Have You Seen Her? (23 page)
“Dr. Blackman,” she returned. She certainly wouldn’t make it any easier for him.
“There’s been another incident in your classroom.”
Jenna sucked in her cheeks. “Now why does that not surprise me, Dr. Blackman?” she asked.
Blackman glared a moment. “This time it’s worse, Dr. Marshall.”
Jenna just looked at him. “How can it be worse? They’ve painted graffiti on every blackboard, white board, and blank wall, spray-painted my periodic table and my posters, and super-glued all the Erlenmeyer flasks to my lab tables. They’ve slashed my tires and poured water down my gas tank. What more can they possibly do?”
“Come with me,” was all he said before turning on his heel and walking crisply up the stairs.
Jenna exchanged looks with Casey and followed him. Five or six of her students gathered around her classroom door, held back by Lucas who looked angry enough to . . . Jenna stared at him, her gut twisting. Mad enough to kill, as the saying went.
“What is it, Lucas?” she murmured.
“Don’t touch anything,” Lucas growled, then lifted his arm to let her through. Then held her shoulders to keep her upright.
“Oh, God.” Immediate terror clutched her heart. “Lucas.” The last was little more than a whimper. She lifted her hand to her mouth and . . . stared. Up.
To where the carcass of . . . something . . . swung from a rope tied to a hook mounted in the ceiling tiles, a grotesque piñata.
Swinging.
Swinging.
It was almost hypnotic.
She felt Casey’s arm go around her waist as she swallowed back the breakfast that threatened to choke her. “What is it?” Jenna whispered, unable to tear her eyes from the horrific sight. The room swayed and Casey’s arm tightened.
“Come on, honey,” Casey murmured. “Let’s get you out of here.”
She let Casey turn her body around, but her eyes remained fixed to whatever the poor animal had been, her head craned like an owl’s until her body ran into Lucas’s. She turned her gaze then, lifting it to Lucas’s familiar black eyes. Focusing on them while the swaying room came to a gradual halt. He took her chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger.
“You will not pass that boy,” he whispered fiercely through clenched teeth. “No matter what Blackman says. You will not let them win.”
Jenna shook her head, numb. “No, no I won’t.” She twisted, looking back at the swinging carcass over her shoulder. “Lucas—”
He grasped her chin again, making her look at him. “I’ll set your classes up in the auditorium today. The kids can have study time until we clean this up.” He turned to Blackman who looked decidedly grim. “Keith, you will call the police this time, or I will call them myself.” He narrowed his eyes. “Then I’ll call the press.”
“I will call the police,” Blackman responded evenly. “No need for threats, Lucas.”
“And you will bring disciplinary action against Rudy Lutz and his
friends
.” Lucas’s mouth twisted around the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.
“If the police find evidence of those responsible, I will take appropriate action.”
Jenna didn’t blink. “That’s a big if, Dr. Blackman. What happens when these boys take the game a notch higher?”
He flinched. “I don’t believe they’ll take it that far,” he said thinly and Jenna felt her cork pop.
Pop and fly.
She took a step toward him, pulling free of Casey’s steadying arm. “You don’t believe,” she said, her voice a low growl. “
You don’t believe?
” Anger surged, blessed and raw, erasing the numbness, leaving fire in its place. She advanced another step, fists on her hips, staring down at him from atop her heels. He looked up, defiantly. Disbelievingly she shook her head. “Are you a fucking moron, Blackman?” she demanded and ignored how his mouth dropped open like a hooked fish. She pressed the tip of her finger to his scrawny chest. “Do you honestly believe these . . . these
animals
will stop on their own?” She jabbed. “Are you that unbelievably
stupid
?”
Blackman closed his mouth, pursed his lips. “You’re out of line, Dr. Marshall. I’ll forgive it this time because I understand you’ve had a shock, but—”
Red lights flashed in front of her eyes. “Didn’t you listen to anything I
said
? I said they
won’t stop.
They’ll
continue.
Next time some
body
will get hurt instead of that poor animal, whatever it was.” She flung her arm backward blindly, pointing to the swinging carcass. “And
then
what will you say, Blackman? Sorry? Forgive me? But we won the fucking
championship
?” Her voice rose until the last word was delivered in close to a screech.
Lucas grabbed her arm and lowered it to her side. “This is not the time, Jen. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he does the right thing.”
