and got out.
An old car was parked on the street in front of the lot, but Riley didn't see any sign of the truck the witness described after Cindy MacKinnon's abduction. Of course, Cosgrove might well be keeping it somewhere else. Or perhaps he had dumped it for fear that it might be traced.
Riley shuddered when she saw a couple of sheds with padlocked doors at the back of the lot. Was that where he had kept the women? Was he holding one right now, torturing her and preparing to kill her?
Riley looked around, taking in the area. The lot wasn't completely isolated. There were a few houses and mobile homes not far away. Even so, it seemed likely that no one live near enough to hear a woman screaming in one of those sheds.
Riley drew her gun and approached the trailer. It was set up on a permanent foundation, and it looked like it had been there for many years. Some time ago, someone had planted a flower bed alongside the trailer to make it look more like a regular house. But now the bed was overrun with weeds.
So far, the place matched her expectations. She felt certain that she'd come to the right place.
"It's all over for you, you bastard," she murmured under her breath. "You'll never take another victim."
When she reached the trailer, she banged on the metal door.
"Gerald Cosgrove!" she yelled. "This is the FBI. Are you in there?"
There was no answer. Riley edged her way up onto the cinderblock steps and peered through the door's little window. What she saw inside chilled her to the bone.
The place seemed to be packed full of dolls. She didn't see a living soul, just dolls of all shapes and sizes.
Riley shook the door handle. It was locked. She banged on the door again. This time she heard a man's voice.
"Go away. Leave me alone. I didn't do anything."
Riley thought she heard someone scrambling around inside. The trailer door was designed to open outward, so she couldn't kick it in. She fired her gun at the locked handle. The door fell open.
Riley burst into the small main room. She was momentarily dazzled by the sheer number and array of dolls. There must have been hundreds of them. They were simply everywhere—on shelves, on tables, and even on the floor. It took a moment for her to see a man among them, cowering on the floor against a partition wall.
"Don't shoot," Cosgrove pleaded, his hands raised and shaking. "I didn't do it. Don't shoot me."
Riley sprung at him and yanked him to his feet. She spun him around and pulled one hand behind his back. She holstered her handgun and got out her cuffs.
"Give me your other hand," she said.
Shaking from head to foot, he obeyed without hesitation. Riley quickly had him cuffed and sitting awkwardly in a chair.
He was a weak-looking man in his sixties with thin gray hair. He cut a pathetic figure, sitting there with tears running down his face. But Riley wasted no pity on him. The spectacle of all these dolls was enough to tell her that he was a sick, twisted man.
Before she could ask any questions, she heard Bill's voice.
"Jesus, Riley. Did you blow open this door?"
Riley turned and saw Bill stepping into the trailer.
"He wouldn't open up," Riley said.
Bill growled under his breath. "I thought I told you to wait outside," he said.
"And I thought you knew better than to think I would," Riley said. "Anyway, I'm glad you're here. This looks like our guy."
The man was wailing now.
"I didn't do it! It wasn't me! I did my time! I put all that stuff behind me!"
Riley asked Bill, "What did you find out about him?"
"He did some time for attempted child molestation. Nothing since—until now."
This made good enough sense to Riley. This monstrous little man had undoubtedly moved on to bigger prey—and to greater cruelty.
"That was years ago," the man said. "I've been good ever since. I take my meds. I don't get those urges anymore. It's all in the past. You've made a mistake."
Bill asked in a cynical tone, "So you're an innocent man, eh?"
"That's right. Whatever you think I did, it wasn't me."
"So what's with all the dolls?" Riley asked.
Through his tears, Cosgrove smiled brokenly.
"Aren't they beautiful?" he said. "I collected them little by little. I got lucky a few weeks back, found this great store over in Shellysford. So many dolls and so many different dresses. I spent my whole Social Security check right there and then, bought as many as my money could get me."
Bill shook his head. "I sure as hell don't want to know what you do with them," he said.
"It's not what you think," Cosgrove said. "They're like my family. My only friends. They're all I've got. I just stay home with them. It's not like I can afford to go anywhere. They treat me right. They don't judge me."
Again, Riley worried. Was Cosgrove holding a victim right now?
"I want to check your sheds out back," she told him.
"Go ahead," he said. "There's nothing there. I've got nothing to hide. The keys are right over there."
He nodded toward a bunch of keys hanging next to the wounded door. Riley walked over and grabbed them.
"I'm going out there for a look," she said.
"Not without me, you're not," Bill said.
Together, Bill and Riley used Bill's cuffs to fasten Cosgrove to his refrigerator door. Then they stepped outside and walked around the trailer. They opened the first shed's padlock and looked inside. There was nothing in there except a garden rake.
Bill stepped into the shed and looked around.
"Nothing," he said. "Not even any sign of blood."
They walked over to the next shed, unlocked it, and looked inside. Aside from a rusty hand lawnmower, the shed was completely empty.
"He must have held them somewhere else," Bill said.
Bill and Riley went back to into the trailer. Cosgrove was still sitting there, gazing wretchedly at his family of dolls. Riley found him a troubling sight—a man with no real life of his own, and certainly no future.
Still, he struck her as an enigma. She decided to ask him a couple of questions.
"Gerald, where were you last Wednesday morning?"
"What?" Cosgrove replied. "What do you mean? I don't know. I don't remember Wednesday. Here, I guess. Where else would I be?"
Riley gazed at him with increasing curiosity.
"Gerald," she said, "what day is today?"
Cosgrove's eyes darted around in desperate confusion.
"I—I don't know," he stammered.
Riley wondered—could it possibly be true? Did he not know what day it was? He sounded perfectly sincere. He certainly didn't seem bitter or angry. She saw no fight in him at all. Just fear and desperation.
Then she sternly reminded herself not to let him take her in. A true psychopath could sometimes fool even a seasoned veteran with a total lie.
Bill unfastened Cosgrove from the refrigerator. Cosgrove was still cuffed behind his back.
Bill barked out, "Gerald Cosgrove, you're under arrest for the murders of three women ..."
Bill and Riley escorted him roughly out of the trailer as Bill continued with the victims' names and Cosgrove's rights. Then they shoved him to the car Bill had driven here—a well-equipped Bureau vehicle with mesh caging between the back and front seats. Riley and Bill pushed him into the back seat. They strapped and cuffed him in securely. Afterwards they both just stood for a moment without saying a word.
"Damn it, Riley, you did it," Bill muttered with admiration. "You caught the bastard—even without your badge. The Bureau's going to welcome you back with open arms."
"Do you want me to ride with you?" Riley asked.
Bill shrugged. "Naw, I've got him under control. I'll get him into custody. You just take your own car back."
Riley decided not to argue, wondering if Bill still harbored resentment toward her for the other night.
As she watched Bill pull away, Riley wanted to congratulate herself on her success, and her redemption. But any feeling of satisfaction evaded her. Something kept nagging at her. She kept hearing her father's words.
You just keep following that gut of yours.
Little by little as she drove, Riley started to realize something.
Her gut was telling her thatthey'd gotten the wrong man.