CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
As Riley laid out their discovery, the Detective’s posture shifted from exhaustion to alertness. Hayes pushed away from his desk, chair wheels squeaking against the worn linoleum. His voice carried the shock of realization.
“So Sarah Brooks would have both the professional skills and the personal motivation for revenge.”
“That’s our theory,” Riley said. “It’s likely that she would have grown up hearing about how her grandfather’s career was destroyed by Roberta Rimes’ testimony and Myrtle Carroway’s exposé. Why she targeted Crystal Keene, we don’t yet know. But it surely has something to do with her grandfather.”
“She’s been hiding in plain sight,” Ann Marie added. “Working at the studio, building a reputation, gaining access to everything she would need.”
“And you think she’s working through her grandfather’s films chronologically?” Hayes asked.
Riley confirmed the chronology. “Veronica Slate was poisoned like the nightclub singer in The Night Walker, from 1954. Crystal Keene was strangled and chained to a projector like the film critic in The Broken Window, from 1957. The next film was “Shadows at Dusk, released in 1958. There’s a scene where the female lead is strangled on the altar of a church sanctuary.”
Hayes straightened suddenly. “A church altar,” he repeated. “St. Barnabas on Peachtree Street. It’s been deconsecrated and is scheduled for demolition next month. The building’s been empty for weeks.”
Riley felt a surge of adrenaline. “That could be it. Isolated, accessible, no regular visitors.”
“Perfect setting for a staged murder,” Ann Marie agreed.
Hayes was already reaching for his phone. “I’ve got a patrol officer three blocks from there. Let’s see if anything looks suspicious.” He punched in a number, holding the phone to his ear with one hand while the other tapped impatiently on the desk.
“Officer Mendez? Hayes here. I need you to do a quick check of St. Barnabas Church on Peachtree. Approach with caution—possible abduction situation.” He paused, listening.
“That’s right. Focus on the sanctuary. Just look for signs of activity, but don’t enter if you see anything suspicious.
Call for backup.” Another pause. “I’ll hold. ”
The office fell silent as they waited, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant ring of phones from the bullpen outside.
“I’m listening, Mendez,” Hayes finally said, his voice cutting through the tense silence.
He listened for several moments, his expression shifting from hope to disappointment.
“You’re sure? Nothing disturbed in the sanctuary?
” Another pause. “Alright. Stay in the area. I’ll have additional units joining you shortly.
” He ended the call, setting the phone down.
“Nothing,” he reported. “Officer Mendez did a walkthrough of the sanctuary. No signs of disturbance, no indication that anyone’s been there recently.”
“It could be the wrong place,” Riley said. “Or it could be that Sarah Brooks hasn’t transported Lucy there yet.”
“Either way, we need to keep St. Barnabas under surveillance,” Hayes said, rising from his chair again. “It still fits the profile too well to ignore. I’ll have officers maintain a discreet watch on the building. If Sarah Brooks shows up with Lucy Morgan, we’ll be ready.”
He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. “I’ll head there now to coordinate. I’m texting you the address,” he added. “Meet me there in ten.”
Riley felt her phone vibrate with the incoming message as Hayes headed for the door. “We’ll be right behind you,” she assured him.
As the two BAU agents made their way through the station toward the parking garage, Riley’s instincts were pulling in different directions. The evidence pointed to St. Barnabas as the logical location for Sarah Brooks to stage her third murder, yet the officer’s report suggested otherwise.
“What’s bothering you?” Ann Marie asked as they reached the car.
Riley unlocked the doors with a click of the key fob. “I’m not sure. Something feels off.”
They slid into their seats, and Riley started the engine, pulling out of the parking space to follow the route Hayes had taken. The midday Atlanta traffic flowed around them, ordinary people going about ordinary lives, oblivious to this race against time unfolding in their city.
“I’ve got that same feeling,” Ann Marie admitted as they waited at a red light. “Like we’re missing something obvious.”
“The pattern seems so clear. But if Sarah Brooks is following that pattern so precisely, why wasn’t Lucy at St. Barnabas?”
Ann Marie was quiet for a moment, her gaze fixed on the traffic ahead. Then she turned to Riley, her expression thoughtful. “Remember what you said earlier? In the projection booth when you were getting into the killer’s mindset?”
Riley frowned slightly, trying to recall her exact words. “About the killer loving how movies make their magic?”
“Yes. You said the killer loves the way movies make their magic, the same way a stage magician makes his audience believe his tricks are real.” Ann Marie’s voice grew more animated as she continued. “And that the killer loves turning make-believe into something that seems realer than real.”
The light changed, and Riley accelerated through the intersection, the pieces beginning to click together in her mind. “I said that? I wasn’t even sure what I meant at the time. It just... came out.”