Blackman regarded the three of them, Jenna from her towering position and Lucas and Casey flanking her from behind. “We’ll speak more on this topic later. I’ll go and call the authorities.”
“Call Al Pullman, Investigative Division,” Jenna said, her voice trembling. “He’s the one who wrote the report on my tires.”
“If he’s available,” Blackman said crisply and turned on his heel.
“Blackman.” Jenna again felt steadying hands on her shoulders. Lucas’s. And a hand smoothing her back. Casey’s. Blackman stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Call Pullman. I’ll know if you don’t.”
Blackman slowly turned his body, his face one big scowl. “Is that a threat, Dr. Marshall?”
Jenna stared, unmoving, then jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the swinging carcass. “No. That is.”
Something flickered in his eyes and he looked over her shoulder at the . . . thing... before turning and leaving the room. Jenna took a breath and looked into the hallway, once again seeing the students gathered around, all thirty of them by this time.
She’d forgotten all about them.
Shit.
She closed her eyes. They’d heard her call the principal a fucking moron. That was most probably against the rules in the teacher handbook. But he was a fucking moron. That really should come as no surprise to any of these kids.
But still... She’d said it.
Out loud.
She opened her eyes and looked around the group. Thirty pairs of concerned eyes looked back. No recriminations, no glee. Just concern.
No one said anything for a long moment. Then a pale Kelly Templeton said, “I’m sorry, Dr. Marshall. This isn’t how the rest of us feel.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group and Lucas moved into the hall, herding the group toward the stairs. “Let’s go, people. Let’s give Dr. Marshall a chance to gather herself. You all get a break today. Miss Ryan, I’ll get someone to cover your class this period so you can stay with Dr. Marshall until the police come.” He took the lead, and one by one each teen followed him until the only one left was Josh Lutz. Josh, Rudy’s quiet brother who sat on the back row of her first period class every day and took assiduous notes. Josh, who hadn’t been able to meet her eyes since the vandalism had begun. Josh, whose face was paler than Kelly’s had been. He looked down at his shoes, then back up. In his eyes she saw guilt mixed with mortification.
“I’m sorry, too, Dr. Marshall,” he said quietly. “I wish there was something I could do.”
Jenna made herself smile and tried not to wonder what life must be like for a gentle boy like Josh living with thugs like Rudy and their father. “Thanks, Josh. Just knowing you feel that way makes a difference.”
He looked like he would say something more, then changed his mind. Shouldering his backpack, he set off in a loping jog to catch up with the class.
Casey tugged at her waist. “Come on, Jen. Let’s go wait for Officer Pullman.”
Jenna took one look back and wished she hadn’t, knowing for a long time she’d see that poor creature whenever she closed her eyes.
Wednesday, October 5, 9:15
A.M.
Brad crept out of his bedroom. The coast was finally clear. Helen had gone shopping. Matt and Nicky were at school. His father wasn’t home and hadn’t been since the morning before.
Brad stopped by his father’s bedroom door and looked in, his lips curling in contempt. His father hadn’t come home last night. His lips thinned. His father had taken Dr. Marshall to dinner.
Dinner. What a joke. His father hadn’t come home last night. Didn’t take a Ph.D. to figure that one out. He’d thought more of Dr. Marshall than that. But his father . . . At this point he didn’t know if there was anything his father wasn’t capable of doing. Of saying. Anger pricked at him and he welcomed it. Nicky was up again last night, as he was every night, but his father was nowhere to be seen. Unavailable to soothe a little boy to sleep.
Because he was catting around. Selfishly seeing to his own needs while his children went without. No, not money, not food. Not any of those material things. But they went without just the same. Nicky and Matt especially.
He himself . . . He didn’t need Special Agent Steven Thatcher. Not anymore. He—
The front door slammed and a few seconds later he was staring at his father across a ten-foot expanse of second-floor hallway carpet. Might as well have been a damn ocean.
His father narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here?” “I’m skipping school,” he answered evenly. “I won’t ask you what you’re doing here as it’s obvious you didn’t sleep in your bed last night and those were the same clothes you wore yesterday. I have to assume your dinner with Dr. Marshall took a very long time.”
He watched his father’s eyes flash. “Brad, you cross the line. I was at work all night long.”
Brad chuckled. Mirthlessly. “You must be getting old, Dad. I didn’t think any guy referred to it as ‘work.’ Although I have to say about five hundred guys at Roosevelt would have loved to have been ‘working’ with you last night.”
