CHAPTER NINE
Riley Paige guided her sedan through the sleepy streets of Talomaska Crossing, following Chief Rawley’s unmarked SUV.
They drove past the town’s small commercial district—a handful of storefronts, a diner with a neon “OPEN” sign flickering in the window, a gas station where an elderly attendant sat on a folding chair, newspaper spread across his lap.
“You think Marcus Halstead is our unsub?” Ann Marie asked.
Riley considered the question. “He fits a certain type—rejection triggers violence, has knowledge of the area, possibly stalking behavior. But let’s see how he reacts to direct questions.”
“Chief Rawley seems convinced.”
“Local police often have instincts about their own communities that outsiders miss,” Riley acknowledged. “She’s known Marcus for years. If she thinks he’s capable of this, it’s worth taking seriously.”
As they approached the edge of town, Rawley’s SUV slowed, then turned onto an unpaved driveway where a rusted mailbox leaned at a precarious angle, the name “ALSTEAD” barely visible on its side.
Riley pulled up behind the chief’s vehicle.
The bungalow before them had likely been charming once—a single-story home with a small garage attached on one side.
What might have been cheerful yellow siding had faded to a sickly beige, peeling in patches.
The front yard was a battlefield where weeds had emerged victorious, knee-high in places and choking what remained of an ancient flower bed.
And there, parked askew in the driveway, was an old Ford sedan.
As Chief Rawley had told them, it matched the description Myrtle Sprouse had given of the vehicle that had slowed suspiciously when Amanda made her final delivery—” dark blue or maybe black under all that dust.” The vehicle’s position suggested it had been parked hastily, as if the driver had been in a hurry—or distracted.
“That sure does look like the car Mrs. Sprouse described,” Ann Marie murmured, echoing Riley’s thoughts.
They exited their vehicle as Rawley and Captain Hodge approached them from their SUV.
“His car’s here,” Rawley said quietly. “That’s a good sign he’s home.” She turned to Riley. “How do you want to handle this?”
“Let’s keep it casual at first,” Riley suggested. “You know him, so you should take the lead. We’re just asking questions at this stage, gathering information.”
The four of them made their way toward the front porch.
As they walked, Riley catalogued details of the property: trash bags piled by the side of the house, windows covered with blankets rather than curtains, empty beer bottles scattered near an overflowing garbage can.
The place spoke of neglect—not just of the property, but of the man who lived there.
The wooden steps to the porch creaked ominously under their weight.
Riley caught a glimpse of movement through a dirty front window—someone was home, and likely aware of their arrival.
As Chief Rawley raised her hand to knock, Riley positioned herself where she could clearly observe the door opening, ready to read every body-language cue of the man they had come to question.
Chief Rawley knocked firmly on the door, the sound echoing through the house with a hollow finality that suggested emptiness.
A flicker of movement behind the grimy front curtain confirmed someone was inside, watching them, deciding whether to acknowledge their presence.
The seconds stretched longer, filled with nothing but birdsong and the distant growl of a lawnmower from a neighboring property.
Rawley knocked again, harder this time. “Marcus,” she called. “It’s Linda Rawley. We need to talk to you.”
More movement behind the curtain, followed by the sound of locks being disengaged.
The door creaked open just enough to reveal Marcus Alstead’s face—unshaven, with dark circles under bloodshot eyes that suggested either poor sleep or substance abuse.
His gaze darted between the officers, lingering on Riley and Ann Marie with unmistakable wariness.
“What’s this about?” he asked, his voice hoarse. The door remained mostly closed, his body positioned to block any view of the interior.
“Just need to ask you a few questions,” Rawley replied, her tone deliberately casual. “This is Captain Hodge from the State Police, and Agents Paige and Esmer from the FBI. They’re helping us with a missing persons case.”
At the mention of FBI, Marcus’s pupils contracted slightly—a physiological reaction to stress that Riley had learned to watch for.
“Can we come in?” Rawley asked, though her tone suggested it wasn’t really a question.
Marcus hesitated, then reluctantly opened the door wider. “Place is a mess,” he muttered, a perfunctory apology that didn’t sound remotely genuine.
Riley stepped into a living room that smelled of stale cigarettes and unwashed laundry.
Empty fast-food containers littered a coffee table, and the blinds were drawn, casting the room in a perpetual twilight.
A laptop sat open on the couch beside a tangle of blankets that suggested Marcus had been sleeping there rather than in a bedroom.
