Mrs. Fischer’s lips thinned. “I told you he was no druggie.”
“And I believe you,” Olivia said gently. “But there were drugs found in Joel’s system and we need to know where he got them.”
“We think he got them from someone else who was at the fire,” Noah said. “The same drug was found elsewhere Monday night, after Joel was gone.”
“The drug was oxycodone, also called Percocet,” Olivia said. “It’s prescribed for pain. Sometimes it’s bought off the street. Did Joel have friends who might have-”
“No,” Mrs. Fischer exclaimed, starting to rise. “Now get out.”
“Norma,” Mr. Fischer said quietly, putting pressure on her thigh until she sat back down. “No, Detective, we don’t know anyone who would have those drugs.”
“All right,” Olivia said. “We’ll talk to his friends, then. We also need to ask you about Joel’s girlfriend. She wrote a note, signed it ‘M.’”
“He didn’t have a girlfriend,” Mrs. Fischer insisted. “He would have told us.”
“No, Mama.”
The adults whipped their gazes to the right, where Sasha stood in the hallway, clenching her hands together. “Sasha, go to your room,” Mrs. Fischer commanded.
“No, Mama.” Sasha came forward, her lips quivering, her eyes dark against a face drained of color. “Joel had a girlfriend. I heard him talking to her on the phone.”
“When, honey?” Noah asked softly.
“Lots of times. I never met her.” The teen looked miserable. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
“Why didn’t he tell us, Sasha?” Mr. Fischer asked, pain in his eyes.
Sasha hesitated. “She wasn’t Jewish.”
“What makes you think that?” Noah asked her.
“On the phone once, Joel was explaining why he couldn’t meet her. He sounded like he was trying to calm her down. It was at Shavuot and he had to go to Temple.”
Noah glanced at Olivia. “It’s a holiday,” she murmured. “Late spring.”
“So Joel knew her that long ago,” Noah said. “When did you last hear them speak?”
“Last Thursday. I wasn’t eavesdropping, but the wall is thin. I just… heard.”
“What exactly did you hear, Sasha?” Olivia asked, and the girl blushed a dark red.
“I can’t. I can’t say.” She darted a panicked look at her parents. “Please.”
Olivia remembered the lipstick on the pillow and understood. “It’s all right, honey.”
“No, it’s not,” Mrs. Fischer cried. “What’s going on here?”
“Were you home on Thursday night, ma’am?” Olivia asked.
“No. Thursdays we play bridge.”
“We found evidence Joel had a girl in his room. We need to find this girl.”
Mrs. Fischer closed her eyes. “We don’t know her. Please, just leave.”
“Ma’am,” Olivia said urgently, “these arsonists set a fire last night that killed four more people. Innocent people. A firefighter was critically injured. Later last night a boy Sasha’s age was almost kidnapped by one of them. My partner died saving that boy’s life. We need to stop them and if this girlfriend can help us, then we need to find her.”
“What do you want us to do?” Mrs. Fischer asked dully.
“We haven’t recovered Joel’s phone,” Noah said. “Do you have it?”
Both Fischers shook their heads. “But we can get you the records of who he called,” Mr. Fischer said.
Again Sasha hesitated. “He had another phone. One of the prepaid ones, so that he could have privacy. So that you couldn’t see who he’d called.”
“How do you know this?” Noah asked.
She put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a flip phone. “He gave me one on my birthday. Said I was sixteen, old enough for privacy. I’m sorry, Dad.”
“What is her name?” Olivia asked. “And do you know where they’d meet?”
“He called her Mary. I’m sorry, I don’t know a last name. Usually he’d tell her to meet him outside the library. Once he told her to meet him at the Deli. It’s a sandwich place near the school, but she must’ve said no, because he said he’d go to her dorm.”
Olivia leaned forward. “Do you remember which dorm Mary lives in?”
“No. He just said ‘the dorm.’ I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Olivia said. “You were an amazing help and brave. Thank you.”
She waited until she and Noah were in the car. “How many girls named Mary do you think live in the university dorms?” she asked glumly.
“I don’t know, but I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”
Olivia started the car. “It may not be that difficult. If Joel visited her in the dorm, she had to sign him in. He’d be in the log.” She’d pulled to the end of the Fischers’ street when Noah’s cell phone rang.
“Change that plan,” he said when he hung up. “Ian wants us back at the morgue. He’s about to let the Fischer boy go, but needs us to see something first.”
Wednesday, September 22, 10:05 a.m.
Austin winced as he jerked the souvenir knife’s dull blade over the last of his hair. It wasn’t sharp enough to cut butter, but he’d made do. Now he dropped the last of his hair into the gas station’s totally gross, outside toilet and flushed it down. No reason to leave handfuls of red hair in a trash can for everyone to see.
He pulled the first of the three disposable razor blades from the package and winced again as he prepared to shave his head. The sink only ran cold water, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Three very dull blades later, he ran his hand over his mostly bald head. Add to that three days’ growth of his beard, and he looked nothing like the picture that was being flashed on the television.
Logic told him that he should believe the texts on his phone were really from the cops. Except that the ones from Kenny were playing with his mind. They lie. Don’t trust them. He’d drive the rest of the way into town. Somewhere he’d find a television with closed-captioning and he’d see what was really happening.
Wednesday, September 22, 10:30 a.m.
“This is embarrassing,” David muttered, then flinched when a petite ER doctor pulled the suture on his chin a little too hard. “Ow. That hurts. Aren’t you done yet?”
She rolled her eyes. “You big guys are the worst, you know. Whine, whine, whine.”
He felt the need to defend himself. “Hey, it’s fifteen stitches.”
Her lips tipped up as she pulled another suture. “Only fourteen. You’ll have a scar, though, so you can brag about it for years to come.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Casey burst through the curtain, anger in his eyes that David knew was leftover panic. “What the hell did you do to yourself, Hunter?”
“I was stupid, okay?” David said, now angry with himself. “Ouch.”
“Hold still, cowboy,” she said. “Could you please sit down, whoever you are?”
Casey pulled up a chair and dropped into it. “I’m his captain. He’ll live?”
“Oh, sure. He’ll have a hell of a headache, but he’ll survive. Not so sure if he’ll survive the ribbing he’ll get later.”
“Thank you,” David said sarcastically. “I tripped, okay? It was an easy fire. Lady had left a towel on the stove, husband accidentally turned it on, and the kitchen went up. We put the damn thing out in three minutes. Less, even.”
“So what did you trip on?” Casey asked.
“Her damn cat.” He clenched his teeth. “I went down, hit my chin on some stupid metal modern-art sculpture… thing.”
“I have to say, I’m relieved you’re not invincible. I was getting kinda spooked there.”
The doctor’s brows lifted. “What horrible fates have you barely escaped?”
“Falling four stories and getting pinned by a beam,” David said flatly. “This week.”
Her eyes widened. “You caught the ball? Well, I guess you were due a scratch. I’m almost done.”
“Good,” he said, “then I can get back to work.”
Casey shook his head. “No.”
“What do you mean? She’s gonna stitch me up, send me back in the game. Right, Doc?”