“The conference was a drag. I got in last night. Thought I’d surprise you. Apparently, I did.”
She notices a bouquet of wilted grocery-store flowers and some Chinese food still in the delivery bag on the table. He’s had a long night, it appears.
“Didn’t you get my texts?”
She’d seen a series of messages, but hadn’t read them, assuming he was just checking in.
“Sorry,” she says.
Brad looks at her wearily. They’ve been through this before. Brad works in cyber security. He sells software to companies to help them prevent data breaches and the attendant blackmail and ruined lives that often accompany criminals roaming through high-powered executives’ emails and browser histories. He could drone on about it forever—how he’s the front line of defense in a new war. He was supposed to be out with fellow IT sales nerds for several days of PowerPoint presentations and watered-down drinks at an Embassy Suites in Atlantic City.
“I thought we were past this,” he says, staring at her.
“Past what?”
He rolls his eyes. He’s wound up, probably been stewing all night.
“I said it was for work.”
He shakes his head.
She can try to explain. Tell him about what happened at the ice cream store, being called to the hospital to help a survivor. But it won’t explain her outfit, where she’s been all night. And, honestly, she doesn’t feel like trying. She never really wanted to move in with him, much less get engaged. It just happened.
Now, for the first time in their relationship, Brad does something unexpected. Something bold. Something not boring and predictable. He looks at Ella, his eyes blazing, and says, “I’m done.” He marches to the front door and yanks it open. “I’m going to the office. Have your shit out of here by the time I get back.”
Good for him.
CHAPTER 10
KELLER
The conference room in the high school is more of a teacher break room than designated meeting space. It smells of burnt Folgers wafting from the ancient industrial coffee maker next to the fridge with a sign taped to its door, undoubtedly warning of the weekly food purge. Frayed workplace-discrimination signs are tacked unevenly to the walls. Keller and Atticus sit at the long cafeteria-style table, waiting for school officials to join the meeting while Arpeggio huddles out of earshot with a senior detective named Sheila Mintz. Detective Mintz has tight curly brown hair and deep frown lines, an inescapable side effect of working murders for a career.
Soon, they’re joined by the superintendent of schools and the principal of Union High.
Arpeggio says, “I want to thank you for meeting with us so quickly. I know this is a devastating time, but it’s these hours immediately after that we have the best chance of uncovering evidence.”
“Of course,” the superintendent says. She has painfully erect posture and a sharp, bobbed cut.
Arpeggio explains that they need to interview Madison and Hannah Sawyer’s friends. Their mother is a mess, he explains, which is not surprising, having lost both daughters in one ghastly night. They also want to talk with friends of the survivor, Jesse Duvall.
“This may be a random robbery gone bad,” Arpeggio says, “but we need to cover all angles.”
The principal speaks now. “Detective Mintz asked that we make a list of the girls’ friends.” He slides a sheet of paper across the table. “It’s probably incomplete but a good place to start.”
Arpeggio nods.
The principal continues, “You can use the music room to meet with the students. It’s out of the way, more or less soundproof, and won’t draw attention.”
Arpeggio nods his thanks again. “This is a difficult question to ask, but is there anyone—including anyone on the staff—who might have reason to hurt the girls?”
The superintendent and principal tap eyes.
Noticing this, Arpeggio says, “Anything, no matter how small could help.”
The principal starts to speak but the superintendent touches his arm.
“There are confidentiality issues with employee matters,” the superintendent says.
Arpeggio gives a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. His jaw clenches and he appears to be taking a moment to quell whatever is burning inside him. “I can appreciate that. But I think the community will forgive any confidentiality lapses if it helps save lives.”
The superintendent swallows. She looks to the principal, nods for him to continue.
Principal Steadman is a serious-looking white man in perhaps his early forties. “We had a new custodian, Randy Butler. His initial background check came back fine, and he started work. But the county runs a separate check, through older databases, and it came back with a prior conviction.”