A Matter of Trust

Chapter 29





Are you okay?” Eli asked Mia between ragged gasps of breath. She had heard him yell out, “I’m coming!” before he had sprinted across the parking lot to her. Now he leaned over and put his hands on his knees, but his eyes never left Mia’s face.

“I’m fine,” she said, and then burst into tears as the reality of what had just happened—or almost happened—hit her.

He snapped straight up and put one hand on her shoulder. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, no. He was just following me. At first I thought I was imagining it, but he kept walking faster and faster. That’s when I realized I was really in trouble.” She had turned and yelled at the man to go away. He hadn’t done that, but had stopped about fifty feet from her, standing in a pool of shadow. The night had been quiet except for the sounds of his harsh breathing. Then Eli had shouted from the far parking lot. After a second’s hesitation the man had turned and run the other way.

“We should report this to security,” Eli said decisively.

“And tell them what? Some guy in a baseball cap and hoodie was following me? That’s how half the kids on this campus dress. I didn’t hear his voice or even see his face.” She would make a terrible witness. She hadn’t noticed the colors of his clothes or any logos. She had noticed nothing. It was like part of her had shut down when she realized she was in danger.

“What do you think he wanted?”

“Probably my purse.” At least Mia hoped it was that.

“You’d make a better target than most of these girls,” Eli said thoughtfully. “They probably don’t have much cash, let alone credit cards.”

Eli looked surprised when Mia started laughing.



The next day Mia stood beside Charlie in front of the gray two-story Dutch Colonial that belonged to Vincent Riester, a.k.a. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. All of his e-mails to Colleen, no matter what time of day, had come from the same IP address, which matched up with Vincent’s home address. Mia and Charlie had decided it would be better to show up unannounced.

In the car on the way over they had argued over suspects. Charlie favored Gina and wanted to take a closer look at Violet. Mia didn’t feel either woman could have done it. She still thought it was likely either a disgruntled defendant or someone connected with Second Amendment Seattle. About the only thing she and Charlie had agreed on was that it was simply too convoluted to think that a gun control advocate had murdered one of their own.

Foregoing the bell, Charlie knocked three times on the heavy wooden door.

Footsteps echoed across a hardwood floor. Then a blue eye stared out at them through the peephole.

“Vincent Riester?” When there was no answer, Charlie held up his ID. “Seattle Police. We’d like to talk to you.”

After a long moment, a lock turned and the door swung back.

Mia let out an involuntary gasp.

The man in front of them barely looked human. His face could have belonged to an alien or a monster. His left eye was an empty red slant of flesh. The tip of his nose was missing, revealing two dark tunnels. The scars from skin grafts crisscrossed his face like lines on a map. His odd, flesh-colored lips appeared to be melting off his face.

“A fire?” Charlie asked in a conversational tone. He appeared completely unruffled.

The other man nodded. “Three years ago a drunk driver hit the car I was in and crushed it against a building. I was trapped. Then the car caught on fire.”

Mia shuddered. What had it been like to be unable to move away from the flames?

“I’ve had thirty-seven surgeries,” he continued, “but all the king’s horses and all the king’s men can’t put Vincent Riester back together again.”

His words were clear, so the damage hadn’t gotten deep enough to damage his tongue or teeth. Mia wondered, a little giddy with horror, if it could be termed cosmetic, but then she caught sight of his hands. His right arm was now nothing but a stub ending midway between his elbow and nonexistent wrist, and his left hand was missing the tips of the ring and pinky fingers.

It was this hand that he held out. “And yes, I’m Vincent Riester.”

“Charlie Carlson,” Charlie said, shaking it. “And this is Mia Quinn.” She pressed his fingers awkwardly and then released them. “Can we come in?”

“Of course.” Stepping back, Riester opened the door wider. The living room was decorated with heavy oak furniture and old brass floor lamps. One long wall held built-in bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. Even with that much space, books were still stacked sideways and layered on top of rows. In the background classical music played softly. Mia thought it was Rachmaninoff.

Like Darin Dane’s house, here all the blinds and curtains were closed. Was it to keep the outside world from seeing Riester—or him from observing their reaction when they did? Mia’s skin was hot with shame at her unmuffled gasp.

“So what is this regarding?” Riester asked as they sat down. If he was anxious about their visit, his voice didn’t show it.

“You’re a member of eHeartMatch?” Charlie asked.

“Yes. Why?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.

“And you use the screen name Tall, Dark, and Handsome?”

“That’s my real photo on the profile. What I really looked like before. And I guess I’m still tall and dark.” His voice held a little more bite.

“We want to talk to you about a woman named Colleen Miller. You may have known her as Irish Red.”

“‘Known her’?” Riester echoed, his voice sharpening, and it seemed to Mia that some of his carefully maintained composure crumbled. “Why are you using the past tense? What’s happened? Is something wrong with Colleen?”

His concern sounded genuine, but his face was so scarred and stretched there was no way to read his expressions. But Mia realized she could still observe how he positioned his body, how he moved, whether his gestures matched his words or seemed out of sync.

