Her coffee cup froze halfway to her lips.

She knew that face.

That was her nephew.

She called the police.

Detectives went to Derek’s house on Salsbury Road, found it empty.

Five dogs in the yard, barking, hungry, desperate.

No sign of Derek Riley.

His car was missing.

The house looked like he’d left in a hurry.

Detective Karen Walsh from Franklin PD took the case.

She was in her mid30s, sharp eyes, had worked missing persons for years.

Something about this felt wrong from the start.

She interviewed neighbors, Derek’s family, his probation officer, Pastor Henderson.

Henderson told her everything.

Derek had come to his house beaten, scared, talked about Marcus Webb and Tommy Castellano.

Left in the middle of the night, took Henderson’s car.

Henderson had filed a stolen vehicle report at 7:00 a.

m.

when he realized Derek was gone.

But now he understood why.

Walsh found Derek’s journal in his bedroom, tucked under his mattress.

Read the entries, the prayers, the fear, the love for his son, the desperate hope that he could be better.

Found the police report Derek had filed in September about being followed.

Found witnesses who confirmed seeing a black sedan around Derek’s house for months.

Connected the dots.

Walsh knew Derek Riley hadn’t abandoned his son.

He’d saved him.

But where was Derek and who wanted him gone? To be continued in part two.

Derek Riley.

The disappearance.

True crime story.

Part two.

Part two.

Justice delayed Franklin, New Hampshire.

April 3, 1977.

Pastor William Henderson woke at 6:30 a.

m.

to an empty house.

Not unusual.

His wife had already left for her nursing shift at the hospital.

But something felt off.

He walked to the living room.

The blanket was folded on the couch.

The pillow stacked neatly on top.

Derek Riley was gone.

Henderson’s car keys were missing from the kitchen counter.

On the table, a note in shaky handwriting.

I’m sorry.

I have to protect him.

I’ll explain everything later.

Thank you for everything, Derek.

Henderson stood there reading it twice.

His stomach knotted.

He knew what Derek had done.

Gone back for his son.

Couldn’t wait until morning.

Too scared.

Too desperate.

God, please let him be okay.

Henderson called the Franklin police immediately.

Reported his car stolen.

Standard procedure.

Explained that Derek Riley had borrowed it without permission, but that Henderson wasn’t pressing charges.

He needed police to understand Derek was in danger.

The dispatcher took the information, said someone would follow up.

Henderson paced his living room for 30 minutes.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He called a neighbor, borrowed their car, and drove to Derek’s house on Salsbury Road.

He arrived at 7:15 a.

m.

The house looked normal, quiet.

His Buick was parked in the driveway.

Henderson felt a wave of relief.

Derek had come back.

Maybe he just needed to check on his son.

Maybe.

He knocked on the door.

No answer.

Knocked again.

Louder.

The dogs inside started barking, frantic, desperate.

Henderson tried the handle.

Unlocked.

He pushed the door open.

Derek.

The dogs rushed past him into the yard.

Five of them stumbling over each other.

Henderson could smell it immediately.

Urine, feces.

They’d been locked inside all night.

Derek.

He walked through the house.

Kitchen empty.

Living room empty.

Upstairs.

The crib was empty, too.

Blankets disheveled.

But no baby, no Derek.

Henderson’s chest tightened.

Something was very wrong.

He went back downstairs, found Derek’s journal on the coffee table, flipped through it, saw the last entry, dated March 28th.

The black car is back.

I see it everywhere.

I’m scared.

God, protect my son.

That’s all I ask.

Protect him.

Henderson sat down on the couch, hands shaking.

Called the police again.

This is Pastor William Henderson.

I called earlier about my stolen car.

I’m at Derek Riley’s house now.

He’s gone.

His son is gone.

The dogs have been locked in here all night.

Something’s happened.

You need to send someone.

This time they listened.

The investigation begins.

Detective Karen Walsh arrived at the Salsbury Roadhouse at 9:00 a.

m.

She was tall, mid30s, red hair pulled back in a ponytail, had worked missing persons for 5 years, seen enough to know when something felt wrong.

This felt wrong.

She walked through the house with Henderson.

He explained everything.

Derek showing up beaten.

The story about Marcus Webb and Tommy Castayano.

the plan to go to the police in the morning.

Derek disappearing in the night.

He took my car, Henderson said.

I found it in his driveway, but Derek and his son are both gone.

Walsh made notes.

Tell me about these men, Webb and Castellano.

