Page 14
The morning sunlight sharpened edges, casting the world in a clarity that Riley often longed for in her cases.
She was waiting outside a car rental office where Ann Marie was returning the vehicle she had driven here from Quantico.
The day wasn’t off to a great start—the coffee from motel breakfast had been bitter and the toast burnt.
That hadn’t dampened the younger agents spirits, but Riley was impatient to get on with the day.
Ann Marie stepped out from the rental office and got into Riley’s sedan, her usual vibrant energy unscathed.
“You wouldn’t believe it, Riley,” she began, her voice bubbling as Riley drove the short journey towards Glencoe’s Police Headquarters.
“The guy at the counter was so flustered when I mentioned the mileage mismatch on their system. You should have seen his face!” Her laughter filled the car, infectious and bright.
“He had to call in his manager. It was like they’d never dealt with a discrepancy before. ”
As Riley drove, she found herself amused by the way that Ann Marie could find an adventure in even mundane tasks like returning a rental car. Ann Marie definitely functioned on a different vibratory level from herself, and now she felt pretty used to it—even energized by it.
When they pulled into the parking lot of the police headquarters, she felt herself being drawn back into the gravity of their case.
As they walked inside, the police station turned out to be a familiar scene, with officers hustling all around, their movements purposeful as the unmistakable aroma of more stale coffee assaulted her senses.
The woman at the front desk directed them to the Sheriff’s office, saying that their visit was expected.
As they walked through the bullpen and continued along a hallway, Riley noticed the curious glances they were getting.
She knew it was unusual for FBI agents to appear to the small town scene.
She returned the nods from the officers, her expression neutral.
They reached the door labeled ‘Sheriff Austin Hagen,’ pausing only for the briefest of moments before stepping into what Riley hoped would be the place where progress was being made.
She extended her hand in greeting, her grip firm but not challenging, as she met the eyes of Sheriff Austin Hagen.
His own clasp was like his face—solid and worn from years of service.
The lines in his skin told a story of exposure to the harshness of both weather and human nature, while the glint in his eyes spoke of a sharp mind.
“Agents,” he greeted them, his voice resonating with a touch of Southern gravel. He gestured toward the chairs opposite his cluttered desk, a landscape of files and reports that mirrored the busy routine of a sheriff’s life. “Glad you’re here. I’ve got news about our Jane Doe.”
As they sat down, Riley’s mind registered the sparse decoration of the police chief’s office. A few commendations on the wall seemed a testament to the man’s dedication rather than vanity.
Hagen didn’t dally with preambles.
“The body you found yesterday in Blue Ridge Wilderness Park? She’s been identified as Patricia Warren, a math professor from Boutell College right here in Glencoe.
She disappeared without a trace 20 years ago.
I’d more than half-suspected that beforehand, but didn’t feel ready to say so. It was quite the scandal at the time.”
Riley felt a jolt. Another mathematician! Patricia Warren—a woman who had a life, a history in this very town.
“And the report states that it wasn’t a natural death,” the police chief continued. “Dr. Jannings found evidence of strangulation. The hyoid bone, a small horseshoe-shaped structure nestled in the neck, was fractured.”
“That’s a sure sign that a lot of force was exerted on it,” Ann Marie said.
Riley had been surprised before by the young agent’s knowledge of such physical details, based on her earlier years of work at her father’s Georgetown mortuary.
She was not surprised by the verdict of violent death.
She’d been pretty sure the victim had been murdered based on her fleeting sensations at the gravesite.
But those intuitions weren’t evidence that she could bring up in this setting.
Wanting the sheriff to reveal more about the victim, she asked, “What made her disappearance scandalous?”
Sheriff Hagen settled back into his chair. There was a twinkle in his eyes, the kind that came from carrying tales that had ripened with time, their details now into local lore.
“Patricia had a famously turbulent marriage with Levon Warren, another math professor at Boutell. Their relationship was like a powder keg, always on the verge of exploding.” He paused, his hands motioning vaguely as if trying to grasp the fragments of the story still floating in his mind.
She could almost hear the crackling tension between the Warrens, the kind of volatile love-hate that left scars invisible to the eye. It was motive, it was background, it was the dark undercurrent of human emotion that often led to tragedy. She listened attentively as the sheriff continued.
“Students used to report Levon storming into Patricia’s classes, criticizing her teaching methods right in front of everyone. From what I’ve been told, those scenes could get pretty wild—and even a bit scary.”
Ann Marie’s eyes lighted up with interest. “Sounds like Levon might have been a prime suspect when she disappeared.”
Hagen’s response came with a grim smile. “You’ve got that right, Agent Esmer. Levon was indeed our main person of interest for a time. And here’s the kicker - he showed absolutely no sadness over her disappearance. Denied any foul play, of course, but his lack of grief was... unsettling.”
“But you couldn’t prove anything?” Riley’s question was both an inquiry and an acknowledgment of the frustrations they all faced in their line of work.
The sheriff’s hands spread in a gesture of defeat. “Not a damn thing. No body, no evidence. But a shadow has hung over Levon’s reputation ever since.”
“Tell us more about their marriage,” Riley said. “What was at the root of all this conflict?”
Sheriff Hagen sighed, a long exhale that seemed to deflate the very air around them. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, deepening the lines age had carved into his skin.
“It was a perfect storm of professional jealousy and personal resentment. Levon was always envious that Patricia had been accepted into the Virginia Educators for Excellence in Mathematics—VEEM for short. It’s a prestigious group, and they’d never even consider Levon for membership.”
