A coincidence is not an acceptable explanation. The smart, guilty criminal anticipates being linked to the crime scene, so they will come prepared with a plausible story to explain the connection.
—VICTOR FLEMMING
Journey leads us around the back of the administration building to a set of ancient cement steps that descend into a dark basement area under the main building. Steps I never noticed before.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“I told you,” he says. “Victor’s office.”
“Since when?” I ask.
“Since today, I guess,” Journey says. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”
The stairs empty into a long, dark hallway with two doors to the right. Journey opens the first one and leads us into a huge, rectangular science classroom that is nearly twice the size of Miss P’s classroom. I know it’s a science classroom because alongside each four-person lab table is a sink.
Even though this is still in the basement, a strip of ground-level windows along each end of the room allows a warm slant of light to wash over the desks, chasing the dark and giving the room a cathedral feel.
But I’m still not getting it.
“Why would Victor use this as an office?” I ask.
“No. This is the new science classroom and lab,” Journey says. “Victor’s office is over here.”
He leads us through a door to a large, unfinished space, roughly the same size as the classroom. There’s a folding table and a couple of chairs. In the middle of the table is Victor’s distinctive pile of papers.
“This must be Victor’s office because that looks exactly like our kitchen table at home.”
Journey sets up a few more folding chairs.
Lysa and Spam and I each take a chair, but our eyes are bouncing all over the place. The main attraction is a large whiteboard on a stand. Journey moves it to the side and pulls up a chair for himself.
“Victor and the chief just gave me the whole rundown and they’re going to tell you guys, too. But here’s the deal. This part is going to be a crime lab. The new Iron Rain crime lab.” He pauses, eyebrows peaked, waiting for us to squee or something. But we all kind of sit there. I don’t know about Lysa and Spam, but I’m a little too stunned to react.
“Seriously? Here? Right here? On our actual campus?” It’s all I can manage to croak out.
“Yes. Right here on our actual campus.” Journey grins.
“But how?” Lysa asks, and she sounds just as astonished as I am.
“Miss P, man.” Journey makes a wide gesture. “This is what she was working on when she was killed. The new science classroom was never a problem, which is why that part’s almost done. It was the crime lab that Principal Roberts objected to.”
Principal Roberts was paranoid that somehow his DNA would wind up in the system and ultimately implicate him as the man who murdered my mother. “The fact that Iron Rain was without a crime lab for all these years worked in his favor.”
“It did,” Journey says. “It’s only because Victor agreed to stay on to teach at the school and run a part-time crime lab that this project is still going forward.”
I let my gaze roam around the room as I contemplate my dream come true. “I knew Victor wanted to set up a crime lab. I didn’t know it would be here at the school. This is amazing.”
Spam gets up and wanders the space, trailing her fingers along the cement block. “I’m not even into all that alphabet science stuff and I’m plenty wowed by this idea.”
Lysa touches up her lip gloss. “My father says our city has needed this for a long time. You’d think that’s the last thing a defense attorney would want, but he says when the only evidence you’ve got is eyewitness testimony, that can tank your case in a hurry.”
I wander over to the whiteboard. There are some photos randomly taped in different sections and some notes scribbled in various spots.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Oh. Victor started a murder board for my father’s case,” Journey says.
“Oh my god. Seriously?” I lightly clap my hands. One of the best things that came out of Journey and me teaming up to catch Miss P’s killer is that Victor agreed to take another look at the conviction that put Journey’s father, Jameson Michaels, behind bars. “Show me. Show me. I want to know how this works.”
“Basically, the purpose of the murder board is to reconstruct all the details of the case against my father so we can examine every piece.” Journey points to the different sections on the board. “My father’s in prison because someone trespassed on our property and wound up dead.” Journey’s expression hardens. “We think it was more like an accident or a setup rather than murder, but unfortunately a jury saw it differently.”
I look at the board, there are a few photos under the witness column. “There were witnesses?”
Journey tilts his head to the side. “No one saw the actual shooting. These witnesses were brought in to give their impressions of the broken-down wreck of the cannery and what they thought were my parents’ states of mind.”
I squint and point to a photo that looks familiar. “Is that Coach Wilkins?”
Journey chuckles. “Yeah. He was a college student then.”
“But he testified against your dad?”