Derek said they used to work together, drug distribution.

They thought Derek had talked to police, threatened him, threatened his family.

Derek filed a report about being followed last September.

Walsh said she’d already pulled it before coming here.

Described a black sedan.

Officers at the time thought he was paranoid.

He wasn’t paranoid.

He was scared.

Walsh found Derek’s journal, read the entries, saw the progression.

Hope at the beginning after his baptism.

Then fear creeping in.

August.

Someone’s watching.

October.

The car followed me again.

March.

I’m scared.

She bagged it as evidence.

At 11:30 a.

m.

, Walsh got a call from Massachusetts State Police.

They’d found a baby abandoned at the state house in Boston that morning.

Male, approximately 9 months old, healthy.

No identification, just a note.

Please take care of him.

Walsh’s blood ran cold.

When was he found? 6:45 a.

m.

Send me photos.

The photos came through 15 minutes later.

Walsh showed them to Henderson.

Is this Derek’s son? Henderson looked at the tiny face, started to cry.

Yes, that’s him.

Walsh put an APB out on Derek Riley immediately.

Missing person.

Last seen April 2nd.

possible abduction, possible foul play.

She drove to Boston herself, examined the scene, the stairwell where the baby was found, the cardboard box, ordinary, could have come from anywhere.

The note, handwriting shaky, consistent with someone under extreme stress.

But no, Derek.

Walsh returned to Franklin, started interviewing people, neighbors, Derek’s family, his probation officer.

Everyone said the same thing.

Derek was trying to turn his life around, going to church, taking care of his son, working hard, quiet, kept to himself, not the profile of someone who’d abandon a child.

On April 5th, Derek’s sister officially identified her nephew to child services, started the process to gain custody.

She was devastated, kept asking, “Where’s my brother? What happened to him?” Nobody knew.

The interrogation, April 6th, 1977.

Walsh brought in Marcus Webb and Tommy Castellano for questioning.

They came voluntarily.

Walsh didn’t have enough for an arrest warrant yet.

Just wanted to talk.

Marcus showed up with an attorney.

Expensive suit.

Knew his rights.

Walsh sat across from them in the interrogation room.

Gray walls, metal table, the fluorescent lights hummed overhead.

She laid out what she knew.

Derek Riley is missing.

His 9-month-old son was found abandoned in Boston.

Multiple witnesses report Derek had been followed for months by a black sedan.

Derek told Pastor Henderson you two visited him on April 2nd, assaulted him, threatened him.

Marcus’s attorney spoke first.

My client denies any involvement in Mr.

Riley’s disappearance.

He did have a conversation with Mr.

Riley on April 2nd, but it was amicable.

Business matters, no threats, no assault.

Walsh looked at Marcus.

Business matters? What business? You both have records for drug distribution.

Past mistakes, Marcus said calmly.

We’ve moved on.

Derek Riley was beaten.

The pastor saw his injuries.

We didn’t touch him.

Maybe he got into a fight with someone else.

Maybe he injured himself and made up a story.

Walsh turned to Tommy.

He’d come without a lawyer.

sitting with his arms crossed, leg bouncing under the table.

What about you, Tommy? You want to tell me what happened? We talked to Derek.

That’s it.

About old times.

We heard he was doing well.

Wanted to reconnect.

He seemed nervous, but we didn’t think anything of it.

We left, that’s all.

Witnesses saw your car outside his house for months.

We were in the area sometimes.

It’s a small town.

Did you threaten him? No.

Did you threaten his family? No.

Walsh leaned forward.

Here’s what I think.

Derek Riley knew something that made you nervous.

Made you both nervous.

So, you decided to silence him.

You assaulted him, threatened his family.

He got scared, ran to Boston, left his son somewhere safe, and then you found him and killed him.

Marcus’s attorney stood up.

Detective, unless you have evidence, we’re done here.

Walsh didn’t have evidence.

No body, no witnesses to a murder, just Henderson’s testimony about the assault.

But that was Derek’s word through Henderson.

Not enough.

She had to let them go.

But she put surveillance on both of them.

Had officers watching their houses, tracking their movements.

For two weeks, nothing happened.

Marcus and Tommy went to work, came home, normal routines.

Then on April 20th, Walsh got a call from a detective in Portland, Maine.

Marcus Webb had left the state, moved there, rented an apartment.

Tommy Castellano moved to Worcester, Massachusetts.

Both left Franklin within days of each other.

