It was true.
She was a woman now.
And the voices were still calling out
Help us! Please!
Rileys eyes snapped open again.
She was shaking even more than before, and gasping for breath.
She remembered something that Paula Steen had said to her.
My daughters killer will never be brought to justice.
Paula had also said
It was never your case to begin with.
Riley felt a new sense of determination.
It was true the Matchbook Killer hadnt been her case before.
But she could no longer leave it to the past.
At long last, the Matchbook Killer had to be brought to justice.
Its my case now, she thought.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Riley had no more nightmares that night, but even so her sleep was restless. Surprisingly, she felt wide awake and energized when she got up the next morning.
She had work to do that day.
She got dressed and went downstairs. April and Jilly were in the kitchen eating a breakfast that Gabriela had made for them. The girls both looked sad, but not as devastated as theyd been yesterday.
Riley saw that a place had been set at the table for her, so she sat down and said, Those pancakes look wonderful. Pass them over, please.
As she ate her breakfast and drank coffee, the girls began to look more cheerful. They didnt mention Ryans absence, instead chatting about other kids at school.
Theyre tough, Riley thought.
And theyd both gotten through their share of tough times before now.
She was sure that theyd pull through this crisis about Ryan as well.
Riley finished her coffee and said, I do have to get to the office.
She stood up and kissed April on the cheek, and then Jilly.
Go catch some bad guys, Mom, Jilly said.
Riley smiled.
Ill be sure to do that, dear, she replied.
*As soon as she got to her office, Riley opened up computerized files on the twenty-five-year-old case. As she scanned old newspaper stories, she remembered reading some of them when they had first appeared. Shed been a teenager at the time, and the Matchbook Killer had seemed like the stuff that nightmares were made of.
The murders had happened here in Virginia near Richmond, with just three weeks in between each death.
Riley opened up a map and found Greybull, a small town off of Interstate 64. Tilda Steen, the last victim, had lived and died in Greybull. The other two murders had taken place in the towns of Brinkley and Denison. Riley could see that all the towns lay within about a hundred miles of each other.
Riley closed the map and looked at the newspaper stories again.
One banner headline screamed
MATCHBOOK KILLER CLAIMS THIRD VICTIM!
She shuddered a little.
Yes, she remembered seeing that headline from many years ago.
The article went on to describe the panic that the murders had struck throughout the area especially among young women.
According to the article, the public and the police were both asking the same questions:
When and where was the killer going to strike next?
Who was going to be his next victim?
But there had been no fourth victim.
Why? Riley wondered.
It was a question that law enforcement had failed to answer.
The murderer had seemed like a ruthlessly motivated serial killer the type who was likely to keep right on killing until he was caught. Instead, he had simply disappeared. And his disappearance had been as mysterious as the killings themselves.
Riley began to pore over old police records to refresh her memory.
The victims didnt seem to be connected in any way. The killer had used much the same MO for all three murders. Hed picked up young women in bars, driven them to motels, and killed them. Then hed buried their bodies in shallow graves not far from the murder scenes.
The local police had had no trouble locating the bars where the victims had been picked up and the motels where they had been killed.
As some serial killers do, he had left clues for the police.
With all of the bodies, he had left matchbooks from the bars and notepaper from the motels.
Witnesses at the bars and motels were even able to give fairly good descriptions of the suspect.
Riley pulled up the composite sketch that had been created years ago.
She saw that the man looked fairly ordinary, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. As she read witness descriptions, she noticed a few more details. Witnesses had mentioned that he looked strikingly pale, as if he worked at a job that kept him indoors and out of the sun.
The descriptions hadnt been very detailed. Even so, it seemed to Riley as though the case shouldnt have been all that tough to crack. But somehow it had been. The local police never found the killer. The BAU took over the case, only to conclude that the killer had either died or left the area. Continuing the search nationwide would be like looking for a needle in a haystack a needle that might not even exist.
But there had been one agent, a master at cracking cold cases, who had disagreed.
Hes still in the area, he had told everybody. We can find him if we just keep looking.
But his bosses hadnt believed him, and they wouldnt back him up. The BAU had let the case go cold.
That agent retired from the BAU years ago and moved to Florida. But Riley knew how to get in touch with him.
She reached for her desk phone and dialed his number.
A moment later, she heard a familiar rumbling voice. Jake Crivaro had been her partner and mentor back when she joined the BAU.
Hello, stranger, Jake said. Where the hell have you been? What have you been doing with yourself? You dont call, you dont write. Is that any way to treat the lonely, forgotten old buzzard who taught you everything you know?
Riley smiled. She knew he didnt mean it. After all, theyd seen each other fairly recently. Jake had even come out of retirement to help her with a case just a couple of months ago.
She didnt ask, How have you been?
She remembered his litany the last time shed asked.
Im seventy-five years old. Ive had both knees and a hip replaced. My eyes are shot. Ive got a hearing aid and a pacemaker. And all my friends except you have croaked. How do you think Ive been?
Asking him would only get him started complaining all over again.
The truth was, he was still physically spry, and his mind was as sharp as ever.
I need your help, Jake, Riley said.
Music to my ears. Retirement stinks. What can I do for you?
Im looking into a cold case.
Jake chuckled a little.
My favorite kind. You know, cold cases were a specialty of mine back in the day. They still are, as a kind of hobby. Even in retirement, I can collect and review stuff that nobody solved. Im a regular packrat that way. Do you remember that Angel Face killer in Ohio? I solved that one a couple of years ago. It had been cold for more than a decade.
I remember, Riley said. That was some good work for an over-the-hill old codger.
Flattery will get you everywhere. So what have you got for me?
Riley hesitated. She knew that she was about to stir up unpleasant memories.
This case was one of yours, Jake, she said.