a
couple of spaces behind Rabbe and watched him get out of the car. In the midst
of the local riffraff of druggies and hookers, Rabbe really stood out in his
preppy shirt, khaki shorts, and expensive sneakers. But Bill quickly realized
that Rabbe wasn’t headed toward the club’s front entrance. Instead he continued
around the corner of the building and disappeared from sight.
Bill jumped out of
his car and broke into a trot. When he reached the edge of the building, he saw
Rabbe walking away from him toward the alley behind the strip club. Bill waited
until his prey disappeared around back, then followed. Once in the alley, Bill
was able to hide alongside a dumpster and watch what Rabbe was up to.
Rabbe knocked on the
back door of the strip club. The door opened, and Rabbe walked on inside. The
door slammed shut behind him.
Bill felt more alert
by the second. If Rabbe was making a drug deal, this might give Bill a perfect
excuse to bring him in. But he had to be patient. He had to be sure.
After about five
minutes, Rabbe stepped out into the alley again. He took a small package out of
his front pocket and unfolded it. He brushed his finger through the contents,
then rubbed it inside his mouth around his gums. He was sampling the product.
Bingo! Bill thought.
Bill stepped into
the open, taking out his badge.
“FBI,” he said. “You’re
under arrest.”
Rabbe hastily
refolded the package and stuck it in his pants pocket. For a moment, he looked
at Bill with a slightly stunned deer-in-the-headlights expression. Then he
smiled broadly, threw back his head, and laughed.
“FBI? Oh, this is a
joke. This has got to be a joke.”
“No joke,” Bill
said. “Hands behind your back.”
Bill had come
prepared with a pair of handcuffs. As he took them off his belt, he wondered if
he was going to need to draw his weapon.
Shaking his head
with apparent disbelief, Rabbe put his hands behind his back.
“No, really,” Rabbe
said. “This is a joke. I know it’s a joke. Who put you up to this?”
Bill slapped the
handcuffs on him. As he started reading his rights, Rabbe interrupted.
“I know my rights,
believe me. I’m used to this kind of thing from the local cops, but the FBI?
Seriously, I don’t believe it. What are you even arresting me for?”
The corner of the
paper package was poking out of Rabbe’s pants pocket. Bill pulled it out and
waved it in front of his face.
“This will do,” he
said.
“Oh, give me a
break. You’ve got to be kidding.”
Bill resumed reading
him his rights.
“I said I know my
rights,” Rabbe said, interrupting again.
“Humor me,” Bill
said. He finished the recitation of rights and escorted Rabbe back to his car.
He had a good feeling
that this really was the killer. He hoped Riley would get back to the FBI field
office in time to help him make absolutely sure.
Chapter Fifteen
Riley got a text
message from Bill just as she drove away from the emergency shelter where she’d
left Jilly. All it said was that he had apprehended Calvin Rabbe. She hurried
back to the Phoenix FBI building to check out the suspect.
She met Bill outside
the interview room.
“What happened?” she
asked breathlessly. “What did you get him for? We didn’t even have a warrant.”
“Cocaine possession,”
Bill said. “I got lucky. Real lucky. I’m glad you’re here. I was just getting
ready to talk to him. Come on in and help me out.”
Riley followed Bill
into the interview room. Calvin Rabbe was sitting there in handcuffs, sneering
like some snotty overage schoolboy who had been sent to the principal’s office.
“Will somebody tell
me what this is all about?” Rabbe said. “I’m not an idiot. I know it’s not
coke. It’s got to be something else.”
Riley and Bill sat
down at the table across from him. Riley stared at him quietly, trying to
decide how to handle him. It wouldn’t do to accuse him right away of killing
Nancy Holbrook. He’d lawyer up in no time and
couple of spaces behind Rabbe and watched him get out of the car. In the midst
of the local riffraff of druggies and hookers, Rabbe really stood out in his
preppy shirt, khaki shorts, and expensive sneakers. But Bill quickly realized
that Rabbe wasn’t headed toward the club’s front entrance. Instead he continued
around the corner of the building and disappeared from sight.
Bill jumped out of
his car and broke into a trot. When he reached the edge of the building, he saw
Rabbe walking away from him toward the alley behind the strip club. Bill waited
until his prey disappeared around back, then followed. Once in the alley, Bill
was able to hide alongside a dumpster and watch what Rabbe was up to.
Rabbe knocked on the
back door of the strip club. The door opened, and Rabbe walked on inside. The
door slammed shut behind him.
Bill felt more alert
by the second. If Rabbe was making a drug deal, this might give Bill a perfect
excuse to bring him in. But he had to be patient. He had to be sure.
After about five
minutes, Rabbe stepped out into the alley again. He took a small package out of
his front pocket and unfolded it. He brushed his finger through the contents,
then rubbed it inside his mouth around his gums. He was sampling the product.
Bingo! Bill thought.
Bill stepped into
the open, taking out his badge.
“FBI,” he said. “You’re
under arrest.”
Rabbe hastily
refolded the package and stuck it in his pants pocket. For a moment, he looked
at Bill with a slightly stunned deer-in-the-headlights expression. Then he
smiled broadly, threw back his head, and laughed.
“FBI? Oh, this is a
joke. This has got to be a joke.”
“No joke,” Bill
said. “Hands behind your back.”
Bill had come
prepared with a pair of handcuffs. As he took them off his belt, he wondered if
he was going to need to draw his weapon.
Shaking his head
with apparent disbelief, Rabbe put his hands behind his back.
“No, really,” Rabbe
said. “This is a joke. I know it’s a joke. Who put you up to this?”
Bill slapped the
handcuffs on him. As he started reading his rights, Rabbe interrupted.
“I know my rights,
believe me. I’m used to this kind of thing from the local cops, but the FBI?
Seriously, I don’t believe it. What are you even arresting me for?”
The corner of the
paper package was poking out of Rabbe’s pants pocket. Bill pulled it out and
waved it in front of his face.
“This will do,” he
said.
“Oh, give me a
break. You’ve got to be kidding.”
Bill resumed reading
him his rights.
“I said I know my
rights,” Rabbe said, interrupting again.
“Humor me,” Bill
said. He finished the recitation of rights and escorted Rabbe back to his car.
He had a good feeling
that this really was the killer. He hoped Riley would get back to the FBI field
office in time to help him make absolutely sure.
Chapter Fifteen
Riley got a text
message from Bill just as she drove away from the emergency shelter where she’d
left Jilly. All it said was that he had apprehended Calvin Rabbe. She hurried
back to the Phoenix FBI building to check out the suspect.
She met Bill outside
the interview room.
“What happened?” she
asked breathlessly. “What did you get him for? We didn’t even have a warrant.”
“Cocaine possession,”
Bill said. “I got lucky. Real lucky. I’m glad you’re here. I was just getting
ready to talk to him. Come on in and help me out.”
Riley followed Bill
into the interview room. Calvin Rabbe was sitting there in handcuffs, sneering
like some snotty overage schoolboy who had been sent to the principal’s office.
“Will somebody tell
me what this is all about?” Rabbe said. “I’m not an idiot. I know it’s not
coke. It’s got to be something else.”
Riley and Bill sat
down at the table across from him. Riley stared at him quietly, trying to
decide how to handle him. It wouldn’t do to accuse him right away of killing
Nancy Holbrook. He’d lawyer up in no time and
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