CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Riley answered the phone call, tapping the speaker button so Ann Marie could hear, Detective Hayes’ voice was taut with excitement.
“Paige? Esmer? You’re not going to believe what we found,” Hayes began without preamble, his words tumbling over each other. “The search of Hartley’s apartment yielded multiple encrypted hard drives. Our tech team has only cracked the first layer, but what they found is damning.”
“What did you find, Detective?” Ann Marie asked, her voice calm.
“Hartley’s been running an extortion racket through the dark web,” Hayes replied, satisfaction evident in his tone.
“Under a pseudonym, of course. He’s been targeting wealthy individuals with compromising information—affairs, financial irregularities, you name it.
The operation is sophisticated and has been active for at least six years. ”
Riley frowned, absorbing this new information. “Excellent work,” she told him. “But you believe this connects to Veronica’s murder?”
“It absolutely does,” Hayes insisted. “The man’s a blackmailer who had a documented obsession with Veronica Slate. When she recognized him at the event, she became a threat. Classic motive—she could expose him, ruin everything he’d built.”
Riley exchanged a glance with Ann Marie, reading the same skepticism in her partner’s expression that she felt herself.
“We’ll have him in the next twenty-four hours,” Hayes continued, his confidence unwavering. “The extortion charges alone are enough to hold him indefinitely while we build the murder case. I wouldn’t be surprised if he confesses once he realizes how much we have on him.”
“Detective,” Riley said carefully, “Hartley’s dark web activities do help explain why he ran when we approached him at the Silver Screen Café. I don’t think that he was fleeing because he murdered Veronica—he was running because he had illegal operations that could send him to prison regardless.”
“What’s the difference?” Hayes countered. “A guilty man ran. We caught him. Now we’ve found evidence of criminal activity that establishes a pattern of behavior consistent with someone capable of murder.”
“The difference,” Riley explained, “is that extortion and murder are different crimes with different motives. Running an anonymous blackmail operation requires secrecy and distance. Murdering someone in a highly theatrical, public manner suggests different psychological drivers.”
Hayes’ sigh crackled through the speaker.
“I understand that you have to take the BAU approach, Agent Paige, but sometimes the simplest explanation is the right one. Hartley hated Veronica Slate, had access to the studio where she was killed, and had a history of criminal behavior. That’s a good case in my book. ”
Riley persisted. “We just met with Diane Kingsley. She was close friends with Roberta Rimes and knows about her testimony before HUAC. She’s convinced—and frankly, so are we—that Veronica’s murder is connected to that testimony.”
“You mean that testimony from seventy years ago?” Hayes’ voice dripped with skepticism.
“Yes,” Riley confirmed. “The killer made use of the re-creation of Roberta’s famous death scene from The Night Walker—the same film that made her a star just before she testified.
That’s not coincidental. And remember the phrase on Hartley’s bulletin board: ‘Like mother, like daughter.’ Hartley is probably not alone in harboring that sentiment.
Whoever the killer is, he is drawing a direct connection between Veronica and her mother’s actions. ”
The silence that followed suggested Hayes was at least considering her point. Then he asked, “And how does this theory explain Hartley’s involvement?”
“It doesn’t necessarily,” Ann Marie interjected. “But as a film historian researching Roberta Rimes, Hartley might know details about her testimony that aren’t public knowledge—specifically, which names she gave to the committee.”
“We’d like to interview him again,” Riley added.
“Focus on what he knows about the HUAC testimony rather than his personal grudge against Veronica. If he can tell us which Hollywood figures Roberta named, we might identify who would have motive for revenge after all these years—or whose family might.”
Hayes’ response was immediate and firm. “No. Absolutely not. I’ve indulged this federal involvement out of respect, but I’m not going to let you derail my investigation now with speculative theories about ancient history.”
“Detective—” Riley began.
“I’ve made my decision, Agent Paige,” Hayes cut her off.
“Malcolm Hartley is our prime suspect for Veronica Slate’s murder.
The dark web operations only strengthen that case.
As the lead investigator, I’m instructing you and Agent Esmer to stand down on this unless I specifically request your assistance. Is that clear?”
