right. However, Meara Keagan had disappeared quite a few miles to the north in Westree.
“Does anybody see any connections among the locations?” Riley asked Bill and Lucy.
“Not really,” Lucy said. “Metta Lunoe’s body was in a field outside of Mowbray. Valerie Bruner’s was just along the edge of a highway. And now this one right in the middle of a small town. It’s almost as if the killer was looking for places that have nothing in common.”
Just then Riley heard shouting from among the onlookers.
“I know who did it! I know who did it!”
Riley, Bill, and Lucy all turned to look. A young man was waving and shouting from behind the tape.
“I know who did it!” he cried again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Riley took a careful look at the man who was shouting. She could see that several people around him were nodding and murmuring in agreement.
“I know who did it! We all know who did it!”
“Josh is right,” a woman next to him said. “It’s got to be Dennis.”
“He’s a weirdo,” another man said. “That guy has always been a ticking bomb.”
Bill and Lucy hurried toward the edge of the square where the man was shouting, but Riley held her position. She called out to one of the cops beyond the tape.
“Bring him over here,” she said, pointing to the man who was doing the yelling.
She knew it was important to separate him from the group. If everybody started pitching in with stories, the truth would be impossible to untangle. If there was any truth in what everybody was yelling about.
Besides, reporters were starting to cluster around him. It wouldn’t do for Riley to interview the guy right under their noses.
The cop lifted the tape and escorted the man toward them.
He was still yelling, “We all know who did it! We all know who did it!”
“Calm down,” Riley said, taking him by the arm and leading him far enough away from the onlookers to be able to talk to him unheard.
“Ask anybody about Dennis,” the agitated man was saying. “He’s a loner. He’s weird. He scares girls. He annoys women.”
Riley got out her notepad, and so did Bill. She saw the intense interest in Bill’s eyes. But she knew they’d better take things slowly. They barely knew anything just yet. Besides, this man was so agitated that Riley felt wary of his judgment. She needed to hear from somebody more neutral.
“What’s his full name?” Riley asked.
“Dennis Vaughn,” the man said.
“Keep talking to him,” Riley told Bill.
Bill nodded and kept taking notes. Riley walked back to the gazebo, where Police Chief Aaron Pomeroy was still standing beside the body.
“Chief Pomeroy, what can you tell me about Dennis Vaughn?”
Riley could tell by his expression that the name was all too familiar.
“What do you want to know about him?” he asked.
“Do you think he might be a viable suspect?”
Pomeroy scratched his head. “Now that you mention it, maybe so. At least he might be worth talking to.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, we’ve had a lot of trouble with him for years. Indecent exposure, lewd behavior, that kind of thing. A couple of years ago it was window peeping, and he spent some time in the Delaware Psychiatric Center. Last year he got obsessed with a high school cheerleader, wrote letters to her and stalked her. The girl’s family got a court injunction, but he ignored it. So he did six months in prison.”
“When was he released?” she asked.
“Back in February.”
Riley was getting more and more interested. Dennis Vaughn had gotten out of prison shortly before the killings had started. Was it merely a coincidence?
“Local girls and women are starting to complain,” Pomeroy said. “Rumor has it that he’s been snapping pictures of them. It’s nothing we can arrest him for – at least not yet.”
“What else can you tell me about him?” Riley asked.
Pomeroy shrugged. “Well, he’s kind of a bum. He’s maybe thirty years old and he’s never held down a job that anybody can remember. Sponges off family he’s got here in town – aunts, uncles, grandparents. I hear that he’s been real sullen lately. Holds it against the whole town that he had to do prison time. He keeps telling folks, ‘One of these days.’”
“‘One of these days’ what?” Riley asked.
“Nobody knows. Folks have started calling him a ticking bomb. They don’t know what he might do next. But he’s actually never been violent that we know of.”
Riley’s mind was racing, trying to make sense of this possible new lead.
Meanwhile, Bill and Lucy had finished talking to the man and were walking toward Riley and Pomeroy.
Bill’s face looked bright and confident – a sudden change from his recent gloomy demeanor.
“Dennis Vaughn’s our killer, all right,” he told Riley. “Everything the guy just told us fits the profile perfectly.”
Riley didn’t reply. It was starting to seem likely, but she knew better than to jump to conclusions.
Besides, the certainty in Bill’s voice made her nervous. Ever since she’d arrived here this morning, she’d felt like Bill was teetering on the brink of really erratic behavior. It was understandable given his personal feelings about the case, especially his guilt over not solving it sooner. But it could also get to be a serious problem. She needed him to be his usual rock-solid self.
She turned toward Pomeroy.
“Could you tell us where to find him?”
“Sure,” Pomeroy said, pointing. “Walk straight along Main Street until you get to Brattleboro. Turn left, and his house is the third one to the right.”
Riley told Lucy, “You stay and wait for the medical examiner’s team. It’s fine for them to take the body right away. We’ve got lots of photographs.”
Lucy nodded.
Bill and Riley walked toward the police tape, where reporters craned toward them with cameras and microphones.
“Does the FBI have a statement to make?” asked one.
“Not yet,” Riley said.
She and Bill ducked under the tape and pushed their way among the reporters and onlookers.
Another reporter yelled, “Does this