Walsh tried to stop them, filed for an injunction, argued they were suspects in an active investigation, but her captain shut her down.

We don’t have enough.

We can’t hold them here without charges.

Marcus and Tommy were gone, and Derek Riley’s case went cold.

26 years of silence.

The years passed slowly for some, quickly for others.

Derek’s sister gained custody of his son, legally adopted him when it became clear Derek wasn’t coming back.

She named him Brandon, raised him in conquered.

Told him the truth when he turned 13.

Your father didn’t abandon you.

He saved you and he was murdered for it.

Brandon grew up angry at the men who killed his father.

At the police who couldn’t catch them, at God for letting it happen.

Pastor Henderson continued serving at Franklin Baptist Church.

Every Sunday he prayed for Derek Riley for justice, for peace.

On the wall of his office, he kept a newspaper clipping from April 1977.

His interview with the local paper, I know what I saw.

Derek Riley was murdered.

Those men took him.

Justice will come.

People in town thought he was obsessed.

couldn’t let it go.

But Henderson didn’t care.

He’d made a promise to Derek to help him.

He’d failed.

The least he could do was remember.

Detective Karen Walsh worked the case for three more years, followed every lead, interviewed dozens of people, searched lakes and forests, nothing.

In 1980, she moved to the state police, worked other cases, but Derek Riley stayed with her.

the one that got away.

She retired in 1998.

On her last day, she handed Derek’s case file to a younger detective named James Ortega.

31 years old, sharp, hungry.

If you ever get a break on this, Walsh said, tapping the file.

Call me.

I don’t care if I’m 90.

I want to know.

Ortega promised.

The file sat on his desk for 5 years, cold, forgotten, until November 2003.

MC Y Cedar Junction, November 2003, Tommy Castano sat in his cell at Massachusetts Correctional Institution, Cedar Junction.

55 years old, gray hair, thin, years of hard living etched into his face.

He was serving 15 years for aggravated assault and armed robbery.

Third strike, attacked a convenience store clerk in Worcester back in 2001.

Beat him badly, took $300, got caught two blocks away.

The judge threw the book at him.

Tommy had been in and out of prison his whole adult life.

Knew how to survive, kept his head down, did his time, never thought much about it.

But something changed in November 2003.

The prison chaplain, Father Miguel Rodriguez, ran a weekly Bible study.

Tommy had ignored it for two years.

Thought it was for weak men, men who couldn’t handle their guilt.

Then one Tuesday, Tommy had nothing else to do.

Wreck time was cancelled.

Lockdown due to a fight.

He wandered into the chapel just to kill time.

Father Rodriguez was reading from Luke, the parable of the prodigal son about a man who left home, wasted everything, and came back expecting nothing, and his father welcomed him anyway, celebrated his return.

Something about that story stuck in Tommy’s chest.

He couldn’t shake it.

He started going to the Bible study every week, at first cynically, then seriously.

He read the Bible in his cell at night.

The same passages Derek Riley had read in 1976.

The same words, Psalm 23, John 3:16, Romans 8:1.

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

No condemnation.

Tommy wanted to believe that.

But every night he saw Derek Riley’s face, heard his last words, “God forgive you and forgive me.

” 26 years of carrying that.

In January 2004, Tommy requested a private meeting with Father Rodriguez.

They sat in a small room off the chapel, gray walls, crucifix on the wall.

Tommy’s hands shook as he spoke.

Father, I need to confess something.

Not for the priest’s privilege.

For real.

On record.

I’m listening.

I killed a man.

1977.

Him and another guy, Marcus Webb.

The man’s name was Derek Riley.

He had a baby, 9 months old.

We took him from a lake, killed him, dumped his body.

Father Rodriguez didn’t flinch.

He’d heard worse.

Why are you telling me this? Because I can’t die carrying it.

I’ve been reading the Bible trying to understand and I keep seeing his face.

He prayed for us before we killed him.

Prayed for us.

I don’t understand that kind of I don’t know, love, forgiveness.

I don’t understand it, but I want it.

I want what he had.

God forgives all who repent, but I need to make it right.

His family deserves to know what happened.

His son, he’s a man now.

He deserves answers.

Father Rodriguez was quiet for a moment.

You understand what you’re saying? If you confess to murder, you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.

I’m already in prison.

I’ve been in prison since 1977.

Just took me 26 years to realize it.

What about Marcus Webb? He deserves justice, too.

He pulled the trigger.