The authority in his voice was unmistakable. Though the BAU had been invited to consult, the case remained under Atlanta PD jurisdiction. Hayes had every right to limit their involvement and to bring charges as he saw fit.
“Crystal clear, Detective,” Riley replied, her tone professional despite her frustration. “We’ll await further instructions.”
“Good. I’ll update you if anything significant develops.” With that, Hayes ended the call, leaving Riley and Ann Marie in silence punctuated only by the soft hum of the car’s engine.
Ann Marie was the first to speak. “Well, that went well.”
Riley tossed her phone onto the dashboard with more force than necessary. “He’s fixated on Hartley and missing the bigger picture.”
“To be fair,” Ann Marie offered, “the dark web extortion is compelling evidence of criminal behavior. Most detectives would focus on that.”
“Most detectives aren’t dealing with a murder carried out in the re-creation of a seventy-year-old film scene,” Riley countered.
“That couldn’t have been easy to carry off.
What would be the point of using that setting if it meant nothing to the killer?
Hartley may be guilty of plenty, but I don’t think he killed Veronica Slate. ”
Ann Marie checked her watch. “So what now? Hayes made it pretty clear he wants us to back off.”
Riley started the car, its engine coming to life with a gentle rumble. “Now we find somewhere to eat, check into those hotel rooms Meredith arranged, and reassess in the morning. Hayes might come around once he’s had time to think.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Riley pulled away from the curb, merging into the light evening traffic. “Then we decide how far we’re willing to push jurisdictional boundaries to prevent another murder—because I’m convinced there will be one if we don’t solve this quickly.”
Somewhere in Atlanta, Riley believed, someone was executing a plan of vengeance that had been decades in the making—and Malcolm Hartley’s dark web activities, while criminal, were merely a distraction from the real danger still unfolding.
***
Later that evening, Riley viewed the generic comfort of her hotel room—crisp white sheets, abstract watercolor prints on beige walls, the faint hum of the air conditioning system that never quite reached the perfect temperature.
She perched on the edge of the king-sized bed, laptop balanced on her knees as she waited for the video call to connect.
The screen flickered, then filled with three separate windows: Bill’s steady gaze from their living room at home, Jilly sprawled across the couch beside him, and April in her dorm room, the walls painted in what residence life probably called “sunshine yellow.”
“Can everyone see and hear each other?” Bill asked, his voice slightly tinny through Riley’s laptop speakers.
“I can see you all,” April confirmed, adjusting her camera. She looked tired, Riley noted with a pang of concern.
“All good here,” Jilly chimed in, flashing a peace sign at the camera. Her casual posture couldn’t quite mask the tension in her shoulders, a detail that didn’t escape Riley’s notice.
“I’m here,” Riley said, forcing warmth into her voice despite the worry gnawing at her insides. “How’s everything at home?”
“Quiet,” Bill replied. “I’ve been working with campus security at Jefferson Bell. They’ve increased patrols around April’s dorm and classroom buildings.”
“And I’ve been taking all of Sergeant Bill’s orders too,” Jilly said with a theatrical salute. “No going anywhere alone, no predictable routines, constant vigilance.”
Riley nodded, grateful for Jilly’s attempt to lighten the mood while still acknowledging the seriousness of their situation. She shifted her attention to April, studying her daughter’s face carefully.
“April, I’ve been thinking,” Riley began, choosing her words deliberately. “Maybe it would be best if you came home for a while. Just until we locate Leo and resolve this situation.”
April’s expression shifted immediately from tired to defiant. “Mom, no. I’m not abandoning my classes three weeks into my first semester.”
“You wouldn’t be abandoning them,” Riley countered. “Most of your professors offer remote options now. You could keep up with the work from home.”
“It’s not the same and you know it,” April said, her jaw set in a way that reminded Riley startlingly of herself. “Besides, if I leave, he wins. He disrupts my life, makes me afraid to live it on my terms. I won’t give him that power.”
Riley recognized the determination in her daughter’s voice—the same stubborn resolve that had carried Riley through her own darkest moments. Pride mingled with frustration, creating a knot of emotion in her chest.