Riley nodded, absorbing the information.
VEEM—she had heard of it. And she knew that to be part of such an organization was a mark of distinction; to be rejected by it, a wound that could fester.
She pictured Levon Warren, his pride smarting with every accolade bestowed upon his wife, every mention of her name in circles where his was conspicuously absent.
“Professional jealousy can be a powerful motive,” she mused aloud.
“Let me guess.” Ann Marie said. “Patricia didn’t just join VEEM, she excelled there?”
Hagen’s nod carried a hint of admiration. “She became the president of the organization. That’s when Levon’s jealousy turned to open fury.”
“And Patricia? How did she handle Levon’s behavior?” Riley asked.
“She gave as good as she got,” Sheriff Hagen replied. “Patricia was openly contemptuous of the Cipher Society, a group Levon was deeply involved with.”
“A, uh, cipher society?” Ann Marie asked, her voice brimming with interest. “Wow, that sounds mysterious. What’s their main focus?”
“The Cipher Society is... well, it’s a bit of a fringe group.
They’re obsessed with mathematical codes, prophecies, that sort of thing.
Levon was a proud, active member. And by the time Patricia disappeared, their marriage was at its breaking point.
Everyone who knew them was just waiting for something to give. ”
A domestic battlefield … a society that focused on secret codes …
the description of Levon, consumed by his association with this secretive cabal so remote from his wife’s academic triumphs—the puzzle that was Patricia and Levon Warren’s life all caught Riley’s attention.
Those old bits of history might well point toward whoever had left math problems pinned to the victims of recent murders.
The connection was incomplete, but every variable they uncovered pushed them in the same direction, toward an answer that Riley feared might be darker than anyone anticipated.
“Where’s Levon Warren now?” she asked.
Hagen leaned forward. “Last I heard, he was still living in the same house he shared with Patricia. And despite everything, he’s managed to keep his position at Boutell College.
The revelation settled heavily on the room. Ann Marie was visibly taken aback by the notion of Levon Warren living unscathed by scandal or suspicion.
“After all that? He must be one hell of a professor.”
“Or have some powerful friends,” Riley added.
“Actually, he’s got an outstanding reputation in the math world,” Hagen said. “Almost a legend. Sort of a mad genius, you might say.”
Ann Marie nodded. “Well, this certainly puts Levon back at the top of our suspect list. We need to talk to him.”
“Agreed,” Riley said, her tone more cautious, tempering the air of excitement that had begun to take hold. “But we should approach this carefully. We don’t want to tip him off that we’re coming to see him.”
“I’ll see if I can locate him,” Sheriff Hagen said.
He reached for his phone, and with a few brief murmurs into the receiver, he confirmed what they hoped to hear—Levon Warren was not scheduled to teach today and was likely at home.
Hagen pushed back from his desk with a decisive motion, the chair’s wheels rolling smoothly across the well-worn floor.
“I’ll drive you there,” he offered, a practical edge to his voice as he stood. His height seemed to underscore the solemnity of the task ahead. “It’s not far, and I know the area well. We can interview him together.”
Riley and Ann Marie followed Hagen through the bustling precinct. They took their seats in his patrol car, Riley in the passenger seat and Ann Marie in back.
The morning sun was climbing higher now, its light filtering through the windshield as Sheriff Hagen’s vehicle coursed through the streets of Glencoe.
As Riley watched the landscape roll by, she recognized a comfort in the rhythm of the town, a domestic warmth that belied the coldness of the crime they were investigating.
Hagen’s voice cut through Riley’s introspection as he pointed out various landmarks—the college campus with its stately buildings, the local diner where students and professors alike debated theories over cups of bitter coffee, and the bookstores and cafés that marked the territory of academia.
“Patricia and Levon were fixtures here,” Hagen said, his tone imbued with the familiarity of decades spent patrolling these streets. “Their brilliance was as much a part of Glencoe as these buildings.”
As they turned down a tree-lined street, Riley let the hum of the engine draw her into a state of heightened awareness. The closer they got to their destination, the more she sensed the presence of ghosts—both personal and professional—that refused to be laid to rest.
Her mind wandered to Mrs. Margaret Whitfield, the algebra teacher whose kindness had been such a help during her tumultuous high school years.
The recent murders had snatched away that gentle soul, and now here Riley was, approaching a suspect who might know why—and for all she knew, might somehow be responsible.
“That’s the house,” Hagen said, indicating a two-story structure that spoke of academia and tenure, of chalkboards filled with equations and theories debated over dinner tables.
Riley tapped against her knee, each beat a silent question—was the man who lived within these walls capable of murder?
She took in a deep breath, readying herself.
She knew the academic community was tight-knit; whispers of scandal and tragedy never truly faded.
They became part of the collective memory, shaping perceptions and casting questions over reputations.
That they sometimes came to a boiling point didn’t surprise her.
As the vehicle slowed to a stop in front of Levon Warren’s home, Riley Paige took a moment to collect her thoughts before stepping out.
The house was disarmingly charming, with its white picket fence and rose bushes that seemed to wave a friendly welcome—so at odds with what she knew of the man who still lived there.
Levon Warren had been shielded by his intellect and the passing of time.
But the truth had a way of surfacing, often when least expected.
Riley glanced back at Ann Marie, who returned the look with steely determination.
Looks can be deceiving, Riley reminded herself, touching her firearm in its holster as she got out of the car.