CHAPTER NINETEEN
Riley stared at the image on Brookman’s phone, her mind racing backward through more than twenty years of memories. The simple bamboo cylinder lay photographed against a plain white background.
“Why, it’s a Chinese finger trap, isn’t it,” Ann Marie exclaimed. “I remember playing with one when I was a kid.”
“You mean one of those things that you stick a finger into each end, and when you try to pull them out, it suddenly tightens up?” Brookman demanded.
“That’s right, to get it to loosen, you have to push your fingers closer together.” Ann Marie explained.
Brookman snorted. “So this is just another tease?”
Riley stared at the image, the simple woven cylinder transforming in her mind from a child’s toy into something far more sinister—not just a child’s novelty, but a powerful metaphor.
She heard Brookman’s impatient comment, but for several seconds, she couldn’t pull her focus from the image that had surfaced from her past.
“Riley?” Ann Marie’s voice broke through her thoughts. “What is it? What does this mean to you?”
Riley looked up, meeting Ann Marie’s concerned gaze. In her peripheral vision, she registered Lucy Gilbert watching them from her armchair, the young woman’s grief momentarily suspended by curiosity.
“I know why this was sent specifically to me,” Riley said, her voice steady. “This isn’t random. It’s a reference to a seminar I attended back in 2000, when I was still a new academy trainee.”
Brookman’s eyebrows drew together. “A seminar? About what?”
“Ethics in law enforcement,” Riley explained, handing his phone back. “It was held at FBI Headquarters in the J. Edgar Hoover building. The instructor was a forensics specialist named Elaine Cooper.”
Ann Marie’s eyes widened with recognition. “Elaine Cooper? I’ve read some of her papers on evidence preservation ethics. She’s highly respected.”
Riley nodded. “She is. She was already something of a legend in the Bureau when I attended her seminar. She had this... unconventional teaching style. Used physical objects as metaphors for ethical dilemmas we might face.” She gestured toward the phone in Brookman’s hand.
“The Chinese finger trap was her central metaphor for a particular type of investigative paradox.”
Brookman’s expression shifted from confusion to intense focus. “What kind of paradox?”
“Elaine explained that sometimes in law enforcement, our instinctive reactions to a problem only make the situation worse,” Riley said, turning back to face them.
“Like a finger trap. The harder you pull to free yourself, the tighter it constricts. The only way out is to do the counterintuitive thing—push your fingers inward first, which loosens the weave. But even then, the dilemma is still tricky. How can you pull your fingers out without tightening the weave all over again? The solution is to squeeze the trap in the middle, keeping the ends loose.”
She paused, seeing the seminar room again in her mind’s eye—the rows of earnest trainees, Elaine’s commanding presence at the front, the small bamboo cylinder passed from hand to hand.
“She used it to illustrate how certain investigative approaches can be self-defeating. How protocol and procedure sometimes trap us, rather than guide us. Elaine argued that sometimes the only way to solve a case is to move toward the very thing our instincts tell us to pull away from.”
Ann Marie’s face tightened with concern. “And now someone has sent this exact image to you. Someone who knows about that seminar, or at least knows about Elaine Cooper’s teaching methods.”
“It can’t be a coincidence,” Riley agreed.
“Not with everything else we’re seeing in this case—the carefully designed crime scenes, the origami figures designed to create dilemmas for investigators, the methodical selection of victims.” She looked directly at Brookman.
“This confirms my theory that our killer has a law enforcement background.”
Brookman stared at the image on his phone for a long moment before looking up at Riley, his expression grim. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? That Elaine Cooper might be our killer?”
“No,” Riley said immediately, the denial sharp and instinctive. “Absolutely not. Elaine and I have kept in touch. She’s dedicated her life to teaching ethical investigation practices. She’s not a killer.”
“But she knows about finger traps,” Brookman pressed. “She understands crime scenes and evidence collection. And she has the background knowledge to create the exact scenarios we’re seeing.”
Riley shook her head emphatically. “She’s not our killer. But she might be the key to understanding who is.” She withdrew her phone from her pocket. “I’m calling her right now. She might recognize something in these crime scenes that we’re missing.”
She scrolled through her contacts, finding Elaine’s number. The phone rang several times before redirecting to voicemail. The recorded voice said, “Hello, this is Elaine Cooper. I’m probably working in my garden right now, but please leave a message so I can get back to you.”
“Elaine, it’s Riley Paige,” she said after the beep. “I’m calling about a case—an urgent one. Someone has sent me an image of a Chinese finger trap, and I believe it’s a reference to your ethics seminar. Please call me back immediately. It’s important.” She left her number and ended the call.
“She’s not answering,” Riley said, sliding the phone back into her pocket. “But I know where she lives. It’s not far from here—just outside the district in Virginia. We need to go there now.”
“Now?” Brookman asked, glancing back at Lucy Gilbert, who was watching their exchange with growing unease. “We’re still in the middle of interviewing Ms. Gilbert. And I need to coordinate the protective detail for Olga Swinson.”
“You can handle all that,” Riley said decisively. “Agent Esmer and I will go to Elaine’s. The killer sent that message specifically to me, which means I’m supposed to make this connection. Every moment we wait gives them more time to prepare whatever comes next.”
Brookman ran a hand over his face, weariness momentarily breaking through his professional demeanor.
“Alright. I’ll stay here, finish the interview, and get the protection in place for Swinson.