His father took a step forward, then another, until they were nose to nose. His father’s eyes bored into him and a muscle twitched in his cheek. Brad’s glance darted down to see fists at his father’s sides and it occurred to him that he’d gone a step too far.
“How dare you?” his father hissed and Brad dismissed the small frisson of alarm that sizzled down his back. His father was a big man. Bigger than he was. But his father wouldn’t hit him. And if he did, he’d just hit him back. That’s what he’d do. And God help the old man because he had a lot of anger stored up. That would go a fair distance in closing the size gap.
“I call ’em like I see ’em,” Brad said, preparing for the first blow.
That of course never came. Because on top of being a damn liar, his father was a coward.
“You can think what you like about me, Brad. But when you demean a woman like Jenna Marshall, you cross the line. I’ve tried to understand how to help you, but you’ve just shown me you’re beyond my help. No son of mine would ever say anything like that about any woman.”
“Then I guess I’m no son of yours,” Brad said, making his voice cold, steady. Steady.
His father’s chest heaved. Once, twice. “Get your books, you’re going to school.”
“No, I’m not.”
His father took another step and towered over him and Brad felt another spear of fear.
“Yes, you will. Because I am your father and I say you will go to school. Get. Your. Books.”
Brad took a step back. Fuming. Furious. Yeah, he’d get his books. He’d even go to school. Then he’d get the hell out of this house and everything that went with it.
He looked at his father and smiled. “Yes, sir.”
Wednesday, October 5, 10:30
A.M.
“A
NYTHING
?” L
ENNIE ASKED
.
Steven stared at the untouched paperwork on his desk, still ripped up from his fight with Brad.
I handled that badly,
he thought.
“Steven?”
Steven dragged his eyes up to Lennie’s worried face. Steven pulled his brain to the topic at hand. Two girls. One dead, one missing. Lennie had a right to be worried. They didn’t have shit.
Steven threw his pen on his desk. “We found a tire print that could have come from Samantha’s bike, but the kids use that area as a stunt park, so there’s a better than even chance that it didn’t.”
“So we have nothing.”
“Pretty much.” He handed Lennie a sheet of paper from his desk. “We brainstormed this morning on who could have been the ballplayer Serena overheard Sammie mention.”
“All of these games were played the day Samantha disappeared?”
“Up to four days prior. Nancy has a bigger list of games for the week prior, but we figured it would have been within a few days.”
Lennie scanned the page, then lowered it enough to see Steven over the top. “You’ve included pro games on this list.”
“An adult sports figure with a yen for young girls would have an easy time attracting them.”
“Pro games, college games, high school games . . .
church
leagues? That’s just sick, Steven.”
“But necessary.”
With a sigh Lennie laid the paper on the desk. “That’s why it’s sick. How will you narrow down this list? You’ve got over a hundred games and each one will have twenty-plus participants.”
“We eliminated college teams that played nontelevised away games. As for the pros, the only televised or home game in the last four days was hockey. The Hurricanes played last Wednesday.”
“I know,” Lennie said. “I had sixth row seats. Nearly caught a puck in my teeth.”
“Which would have ruined your dazzling smile and ended your modeling career,” Steven returned sarcastically and Lennie’s lips curved. “Harry and Sandra are getting team rosters,” Steven continued, “and Nancy’s running background checks. We’ll look for anybody with a prior.”
“This will take weeks,” Lennie said heavily.
“It can’t.” Steven’s fists clenched on top of his desk. “Meg thinks he’ll strike again soon.”
Wednesday, October 5, 10:30
A.M.
“Do you have to do that?” Casey asked irritably as Jenna paced the length of the teachers’ lounge for the hundredth time. “You’re making me crazy.”
Jenna shot her a hostile look. “Forgive me if I’m a bit preoccupied. It’s not like the police are upstairs in my classroom or anything. How can you sit and grade papers like nothing happened?”
Casey scrawled a grade on the top of one theme paper and plucked another from the pile that didn’t seem to diminish over time. “Because if I don’t get these
Crime and Punishment
themes graded by tomorrow, I can’t get my quarter grades in early and I can’t take off Friday. And if I can’t take off Friday, Ned will be going to Myrtle Beach all by himself while my new bikini and I stay home.” She looked up with a sideways grin. “And
that’s
not gonna happen.”
Friday. Jenna’s brain kicked back into gear. It was a teacher in-service day where faculty prepared report cards and students got a day off. All in all, a really raw deal all the way around. “You still want to borrow my car for the trip?”
