Chương 7
“Cole.”
“Yeah.”
“Do not confront anyone alone.”
The detective gave a dry laugh.
“You worried about me now?”
“I’m worried about evidence.”
“That sounds more like you.”
Before David could answer, Cole said, “Wait.”
A metallic sound came through the phone.
Then quick footsteps.
“Cole?”
No answer.
David heard the detective breathe once, hard.
Then Cole whispered, “Son of a bitch.”
“What?”
“I found something under the stairwell.”
“What?”
“A red keychain.”
David looked at Nora.
Her backpack keychain.
“Is the bag there?”
“No.”
“Don’t touch it.”
“I know.”
Cole’s voice became distant as he crouched.
“There’s something attached.”
“What?”
“Small plastic drive.”
David went still.
A USB drive.
“Photograph it in place.”
“Already doing it.”
“Then wait for crime scene.”
“I know how to do my job.”
David ignored the irritation.
“Does it look damaged?”
“No.”
“Any markings?”
Cole paused.
“One.”
“What?”
“A piece of white tape.”
David waited.
Cole read the handwriting.
“It says KAYLA.”
David did not answer immediately.
He looked at Nora sleeping beneath the thin hospital blanket and tried to decide whether the name on that drive was a rescue line or another trap.
“Do not plug it into anything,” he said.
Cole gave a tired snort.
“I was planning to jam it into the nearest public computer.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Photograph everything around it.”
“I already did.”
“Footprints?”
“Concrete’s dusty, but there are too many.”
“Security supervisor still with you?”
“Vale is twenty feet away pretending not to listen.”
David lowered his voice.
“Then stop talking to me.”
Cole understood.
“I’ll call back.”
The line went dead.
David stood beside Nora’s bed for several minutes with the phone still in his hand.
He wanted to wake her and ask whether she had ever seen the drive before.
He did not.
That restraint cost him more than he expected.
At 3:42 a.m., Bishop called again.
David answered in the hallway.
“We know what Kayla’s full name is,” Bishop said.
“Tell me you got it legally.”
“Kayla Moreno.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“It’s on Bellweather’s public residence-hall roster from a scholarship announcement.”
David rubbed his eyes.
“Fine.”
“She’s a sophomore.”
“Anything else?”
“Her aunt lives outside Dayton.”
David went still.
“How do you know about the aunt?”
“Public obituary from last year lists family relationships.”
“That’s thin.”
“It’s enough for a possibility.”
“Not enough to send anyone there.”
“I didn’t.”
David heard the offense in Bishop’s voice and let it pass.
“What about the anonymous sender?”
“No movement.”
“Email headers?”
“Obfuscated.”
“Could be somebody inside the university.”
“Could be a bored sixteen-year-old in Manitoba.”
“Helpful.”
“I try.”
David leaned against the wall and watched a janitor push a floor machine slowly around a corner.
The man wore headphones and mouthed along to a song David could not hear.
For some reason, that ordinary detail steadied him.
The building still had trash to empty.
Floors still needed polishing.
People still finished night shifts and went home to dogs, spouses, overdue rent, half-eaten cereal.
Nora’s world had cracked open, but everyone else’s had not.
David had forgotten how insulting normal life could feel during catastrophe.
“Bishop.”
“Yeah?”
“If the drive contains something about Kayla, we let the police handle chain of custody.”
“Agreed.”
“If it contains something explosive, we still let the police handle it.”
“Mostly agreed.”
“Bishop.”
“I’m joking.”
“You were never funny.”
“That’s revisionist history.”
David almost smiled again.
Then a different number called through.
He switched lines.
“Mr. Miller?”
The voice was young and female.
“Who is this?”
A breath.
Then silence.
David stepped away from the nurses’ station.
“Who is this?”
“My name is Kayla.”
His entire body tightened.
“Kayla Moreno?”
She began crying at the sound of her last name.
Not loudly.
A single broken inhale, followed by the effort of someone trying to swallow panic.
“How did you get my number?”
“Nora gave it to me before.”
“For emergencies?”
“No.”
A pause.
“She said you always answered.”
David looked through the glass toward his daughter.
He remembered dozens of unknown calls he had ignored over the years because they were probably spam.
Apparently Nora had oversold him.
“Are you safe?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then don’t.”
That answer surprised her into silence.
David continued.
“Are you alone?”
“My aunt’s asleep.”
“So you’re with family.”
“Yes.”
“Are you physically hurt?”
“No.”
“Has anyone contacted you tonight?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did they say?”
“They told me Nora was in the hospital.”
David’s grip tightened around the phone.
“When?”
“Maybe an hour ago.”
“Text or call?”
“Text.”
“From what number?”
“I deleted it.”
“Why?”
“Because I panicked.”
“That’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It happened.”
Kayla’s breathing became uneven.
David kept his voice level.
“What else did the message say?”
“That this was what happened when people lied.”
The hallway seemed colder.
“Did it mention your complaint?”
“It said I should be grateful Nora took the lesson for me.”
David closed his eyes.
“Kayla, listen carefully.”
“I know what you’re going to say.”
“You don’t.”
“You’re going to tell me to go to the police.”
“I’m going to tell you not to go anywhere alone.”
Silence.
Then, “Oh.”
“The police need to know about that message.”
“I deleted it.”
“Deleted doesn’t always mean gone.”
“I don’t want my aunt involved.”
“She’s already involved if you’re staying in her house.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No.”
David looked at the floor.
“None of this is.”
Kayla began crying again.
He gave her time.
When she spoke, her voice had changed.
“I never wanted Nora to file anything.”
David said nothing.
“She did it anyway.”
“That sounds like Nora.”
“She gets this look.”
“What look?”
“Like the whole world is being stupid on purpose.”
Despite himself, David smiled.
“That also sounds like Nora.”
Kayla made a sound that might have been a laugh.
It collapsed halfway through.
“She said if I couldn’t do it, she would.”
“File the complaint?”
May you like
“Yes.”
“What did you tell her happened?”
