Keller flips through the pages, which are sorted by day. Atticus has dog-eared the pages for every Tuesday and Thursday. On each of those pages, he circled the times from 5 to 7 p.m. Keller doesn’t understand. There was no cell activity on Hannah Sawyer’s phone on those days and times—some of the only times the girl wasn’t on her phone. What was Hannah doing every Tuesday and Thursday from five to seven?
Then it hits her. She quickly calls Atticus’s mobile.
Right to voice mail.
She clicks on the number for Joe Arpeggio.
He answers on the first ring. “Look, I don’t know if there’s much more for us to—”
“It’s not about that,” Keller interrupts. “Hannah Sawyer. Her phone records. She didn’t use her phone every Tuesday and Thursday. Do you know why?”
“I’m not sure what that—”
“It’s important,” she says firmly. “Can you call her parents?”
“There’s just the mom, but yeah. What’s—”
“Right now,” Keller insists.
There’s a long silence. “Sure, yeah, hang on, I’ll conference her in.”
Keller’s pulse races as she waits to be reconnected.
When Arpeggio comes back on the line, he’s on with Hannah and Madison Sawyer’s mother. “I’m sorry to bother you so late,” he says, “but we had a question that we hoped you could answer for us.”
The woman’s voice sounds tired, drained. “Whatever I can do to help.”
“I have Agent Keller from the FBI on the line with me, I’ll let her explain.”
Silence.
“Hello, yes, just a quick question,” Keller says. “On Tuesday and Thursday nights, we wondered if there’s a reason Hannah wouldn’t have used her cell phone. Maybe you all didn’t allow screen time on those days or there was—”
“She had driver’s ed on those nights,” says Ms. Sawyer.
Bumps ripple down Keller’s arms. “Is that through the school? Or—”
“Kind of. It’s a private business. But it’s run by the school’s principal, Mr. Steadman.”
CHAPTER 69
Keller’s heart hasn’t stopped thumping since she raced out of the office and sped to the home of Principal Steadman. The same words keep scrolling through her head on a loop. I should wait for backup, I should wait for backup, I should wait for backup.
She can only pray that Atticus didn’t already make the same mistake that she’s making now.
But her heart drops when she sees the car parked in Steadman’s driveway: an MG convertible with a faded red paint job, soft-top repaired with duct tape.
Arpeggio’s on his way. Stan’s sending the troops. They should be here any minute now.
But she can’t stop thinking about Atticus’s mom: “Keep my boy safe.”
She steps to the front window; the drapes are drawn. She hears a scream. A commotion.
I should wait for backup.
A jolt of fright tears through her as the garage door roars open.
She sees Steadman skulk out of the garage. His body language reads angry, frantic. Keller feels yet another spike of adrenaline as she takes in his shirt: covered in blood. She ducks behind the shrubs awkwardly and watches.
Steadman fumbles with keys and climbs into Atticus’s car. He’s tall and he has to adjust the seat in the compact sports vehicle. The engine rattles to life and he pulls it into the garage.
He’s hiding Atticus’s car. There’s only one reason for that.
I should wait for backup, I should wait for backup.
She pictures Bob’s face. How upset he was when she charged into the custodian’s house and garnered her fifteen minutes of fame.
But if Atticus is still alive, he won’t be for long. Maybe …
She hurries quietly to the garage door. It starts to roll down. She pulls her service weapon and holds it in front of her with both hands as she ducks under the closing door.
Steadman’s eyes darken when he climbs out of the car.
“Hands in the air, don’t move!” Keller shouts.
The garage door closes behind her. She sees Steadman’s own car also in the confined space, its trunk open but not empty.
A muffled wail comes from the woman tied up inside the trunk. She’s screaming in terror. It’s Ella Monroe. Her eye is swollen, mouth covered in tape.
Steadman takes advantage of the distraction and drops low behind the car.
Keller fires a shot that misses, allowing the principal to scurry through the door leading into the house, slamming it shut behind him.