“Of course. Ned’s salivating over it already.”
Jenna winced. The thought of Ned driving Adam’s car was not a pleasant one.
Casey’s smile was wry. “Don’t worry, Jenna. I’ll drive.” She frowned. “Unless you don’t want me to take Adam’s car. I know how attached you are to it.”
Attached to a car of all things. It should be silly, a grown woman attached to a car. But Jenna remembered the raw fury she’d felt the night before when Rudy and his friends tampered with the gas tank. Of course she was attached. It had been Adam’s. Still, it was just a car, she told herself. A grownup toy to be enjoyed. Life was too short after all.
“Don’t be silly,” she said and watched Casey’s frown relax. “Take the car and have fun. Besides, if you’ve got it, Rudy and his friends can’t touch it, right? I need your truck this weekend anyway. I promised to take Steven’s son Nicky to the park to teach his sheepdog how to sit.”
Casey’s frown snapped back into place. “You’re going to entertain his son after last night?”
Jenna shrugged. What
had
Steven really done? When the steam cleared, what had he done? He’d kissed her and touched her and set her body on fire. Very nicely, she should add. Then he’d stopped. There really hadn’t been a whole lot more to it than that. He’d made no promises, taken nothing she hadn’t freely offered. Canceling on Nicky would be a hundred times worse because she
had
promised. “I made a promise to Nicky and that really has nothing to do with Steven.”
She expected Casey to make some witty retort, but there was quiet at the table where Casey sat staring down at the theme paper she was grading, her pixie face troubled.
“What’s wrong, Case?”
Casey glanced up, then back down at the paper. “This is the first unique theme I’ve read.”
Jenna lifted her brows. “And that’s a problem . . . why?” Casey bit at her lip. “Because this student seems to identify with the story’s main character a little too much.”
Jenna rewound her brain. She’d been forced to read
Crime and Punishment
in high school, too.
“Wait a minute. Didn’t the main character in
Crime and Punishment
kill an old woman?”
Casey nodded, still staring down at the theme with a troubled frown. “Because she annoyed him and because he wanted to know what it felt like to take another life.”
Now frowning herself, Jenna walked over to where Casey sat. “Which kid is this?”
“Dr. Marshall?” Officer Pullman asked from the doorway and both Jenna and Casey whipped their heads around to see him.
“What did you find?” Jenna asked.
Pullman pulled a chair from the table. “Sit down, Dr. Marshall.”
Her nerves jangled. “I’d really rather stand if you don’t mind.”
“Listen to the nice man with the shiny badge, Jen,” Casey commanded sharply. “Sit your ass down in the chair.” Casey looked over at Pullman with a sour grimace. “She’s been driving me nuts with the pacing ever since you arrived.”
Pullman’s lips twitched as Jenna flopped into the chair he provided. He took the chair next to her and brought out his little notepad. “Well, the animal hanging from your ceiling was a possum at one time. It was most likely a roadkill somebody picked up from the side of the road this morning.”
Relief shot through her. At least no one had purposely tortured the poor animal. “Did you find any evidence of who did this?”
Pullman shook his head, much as Jenna had expected him to. “Looks like whoever did this wore gloves. But it also looks like this isn’t the only trouble you’ve had since your tires got slashed. I couldn’t help but notice the artwork on your walls. I take it the QB hasn’t brought up his grade?”
Jenna scowled. “The QB is waiting for me to fold.”
“The QB will be waiting a good long time,” Casey added darkly.
Pullman flipped his notepad closed. “Well, we dusted for prints, but I doubt we’ll get anything concrete. You’ve just got too many people going in and out of your classroom.” He stood up and looked down. “I’ll tell you the same thing that I told you Friday night. Watch your back.”
Wednesday, October 5, 3:45
P.M.
Harry threw his notebook on the conference-room table and dropped into the chair directly across from Steven’s, disgust all over his face. Sandra took the chair next to Harry, looking tired.
“We’ve been checking perps with sex priors all day,” Harry complained. “I need to bathe.”
Sandra looked over at him with amused sympathy. Sex perps were her niche forte.
One hell of a niche forte,
Steven thought. Give him murderers any damn day of the week. “Don’t worry, Harry,” she said, “you’ll develop a Teflon coating after a while. All the slime will just roll off.”