Journey shrugs. “I haven’t read the transcripts yet, but you know I told you how my parents bought the old cannery because it was a cool building with a lot of history. They wanted to turn it into a hotel. According to my mother, almost as soon as they arrived, strange things started happening. Someone was messing with them and the property. They called the police but they could never find any evidence of anything. When it came to my dad’s trial, Coach Wilkins and a bunch of other people testified that the cannery was haunted and all the weird stuff my dad described was because my parents were New Yorkers who didn’t fit in around here.”
“Wow. Someone can get convicted of murder just because they don’t fit in?”
“It happens all the time. Ask Lysa,” Journey says. “I’m sure she’d tell you.”
I point to another photo of a woman. “So who’s that?”
Journey shrugs again. “I don’t know. Like I said, I haven’t read all the transcripts yet.”
“She looks kind of familiar, though.” I gesture to the board. “So, this is why Victor called you down here?”
Journey shifts his feet. “Well, yeah. Sort of.”
I take out my phone and aim it at the murder board, but before I can snap the photo Journey puts out his hand and pushes my phone down.
I start to turn toward him, confused, but the door flies open and Victor and Police Chief Culson enter.
Victor gives us a quick scan. “Everybody okay?”
The three of us nod.
“I skinned my knee, but it’s really fine,” Lysa says.
“Apparently, it was just a crazy accident.” Victor comes around the table to an empty chair and settles in. “But I’m really glad you’re still here because I wanted to show you what’s going on, and I have an offer for you.”
The chief steps up. “One second, Vic.” He points to me and reads off his phone. “I gave Rachel a heads up about the accident, and let her know that you were completely safe. She thought you should have been home over an hour ago.”
Dang. I forgot to let Rachel know about detention.
“Long story. I’ll explain when I see her.”
I try not to outwardly cringe. But why is the chief all up in my business with Rachel? He’s not a bad guy exactly. But there’s a sudden everyone-loves-the-chief fest going on and it’s starting to bug me. Not that long ago, Police Chief Charles Culson was my prime suspect in Miss Peters’s murder over exactly this issue: a crime lab for Iron Rain. I was betting he didn’t want our city to have one because it would take some of his power away. Also, he and Victor seemed to have an uncomfortable history.
Turned out I was wrong.
Now they’re best buds, working on a crime lab together, and there’s a definite bro-mance blooming right before my eyes.
The chief looms over us with a notepad in his hand. “Can one of you provide me the name of that skateboarder?”
Lysa, Spam, and I shrug and shake our heads.
“He didn’t look familiar,” I say.
“Never seen him before,” Spam adds.
“But he is a student here,” the chief says. “Right?”
“Not necessarily,” Lysa says. “Why?”
“Because that boy is responsible for an accident that could have injured many people and actually did cause a great deal of property damage. That’s why.”
“Wait wait wait,” I say. “We were right there. He didn’t cause the accident.” I glance at Lysa and Spam. “He never left the sidewalk.”
Spam nods. “Erin’s right.” She replays the accident with her hands. “The skateboarder—who was super cute, by the way, which is how I know we don’t know him—was way up here, on the sidewalk with us. That woman came from way over here.”
The chief tilts his head to the side and gives us a sweet smile. And by sweet, I mean phony. He’s not buying our version of the story. “Look, girls, I know you think you know what you saw. But I spoke to that woman and she was very clear about the instigation of the skateboarder and when we find him, he’ll probably be charged.”
“With what?” My words tumble out. Nothing makes me angrier than an adult blaming someone my age. Because they always do it. Somehow, in their minds, everything’s our fault.
“Erin,” soothes Victor. “Relax. Chuck’s simply doing what police do. Trying to get to the truth. The boy was involved in an accident. At the very least we need to find him and make sure he’s okay.”
Hmph. Bro-mance.
I look from Journey to Victor. Do they not remember how this went down when the police were “just trying to do their job and get to the truth” the night they wanted to charge Journey with Miss P’s murder? And the only reason he was a suspect was because I said I saw him there.
But Journey and Victor just look balefully back at me. A glance at Spam and Lysa tells me I’m not alone with my feelings, though.