” He paused, then added, “I’ll also see if we can trace the origin of that text, though I’m sure it came from a burner phone. ”
“Good,” Riley said, already moving toward the door. She turned back to Lucy. “Ms. Gilbert, I apologize for cutting this short. Detective Brookman will continue with a few more questions, and we’ll be back in touch soon.”
Lucy nodded dully, the brief distraction of their exchange fading as grief reasserted itself in her posture—shoulders slumping, eyes lowering to the collection of origami figures that her roommate would never add to again.
“Detective,” Riley said, “I need you to forward complete access to all case records to my phone. And send me that text with the finger trap image.”
“Consider it done,” Brookman replied, pulling out his phone to make the necessary arrangements.
As they stepped into the hallway, Ann Marie asked Riley. “You’re certain Elaine Cooper isn’t involved in these murders?” she asked, her voice low to prevent it carrying back into the apartment.
Riley met her gaze directly. “I’d stake my career on it.”
But beneath her certainty lay a shadow of doubt—not about Elaine’s innocence, but about what the finger trap message truly meant. Someone was deliberately leading them down this path, creating a puzzle that Riley was meant to solve.
When Riley and Ann Marie stepped out of the Middleton Gardens apartment into the late afternoon sunshine, the crisp September air was refreshing. As they made their way across the parking lot toward their vehicle, Riley’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
“It’s Bill,” she told Ann Marie, slowing her pace.
Ann Marie nodded, reaching for the car keys that Riley had been unconsciously clutching. “I’ll drive. You take the call.”
Riley handed over the keys with a grateful nod and pressed the answer button as they reached the vehicle. “Bill, hi.”
“Hey,” his voice came through clear and warm, a counterpoint to the clinical detachment she’d been maintaining throughout the day. “I just got home. Gabriela told me there was another victim.”
“Third one this week,” Riley confirmed as she slid into the passenger seat. “Found in Liberty Meadows Park this morning.”
As Ann Marie started the engine and pulled smoothly out of the parking space, Bill continued, “Gabriela mentioned you were on the scene early. You okay?”
The simple question carried layers of concern. Bill was asking not just about her physical state after hours of investigation, but about the emotional toll that each new body took on her.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, then sighed. “Though if you tune into the local news, you’re liable to see my face. The press descended on the crime scene. Channel 7 seemed particularly persistent.”
Bill’s low chuckle rumbled through the phone. “Let me guess—Jennifer Sloane? Red blazer, perfect hair, talks like every question is the lead-in to a Pulitzer?”
“That’s the one,” Riley felt a smile tug at her lips despite the circumstances. “You’ve had your own run-ins with her?”
“Two years ago, that case in Alexandria.” The amusement in Bill’s voice shifted to something more serious. “They’re calling your murderer the Origami Killer now. It’s all over the TV broadcasts.”
“Nothing like a catchy nickname to really ramp up the panic.” Riley muttered. “There’s something else, Bill. The killer sent a message directly to me. A photo of a Chinese finger trap.”
The silence on the other end of the line was brief but heavy. “A finger trap,” Bill finally said. “That’s... specific. What does it mean?”
“It’s a reference to a seminar I attended back in 2000, led by Elaine Cooper. She used the finger trap as a metaphor for certain investigative dilemmas—situations where the harder you pull away, the more trapped you become.”
“Elaine Cooper,” Bill repeated, recognition evident in his voice. “The ethics specialist? Smart woman.”
“Very,” Riley agreed. “We’re headed to her house now. She didn’t answer when I called, but apparently she’s at home.”
“You think she’s in danger?”
“I don’t know,” Riley admitted. “The message was sent to me, referencing a teaching method she used. It could be a threat against her, or...” She trailed off, reluctant to voice the alternate possibility.
“Or she could be involved,” Bill finished for her.
“I don’t believe that,” Riley said firmly. “Not for a second. But she might know something—might recognize a former student or colleague who could be our killer.”
Bill was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice had softened. “Riley, I’m worried about you. This case has turned personal. And with everything else going on—”
“You mean Leo,” she said.
“Yes. That’s a lot for anyone to handle, even you.” The concern in his voice was genuine, devoid of any hint that he doubted her capabilities. It was one of the things she valued most about Bill—his ability to acknowledge her humanity without questioning her strength.
“I’m handling it,” she insisted. “But one crisis at a time. Right now, that means finding Elaine and figuring out what this finger trap message means.”
“And Leo?”
Riley closed her eyes briefly. “Gabriela knows not to let Jilly out of her sight, especially when we’re both away like this. April’s campus security has been briefed.” She sighed. “It’s the best we can do until we can locate him.”
“I should have been there—” Bill began.
“No,” Riley interrupted. “Your case in Maryland was important, too. You can’t be everywhere, Bill.”
“Neither can you,” he reminded her gently.
“I know,” she said reluctantly. “But right now, I need to focus on the lead in front of me.”
“Keep me updated. And Riley? Be careful. If this killer knows enough about your past to reference a twenty-plus-year-old seminar, they know a lot more about you than is comfortable.”
“I will,” she promised. “I’ll call you after we speak with Elaine.”
The call ended, and Riley slipped the phone back into her pocket. Ann Marie glanced over, her expression carefully neutral, but Riley could read the question in her eyes.
“Everything okay?” Ann Marie asked after a moment.
“As okay as it can be. Let’s just find Elaine and see what she knows.”
Ann Marie returned her focus to driving, but not before Riley caught the flicker of concern that passed across her features.
The finger trap image haunted her thoughts as they drove on. The trap was already closing around her; the question was whether she could figure out how to push inward before it constricted completely.