Nancy rubbed her forehead with one hand while sliding her half-glasses off her nose with the other. “How long will that take? To develop the Teflon coating, I mean.”
Sandra shrugged. “Five or six years.”
Steven watched them all from his own chair. “But how about the vics, Sandra? How long before you develop a Teflon coating so that they don’t stick in your mind?”
Sandra’s face sobered. “Never.”
Steven sighed. “Me either.” He looked around. “Has anyone seen Kent or Meg?”
“Meg said she had an appointment,” Nancy said. “Haven’t seen Kent since this morning.”
“Here I am,” said Kent, huffing a little bit. He plopped into a chair. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Well, let’s get started, folks. Thanks for coming back this afternoon. We’ve got news.”
“From the McDonald’s search this morning?” Sandra asked, leaning forward.
“I wish,” Steven replied grimly. He placed a sheet of paper on the center of the table. “Look.”
His team gathered around the paper he’d already had analyzed six ways to Tuesday. “No prints, no identifying marks,” he told them. “Just rather general directions on where to find Samantha Eggleston. It was dropped off with the mail this afternoon. I got it an hour ago.”
“In the mail?” Harry asked sharply.
Steven shook his head. “Nope, just with it. No utilization of the U.S. Postal Service.”
“Good,” said Harry.
“I agree,” said Steven. If their killer had used the U.S. Postal Service or even a fax they would have found themselves tangled ass-deep in Feds. “It’s a printed sheet—came off a standard laser jet printer, just like the one in our office.”
“And hundreds of other offices,” Sandra muttered. “ ‘Find her before it’s too late. If you can,’” Nancy read and looked up at Steven. “Too late for what, I wonder.”
“I wondered the same thing,” Steven said. “Either she’s still alive, or—”
“Or she’s dead and he wants us to find her before the animals do,” Harry finished grimly.
“This is nowhere near the two other clearings,” Sandra commented. “Is there a pattern? Like that nutcase who bombed mailboxes picking cities that made a happy face on the map?”
Steven winced. He hadn’t considered that. He’d ask Meg if a map pattern like that matched the profile she’d created of their killer. “I marked them on the map. No pattern yet that I can see.”
“But we only have three points,” Harry said.
“Let’s pray we don’t have four,” Steven returned. “I’ve sent some state uniforms over to secure the site and informed the local town sheriff. He’s going to meet us there. He says the indicated area is huge, so we’ve got a long night ahead of us. Harry, I’d like you to come with me.”
Harry sighed. “I’ll grab some barf bags.”
Steven almost smiled. “Sandra and Nancy, keep plugging away at the list of ballplayers.”
“We’ve contacted ten of the players with priors so far,” Sandra said. “They’ve all got alibis for Thursday night and the night Lorraine went missing.”
“Keep going. When you’ve exhausted the list of priors, start in on the gentle folk.” Steven looked over at Kent who hadn’t taken his eyes from the note. “What, Kent?”
Kent glanced up, then reglued his eyes to the paper. “This, right here.” He pointed to a small mark in the lower left corner of the page.
“I saw that,” Steven said. “It’s some kind of design. Why, does it mean something to you?”
Kent nodded and tilted his head to one side, taking in the design from a different angle. “This side of it, right here. This looks like it might match the tattoo on Lorraine Rush’s scalp.”
“The one that was mostly gone,” Harry said thinly and Kent looked up with a nod.
“That’s the one.”
Steven got up and stood behind Kent, looking over the young man’s shoulder. He squinted, trying to focus. “How can you tell, Kent? There wasn’t a hell of a lot left of that tattoo.”
“I had the ME take some photos and I had them blown up. Posted them above my desk and I’ve been looking at them every chance I get. I’m pretty sure, Steven. This is the mark.” Kent turned in his chair so that he could meet Steven’s eyes and once again Steven was impressed with the intelligence mixed with compassion he saw there. “And when you find Samantha’s body—if you find it before it’s scavenged—I’ll bet you find this mark on her scalp, too.”
Steven blew out a breath. “It’ll be dark soon. Kent, come with me and Harry. If we find something I want you to be able to start on the scene before dark. Nancy, run that mark through your database. I want to know where it came from. Sandra, I guess you have enough perps to question so that if Nancy takes a break to run this design you won’t be twiddling your thumbs.”
“Unfortunately, I have plenty to do,” Sandra said dryly and again Steven almost smiled.
“Then let’s go, folks. Everyone be on call.”
