CHAPTER TWELVE
Scattered fragments of the case tumbled through Riley’s mind as she drove toward home.
The day’s work with Ann Marie had yielded plenty of details but precious little clarity.
Now, with evening settling over the city, Riley found herself no closer to understanding the origami killer’s identity than she’d been that morning.
Ten minutes ago, she’d dropped Ann Marie off at her apartment building. Earlier, they’d spent hours dissecting questions with Detective Brookman—laying out crime scene photos across a conference table, examining each one methodically, hunting for connections they might have overlooked.
“The problem is,” Brookman had said, “we’ve got a killer who knows exactly what they’re doing. No DNA, no fibers, nothing personal left behind except these damn paper birds.” His frustration had matched Riley’s own. “It’s like this one has carefully studied how not to get caught.”
After leaving Brookman, she and Ann Marie had compiled everything they’d learned into a report for Brent Meredith.
When they’d phoned him at Quantico, Meredith had listened to it all intently.
Finally, he’d said, “So what you’re telling me is that we have a killer who’s not only methodical but adaptable.
Someone with access to therapy sessions and enough technical knowledge to cover their digital tracks.
And they’re targeting patients with impulse control problems, which could be just about anyone in therapy these days. ”
Riley had agreed, even while hating the summary because of its stark truth. “We’re pursuing every angle, Chief. We’re sure of one thing at this point—’Fawn Waller’ isn’t a real name, but a construct designed to misdirect us.”
Meredith had replied, “I don’t need to tell you how this looks, Paige. Two victims already, and we’ve got nothing substantial. More people could be in danger, and the press is going to be all over this one soon.”
A horn blared behind her, startling Riley out of her reverie. The light had turned green. She accelerated, silently chastising herself for the momentary lapse in attention.
Her phone conversation with Sam Flores had been equally frustrating. “Tell me something good, Sam,” she’d said. But the BAU lab technician’s earlier worries about examining Berridge’s computer were confirmed.
“Wish I could,” he’d replied. “This ‘Fawn Waller’ is giving us the runaround. Multiple login locations, all public access points—coffee shops, libraries, a hotel business center.” He’d pointed to a digital map with markers scattered across the D.C.
area. “We’re working with local police to pull security footage from each location, but so far, it’s a mess.
Too many people coming and going, and our suspect clearly knows how to avoid showing their face to cameras.
We’re not seeing the same person turn up repeatedly. ”
“What about any actual account?” Riley had asked. “Registration details, payment information?”
Sam had shaken his head. “Prepaid credit card purchased with cash. The registration information leads to a PO Box rented months ago—also paid in cash, with a fake ID. It’s no longer in use. Whoever this is, they planned carefully.”
Now, as Riley turned onto her street, she found that last conversation the most discouraging of all.
Planning. Careful execution. No mistakes, no emotional outbursts, no signature beyond the origami itself.
It was the perfect criminal profile—which meant it told her almost nothing about the killer as a person.
She pulled into her parking spot in front of her townhouse, cutting the engine but making no move to exit the vehicle.
The house lights glowed welcomingly through the windows, promising warmth and normalcy.
Yet Riley couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something crucial, some thread that would unravel the entire mystery if only she could grasp it.
Two victims. Two origami figures, carefully folded. Two therapy patients with impulse control issues.
And somewhere out there, a killer who seemed to know exactly what they were doing—possibly preparing to strike again.
Riley grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and stepped out into the misty evening. Even as she approached her front door, she couldn’t help running through the case details one more time, hunting for that elusive connection that might break everything open.
As she reached for her keys, she reminded herself that tomorrow would be another day of investigation, another chance to get ahead of the killer.
Tonight, however, all she wanted was a few hours of peace with her family, a brief respite from the darkness she’d spent the day wading through.
She had no way of knowing that even that small comfort was about to be denied her.
Riley pushed open the front door, the familiar scents of home momentarily displacing the web of frustrations the case had spun.
The house was warm, alive with the soft hum of the television from the family room and the lingering aroma of whatever Gabriela had prepared for dinner.
She had just set her bag down on the entryway table when Jilly appeared from the kitchen, her eyes bright with an excitement that immediately set off warning bells in Riley’s mind.
The girl practically vibrated with nervous energy.
“Mom, you’re home just in time!” Jilly’s words tumbled out in a rush, her dark hair swinging as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “I think I can help you catch Leo Dillard!”
The name alone was enough to freeze Riley’s blood. She stared at her fifteen-year-old daughter, momentarily speechless.
“What are you talking about?” Riley finally managed.
Jilly thrust her phone toward Riley. “Look! Someone texted me this afternoon. At first, I thought it might be some creep from school, but the way they write, the things they know about our family—it’s him, Mom. It has to be.”
Riley took the phone and scrolled through the conversation. It began innocuously.":
Hey beautiful. Been watching you in class. Too shy to talk in person, but wanted to let you know I think you’re amazing.
Then Jilly had responded, Who is this?
“You shouldn’t have replied to him at all,” Riley said.
“Keep reading, Mom.”
The texts quickly became palpably creepier, with the texter claiming to be someone who understands Jilly extremely well:
Someone who’s noticed how different you are from everyone else here. How much deeper.
And finally came the text which amounted to a smoking gun, identifying Riley by name:
Riley is very protective of you. But I also know she’s working a case today. You could slip out for a little while. No one would have to know.