Right now Riester was facing them head-on, without turning away or slumping, as people who were lying or planning on lying might. He wasn’t leaning back in an unconscious effort to put more distance between them. As she watched, he crossed his arms over his belly, his hand and his stub pressed against his sides. That could indicate defensiveness but could also be self-soothing, filling an unconscious need to give himself a hug. Or maybe, Mia thought, mocking herself for overanalyzing, Riester was in the habit of tucking what remained of his hands out of sight so that he didn’t have to endure stares like hers.

While she was thinking this, Charlie said bluntly, “Colleen’s been found dead.”

Riester flinched as if Charlie had stuck him. “Dead? Colleen?”

“Yes.”

He let his head drop and put his hand over his eyes. Finally he took a ragged breath and straightened up. “You mean she was murdered?”

Mia leaned forward. “Why do you ask that?”

A snort came out of his wreck of a nose. “You don’t need to be a genius to realize that the police are only going to be asking questions if it wasn’t a natural death.” He pressed his pale lips together. “What happened?”

“Someone killed her Sunday night around eight o’clock at her house. She was shot through a window and died a few minutes later.”

Riester closed his eyes. The three of them sat in silence for a long moment. Finally he looked back up at them with his one good eye. “Do you have any suspects?”

“Not yet,” Charlie said. “But we need to ask you—where were you on Sunday evening around eight p.m.?”

“What?” His jaw dropped. “You actually think I could have killed her?”

“We’re talking to a lot of people,” Mia said.

“I was here. I’m always here. I don’t ever go out.”

“Never?” Charlie asked.

“I’m just lucky I live at this time in history. I can do pretty much everything I want on the Internet. I work on it—I’m a freelance writer. I’m actually pretty fast for a three-fourths-handed typist. On the Internet I can order groceries, watch movies, make new friends . . .”

“When was the last time you were in contact with Colleen?” Charlie asked.

“We’ve never actually met. Our . . . relationship was carried out solely over the Internet and the phone. We were e-mailing that night. It can’t have been that long before she”—he hesitated—“died.”

“We found your correspondence with her,” Mia said. “You were trying to break things off. Why?”

His skin-colored lips—which Mia now realized must be the product of another skin graft—twisted. “It’s been fun. It’s been more than fun. But I couldn’t let it go to the next level, the way Colleen wanted me to. And if she wouldn’t accept that, then I had to end things. It was better for both of us.”

“The next level?” Mia asked.

“She’s been insisting that we meet.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Colleen isn’t the only woman I know online. But since the accident, I’ve only been out on a date once. It wasn’t that long after it happened. The woman excused herself to go to the bathroom and never came back.” Riester sucked in a breath. “I can still see with one eye. And do you know what I see? I see people’s horror. Their pity. Their disgust.” His gaze pierced Mia. “I saw it on your face today when I opened the door. And you know what? I feel the same way. I took all the mirrors down in the house. I shave by touch. I don’t ever want to be reminded of what I look like now. Of how I’m a monster.”

“But you’re not a monster inside,” Mia protested. Charlie cut her a look, reminding her that they were there to find Colleen’s killer, not offer absolution.

“Human beings are hardwired to think certain things,” Riester said. “They see a baby’s snub nose and big eyes, and they think, Ooh, how cute. And when they see someone who looks like me, they think, Monster. And they are also hardwired to think that the inside matches the outside.” He was quiet for a moment, and then looked at Mia with his one good eye. “I know about you from her e-mails. She said you were her friend.”

“That’s true.” Mia wondered where he was going with this.

“Then why don’t you know about me? If she really was serious about me, why didn’t she tell her best friend?”

It was the same question Mia had asked herself earlier, when she had doubted her friendship with Colleen. But now Riester was drawing his own painful conclusions.

“I don’t know,” she said simply. “Maybe she wondered if it was real.”

Mia remembered what Colleen had said about not liking what you might find when you lifted up a rock. When you worked in the legal system, it wasn’t hard to find out someone’s home address, even if it wasn’t for a strictly law enforcement–related reason. Colleen could have grown suspicious about why Riester was pushing her away. If she had seen Riester’s real face, would she still have wanted him?

“She might have reacted differently than you think.” Mia spoke almost to herself.

“Okay,” Riester said in an uninflected voice, “say that Colleen had really grown to love the real me, the me I still am inside. Could she have gone out with me in public and felt comfortable? Even when I wear a hooded sweatshirt and a baseball cap and sunglasses, everyone still stares. Some even point. Could she have introduced me to her friends and family and co-workers and been prepared for their reactions? She would have tried to find ways not to look at my face. And would she ever have wanted to kiss these lips? Have me touch her with this hand?” He held it up. “Online, I usually tell women that I’m a trauma surgeon and that I work crazy hours. That keeps the pressure off, for a while.”

The words burst out of Mia: “Is it just a game to you?”

He regarded her calmly. “I told you I was hit by a drunk driver. But he wasn’t the only person who was drunk that night. We all were. Me, my girlfriend, him. My girlfriend had decided that she was the least drunk of the two of us, so she was driving my car when we got hit. Her arm was broken, and she got some cuts and bruises, but otherwise she wasn’t too badly hurt. The important thing was that she was still able to get out. But she didn’t come back to help me even when I screamed at her that my leg was caught. She didn’t come back even when I told her that I could see flames and begged her to help me. She didn’t come back, even when I started screaming.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She just stood there and watched me burn.”