“Did you take any photos of that boy or the area that we could use to identify him or the other people at the scene? If you did I’d like to collect your phones for evidence.” The chief smiles. “But don’t worry. You’ll get them back in three or four weeks.”
Without even looking at each other, we all shake our heads.
“Nope,” Lysa says.
“Not me,” agrees Spam.
“Yeah. It all happened too fast for photos,” I say.
Spam’s head suddenly snaps up. She turns to stare at the door.
I follow her gaze and within seconds there’s a click, click of high heels and Miss Blankenship enters. She cradles the ever-present notebook against her chest like a shield. A hard hat wobbles slightly on her head. She’s followed by a burly guy dressed in work clothes and a thick plaid Pendleton jacket. He’s carrying a clipboard.
I glance at Spam. She flashes me her phone. It features a pulsing red dot.
Victor gets out of his chair and ambles over to greet her. “Taryn. Come in. We’re just going over the new plans.”
Blankenship pauses to swivel her head in my direction and a flow of ice trickles down my spine. Under her shriveling gaze I scoot my chair a little behind Journey.
Without a shred of emotion, she blinks a few times, then wets her lips. “Great. This is your contractor, Clay Kirkland.”
Victor glances at the chief. “I thought we hired a guy named Dawson?”
The chief checks his notepad. “That’s right. Bob Dawson.”
Blankenship inches forward, gesturing toward Clay in much the way Vanna White would indicate a new vowel. “Exactly. And Mr. Kirkland is your new Dawson.”
“But why?” Victor and the chief exchange frowns.
“I’m happy to report that he came in with a lower bid.” There is nothing about her expression that suggests she’s happy about anything. In fact, the level of excitement she shows, she could be making funeral arrangements.
“Was Dawson’s bid a problem?” Victor asks the Chief.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t think so.”
“I’m afraid…” Blankface drags out the word as she plucks a piece of lint from her sweater. “Dawson had some … shall we say … gritty things in his profile.”
“Gritty?” Victor says.
The chief nods knowingly. “Ah. I think she’s saying he failed the security background check. We have to be careful of stuff like that around children and schools.”
Blankface looks relieved. “Exactly,” she says. “But Mr. Kirkland is just fine.”
Victor’s head twitches slightly and I wonder if he believes her. “Okay.”
At this, Blankenship turns and starts to click her way out.
“But,” Victor adds. “We need to be on the same page here.”
Blankface stops and swivels again. “What page is that?”
Victor gestures to the classroom. “The classroom is your domain. You can make any decisions you want about that area. But the lab is mine. It needs to stay autonomous. It’s here to support the police department and the city of Iron Rain. Which means, with all due respect, if there’s a problem that involves the lab, you come to Chief Culson or myself. We call all the shots on this area. Nonnegotiable.”
We’re frozen in place watching Victor and Blankface square off. She’s just as tough as he is. She doesn’t blink, sigh, or so much as roll her eyes. There’s not a single facial tic.
“Let’s get something straight, shall we?” she says. “As principal—”
Victor interrupts. “Acting principal.”
She nods, her lower lip becoming rigid. “As acting principal, I call all the shots at my school. It’s the very definition of my job.”
Victor’s jaw tightens. “As long as you respect the definition of mine, we’ll be fine.”
“Fine,” Principal Blankenship says. Her jaw is drawn even tighter than Victor’s. She turns and stalks toward the door. Victor follows her out.
As soon as the door closes, Clay shivers comically. “Is there a draft or is it just me?”
Victor returns almost immediately and we stifle our giggles. He pauses, shakes it off, and then strides up to Clay.
“If she becomes a problem,” Victor says, “she’ll be my problem, not yours.” He glances at the rest of us, pinning a pointed gaze on me. “For the record, this is not me saying the new principal is a problem.”
“Don’t you mean acting principal?” I say.
Victor gives me a warning look, but ignores my smart comeback. Instead, he offers to shake Clay’s hand. “Welcome to the team. We can set up an appointment to go over the specs when you have time.”
Clay accepts Victor’s handshake. “Sounds good. I’ll get out of your hair for now.” Victor walks him to the door and the contractor slips out.
As Victor returns to his chair, he makes a wide gesture. “Surprised?”
“I guess.” I glance around the room still not exactly sure what’s going on here.
“Well, if you aren’t now, you will be,” Victor says.