“April’s right,” Bill interjected gently. “Running might seem safer, but it can become its own kind of prison. We’ve put solid precautions in place. She’s being smart about her movements, and campus security is aware of the situation.”
Riley sighed, relenting. “Okay. But I want regular check-ins, and you stick to the safety protocols we discussed.”
“I will,” April promised, her expression softening. “I’m being careful, Mom. I promise.”
“Let’s go over everything again,” Bill suggested. “For both girls.” He straightened in his chair. “Always be aware of your surroundings. No headphones while walking alone. Vary your routes and schedules when possible.”
“Carry your phone at all times, fully charged,” Riley added. “And keep the emergency SOS feature enabled.”
Jilly held up her phone. “Already programmed to call both of you plus 911 if I press the side button five times.”
“And you both have the photo I sent of Leo Dillard?” Bill asked.
April nodded. “Downloaded to my phone. I’ve shown it to my roommate and friends too, so they know to alert me if they see him.”
“I have it memorized,” Jilly said, her usual bravado momentarily slipping to reveal genuine concern. “I couldn’t forget that face now if I tried.”
“Remember that he could use some kind of disguise, Bill warned. “A cap, sunglasses, a hoodie …”
“Got it,” April interrupted.
“Me too,” Jilly added.
Riley felt a twist of guilt at involving her younger daughter in this vigilance, at bringing danger once again into the lives of her children. Yet she knew that awareness was their best defense against any calculated pursuit.
“The most important thing is to trust your instincts,” Riley emphasized. “If something feels wrong, if you think you’re being watched, don’t second-guess yourself. Move to a safe, public place immediately and call for help.”
“We know, Mom,” April said, not unkindly. “You’ve trained us well.”
“Too well, sometimes,” Jilly added with a crooked smile. “Yesterday I nearly pepper-sprayed the mailman because he came to the door at an unusual time.”
Bill chuckled. “She’s exaggerating. But she did make the poor guy show ID before accepting the package.”
The moment of levity eased some of the tension, and Riley felt herself relax fractionally.
Her daughters were smart, alert, and prepared—they’d absorbed her training well.
Still, she couldn’t shake the knowledge that Leo Dillard was unlike the average predator.
His intelligence, patience, and methodical nature made him particularly dangerous.
“How’s the case going?” April asked, clearly trying to change the subject from her own situation.
Riley hesitated, unsure how much to share. “It’s... complicated. The local Detective has his theory, but Ann Marie and I are pursuing a different angle.”
“Meaning he thinks you’re wrong and wants you to back off,” Bill translated with the insight of someone who’d worked with Riley for years.
“Something like that,” Riley admitted. “We’re regrouping in the morning.”
The conversation continued for another fifteen minutes, drifting to lighter topics—Jilly’s latest art project, April’s literature professor who insisted on wearing a different bow tie for each author they studied, Bill’s successful repair of the dishwasher that had been making mysterious grinding noises.
Normal life continues despite the shadows hanging over them.
“I should go,” April finally said, glancing at something off-screen. “My study group’s meeting in ten minutes in the common room.”
“And I’ve got homework,” Jilly added, already shifting to stand.
“Stay safe,” Riley said, unable to keep the urgency from her voice. “Both of you. I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom,” they echoed almost in unison before their windows disappeared from the screen, leaving only Bill’s face looking back at her.
“They’ll be okay,” he assured her quietly. “I won’t let anything happen to them.”
Riley nodded, grateful beyond words for his steady presence in their lives. “I know. Keep me updated on anything—anything at all-that seems out of place.”
“I will. Try to get some rest, Riley. You look exhausted.”
After they disconnected, Riley sat motionless on the edge of the bed, the room suddenly vast and empty around her. She closed the laptop and set it aside, then moved to the window, pushing aside the heavy curtain to look out at the Atlanta skyline glittering against the night sky.
Somewhere out there was a killer motivated by decades-old grievances, possibly planning their next move.
And hundreds of miles away, her daughters were doing their best to live normal lives while a dangerous obsessive lurked somewhere close by.
The distance between them had never felt so insurmountable, so suffocating.
Riley pressed her forehead against the cool glass, closing her eyes. Two separate threats, two different predators, and right now she felt powerless against both.