Wightman scratched his head. “Well, he’s always been kind of odd.He runs a nice business, and he’s never seemed like a bad sort, but he’s alwaysbeen awfully nervous and kind of cranky. I seem to remember hearing that hewent through some kind of trauma as a kid that maybe he didn’t get over.”
“I’m sure he’ll tell us more now that he’s in custody,” Rileysaid.
Looking somewhat dazed, Wightman followed after the paramedics,leaving Riley and Ann Marie alone in the cluttered room.
Ann Marie hung her head and said, “I guess I really screwed up,huh?”
Riley let out a chuckle. “Well, I guess that depends on how youlook at it. You’re the one who said it was a bad idea to try to taunt thekiller. You were right, and I was wrong. Don’t let it go to your head, though.And I’m not wild about how you snuck back here without telling me. You almostgot yourself killed. But …”
Riley shrugged and said, “It worked out OK. The killer came afteryou instead of someone else. And now we’ve got him. All told, I’d say you did apretty good job for a rookie. We’re not a bad team.”
Ann Marie beamed proudly. She tried to get up from the chair, butstill seemed a little wobbly.
That’s no surprise, Riley thought.
Riley helped her get up and said, “Come on, let’s get out ofhere. We could both use a snack and a good night’s sleep.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
A while later, Riley realized that her younger partner couldbarely keep her eyes open. Ann Marie’s eyelids were drooping and her head wasnodding. They were sitting in a diner where they’d ordered sandwiches andcoffee. Riley was hungry, and she had eaten her own sandwich eagerly, but AnnMarie seemed to have little appetite and only nibbled at hers.
“I don’t remember ever being this tired,” Ann Marie mumbled.
Riley smiled at how she sounded almost like she was talking inher sleep.
“I’ll bet,” Riley said. “You’ve had one hell of a night. Come on,let’s get back to our rooms. You need to get some sleep.”
Ann Marie had already returned her rented car, and Riley drovethem to the motel in the FBI vehicle they’d been using all along. She escortedher exhausted partner into her room and watched as she flopped down on her bedand went straight to sleep.
Riley went back to her own room, but she’d just gotten insidewhen her phone buzzed.
She saw that the call was from Sheriff Wightman.
“I hope I’m not calling too late,” he said.
“No, it’s fine,” Riley said, eager to hear whatever news he mightwant to share.
“I’m at the hospital with Taylor Voigts. You’d never believe he’dbeen shot three times.”
An image flashed through Riley’s mind of the big man lurchingrelentlessly toward her, even when he’d been shot twice and was dragging onefoot. She’d seldom faced that kind of manic persistence.
The sheriff continued, “He’s been talking nonstop all this time,saying the craziest things you can imagine.”
“I’ll bet,” Riley said.
“He says that Goatman is really the god Pan, and that he’s Pan’sservant, and that this is just some temporary setback. Pan will prevail, hesays, and some kind of apocalyptic ‘panic’ is still on its way. He also told uswhere he’d buried Henry Studdard and Deena McHugh. My guys and I will check outthose locations tomorrow.”
“I’m sure you’ll find the bodies there,” Riley said.
She heard the sheriff take a long, slow breath. She knew he wasn’tlooking forward to that grim task.
“He’s also told us about that childhood trauma I mentioned,”Wightman said. “One Halloween, he went out on a camping trip with some olderpals. They decided to play a prank on him. They told him a lot of scary Goatmanstories, then left him alone in the woods in the dark. It was just supposed tobe some kind of initiation thing. But Taylor got lost, and it took two wholedays before a search team could find him. He never seemed to quite get over it…”
Wightman’s voice faded away.
Then he added, “I guess that explains the whole thing, huh?”
Riley’s mind boggled at how such an experience could traumatize achild, probably for life.
“It’s a start, anyway,” Riley said.
Then Wightman said, “I can’t thank you and your partner enoughfor how you’ve taken care of this. If it weren’t for you two, someone elsewould probably be dead by now. God knows how long it would have taken to stopthis guy.”
Riley smiled and said, “I think my partner deserves your thanksmore than I do. I made my share of mistakes this time out. She’s the one whofinally located the killer.”
Even if she almost got herself killed in the process, shethought.
“Well, let her know I’m grateful,” Wightman said. “You two have asafe drive back to Quantico tomorrow.”
“We’ll do that,” Riley said.
She ended the call and found herself thinking about TaylorVoigts, the ordinary town businessman who’d turned out to be a serial killer.She remembered the madness in his eyes when they’d struggled earlier tonight.She was sure that his lawyer would plead not guilty on the basis of insanity.
Riley normally hated insanity defenses. But in this case, shecouldn’t disagree. Taylor Voigts was hopelessly insane. All that mattered toRiley was that he be put away for a very long time. He would probably spend therest of his life in some kind of mental institution. He’d never be a threat tothe public again.
Riley took a long, hot shower and put on her pajamas. She cameout of the bathroom and sent a text message home to tell April, Jilly, andGabriela that the case was finished and she’d be driving back home tomorrowmorning.
Then she opened her laptop computer and to her FBI email accountfor one last time tonight. Among a routine batch of company memos, she saw anemail from an unknown address with a cryptic subject line.
To RP from JR
She realized with a start what the initials “JR” might stand for.
Jenn Roston!
Her hands were shaking as she opened the email, which was writtenin all caps in a peculiar, telegraph-like style.
RILEY. I NEVER MEANT TO GET BACK IN TOUCH WITH YOU. I KNEW ITMIGHT BE COMPROMISING TO YOU. BUT NOW
