CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Wide awake now, Riley scrambled out of bed. She hurried to her bag and pulled out the folder that Mains had given her. Whoever had created a fake invitation and added himself to the guest list had access to all of this information. Someone who was not on the Sterling staff.
She pulled the guest list out from under the invitation and cards.
Yes!
It had been printed on the same high quality stock as the invitations.
It bore the same elaborate design—”The Evening of Elegance,” with those delicate gold and silver filigree swirls.
Even this list that was handed out to the staff had been produced quite expensively, not just copied off on a home-office printer.
This was what had pulled her from sleep. Her subconscious had caught the connection, even though she hadn’t had time to study these materials.
The printer. Of course.
She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, swiftly dialing Callahan’s number. When the detective’s voice finally came through, thick with interrupted sleep, Riley’s words tumbled out urgently.
“Callahan, it’s Riley Paige. I know who Emil Doppler must be—or at least, how he got onto Amanda Sterling’s guest list.”
A muffled groan came through the line, followed by the sound of shifting sheets. “Paige? What time is it?”
“Six-thirty. Listen to me—” Riley paced the narrow space between the bed and window, the carpet rough beneath her bare feet.
“We’ve been asking how this killer got onto Amanda Sterling’s exclusive guest list, how he infiltrated an event where ‘everyone was personally known to Ms. Sterling or her associates.’ But we’ve been thinking about it backward. ”
“I’m listening,” Callahan said, his voice sharpening as sleep receded.
“The printer,” Riley said. “Whoever printed the invitations. They also printed the guest list. Do you have examples of those?”
“Mains gave me a copy-machine print of the guest list, not an original. Seems like it would be a really small job…”
“But the original page didn’t come from anything like that.
I’m looking at both the list and the invitation now.
The paper and style are identical, including a silver and gold design.
Sebastian Mains said everyone on the staff had copies of the list—high quality copies.
They all got those copies from whoever printed all those materials.
And someone at the printer could have both created a fake invitation for himself and added a name to the lists. ”
Silence hung on the line for a moment, then Callahan exhaled sharply. “Damn. That’s... that actually makes sense.”
“If our killer works at or owns the print shop that handled Amanda Sterling’s event materials, he would have had opportunity to insert himself onto the guest list. The staff would have seen his name on their copies and assumed he belonged there.
He could have created his own invitation, and no one would have questioned it. ”
“I’ll reach out to Sebastian Mains,” Callahan said, fully alert now. “Find out who did the printing job for The Evening of Elegance. It might take a few minutes—the man’s probably still asleep after everything that happened last night.”
“Call me as soon as you know anything,” Riley said. “This could be the break we’ve been waiting for.”
After ending the call, Riley immediately dialed Ann Marie’s room. Her younger colleague answered on the second ring, sounding surprisingly alert.
“Riley? Is everything okay?”
“Better than okay. I think I know how our killer got onto Amanda Sterling’s guest list. Get dressed and meet me in the hallway in fifteen minutes. I’ll explain everything then.”
As she prepared for the day, Riley’s mind raced through the implications of her theory.
If she was right, the killer had leveraged his legitimate business connection to Amanda Sterling to gain access to her home.
He would also have seen the names of the other two victims on the list, which would have told him that Margaret Thornfield was flying in from Chicago.
Then it would have been easy to find information about where she was staying during her time here.
Riley dressed quickly, choosing practical clothing suitable for a day that might involve anything from interviewing suspects to making an arrest. She pulled her hair back, applied minimal makeup, and gathered her notes and credentials.
The face that looked back at her from the mirror showed signs of insufficient sleep, but her eyes were bright with the focused intensity that came with a promising lead.
When she stepped into the hallway, Ann Marie was already waiting, leaning against the wall opposite Riley’s door. She straightened immediately, eyes eager for information.
“So what’s this breakthrough?”
As they walked toward the elevator, Riley explained her theory about how Emil Doppler had infiltrated Amanda Sterling’s event.
“That’s brilliant,” Ann Marie said as they stepped into the elevator. “If our unsub works at the print shop, he would have had access to all the details of the event—guest lists, schedules, whatever was included in any materials. And he could have changed that list to suit himself.”
“We need to find out if there’s a connection between all three women and a specific printing business,” Riley added. “Callahan’s getting the printer’s name. He’ll phone when he has it.”
The elevator doors opened onto the lobby, and they made their way to the hotel restaurant, where the breakfast buffet was already in full swing.
The dining area was moderately busy, filled with business travelers and tourists starting their day with plates of eggs, pastries, and fresh fruit.
They found a secluded table near a window, where they could talk.
The morning light illuminated the city coming to life beyond the glass.
“I can’t believe we might actually have a solid lead,” Ann Marie said, returning from the buffet with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. Keeping her voice low, she added, “After going in circles all this time.”
