“I need to check my messages. I’ll do it when we’re outside. I got no bars in this elevator.” Which moved in slow-mo. The elevator finally reached the ground and they stopped at the receptionist’s desk.
“Visitors have to sign in and I make a copy of their licenses,” the receptionist said. “Students swipe their ID card. Here’s everyone who’s been through in the last week.”
It was a thick printout that made Olivia’s eyes cross. “Can you check for a name? Joel Fischer?”
The receptionist typed, then shook her head. “Didn’t come in here.”
They thanked her and went outside into the sun. “I’ll get a couple of sandwiches from the food truck,” Noah said. “You check your messages.”
He jogged off to one of the silver food trucks and she listened to her messages. Paige. Paige again. Mia, three times. She’d heard about Kane and was coming to Minnesota. Olivia felt a tiny piece of her settle. Mia would understand. She’d lost a partner herself, years ago.
The last message was from David. Her eyes narrowed as she listened, saving his message just as Noah returned. She took one of the sandwiches he offered and made herself take a bite while turning back to Albert’s dorm, walking fast. “We got a last name on Mary. Mary O’Reilly. Let’s see if that nice receptionist can locate her for us.”
Noah was frowning. “Where did you get the last name?”
“From David, on my voice mail. And no, I don’t know how he knew. I suspect we don’t want to know. I’ll call him back in a few minutes. Let’s find Mary first.”
Noah sighed. “Eve’s got class all morning. She’s not involved, as far as I know.”
“That Chicago group is so used to skulking online, they do it without breathing.” But she smiled sadly. “Kane always thought that was so cool.”
“’Cause it is,” Noah said with a wry grin. “Always makes me hot to see Eve hack.”
She chuckled, and felt better for it. “I’m sure David’s story will be entertaining.”
They reentered Albert’s dorm, the receptionist looking up in surprise. “You’re back.”
“We are indeed,” Olivia said. “Can you find a student for us? Mary O’Reilly.”
“Mary Francesca O’Reilly,” the receptionist said after entering the name. “She’s a senior.” She produced a campus map. “Her dorm is a four-minute walk from here.”
Olivia gave her a smile while Noah called for backup. “Thanks.”
Wednesday, September 22, 1:30 p.m.
He pulled his van into his shop parking lot after driving around in circles to ensure he wasn’t being followed. Wearily he climbed the outside stairs to the apartment he kept above the shop, locked his door, and fell into his easy chair. He’d searched for the kid, but no luck. Cops had swarmed and he’d retreated.
Austin had not replied since telling him he’d run to the ice-cream shop, behind which he had not been. He sent the kid another text, from “Kenny’s” account.
Where the hell r u? Looked everywhere. Town crawling w/cops. Let me know u r ok.
There had been no reply, but so far the cops hadn’t found him either. He’d just have to wait for the kid to text back when he felt safe. His eyes fell on the other text he’d received and he opened the photo attachment again. Albert was dead. Just like Eric.
Just like Joel. All supposed ODs. Mary, Mary, Mary. He hadn’t thought she had it in her, but she was the only one left. If he released the tape now, the cops would be on her doorstep in five minutes. But her point last night was well taken. The video proved a fifth person at the scene-me. To think that the cops wouldn’t link a fifth person at the scene with the shootings of the guard and Detective Kane was simply foolish.
The video was useful only as long as it frightened the College Four into doing his bidding. But the four were down to one, and the one left was a fucking psycho.
Although he’d love to see her rot in a jail cell forever, at this point it made more sense to silence her forever. But his hands were shaking from lack of sleep. A few hours’ rest would be all he needed. Hopefully by then Austin would have contacted him.
And then he could finally give Mary the Bitch what she so richly deserved.
Wednesday, September 22, 1:30 p.m.
“She’s not here.” An officer met Olivia and Noah at the door to Mary’s dorm room. “That’s her roommate. Name’s Helen Sanford.”
A young woman sat on a sofa, her clasped hands between her knees. Olivia sat next to her while Noah searched Mary’s room. “Do you know where she is, Helen?”
Helen shook her head. “We aren’t friends. We don’t talk. Mary keeps to herself.”
“Any visitors?”
“Her boyfriend, mainly. She was really upset this week.”
“Upset? How so?”
“Cried for hours. I could hear her through the wall. Joel died Monday. Car wreck.”
“Does Mary have family in the area, anywhere she’d go?”
“She has a father and a brother who’s some doctor. I think her mother died.”
“Detective Sutherland.” Noah was standing in the hall. “You need to see this.”
“Wait here,” Olivia said to Helen, then went to Mary’s room and looked inside the bureau drawer Noah had opened. “Two glass balls,” she said, “and baby diapers. That’s where she got the gel she used to keep the glass ball from cracking in the fires.”
“And look at this.” Noah lifted the lid of a small box. “Found it behind some books on the top shelf. It wasn’t hidden well, almost like she’d tossed it up there.”
Olivia sighed. “Her stash.” There was cotton and syringes and two worn metal spoons that bore the marks of being heated again and again. “She’s a user.”
“Let’s get her permanent address and send out a unit. She might have gone there.”
“Mary was at the fire,” Olivia said. “It was probably Albert on the dock and at the school. Which means Albert killed Kane.” Again she pushed aside the rage. “But we still have no connection to Barney Tomlinson or Dorian Blunt. It makes no sense.”
“We need to talk to Tomlinson’s wife. But first, let’s see if we can figure out where Mary would go. How did David know about her?”
“I’ll call David and find out.”
“And I’ll call in the BOLO on Mary O’Reilly.” Noah started dialing. “I’ll make sure the airports are also notified in case she decides to buy her own ticket on Air France.”
Wednesday, September 22, 1:30 p.m.
“Thanks for seeing me,” David said, settling into a chair next to Truman Jefferson’s big desk. He’d been shown in by a young woman who’d announced him as Mr. Smith, then discreetly closed the door behind them. “I know it was short notice.”
“Always a pleasure to meet new clients,” Truman said broadly, then winced when he saw David’s chin. “That’s quite a shaving nick you got there. Must hurt like the devil.”
“That it does.” It still hurt like hell and he was still dizzy if he moved too quickly.
His mother had been very upset when he’d tried to leave the house, going as far as to take his keys. The only way he’d managed to get here at all was to allow her to drive. Of course Glenn had come and the two of them sat in the front seat of his mother’s car, waiting for him to conclude his business with Lincoln’s brother. Then they were going to the hospital to see Jeff, who was finally conscious and taking visitors.
“So, how can we help you, Mr. Smith?”
David studied Truman’s face, his eyes. The family pictures on his desk. If he was schizophrenic like Lincoln, he masked it well. “Actually, my name isn’t Smith. It’s Hunter. David Hunter. I’m a firefighter. Yesterday your brother broke into my friend’s house.”
Truman’s brows snapped in a snarl. “What’s this about? If you’re planning to sue-”
“I’m not.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Sir, your brother is not well.”