Once Trapped

By early afternoon the next day, Riley was sitting in the office of Atlanta’s police chief, Elmo Stiles. The large, gruff man didn’t seem at all happy with what Riley had been telling him.

He finally growled, “Let me get this straight, Agent Paige. You’ve come here all the way from Quantico to privately interview Morgan Farrell, who we’re holding in custody for the murder of her husband. But we didn’t ask for the FBI’s help. In fact, the case is now open and shut. We’ve got a confession and everything. Morgan is guilty, and that’s pretty much that. So what’s your business here?”

Riley tried to project an air of confidence.

“I told you before,” she said. “I need to talk to her about a completely separate matter—a different case altogether.”

Stiles squinted skeptically and said, “A different case that you can’t tell me anything about.”

“That’s right,” Riley said.

It was a lie, of course. For the thousandth time since she’d flown out of DC this morning, she wondered just what the hell she thought she was doing. She was used to bending the rules, but she was seriously crossing a line by pretending to be here on official FBI business.

Just why had she ever thought this might be a good idea?

“What if I say no?” Stiles said.

Riley knew perfectly well that this was the chief’s prerogative, and if he did say no, she’d have to comply. But she didn’t want to say so. She had to gear herself up for some serious bluffing.

She said, “Chief Stiles, believe me, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t a matter of utmost importance and urgency. I’m just not at liberty to say what it is.”

Chief Stiles drummed his fingers on his desk for a few moments.

Then he said, “Your reputation precedes you, Agent Paige.”

Riley cringed a little inside.

That could be a good thing or a bad thing, she thought.

She was well-known and respected throughout the law enforcement profession for her keen instincts, her ability to get into a killer’s mind, and her knack for solving seemingly unsolvable cases.

She was also known for sometimes being a nuisance and a loose cannon, and local authorities who had to work with her often took a dislike to her.

She didn’t know which of those reputations Chief Stiles might be referring to.

She wished she could read his expression better, but he had one of those faces that probably never looked pleased about much of anything.

What Riley really dreaded at this moment was the possibility that Stiles might do the most logical thing—pick up the phone and call Quantico to confirm that she was here on FBI business. If he did, nobody there would cover for her. In fact, she’d wind up in a good bit of trouble.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, she thought.

Finally Chief Stiles stopped drumming his fingers and got up from his desk.

He grumbled, “Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of FBI business. Come on, I’ll take you to Morgan Farrell’s jail cell.”

Suppressing a sigh of relief, Riley got up and followed Stiles out of his office. As he led her through the bustling police station, Riley wondered whether any of the cops around her might happen to be Jared Ruhl, the officer who had called her last night. She wouldn’t recognize him if she saw him. But might he know who she was?

Riley hoped not, for his sake as much as for her own. She remembered telling him over the phone about Morgan Farrell’s death …

“Frankly, it’s none of my business.”

It had been exactly the right thing for her to say, and it would be best for Ruhl if he thought Riley was sticking by her decision. It could be a big problem for him if Chief Stiles found out that he’d been making queries outside the department.

As Stiles led her into the women’s part of the jail, Riley was nearly deafened by the noise. Prisoners were pounding on bars and loudly arguing with one another, and now they started yelling at Riley as she walked past their cells.

Finally Stiles ordered a guard to open the cell occupied by Morgan Farrell, and Riley walked inside. The woman was sitting on the bed staring at the floor, seemingly unaware that anyone had arrived.

Riley was shocked by her appearance. Morgan was, as Riley remembered, extremely thin and fragile-looking. She looked even more so now, clad in an orange jumpsuit that looked way too big for her.

She also appeared to be deeply exhausted. The last time Riley had seen her, she’d been fully made up and looking like the model she had been before marrying Andrew Farrell. Without makeup, she looked shockingly waiflike. Riley thought that somebody who didn’t know anything about her might take her for a homeless woman.

In a rather polite tone, Chief Stiles said to Morgan, “Ma’am, there’s a visitor here to see you. Special Agent Riley Paige of the FBI.”

Morgan looked up at Riley and stared at her, as if she wasn’t sure whether she might be dreaming.

Chief Stiles then turned to Riley and said, “Check in with me when you’re through.”

Stiles left the cell and told the guard to shut the door behind him. Riley glanced around to see what kind of surveillance the cell might have. She wasn’t surprised to see a camera. She hoped that there weren’t any audio devices as well. The last thing she wanted right now was for Stiles or anyone else to eavesdrop on her conversation with Morgan Farrell. But now that she was here, she had to take that chance.

As Riley sat down on the bed next to her, Morgan continued to squint at her in near disbelief.

In a tired voice, she said, “Agent Paige. I hadn’t expected you. It’s kind of you to come see me, but really, it wasn’t at all necessary.”

Riley said, “I just wanted to …”

Her voice trailed off as she found herself wondering …

What do I want exactly?

Did she really have any clear idea of just what she was doing here?

Finally Riley said, “Could you tell me what happened?”

Morgan sighed deeply.

“There’s not much to tell, is there? I killed my husband. I’m not sorry I did, believe me. But now that it’s done … well, I’d really like to go home now.”

Riley was shocked by her words. Didn’t the woman understand what a terrible situation she was in?

Didn’t she know that Georgia was a death penalty state?

Morgan seemed to be having trouble holding her head up. She shuddered at the sound of a woman’s shrill shouting in a nearby cell.

She said, “I thought I’d be able to get some sleep here in jail. But listen to all that racket! It goes on all the time, twenty-four hours a day.”

Riley studied the woman’s weary face.

She asked, “You’ve not gotten much sleep, have you? Maybe not for a long time?”