“I think you were onto something,” Ann Marie insisted. “Think about it. The first murder—Veronica Slate poisoned in a nightclub that wasn’t a real nightclub at all. It was a set, constructed specifically for the purpose.”
“But Crystal Keene was killed in an actual projection booth,” Riley countered.
“Yes, but maybe that’s because the killer had no alternative. Where else could you find a vintage projection booth except in an old theater? She didn’t have a make-believe projection booth. She had to use the real thing.”
Riley felt a sudden chill as the implications crystallized. “You’re saying that Sarah Brooks might not be planning to commit her next murder in an actual church, but rather—”
“In a make-believe church,” Ann Marie finished. “A set designed to look like a church sanctuary.”
“A film set. At Magnolia Gateway Films.” Riley’s pulse quickened as the pieces locked into place. “Where Sarah Brooks works as the head of production design. Where she would have access, knowledge, control. Call Gillian Sinclair again. Now.”
Ann Marie already had her phone out, scrolling to find the number they’d called earlier. She put it on speaker as it rang.
“Gillian Sinclair,” the woman’s voice answered.
“Ms. Sinclair, this is Agent Esmer again, with Agent Paige. You’re on speaker.”
“Has there been any sign of Sarah?” Gillian asked immediately.
“No,” Riley replied, “but we have another question. Do any of the soundstages at Magnolia Gateway Films currently have a set for a church sanctuary?”
There was a moment of silence on the line. Then Gillian’s voice carried a note of surprise. “Yes, actually. Stage Six has a church interior that was built for the period drama we wrapped last week. It hasn’t been struck yet.” A pause. “Agent Paige, what’s going on? These questions—”
“Is anyone working on that stage today?” Riley interrupted.
“No, it’s dark. We’re not scheduled to use it again until next week.”
“I need you to have one of your security personnel check what’s happening on that soundstage,” Riley instructed, cutting her off again. “But tell them to be extremely careful. Don’t enter, just check if there’s any activity. Can you do that now, while we’re on the line?”
“Of course,” Gillian replied, the rustle of movement audible through the speaker.
They heard her voice, slightly muffled as she apparently covered the phone to speak to someone else.
“Jerry, I need you to check Stage Six right away. Just see if there’s any activity, but don’t go inside. Be careful.”
Riley and Ann Marie exchanged tense glances as they waited. The traffic light ahead turned yellow, and Riley slowed to a stop, fighting the urge to run it.
The muffled sounds of conversation continued on the other end of the line. Then Gillian’s voice returned, clearer now. “Jerry’s calling the security desk nearest Stage Six. They should be able to do a quick check.”
The silence stretched, marked only by the soft hum of the car’s engine and the barely audible sounds of Gillian’s office. Riley checked the time on the dashboard—10:15 AM. Lucy Morgan had been missing all morning. How much time did she have left?
“Agent Paige?” Gillian’s voice suddenly returned. “Jerry just heard back from security. The locks on Stage Six have been changed. They can’t gain access with their keys.”
“Ms. Sinclair, I need you to make sure everyone stays clear of that soundstage,” Riley instructed. “Don’t let anyone approach it. We and other law enforcement personnel are on our way there now.”
“Of course,” Gillian agreed, her voice strained. “I’ll make sure security keeps the area clear. Should I evacuate the rest of the studio?”
Riley considered the question. “No, that might alert our suspect. Just keep everyone away from Stage Six, specifically.”
“Please tell me what’s going on,” Gillian pleaded.
“I will when we get there,” Riley said.
After ending the call, Riley immediately told Ann Marie. “Call Hayes. Tell him what we’ve figured out.”
Ann Marie quickly dialed, putting the call on speaker just as Hayes answered with a curt, “Hayes.”
“Detective, it’s Agent Esmer. You’re on speaker with Agent Paige and me. We think we’ve identified where Sarah Brooks is holding Lucy Morgan.”
“I’m listening,” Hayes replied.
“We have reason to believe she’s not using an actual church,” Riley said, taking over. “She’s using a church set on Stage Six at Magnolia Gateway Films. We just confirmed with Gillian Sinclair that there is indeed a church sanctuary set there, and someone changed the locks.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“As sure as we can be without visual confirmation,” Riley replied. “The pattern fits. Sarah Brooks is a production designer. She works with sets every day. The first murder was staged on a set, not in a real nightclub.”
There was a brief silence as Hayes processed this information. “I’m still ten minutes from St. Barnabas,” he finally said. “I’ll continue here in case we’re wrong, but I’ll dispatch units to the studio immediately. How far away are you?”
Riley glanced at the GPS. “About fifteen minutes in this traffic.”
“I’ll make sure officers meet you there. Be careful, Paige.”
“Understood,” Riley acknowledged before Ann Marie ended the call.
Riley made a sharp turn at the next intersection, the tires squealing slightly as she changed course toward Magnolia Gateway Films.