she was afraid that she’d go to pieces right there and then. Why had she let herself get into this situation? Why hadn’t she waited until another agent was available to do this—someone whose nerves weren’t raw and exposed?
She wished Bill were here. Or Lucy. Lucy would be exactly the kind of presence she needed right now—calm, intelligent, and compassionate. It really ought to be Lucy asking these questions, not Riley.
But there was nothing to be done about it now. And there was no time to lose. From her own experience, Riley could imagine all too well what April was going through. But what she didn’t know was how long April might have to live.
Brian and his mother were both staring at her. After a moment Carol asked shakily, “But what does Brian … what does my son have to do with it?”
Riley swallowed hard and managed to speak in a steady voice.
“Brian, you and April hitched a ride to my house the other day. I think the man who drove you took April.”
“Oh my God,” the boy said with a gasp.
“I need for you to tell me everything you can about that day. What kind of car was it?”
Brian paused, trying to remember.
“It was a Ford, I think. Yeah, a Focus, kind of old, 2010 maybe.”
“What color was it?”
“Gray. It was kind of beat-up. There was a big dent in the passenger door.”
Riley breathed a little easier as she jotted down the information. Whatever she might think of the boy, it was clear that he wanted to help. But the most important question was coming next. She took out her cell phone and brought up Peterson’s photo. She looked at it without showing it to him.
“What did the man look like?” she asked.
“He was a big guy. Not fat, but tall, and—wide, I guess.”
Riley felt even more heartened. Although she hadn’t gotten a very good look at Peterson during her captivity, she remembered him as being an imposing presence. The mug shot said that he was over six feet tall.
“That’s good,” Riley said. “Go on.”
“He had kind of shaggy hair,” Brian said. “And he had stubble on his chin. But it didn’t look like he’d forgotten to shave. It was more like a fashion kind of thing.”
Riley compared the boy’s description to the photo. In it Peterson was shorthaired and cleanly shaved. She’d remembered him without stubble. She’d been right in assuming that Peterson’s appearance had changed.
The boy was struggling now to remember more.
“What about the shape of his face?” Riley said.
“Oh, yeah, I remember. He had a pretty big square chin.”
Riley remembered the man’s jutting chin, how it protruded in the light from the propane torch. The same chin was clearly visible in the photo on her cell phone.
She thought fleetingly of showing Brian the photo to see if he recognized the man. She quickly decided against it. She no longer harbored the faintest doubt that the driver had been Peterson. But she also knew that she still had to persuade her colleagues at the BAU. For that, it would be best for Brian to describe the driver solely from memory. It mustn’t look as though Riley had influenced him.
Riley turned toward the boy’s mother.
“Carol, I need for you and Brian to come with me to the police station,” she said.
The woman’s lips were trembling and her voice was shaky.
“Do I need to call our lawyer?” she asked.
“It’s nothing like that,” Riley said. “Brian’s not in any trouble. I just need him to give a description to a sketch artist. He’s a very good observer and it will be helpful.”
Carol looked relieved.
“Let’s go, then,” she said. “We’d be glad to help out however we can.”
Riley was grateful for their willingness to help. She would get the boy started with a police artist and leave them there.
Then she would go to BAU and get what she needed to track Peterson down—and kill him.
Chapter 17
The FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit buzzed with activity as agents went about trying to locate April.
She wished Bill were here. Or Lucy. Lucy would be exactly the kind of presence she needed right now—calm, intelligent, and compassionate. It really ought to be Lucy asking these questions, not Riley.
But there was nothing to be done about it now. And there was no time to lose. From her own experience, Riley could imagine all too well what April was going through. But what she didn’t know was how long April might have to live.
Brian and his mother were both staring at her. After a moment Carol asked shakily, “But what does Brian … what does my son have to do with it?”
Riley swallowed hard and managed to speak in a steady voice.
“Brian, you and April hitched a ride to my house the other day. I think the man who drove you took April.”
“Oh my God,” the boy said with a gasp.
“I need for you to tell me everything you can about that day. What kind of car was it?”
Brian paused, trying to remember.
“It was a Ford, I think. Yeah, a Focus, kind of old, 2010 maybe.”
“What color was it?”
“Gray. It was kind of beat-up. There was a big dent in the passenger door.”
Riley breathed a little easier as she jotted down the information. Whatever she might think of the boy, it was clear that he wanted to help. But the most important question was coming next. She took out her cell phone and brought up Peterson’s photo. She looked at it without showing it to him.
“What did the man look like?” she asked.
“He was a big guy. Not fat, but tall, and—wide, I guess.”
Riley felt even more heartened. Although she hadn’t gotten a very good look at Peterson during her captivity, she remembered him as being an imposing presence. The mug shot said that he was over six feet tall.
“That’s good,” Riley said. “Go on.”
“He had kind of shaggy hair,” Brian said. “And he had stubble on his chin. But it didn’t look like he’d forgotten to shave. It was more like a fashion kind of thing.”
Riley compared the boy’s description to the photo. In it Peterson was shorthaired and cleanly shaved. She’d remembered him without stubble. She’d been right in assuming that Peterson’s appearance had changed.
The boy was struggling now to remember more.
“What about the shape of his face?” Riley said.
“Oh, yeah, I remember. He had a pretty big square chin.”
Riley remembered the man’s jutting chin, how it protruded in the light from the propane torch. The same chin was clearly visible in the photo on her cell phone.
She thought fleetingly of showing Brian the photo to see if he recognized the man. She quickly decided against it. She no longer harbored the faintest doubt that the driver had been Peterson. But she also knew that she still had to persuade her colleagues at the BAU. For that, it would be best for Brian to describe the driver solely from memory. It mustn’t look as though Riley had influenced him.
Riley turned toward the boy’s mother.
“Carol, I need for you and Brian to come with me to the police station,” she said.
The woman’s lips were trembling and her voice was shaky.
“Do I need to call our lawyer?” she asked.
“It’s nothing like that,” Riley said. “Brian’s not in any trouble. I just need him to give a description to a sketch artist. He’s a very good observer and it will be helpful.”
Carol looked relieved.
“Let’s go, then,” she said. “We’d be glad to help out however we can.”
Riley was grateful for their willingness to help. She would get the boy started with a police artist and leave them there.
Then she would go to BAU and get what she needed to track Peterson down—and kill him.
Chapter 17
The FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit buzzed with activity as agents went about trying to locate April.
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