CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
In the Bundydale Police Station meeting room, fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across scattered papers and coffee cups.
Riley rubbed her temples, fighting off a dull throb behind her eyes.
She knew it was just past seven in the evening, but this day felt endless—a sprawling investigation that kept unfolding new layers, each one more complex than the last.
On the other side of the rectangular table, Captain Travis Hodge and Chief Abel Peckham waited with the patience of seasoned law enforcement. Seated next to Riley, Ann Marie was working at her own tablet screen.
“Walk me through it again,” Hodge said to Riley. “Why do you think this Tony Bartlett is our unsub?”
Riley straightened, gathering her thoughts.
This part was always hard—translating her intuitive leaps into logical steps that others could follow.
How could she explain that she had felt the killer’s connection to that burial site, had sensed the intimate familiarity with the place that went beyond it being a convenient location?
A short while ago, Peckham’s forensics team had exhumed the grave in the churchyard, reporting that the remains were indeed those of Cable Morris.
Riley had also put in a phone call to Chief Rawley, who had confirmed what Riley had expected: the Bartlett twins had lived in Talomaska Crossing with their father for a couple of years, back when Tony and Jay were still in grade school.
Riley had also given Chief Rawley the coordinates that Timothy Lancaster had deciphered for her, coordinates she believed would lead to Amanda Lindeen’s grave.
The police chief had agreed to take a team to check out that location, and those in the meeting room were all waiting for Rawley to report back about that.
But the two lawmen were also waiting for her to answer Hodge’s question.
“I suspect that these locations aren’t random,” Riley began. “As I’m sure you know, the way that killers leave their victims can send important signals.”
Hodge gestured for her to continue.
“Well,” Riley said, “if they don’t want their victims’ bodies to be found, they won’t be choosy about where to bury them, all they want is a place where nobody will look.”
“The place that we saw today doesn’t fit that category,” Chief Peckham acknowledged.
“That’s right,” Riley agreed. “It’s significant that the grave was neatly dug and not disguised in any way.
Because some killers choose to leave a body in a way or a place that means something to them or to their victims. The grave near the old church seems like that type to me. A deliberate choice. Personal.”
What she couldn’t tell them was how she’d sensed an emotional resonance at the burial site, the wordless suggestion that the killer had chosen it not just as a disposal site, but because it was a place that mattered. A place that held memories.
“And you expect to find something similar where Chief Rawley is checking things out now?” Hodge asked skeptically.
“I do,” Riley admitted.
Peckham looked skeptical. “With all due respect, Agent Paige, the fact that the Bartlett twins lived in both towns at some point seems circumstantial at best. Are we going to look into everybody that might have lived in both places, or visited back and forth? Starting with kids?”
Riley’s frustration simmered just below the surface.
The familiar wall was building between them—the barrier that always formed when Riley ‘s insights ran ahead of the tangible evidence. She’d faced it countless times before with local law enforcement, with superiors at the Bureau, and even with partners other than Bill and Ann Marie.
Ann Marie looked up suddenly from her tablet, her expression bright with discovery.
“I might have something,” she said, turning the screen toward them. “Remember, Bob Montgomery told us that Jay Bartlett died in a climbing accident five years ago, but he didn’t know where. I’ve found the report of his death. He died at Raven’s Leap Cliff near Hartsfield.”
Riley leaned forward. “What happened?”
“According to the news report, he was free soloing—climbing without ropes. Experienced climber, but something went wrong.”
“And Tony?” Riley asked, feeling the pieces begin to click together.
Ann Marie scrolled further. “That’s the thing. After his brother’s death, Tony Bartlett seems to have dropped off the map entirely. No social media, no credit history, no employment records I can find after 2021. It’s like he disappeared.”
Riley felt a cool certainty settle over her. “Or he’s been living under the radar, nursing a grief that turned to rage.”
Hodge frowned. “It’s still thin, Agent Paige. Brothers who lived in both towns where victims were taken, one dies, one disappears... it’s unusual, but not conclusive.”
Riley was about to respond when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and saw that the caller was Chief Rawley, returning her previous phone call. She quickly tapped the speaker button, placing it in the center of the table.
“Chief Rawley, I’m here with Captain Hodge, Chief Peckham, and Agent Esmer. You’re on speaker.”
“Agent Paige.” Linda Rawley’s voice was clear and firm through the phone. “We went to those coordinates you sent. 37.6985° North, 79.5152° West.”
Riley felt the room grow still, all eyes on the phone.
“And?” she prompted.
“You were right. There’s a shallow grave here. Can’t confirm identity without exhumation, but given the timeline and the fresh dirt... I’d bet my badge it’s Amanda Lindeen.”
