CHAPTER NINE #2
Riley moved quickly through the little kitchen to that door, and pulled it open.
With Ann Marie and Rawley following close behind, she stepped down onto a concrete floor.
What they saw was not kidnapping victims, but what appeared to be a small-scale fencing operation—power tools still in their boxes, bicycles with price tags still attached, electronics, and dozens of packages that had clearly been stolen from porches.
“Some of these items have been reported stolen—and now I know who stole them,” Chief Rawley said, pulling handcuffs from her belt.
She returned to the kitchen where Hodge maintained his hold on the now-subdued man.
“Marcus Alstead, you’re under arrest for assault on a police officer and, I’m guessing, a whole lot of theft charges once we sort through all this. ”
Marcus’s resistance collapsed as Rawley read him his rights. “It’s not what you think,” he muttered, though it wasn’t clear whether he meant the stolen goods or the original reason for their visit.
“We’ll process him at the station,” Rawley told them. “Let’s meet up there.”
“Okay,” Riley replied, watching as Hodge and Rawley led a now-compliant Marcus away.
She and Ann Marie stood in the cluttered garage for a few minutes, looking over Marcus Alstead’s secret enterprise.
Stolen packages were stacked in messy piles, their shipping labels still intact—National Parcel Express and FleetRush Logistics prominently displayed, the very companies that Amanda Lindeen and Cable Morris had worked for.
But this wasn’t the smoking gun they’d hoped for—just a petty thief who’d made stealing packages his livelihood, not a kidnapper who’d made delivery drivers disappear.
Ann Marie commented, “This explains why he was so nervous about us searching the garage.”
“And maybe why he was following Amanda’s delivery route,” Riley agreed, picking up a tablet still in its factory-sealed box. “Could be he wasn’t stalking Amanda specifically—he was tracking any deliveries in the area, waiting for opportunities to steal packages after they’d been dropped off.”
She noted the organized chaos of Marcus’s operation.
One corner held what appeared to be tools for breaking into vehicles—slim jims, lock picks, electronic devices she suspected were used to clone key fobs.
Another section contained neatly labeled bins: “Electronics,” “Tools,” “Clothing,” “Jewelry.” Marcus might have been living in squalor, but his criminal enterprise showed signs of methodical organization.
“He’s been busy,” Ann Marie observed, opening a drawer filled with watches and rings—likely packages stolen from front porches before their intended recipients returned home.
Riley agreed, but something still didn’t sit right. “This is a different kind of criminal behavior than what we’re investigating. Package thieves and burglars rarely escalate to anything like a carefully-planned kidnapping. The psychological profiles are completely different.”
“So, you don’t think he’s our unsub?”
“Marcus doesn’t fit the profile. He’s impulsive, reactive—he lashed out when cornered. Our kidnapper is methodical, patient. Leaves coded messages. Plans extensively.” She shook her head. “Marcus can’t even plan his own alibi. And look at his living conditions.”
They made their way back outside and to their vehicle.
Marcus was already gone, transported to the local police station in the back of Rawley’s SUV.
The neighborhood had returned to its afternoon quiet, as if nothing had happened—no neighbors had even come out to investigate the commotion.
In small towns like this, Riley knew, people often practiced selective blindness about their neighbors’ troubles.
“He’s not completely off our list, though,” she said, unlocking the car. “No one is, until we find Amanda and Cable.”
Riley opened her door but paused as her phone buzzed in her pocket. She checked the screen—Brent Meredith’s name flashed up at her. “It’s Meredith,” she told Ann Marie, answering the call and putting it on speakerphone. “Paige here.”
“Agent Paige,” Meredith’s deep voice came through the line, tense with urgency. “Where are you?”
“We’ve apprehended a potential suspect in Talomaska Crossing. But I’ve got my doubts about him. He’s being arrested for theft, not kidnapping.”
“Well, I’ve got news on those codes left with the victims,” Meredith said. “Our cryptology team is still stumped.”
Riley leaned against her car, the metal warm against her back. “So, we’ve got nothing?”
“Not exactly. We reached out to Timothy Lancaster.”
“Did he say whether he recognizes the code structure?” Riley asked.
“He wouldn’t say anything specific about that,” Meredith replied. “Just that he ‘finds the problem intriguing.’ But he refused to discuss it with our tech guy. His exact words were, ‘Tell Agent Paige that if she wants my help, she’ll need to speak to me directly—one-on-one.’”
Riley fell silent as Meredith’s words settled in her mind.
Timothy Lancaster—the man who had murdered her former math teacher, the killer she had hunted and caught a year ago—wanted to speak with her.
Even separated by prison walls and communicating through technology, the thought of facing him again made her stomach twist.