“We’re investigating the disappearances of two people,” Riley said, watching his face carefully. “One is Amanda Lindeen.”
Marcus’s eyes widened. “Amanda’s gone missing?”
“That’s right,” Riley said. “Where were you yesterday evening, about 7:00?”
Marcus shrugged, eyes sliding away from hers. “Here, probably. Or maybe out for a walk. I don’t exactly keep a calendar these days.”
“Anyone who can confirm that?” Captain Hodge asked.
“No,” Marcus snapped, then seemed to realize his tone was inappropriate. He moderated his voice. “I live alone. Keep to myself.”
“And last evening before that?” Ann Marie asked, citing the time of Cable Morris’s disappearance.
Marcus frowned, as if struggling to remember. “Same answer,” he said finally. “Here or out. Don’t really remember.”
Riley noted the vagueness of his responses, the convenient lack of specificity. “You know Amanda Lindeen personally, don’t you?” she asked, changing tack.
Marcus’s posture stiffened. “Used to. Haven’t talked to her in a while.”
“Her mother says differently,” Rawley interjected. “Says you’ve been getting pushy with Amanda. Says you’ve been following her around. Making her uncomfortable.”
A flash of anger crossed Marcus’s face. “Ida Lindeen doesn’t know what she’s talking about anymore. Half the time she doesn’t even remember what day it is.”
“When was the last time you spoke with Amanda?” Riley pressed.
“Weeks ago. Maybe a month.” Marcus crossed his arms. “We ran into each other at the gas station. Said hello, that’s it.”
“You didn’t approach her during her delivery routes?”
“No.” The denial came too quickly, too emphatically.
Chief Rawley tilted her head slightly. “That’s interesting, because Mrs. Sprouse mentioned seeing your car driving past her house when Amanda was making a delivery there. The day Amanda disappeared.”
Marcus’s face flushed. “So, what if I was in the area? It’s a free country. I was just driving by.”
“Driving by the exact place where Amanda was making her last known delivery before disappearing?” Ann Marie asked.
“I saw her truck,” Marcus admitted reluctantly. “Thought about stopping to say hi, but figured she was busy. So, I kept going. That’s it.”
Riley caught Marcus glancing toward the next room—a quick, nervous flick of the eyes.
She moved slightly in order to see that area better.
It was a small kitchen, cluttered and dirty, with another door on one side.
Whatever he was hiding, it was in that direction, if not in the kitchen, then through that door that would lead to …
The garage, she realized.
“And what about Cable Morris?” Captain Hodge asked.
“Cable who?”
“Morris,” Hodge said. “He disappeared near Springcrest. Did you know him?”
“Never met him,” Marcus said, though his right foot began tapping against the floor—another stress indicator. “And I never go to Springcrest.”
Marcus’s gaze kept darting to that side door. Riley exchanged a quick look with Chief Rawley, who had clearly noticed the same behavior.
“Marcus,” Rawley said carefully, “we’d like to take a look in your garage, if you don’t mind.”
His reaction was immediate and telling—his face hardened, his stance widened, and he stepped between them and the door. “You got a warrant?”
“No,” Rawley admitted, “but if you have nothing to hide—”
“Then I don’t have to let you snoop around my property,” Marcus interrupted, his voice rising. “You come here, accusing me of—what? Kidnapping? Based on what? That I drove down a public road?”
“Nobody’s accusing you of anything,” Captain Hodge said, his deep voice carrying a note of calm authority. “We’re just trying to find those missing people.”
“Well, they’re not in my garage,” Marcus snapped. His hands were trembling now, and sweat had begun to bead on his forehead.
Riley stepped closer. “Marcus, your reaction is making us concerned. If you’re hiding something in there—”
“Get out!” Marcus suddenly shouted, pointing toward the front door. “All of you, get out of my house!”
“Marcus—” Rawley began.
“I said get out!” He advanced toward them, his movements erratic. “You want to search anything, get a warrant!”
When Rawley didn’t move, Marcus’s control finally snapped. He lunged forward, clearly intending to physically force them out, shoving Chief Rawley with enough force to make her stumble.
Hodge moved with surprising speed for his size, catching Marcus’s arm and twisting it behind his back in one fluid motion. “That was a mistake,” he said evenly as Marcus struggled against his grip.
With the situation escalated to physical attack, Rawley now had probable cause. “Let’s check the garage,” she said to Riley and Ann Marie as Hodge restrained the increasingly agitated Marcus.