But I was there.

I helped.

I’m guilty.

Father Rodriguez called the prison administration, arranged for Tommy to speak with authorities.

Detective James Ortega got the call on a Friday afternoon, February 13th, 2004.

Detective Ortega, this is Father Rodriguez at Cedar Junction.

I have an inmate who wants to confess to a 1977 murder in your jurisdiction.

Derek Riley.

Does that name mean anything to you? Ortega felt his heart skip.

He grabbed the file from his desk, the one Walsh had given him years ago.

Yeah, it means something.

The confession.

Detective Ortega drove to Cedar Junction the next morning, brought a recording device, a witness, did everything by the book.

Tommy Castayano sat across from him in an interview room.

Gray walls, metal table, same setup as 26 years earlier in Franklin.

Different state, different detective, same story.

Ortega hit record.

Mr.

Castiano, you’ve waved your right to an attorney.

You understand you’re speaking voluntarily? Yes.

Tell me about Derek Riley.

Tommy took a breath and he told the truth.

All of it.

The drug business, the raids in 1976 to77, the suspicion that Derek had cooperated, the decision to scare him.

April 2nd, confronting him at his house, the assault, the threats.

We told him to leave town, told him accidents could happen to his family if he didn’t.

We left him on the side of Route 3.

Thought that would be enough, but it wasn’t.

No, he went to his pastor, Pastor Henderson.

We found out the next morning someone saw Derek’s car at Henderson’s house.

We panicked.

Thought he was going to the police.

So, we went there early around 7:00 a.

m.

What happened? Tommy’s voice got quieter.

Derek was inside.

Pastor opened the door.

We told him we needed to talk to Derek.

Pastor refused.

Derek came out on his own.

Said he’d go with us if we left the pastor alone.

Where did you take him? We drove around, tried to figure out what to do.

Marcus wanted to kill him right then.

I wanted to scare him more.

We argued, finally decided to take him somewhere remote.

Make our point, which was that he needed to disappear for good.

You found out he’d left his son at the state house.

Yeah, he told us.

Said the baby was somewhere we couldn’t touch him.

That made Marcus angrier.

Said Derek had made this worse.

Made it personal.

Where did you go? Lake Winnipegasi.

We knew Derek used to go there.

Thought maybe he’d go back.

We were right.

Found him at the old dock.

Just sitting there reading a Bible.

Ortega made notes.

What time was this? Maybe 10:00 a.

m.

Sun was up.

Pretty morning.

What happened? Tommy looked down at his hands.

We got out of the car, walked over.

Derek saw us.

didn’t run, didn’t fight, just stood up, said, “God forgive you and forgive me.

” Those were his last words.

“Who killed him?” Marcus shot him twice.

Chest.

Derek went down.

We put his body in the trunk, waited until dark, took him out on a boat, waited him down, dropped him in the water, deep part near the center.

“Where exactly?” Tommy gave coordinates.

described landmarks, drew a map.

He’d remembered it for 26 years, every detail.

Why didn’t you come forward sooner? Fear, guilt, pride.

Take your pick, but mostly fear.

I thought if I stayed quiet, it would go away.

It didn’t.

It got worse.

Every year, every night, I kept seeing his face.

What changed? I found Jesus.

Same one Derek found.

started reading the Bible, realized I couldn’t die carrying this.

His son deserves to know what happened, deserves to bury his father.

” Ortega finished the interview 3 hours later.

Tommy signed the confession.

Every page Ortega walked out of the prison with the file under his arm, got in his car, sat there for a moment, then he called Karen Walsh.

“Karen, it’s James Ortega.

Ortega, been a while.

How are you? I’m good.

Listen, I need to tell you something.

Derek Riley, we got a confession.

Silence on the line.

Then what? Tommy Castiano, he confessed.

All of it.

He told us where the body is.

Walsh started crying.

Ortega heard it through the phone.

26 years of waiting.

When can we search? Soon.

I’ll keep you posted.

James, thank you.

Don’t thank me yet.

We still have to find him.

The search march 2005.

The New Hampshire State Police dive team assembled at Lake Winnipegasi.

Boats, sonar equipment, divers in dry suits.

Ortega coordinated the search, used Tommy’s coordinates, marked off a grid.

The water was cold, barely above freezing, visibility low.

The divers went down in shifts.

Two days of searching, nothing.

Ortega started to worry.

Maybe Tommy’s memory was wrong.

Continue reading….
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