The captain was pushing his favorite suspect: a homeless man named Nicholas Richards, who had evaded multiple drug charges. A personal vendetta, maybe, but they’d all been ordered to prioritize the lead. The surface of Saffy’s desk was a mess of phone logs and witness transcripts—beneath it all, her suspicion pulsed, impossible to ignore.
Ansel Packer’s transcript showed he’d gone to Northern Vermont University, where he dropped out right before getting his diploma. He’d applied for a philosophy fellowship his last semester. The records contained a mixed recommendation from a Professor May Brown. Saffy had left four messages on the professor’s machine. She had no idea where Ansel was now. He paid taxes from an address that no longer existed, an apartment building near the university, demolished years ago. Ansel had no police record. Not even a speeding ticket.
When Moretti walked by, Saffy hid her work beneath a nondescript file box. Drop everything else, Singh, Moretti had warned, firm. We need more on the captain’s suspect. That’s an order. They were closing in on arrest—Nicholas Richards had camped illegally near the burial site. If the ranger could place him on all three dates, they would move in. Moretti had relayed this information with a smug surety that made Saffy’s pulse jump with exhausted frustration.
So when her phone rang, minutes before Moretti packed up for the night, Saffy answered with premature disappointment.
“Saffron Singh.”
“Hello? This is Professor Brown, returning your call.”
Saffy pressed the receiver close, trying to muffle the hoot of the troopers. On the other side of the backroom window, they had inexplicably filled a condom with shaving cream and were whacking one another with it, waiting for it to pop. A few feet away, Moretti was bent over a stack of phone logs, tapping a highlighter against the bow of her lips in concentration. Saffy spoke low into the receiver.
“You recommended a student named Ansel Packer for a philosophy fellowship,” Saffy said.
“Ah, yes. He didn’t get the fellowship in the end. From what I remember, he was—how do I put this? An average student who believed he deserved more. One of his female classmates got the award instead, and I don’t think he took it well. He dropped out shortly after.”
“Anything else you can tell me about him?” Saffy asked. “Do you know where he is now?”
“I have no idea.” Professor Brown paused. “Have you already spoken with the girlfriend?”
“Girlfriend?”
“The one he had in college. They were quite serious at the time, if I remember correctly. She was always waiting outside his classes. I had her for Intro to Physics, I think. Jenny. Jenny Fisk. She was in the nursing program. Or maybe psychology? Sweet girl. You could try her.”
Saffy hung up the phone, adrenaline zapping her gloriously awake. Moretti stood, dug out her car keys, slipped on her sleek, designer parka.
“You look like you found something,” Moretti said, stifling a yawn.
Saffy shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
She waited until Moretti’s taillights had disappeared from the parking lot. There were four Jenny Fisks in the old dial-up system, and three Jennifers—half were too old, one was deceased, and one was in prison for drug charges. But there was a Jenny Fisk living in a small town in Vermont, just a few miles from the university Ansel Packer had attended.
As she dialed, Saffy noted the tremble of her own fingers, the jump of excitement ballooning in her throat.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice. Saffy could hear water running in the background.
“Am I speaking with Jenny Fisk?”
“Who is this?”
“Saffron Singh, New York State Police. Do you have a moment to talk? I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Sorry, what—？”
“I’m looking for a man named Ansel Packer.”
A stuttering pause, frozen. In the background, Saffy could hear the murmur of a television, heavy footsteps.
“What—what is this about? I’m sorry, I—I can’t talk now.”
“Is there a better time?”
“I mean—well, I’ll be at the hospital tomorrow. Northeast Regional, around noon.”
And Jenny hung up. As the empty station pulsed around her, Saffy remembered how it felt to snort lines of energy straight into her bloodstream. This was something more. This was irresistible.
*
The emergency room lights glowed neon. When Saffy flashed her badge, the girl behind the reception desk fluttered.