Riley sipped her coffee. “It would explain so much. The killer’s knowledge of each victim’s schedules, his ability to blend in at exclusive events.”
“Do you think he targeted these women specifically because they were clients? Or did he choose them for some other reason and then use his position at the print shop to gain access?”
“That’s what we need to find out,” Riley replied.
“There has to be a deeper connection. Three wealthy socialites, all members of the Fairfax Country Club, all killed in the same distinctive manner within days of each other. The print shop might be how he gained access, but it doesn’t explain why he chose these particular women or the connection with wine. ”
Their conversation was interrupted by Riley’s phone vibrating against the table. She glanced at the screen, surprised to see Nathaniel Thornfield’s name.
“It’s Margaret’s ex-husband,” she said to Ann Marie, then answered the call, putting it on speaker so her partner could hear but turning it low enough that the conversation wouldn’t reach other tables. They both leaned over the phone when she answered, “Mr. Thornfield, this is Agent Paige.”
“Agent Paige, I—” His voice caught, and he cleared his throat. “I just heard about Amanda Sterling. The news is reporting it as another poisoning, like Margaret and Victoria.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Riley confirmed, exchanging a glance with Ann Marie. “We’re investigating the connection between all three cases.”
“I know of a connection,” he said, his words coming faster now. “Something that linked Margaret, Victoria, and Amanda specifically. I didn’t think of it before because it happened years ago, before I even met Margaret.”
Riley leaned forward, her breakfast forgotten. “What kind of connection, Mr. Thornfield?”
“A business venture. In 2013, the three of them pooled their resources and connections to invest in the construction of the Grand Horizon Mall. They formed a business entity called Triad Ventures LLC specifically for this purpose.”
Ann Marie was already taking notes. “And this entity was just the three of them? No other partners or investors?”
“Just the three of them, as far as I know,” Thornfield confirmed. “Equal shares, equal decision-making power. Margaret mentioned it a few times during our marriage, usually when she received quarterly distribution checks. I gathered it had been quite profitable for them all.”
“Was there anything controversial about this mall development?” Riley asked, her instincts tingling with the familiar sensation of pieces falling into place.
“There was some kind of legal trouble, a class action lawsuit brought by local property owners against Triad Ventures. Something about eminent domain and inadequate compensation. But I don’t know the details—this all happened before I met Margaret. The suit was unsuccessful, I believe.”
Riley’s mind raced. A business venture involving all three victims, connected to a contentious legal battle that had likely created enemies. Combined with her theory about the print shop, possibilities were beginning to emerge.
“Thank you, Mr. Thornfield. This could be extremely valuable information.”
“I hope it helps,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “These women didn’t deserve what happened to them. Whatever disagreements Margaret and I had, she was... she was a good person.”
After ending the call, Riley looked at Ann Marie, whose expression mirrored her own excitement.
“Triad Ventures,” Ann Marie said. “That’s a specific connection between all three victims that goes beyond just being members of the same country club.”
“And if this mall development displaced people, created financial hardship, or involved legal battles,” Riley added, “it could have created deep-seated resentment. The kind that festers for years before erupting into violence.”
“But why now? Why after all this time?”
Before Riley could respond, her phone vibrated again. Callahan’s name flashed on the screen.
“Callahan,” she answered immediately. “Did you reach Sebastian Mains?”
“I did. The company that printed both the invitations and the guest lists for The Evening of Elegance was a place called Ink and Impressions. It’s a small, high-end print shop in the North Loop area.”
“Did Mains know who specifically handled the job?”
“He said he dealt exclusively with the owner, a man named Vincent Shaw. Apparently, Sterling had used this shop for years, for all her foundation’s materials.”
“We need to get over there as soon as they open,” Riley said. “When is that?”
“Eight o’clock, according to their website,” Callahan replied. “I’ll meet you there. It’s about fifteen minutes from your hotel, at the corner of Wells and Hubbard.”
“We’ll be there,” Riley promised, ending the call and turning to Ann Marie. “Ink and Impressions. Owned by Vincent Shaw. Let’s see what we can find out about him before we head over.”
Ann Marie was already tapping at her phone. “On it.”
As they finished their breakfast, Riley felt the familiar tension of an investigation approaching its critical moment.
They had two significant new leads—the business connection between the victims through Triad Ventures, and the print shop that might have given their killer access to Amanda Sterling’s event.
“Look at this,” Ann Marie said, turning her tablet to show Riley a business profile for Ink and Impressions. “Specializes in high-end printing for social events, corporate functions, and charitable foundations. Vincent Shaw is listed as the owner.”
“Any criminal record? Connections to the victims beyond business?”
“Nothing immediately apparent,” Ann Marie admitted. “But I’ve only done a surface search. We’ll need to dig deeper.”
Riley checked her watch. Seven-fifteen. They had just forty-five minutes before Ink and Impressions opened its doors.