Georgie had just parked the truck outside city hall when her phone buzzed. Seeing Voelker’s name on the screen, she swore under her breath. It was nearly five o’clock. She knew if she had any hope of catching the mayor in his office before the holiday weekend, she needed to hurry. Still, a callback from Voelker wasn’t something she could ignore.
“You need to talk to your boy,” he said when she answered.
Her heart sank. She was exhausted and all she wanted was to go home to sleep, but she managed to put some pluck in her voice when she said, “What are you talking about?”
“I just had a pretty weird call from Matt. I got the impression he’s out hopping trains.”
She would have laughed, but his voice was serious. “What on earth gave you that idea?”
“He thinks he saw somebody in the street the night Abbie Green died,” Voelker said. “A guy who smelled like gasoline. He’s convinced the guy hopped a train to get to Cheryl Madigan’s house and that’s why the neighbors didn’t see any strange cars or anyone near the house that night.”
“Is there anything to it?” she asked.
“Beats me,” Voelker said, “but I’m worried about him.”
“You said he’s convinced he saw somebody,” she said. “You don’t believe him?”
“Maybe he saw this guy, maybe he didn’t,” Voelker said. “There’s nothing to corroborate it. Matt didn’t bring it up at all in our two previous conversations. Then he calls me up out of the blue saying he just remembered seeing him. Sounded all fired up about it, too.”
“Two conversations?” she asked, aware that when she talked to Voelker, she only spoke in questions.
“He asked me out to lunch. We had a very romantic time at the Good Food Store. Couple hours later he called me about this guy he supposedly saw.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about that,” she said. “I haven’t heard from him since Wednesday. The last time we hung out I got the impression I’d done something to piss him off.”
“I don’t want him getting himself hurt,” Voelker said, “and I damn sure don’t want him out there thinking he’s investigating these crimes. If you can get through to him or know anybody who can, maybe just check in to make sure he’s okay.”
“I’ll give it a shot,” she said, “but like I said, he hasn’t been taking my calls.” They were about to hang up when she added: “Danny, I talked to my editor about the task force. The paper is interested in pursuing it. I’m trying to catch the mayor on his way out now.”
There was a pause and she could hear Voelker calculating how mad to get. “I told you that was off the record,” he said.
“I kept your name out of it,” she lied, “and it’s going to be done in a way that can’t be traced back to you.”
“Georgie, I . . .” He trailed off.
“It might help put some pressure on the mayor’s office,” she said. “Especially after Phan.”
“Listen to me carefully,” he said, his voice gone flat. This was his official voice. His cop voice. “I can’t afford to take a hit on this. I took a chance talking to you and now it sounds like you’re going to fuck me over. If that happens, you and I are through. Got it?”
“Danny—” she said, but he was gone. With the dead phone in her hand she sat watching snowflakes clot the windshield and tried to imagine Matthew out in the cold riding trains. The idea seemed foolish, but she knew Voelker wouldn’t make things up. She was considering trying his number when the mayor’s secretary stepped out the front door of city hall with a large key ring in her hand.
Georgie cracked her window and called the woman’s name. When the secretary saw her, she jingled her keys in Georgie’s direction. “It’s after five,” she said. “I’m the last one out.”
“I know,” Georgie said. “I need to get ahold of the mayor. I already tried calling his cell.”
The secretary laughed, like this was absurd. “I haven’t seen the mayor since Tuesday,” she said. “He’s had wall-to-wall meetings and now I think he’s checked out for the weekend.”
“I get it, but you know how Elizabeth gets when there’s something bugging her,” Georgie said, trying to convey that she and the secretary were the two adults in this situation. “Any idea where I might catch him?”
“He left explicit instructions not to be bothered,” the secretary said, “but you can try back after Christmas.”
She was mid-fifties, a puffy jacket that hung to her knees, her purse already slung in the crook of her arm. Georgie imagined what her desk must look like: Ergonomic keyboard. Ergonomic mouse. Little framed pictures of the grandkids. Her eyes danced up the street like she had somewhere to be. Just waiting for the crosswalk signal to change so she could bolt.
“Look, it’s a small thing, but it’s important,” Georgie said. “If he could give me five minutes, I could get out of everybody’s hair.”
“I’m sorry,” the secretary said. “I’ll put you down for next week, but that’s all I can do.”
The traffic light turned green and the secretary was gone, striding off into the purple dusk. Georgie rolled up the driver’s-side window before she started swearing. The wind whipped outside—the Christmas storm meteorologists had predicted starting to flex its muscle. It would be a good evening to cozy up somewhere with a fireplace and cheap drinks. She imagined the secretary meeting someone—a husband or boyfriend—Christmas songs on the stereo. The woman would sit down and roll her eyes, telling him about the reporter who had just accosted her outside city hall. It’s almost Christmas. Can you believe it?
