“Glad to help out,” Madge said. “I’m glad to see you two girls onthe job. Wightman’s badge is bigger than his you-know-what. Now go and kicksome ass, you hear?”
As they continued out the door, Wightman told Riley and Ann Mariethat he’d drive ahead and lead them to where Brad Cribbins lived. Riley and herpartner got into their vehicle and started to follow the sheriff.
Riley said, “Thanks for speaking up for me back there.”
“Glad to help out,” Ann Marie said. “But I’m not sure Iunderstand what we’re doing or why. Sheriff Wightman said the guy had an alibi.Don’t you believe him?”
“Well, I believe Wightman believes what he told us,” Riley said. “Butin my experience, killers can be awfully clever about cooking up alibis. Forone thing, they often have loyal pals who will stand up for them. The sheriffmight have been wrong. I’ve seen it happen more than a few times.”
She took a long breath and added, “And I’ve really got a hunchabout this guy we’re going to see.”
“Well! This should be interesting!” Ann Marie saidenthusiastically.
It had better be more than interesting, Riley thought.
With Halloween coming up tomorrow, they didn’t have any time tolose. She remembered what Ann Marie had said about her just now.
“She really knows what she’s doing.”
Riley sure didn’t want to prove the kid wrong.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As Riley drove behind Sheriff Wightman’s vehicle, she noticedthat her partner in the passenger seat was busily jotting down notes. Ann Marieseemed completely focused on whatever she was writing.
“What are you working on?” Riley asked.
“Just doing a bit of math,” Ann Marie said.
Math? Riley wondered. They were following Wightman towardthe neighborhood where Brad Cribbins lived. What could math have to do withthat?
Riley almost asked why, but decided to let it go. Ann Marie justkept scribbling.
After a moment, Ann Marie tapped her eraser on her notepad andstared ahead thoughtfully.
She said, “If Brad Cribbins got expelled from high school twoyears ago, that would make him—what?—nineteen or twenty now?”
“I imagine so,” Riley said, starting to sense what Ann Mariemight be getting at. “Unless he got held back a grade or two. Then he might beolder.”
Ann Marie said, “According to Sheriff Wightman, Deena McHughdisappeared four years ago. Brad might have been fifteen or sixteen then. AndHenry Studdard disappeared eight years ago. Henry was thirteen then, and Bradwould have been …”
Riley nodded and finished her thought.
“Just a kid himself. I know. But we know that Brad Cribbins has acriminal record all the way back to when he was nine years old, and he’s alwaysbeen a fighter. He might have been capable of a lot more than vandalism andstealing bikes and cars. Even though it’s rare, children have been known tocommit murder.”
As Riley continued driving, it occurred to her that Ann Marie’squery was really quite sensible. Brad Cribbins’s age might well turn out to bea factor in determining just how viable he was as a suspect. Her scribblingwasn’t irrelevant after all.
She’s smarter than she seems, Riley thought. Maybe justnot the kind of smarts that lends itself to BAU field work.
Riley couldn’t forget how the rookie had frozen during herconfrontation with the hunter yesterday. If the man had actually beendangerous, Riley and her partner might both have been hurt or even killed. AnnMarie was going to have to start doing a lot better than that if she hoped tostay on this job.
Again Riley wondered about the murder case Ann Marie had helpedsolve—the one that had gotten her recruited into FBI training. Riley figuredshe ought to ask Ann Marie to tell her that story.
As they approached the edge of town, Riley observed a markedchange in their surroundings. The houses here were small bungalows, not unlikethe duplex where Madge Torrance lived. But unlike those in more upscale areas,these buildings were set close together, with tiny front yards and only a dozenfeet or so in between the houses. And these little homes were all in seriousneed of paint and repairs.
Ann Marie commented, “This looks like a whole different town.”
It does indeed, Riley thought.
Not that she was surprised that even an upscale town likeWinneway had its seamier side. She’d found similar neighborhoods just abouteverywhere she had visited.
Even though it had never been affluent, this had probably oncebeen a comfortable little suburb. Even in their rundown state, the housesretained a bit of character. But poverty had overtaken this community, just as hadso many others that hadn’t benefited from upticks in the national economy. Thecars and clutter in the streets and yards indicated that many of the housesprobably had a lot more people living in them than they had been designed for.
Sheriff Wightman’s vehicle pulled up to the curb, and Rileyparked right behind him. The little house they had come to wasn’t the mostrundown on the block, but it definitely needed repair and paint.
Riley and her colleagues got out of their cars and climbed up asteep row of concrete steps onto a small front stoop. Sheriff Wightman knockedon the door.
A moment later, an enormous man with a hairy belly protrudingfrom under his T-shirt opened the door. Riley could smell the beer on hisbreath more than a yard away.
Sneering, he said, “Well, well, well. Sheriff Wightman. To whatdo I owe this honor?”
Wightman introduced Fred Cribbins to Riley and Ann Marie, whoshowed him their badges.
“We’re here to see your son,” Wightman said.
“He ain’t here,” Cribbins said.
“When do you expect him back?” Wightman asked.
“Who said he’s coming back?” Cribbins said. “Who said he evenlives here?”
Wightman grunted and said, “Fred, don’t play games with me. Youand that boy of yours have had your share of run-ins with the law. I don’t needto tell you what ‘obstructing an investigation’ means. I also don’t need totell you it’s against the law.”
Cribbins smiled and chuckled sarcastically.
“Hey, there’s no need to get snippy about it. Come on inside, let’sdiscuss this like civilized folks.”
He opened the screen door. Ann Marie stepped inside first,followed by Riley and Sheriff Wightman. Then Cribbins turned his head and spokein a louder voice that was obviously directed toward somebody