Hodge leaned toward the phone. “Chief Rawley, this is Captain Hodge. I’ll send the forensics team your way to handle the exhumation and identification.”
“Appreciated,” Rawley replied. “We’ve secured the site and called in the county ME.”
Riley caught Hodge’s eye, saw his expression shifting from doubt toward grudging respect. But she needed more.
“Chief Rawley,” she said, “I have another question. Does that location have any significance in relation to the Bartlett family? Tony and Jay Bartlett, specifically.”
There was a brief silence on the line. Then, “Actually, yes. That spot is on the bend of the Talomaska River. Local fishing hole. I remember seeing Carl Bartlett—that was their father—taking the boys there on weekends. They’d camp sometimes, right near where we found the... where we found her.”
Riley felt the familiar chill that came with confirmation, with knowing she’d been right. She saw it register on Peckham’s and Hodge’s faces too—the moment when coincidence began to look like pattern.
“Thank you, Chief. That’s extremely helpful,” Riley said.
After a few more details about coordinating the forensics team, they ended the call. The room fell silent for a long moment.
Hodge was the first to speak. “Okay, I’ll admit it. That’s more than coincidence.”
Peckham rubbed his jaw. “So, your theory is that Tony Bartlett is killing delivery drivers and burying them in places that were meaningful to him and his brother? But why? What’s the connection to delivery services?”
“That’s what we need to find out,” Riley said. “But first, we need to find Tony Bartlett.”
“If he’s even alive,” Ann Marie added, still scrolling through records on her tablet. “There’s no death certificate, but there’s also no trace of him anywhere in the system for the past five years. No tax returns, no vehicle registrations, nothing.”
“That’s our biggest obstacle,” Riley admitted.
Before they could continue, Hodge’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, then answered with a hint of surprise. “Bruce? Hold on, let me put you on speaker.” He said to Riley and the others, “It’s Chief Bruce Autrey in Westminster. It sounds like he’s got something related to our case.”
He placed his phone next to Riley’s on the table. “Bruce I’m here with Special Agents Paige and Esmer from the FBI, and Captain Hodge from State Police. What’s going on?”
The voice that came through was deep and concerned.
“Travis, we’ve got a situation here in Westminster that sounds like it might be connected to those missing delivery drivers you mentioned in the regional alert.
A driver for TransGlobe Courier, Corey McLaughlin, was attacked on a rural delivery route near here about two hours ago. ”
Riley felt herself lean forward. “Was he abducted?”
“No,” Chief Autrey replied. “His assailant tried to suffocate him with a plastic bag, but fought back and got away. He didn’t get a good look at the attacker.”
“Is he injured?” Hodge asked.
“Scraped up, but nothing serious. He had a gun, but didn’t get to use it.
We recovered it from the weeds near where he was attacked.
But here’s where this gets interesting. The attacker left something behind—an envelope in the cab labeled ‘UNDELIVERABLE.’ Inside was a piece of paper with some kind of code: CG, LB-BG-ND-KA, HG, TA-ZF-YE-KG. ”
Riley and Ann Marie exchanged a glance of recognition.
“We know what that is,” Riley said to Autrey. “It’s a coordinate cipher. It would have told us where to find McLaughlin’s body if he’d actually been killed.”
“Good God,” Autrey murmured.
“Bruce, we’ll come to Westminster ASAP,” Peckham said. “Meanwhile, make sure McLaughlin is under protection. This suspect is dangerous.”
“Will do.”
After ending the call, the four of them sat in silence for a moment, processing the new information.
“So, he’s escalating,” Hodge said finally. “Two successful abductions and burials, and now an attempt that failed.”
“Which means he’ll be angry,” Riley added. “Desperate to complete whatever ritual he’s created for himself. He won’t stop.”
Her mind was already turning to what she needed to do next. “Before we head to Westminster, I need to make one more call.”
“Lancaster?” Hodge guessed, his eyebrows raised.
“Yes.” Riley didn’t elaborate. Timothy Lancaster’s mathematical mind had already helped them decode two sets of coordinates. She needed him for this third set—and perhaps more importantly, she needed his insight into the mind of someone who had created such an elaborate system of puzzles.
As the others began to gather their materials, Riley stepped away from the table, feeling the weight of the investigation pressing down on her.
Tony Bartlett was out there, his grief and rage propelling him to create these macabre puzzles, these deadly games.
She could sense his desperation, his need to complete whatever pattern he had started.
And she knew, with the certainty that had guided her through countless cases before, that they were running out of time.