Georgie dialed Matthew but hung up before the beep of his outgoing message. She pressed her arms straight against the steering wheel, stretching her back. Her thoughts traced the same loop of the last week: Abbie Green. Matthew. Elizabeth. Welby. Voelker. Phan. The truth was, she didn’t care about the task force. Elizabeth just wanted another story to lead with before everything closed down for the holiday. The thing that kept nagging Georgie was why Voelker thought he needed so much extra help, even before Phan had died. What was so special about Abbie Green that he had to go to city hall for backup? Who could she talk to that might be able to answer that question? She flipped through her notebook until she found the cell number she’d scribbled down for Alice Tam.
A half hour later, they met at Churchill’s for a beer. Tam showed up dressed in a pea coat and motorcycle boots. The bar was almost empty, just Dooley leaning against the counter watching a college football bowl game on TV. “I don’t want to sound desperate here,” Georgie said, “but I’m still trying to get a read on what kind of person Abbie was. From my conversation with Nick the other night, it sounded like she could be difficult to deal with at times.”
Tam shrugged like she didn’t disagree. “Nick is hurting right now,” she said. “I’m not sure he and Abbie were ever really happy together.”
“Why do you say that?”
Tam frowned like it bothered her to betray the trust of a friend. Even though that friend was dead. “I think Abbie was seeing someone else,” she said.
“Did she tell you that?”
“God no,” Tam said. “We didn’t talk about that kind of stuff. But Nick told you the truth about how she would disappear. She’d leave the room to take calls, got texts she didn’t want anybody to see. Something was going on. She spent a lot of time by herself. Sometimes she would get this look when she didn’t think anybody was watching. I don’t know how to describe it. Hungry? Scared? Like she was chasing something. Or something was chasing her.”
“She never told you about it?”
Tam shook her head. “We were best friends,” she said. “Or as close to best friends as you could be with a person like Abbie. I don’t think Nick knew her as well as he thought he did. So maybe I didn’t either.”
“I haven’t been able to get ahold of her parents. You know why that might be?”
“She didn’t talk much about family,” Tam said. “She made it seem like they moved around a lot when she was a kid.”
“Have you talked to the cops? Did you tell them you suspect she was cheating on Nick?”
“Sure, but I’m not sure how well they listened.”
They finished their drinks and Tam said she had to get going. Georgie watched through the bar’s octagon-shaped windows as the woman drove away. Her cell phone had been sitting on the table in front of her, but it hadn’t rung. She scrolled through the contacts again and came to the conclusion she was out of people to call. She didn’t feel up to letting Elizabeth know they weren’t going to get the task force story. She saw the listing for Chris Dorne’s cell phone and remembered Voelker asking if she knew anyone who could reach out to Matthew.
“Where are you?” she asked when he picked up.
“The office,” he said, meaning campus.
“You know you’re supposed to be on break, right?”
He laughed. “Break is the best time to be here. I might actually get some stuff done. Where are you? I hear music.”
“Have you heard from Matthew? He’s been off the grid for a few days.”
“No,” Dorne said. “Not for a little while, anyway. Are you worried about him?”
“I don’t know if I should be or not,” she said. She told him about her call with Voelker.
“Wow,” Dorne said. “Do you want me to drop by the place he’s staying? See if he’ll talk to me?”
“That’s okay,” Georgie said. “I don’t want to trouble you. I was just wondering if he’d reached out to you while he was here.”
“I’ll certainly let you know if I hear from him,” Dorne said. “I’m worried, Georgie. About both of you.”
While she had him on the phone, she decided to push a little. “I’m starting to think the registrar gave me a bad number for Abbie Green’s parents,” she said. “I haven’t had any luck getting through to them.”
“Oh,” Dorne said.
“I was hoping you might be able to help me out. Again.”
She heard a little puff of static. It might have been a sigh. “You’re still working on that?” he asked. “It seems like the paper is dead set on turning it into the story of the century.”
On the TV, a player crashed through a line of tacklers and into the end zone. A referee ran in from the sideline to put both hands in the air. “Can you keep a secret?” she asked.
“I suppose. If it won’t put me in an awkward position on campus or the council.”
“A cop told me some weird stuff about Abbie,” Georgie said. “It was all off the record, but his exact words were, ‘She’s not who you think she is.’ The boyfriend told me she was scared of some pot dealer they were using and now I’ve got a friend saying she was running around behind the boyfriend’s back.”
“Do the police know all this?” Dorne asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I think Detective Phan is their top priority now.”
“Well,” Dorne said. She could hear him rummaging around on his desk. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything that could help you.”
“Nobody here seems like they were that close to her. I think the parents are the key.”
“I don’t want to tell you your business,” Dorne said, “but it’s my experience that people who don’t call back after the first half-dozen messages usually have a good reason. But if I know you, you won’t stop until you get this all figured out, is that right?”
She felt a flash of pride. “Pretty much,” she said. “I need an alternate phone number if there is one.”
“All right,” he said, “let me do some digging around. But—jeez, Georgie—keep my name out of it. The last thing I need is main hall thinking I’m stomping on some deceased student’s confidentiality.”
The warmth of a small victory spread over her. “I will,” she said, “I’m going to owe you a million favors when this is all over.”
“You got that right,” he said.
He promised to call her when he found something. After they hung up, Georgie checked her texts one more time just to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. Then she typed out one last message to Matthew: You OK?