CHAPTER ELEVEN
Wednesday, 3:20 P.M.
Ellie had compiled three “Arson Story” computer files containing mug shots, police sketches, and captioned photos of various suspects in her investigation. Each file had at least one hundred subjects. She was almost done going through the second file. So far, she hadn’t found anyone who even resembled Nicholas Jensen. She’d had one false alarm—a police sketch of a suspected arsonist who looked like a mustached version of Jensen, but his approximate height was listed as five feet, five inches, which made him about eight inches shorter than the man in her journalism class.
She sat at her desk in her closet-size office on the fourth floor of Lombard Hall. But she had a window—with a fire escape and a view of the lake if she pressed her cheek against the glass. There was just enough room for her desk and chair, a file cabinet, a bookcase, a visitor’s chair, and an old-fashioned radiator. The wall was covered with awards, citations, and plaques she’d received for her newspaper reporting, most of them specifically for the arson series. At first, Ellie had kept the awards stashed in her closet. She’d never had her own office at the newspaper, just a desk. And she’d never been interested in exhibiting her awards at home. But now, in her little shoebox of an office, she had a place to display her citations—which impressed no one except maybe a few people in Our Lady of the Cove’s administration department. It was good for the college to have an award-winning journalist teaching there.
As she stared at the computer screen, Ellie couldn’t help wincing. She hadn’t looked at these mug shots since she’d written the arson series two years ago. Each image was a reminder of all her hard work, the sleepless nights, and the constant fear. During the investigation, Ellie had known the deeper she dug, the more she put herself in danger. And these were scary-looking guys. The police sketches were the worst—flat, cartoon faces with cold, staring eyes. The mug shots weren’t much better. They all looked so sleazy and cruel. She remembered how some of those faces haunted her. She used to imagine waking up and finding one of those men standing in her bedroom.
Now, she could too easily see one of them marching into her classroom with an assault weapon.
Every time she clicked on a new image, it was with apprehension. She really didn’t want to remember any of these guys. Some of them were still out there, sending her emails. Every once in a while, Ellie came upon the image of someone with the American Family Preservationists—a lowlife, petty criminal turned warped, self-righteous crusader. She’d helped put some of them in jail—and wondered if they were out now.
As she clicked on the last mug shot of the second file, Ellie wanted to give up—or at least take a break before looking at the final batch. She didn’t think she’d find Nicholas Jensen among these creeps. He’d seemed far more interested in Hannah O’Rourke than he was in her.
Ellie wondered if she should be worried for Hannah rather than for herself.
Instead of opening up the last file of arson suspects, Ellie clicked onto Google and typed in the search box: Kayla Kennedy death.
The subject had been gnawing at Ellie since her friend Diana had brought it up. “A bike accident” was how Diana had described the death of Rachel Bonner’s roommate. She hadn’t said if anyone else had been involved or if there had been witnesses.
The first search result Ellie found was an article from the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel dated June 7. Kayla couldn’t have been home from school for more than a week before she was killed. The headline read:
SHEBOYGAN GIRL DIES IN BICYCLE ACCIDENT
Kayla Kennedy Was Known for Heroic Rescue of Drowning Mother and Child
A photo of Kayla accompanied the article. With her short-shorn dark hair, she looked like a tomboy. She had a cute, impish smile.
According to the article, Kayla was riding her bicycle to Pine Hills Country Club, where she worked the morning shift as a waitress. Ellie imagined that it hadn’t been light out for long, and the roads must have been nearly deserted. Somehow, Kayla had lost control of her bike, careened into a gully, and been killed. No vehicles were involved. There were no witnesses.
Ellie couldn’t find any follow-up articles in the Journal Sentinel that gave further details about the accident. There was nothing about an investigation.
She found a brief follow-up piece in the Sheboygan Press. It was about Kayla Kennedy’s memorial service, and it featured a photo of a young woman walking down the church steps. The caption read:
Chicago’s Rachel Bonner, former roommate to Kayla Kennedy at Our Lady of the Cove, was among those who attended the memorial service on Saturday.
Rachel looked very stylish in her black dress.