“He wants to meet me at Echo Bridge at nine o’clock,” Jilly said, pointing to the final message. “That’s less than thirty minutes from now. We could go together—you could hide somewhere nearby while I—”
“Absolutely not.” Riley’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “Jilly, do you have any idea how dangerous this is? This man is dangerous. He’s been stalking our family.”
“I know that!” Jilly’s eyes flashed with indignation. “That’s why this is such a good chance to catch him! He thinks I’m just some dumb kid, but I’ve been careful. I never told him anything important, and I made sure to sound like I was totally falling for his act.”
Riley closed her eyes briefly, wrestling with the conflicting emotions surging through her—pride at Jilly’s cleverness and horror at the risk she’d taken. When she opened her eyes again, she fixed her daughter with the steady gaze she typically reserved for interrogations.
“You are not going to Echo Bridge. You are not meeting this person. If this is Leo Dillard—and I believe you’re right that it is—then he’s playing with you. With us.”
“But Mom—”
“There is no discussion here,” Riley said, her voice softening slightly as she recognized the disappointment clouding Jilly’s expression. “I understand you were trying to help, but this isn’t something you should be involved in.”
From the doorway to the kitchen, Gabriela cleared her throat. The housekeeper stood with arms crossed, her expression making it clear she’d heard enough of the conversation to understand the situation.
“Your mother is right, nina,” she said firmly. “This man is muy peligroso—very dangerous. Not a game.”
Jilly’s face flushed with frustration. “I’m not treating it like a game! I’ve been careful! Mom catches killers all the time, and I just thought—”
“Your mother has training, weapons, and backup,” Gabriela interrupted. “You have none of these things.”
Riley placed a hand on Jilly’s shoulder. “I need to call Bill about this. And then we’ll need to turn your phone over to the forensics team.”
“What? No!” Jilly clutched her phone protectively. “They’ll take forever to give it back!”
“This is evidence, Jilly,” Riley said gently but firmly as she pulled out her own phone and dialed Bill’s number, putting the call on speakerphone.
“Everything okay?” Bill’s voice carried immediate concern.
“Not exactly,” Riley replied, keeping her eyes on Jilly as she explained the situation in concise, professional terms. She watched her daughter’s face cycle through expressions of defiance, embarrassment, and finally resignation as the reality of the situation seemed to sink in.
“She’s absolutely not going,” Bill agreed immediately when Riley finished. “And neither should you, Riley. We should send plainclothes officers to observe the location.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Riley said, though a part of her had already decided she would be going to Echo Bridge herself.
“We need to get Jilly’s phone analyzed ASAP,” Bill said. “Though I doubt we’ll get much—he’s almost certainly using a burner. I’ll arrange for an officer to pick it up within the hour.”
Jilly’s eyes widened in dismay, but Riley gave her a look that forestalled any protest.
“The important thing is that Jilly is safe,” Bill continued. “Make sure she understands how serious this is. Leo isn’t playing games—or if he is, they’re deadly ones.”
“Understood,” Riley said, ending the call after a brief goodbye. She turned back to Jilly, who had slumped against the wall, her earlier excitement replaced by visible frustration.
“This sucks,” Jilly muttered. “I was trying to help.”
“I know you were,” Riley said, softening her tone.
“And I appreciate the instinct. But there are protocols for situations like this, procedures that keep people safe.” She paused, choosing her next words carefully.
“What you did was brave, but it was also dangerous. If Leo is texting you, it means he’s watching us, watching you. That’s not something I take lightly.”
Gabriela moved closer, her presence solid and reassuring. “I will make some hot chocolate. Good for nerves, yes?” She gave Jilly’s arm a gentle squeeze before disappearing back into the kitchen.
Riley checked her watch—8:35 p.m. If she left now, she could reach Echo Bridge before the arranged meeting time.
“An officer will be here soon for your phone,” she told Jilly. “I need you to stay home with Gabriela.”
Jilly’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Where are you going?”
“To make sure this situation is properly handled,” Riley replied, deliberately vague.
“You’re going to the bridge, aren’t you?” Jilly accused. “That’s not fair! You just told me it was too dangerous!”
“It is too dangerous—for you,” Riley corrected her. “I’m a trained FBI agent with years of experience handling people like Leo Dillard.”
“Bill said you shouldn’t go either,” Jilly reminded her stubbornly.
Riley sighed. “Bill is being cautious, and normally I’d agree with him. But this is personal, Jilly. Leo contacted you, my daughter. I need to see this through myself.” She checked her service weapon discreetly while Jilly watched with lingering resentment.
“Promise me you’ll stay here,” Riley said, meeting her daughter’s eyes. “Promise me you won’t try to follow or do anything rash or stupid.”
Jilly hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “I promise.”
“Good.” Riley kissed her daughter’s forehead. “I’ll be back soon. Lock the door behind me, and don’t open it for anyone except the officer coming for your phone—and only after checking their ID.”
As Riley headed back toward the door, the weight of the case she’d been carrying all day was now compounded by a new, more immediate threat.
Leo Dillard had moved from theoretical danger to active menace, and he had targeted her family.
The exhaustion she’d felt earlier had evaporated, replaced by cold, focused determination.
No more playing defense. It was time to confront this threat directly.