Taking

Looking irritated, Crivaro just grumbled inaudibly.

Riley got the distinct feeling that his intended answer was “no.” But Harry was clearly determined to talk about his theory anyway.

“I think—no, I’m almost sure—the killer is a camper, someone who hops from campground to campground.”

“Someone like you?” Crivaro asked wryly.

Harry chuckled and said, “Yeah, like me except for the years spent catching slime like that. But in a way, yeah, you’re kind of right. The killer has to be someone who blends right in with the whole campground culture. Campgrounds have got to be where he stalks his victims.”

Crivaro shook his head. “I don’t know, Harry …”

Harry ignored him and babbled on about his theory. Riley felt as though she could understand Crivaro’s skepticism. Even if Harry was right and the two murders were connected, that certainly didn’t mean the killer had “stalked” anybody. She knew that some murders were spontaneous acts that resulted from chance encounters. Besides, wouldn’t most campers travel in groups, or at least in pairs? The idea of a psychotic camper prowling the nation’s campgrounds seemed a bit farfetched.

Finally Harry said, “Now, Jake, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but …”

Riley could see Crivaro wince at those words. He grumbled again, “It’s not actually my job.”

That didn’t even slow Harry down. He continued, “I think you and your partner should start going to campgrounds, ask the people there a lot of questions. Sooner or later you’ll get just the clue you need.”

Crivaro rolled his eyes, and Riley couldn’t help but sympathize.

Still not noticing Crivaro’s dismay, Harry kept right on.

“Mind you, you and your partner can’t just march into a campground looking like you do right now. Hell, you’ve got ‘FBI’ written all over you. I know campers, and most of them are perfectly friendly, and they’ll talk to you no matter who you are. But we do get all kinds of people out there. Some of them are more—what’s the word?”

“Reserved,” Jillian grumbled. “Some of them are just shy.”

“Yeah, that’s it, shy,” Harry said. “Some of them really like to keep to themselves. And if any of those shy ones know anything, they’ll skitter off the second they catch sight of you. I guess what I’m saying is, the two of you have got to go undercover, pretend to be campers yourselves. You can say you’re the girl’s uncle or something like that. Sure, you know how to do that, but for here it might be harder than it sounds. First of all, you’ve got to get new clothes, dress more like Jillian and me. And you’ll need your own trailer or RV …”

At that point Crivaro interrupted loudly. “Harry, I can’t go buying a camper.”

“Yeah, I know, but you can rent one,” Harry informed him. “They’ve got to be available around here. Just make sure it looks halfway decent, not some piece of junk. Some of the better motor home campgrounds won’t even let an old or beat-up camper in. I’m sure the Tunsboro police chief can tell you someplace where you can find just what you need.”

Riley couldn’t help but smile a little. The idea of going camping with Crivaro and pretending to be his niece seemed silly to her.

We’d never fool anybody, she thought.

She realized that Harry’s nonstop advice just showed how excited he was about this case. Jillian’s grim silence told her that Harry’s wife was well aware of his state of mind.

As Harry kept rattling on and on about how Riley and Crivaro should go about investigating the case, he was driving past golf resorts and dude ranches just outside the town of Tunsboro.

When they pulled into Tunsboro itself, it looked to Riley like an old-time Western town that someone had unsuccessfully tried to dress up for modern times. Buildings with square false fronts lined the main street. A row of rickety tin porch roofs held up by heavy wooden poles stretched in front of the buildings. In spite of some fresh paint here and there, none of it looked ready for the soon-to-come year 2000.

In fact, it was the concrete sidewalk, paved street, stoplights, and especially the cars that seemed weirdly out of place.

Harry parked outside the police station, which was just another old-fashioned business front.

He turned to look at Riley and Crivaro.

“I don’t suppose Chief Webster will be expecting you. I didn’t say anything about contacting the BAU. At least he knows me from talking with me on the phone. Maybe I should come on inside with you and—”

Jillian interrupted sharply. “Don’t even think of it, Harry.”

Harry looked at his wife with a pleading expression.

“I’ll just be a minute, honey,” he said.

“You won’t be just a minute, and you know it. We’re letting your friends off right here, and then we’re going straight back to get our camper and driving on to the Coronado Forest. That’s all there is to it.”

“But honey—”

“No ‘buts,’ Harry. If you go into that police station, I’m going to take this truck and drive right on without you.”

Harry sighed and forced a laugh.

He said to Crivaro and Riley, “Well, you heard the missus. Like I said, a tight leash. We’ll be going now. Good hunting, you two. And thanks again for looking into this.”

As Riley and Crivaro climbed down out of the truck, she heard Harry mutter, “I wouldn’t mind if you’d let me know how things go.”

“Don’t!” Jillian remarked sharply.

Riley and Jake stood there and watched Harry and his wife drive out of town.

It felt very strange to Riley to be here, suddenly stranded in the middle of this odd little town.

Crivaro was apparently feeling the same way. He looked at the ground and shuffled his feet and shook his head.

“This is crazy,” he said. “We’ve got no business being mixed up in this.”

Riley laughed and said, “Well, it wasn’t exactly my idea.”

Then she felt a possibility taking shape in her mind.

“Besides,” she added, “for all we really know, Harry’s right about everything.”

Crivaro glared at her and growled, “Well, he’s not right about you and me going camping. That’s just too damned ridiculous. We’ve got to draw the line somewhere.”

“I agree,” Riley said.

Crivaro turned and headed toward the building.

“Come on, let’s introduce ourselves to the chief,” he said.

They walked on into the little police station, where a receptionist sent them on into the Chief Everett Webster’s office. They found him sitting on the edge of his desk talking to another cop. The conversation seemed serious.

Riley was sure that they were talking about the recent murder.

When Riley and Crivaro produced their badges and introduced themselves, Webster’s mouth dropped open.