First thing in the morning and here Fitz was, sitting in his Lexus in a school parking lot, sipping coffee laced with Jack Daniel’s. He didn’t like to drink this early, but he needed something to work up his nerve.
What had the Steel Woman called it? Contingency plans to our contingency plans.
Just a last resort. Theoretical groundwork.
Stella Hardwick deserved her nickname, that was for sure. She was more like a robot than a woman. The bitch probably skipped breakfast every morning, poured motor oil in her ear instead.
A few parent volunteers in orange reflective vests worked the drop-off line, waving the vehicles in, unclogging the lanes, shepherding the children from car to curb. The kids streamed into the elementary school with their massive backpacks. Kindergartners held hands with their mommies and the occasional stubbled dad in a hoodie. Boys threw footballs and jumped from benches, doing their best to show off. The girls paid them no mind, clustered in groups, bent over their iPhone screens.
He thought of Jimmy and Danica, now lost to college and grad school, respectively. When they were young, their mother usually drove them to school, but he’d made a point of dropping them off once a week, even early in his career when he was still working his way up.
What would his young self—fit, trim, and fresh out of the academy—think of him now? Slouched over his expanding gut in the front seat, slurping coffee-flavored bourbon, the air-conditioning on high to blow the panic sweat off his forehead. Preparing to—
To nothing, he reminded himself, taking another long pull.
Last resort.
Theoretical groundwork.
The first contingency plan was in full effect already, and if that worked, there’d be no need for this. No one would ever have to know that he’d considered it. Maybe after a time, even he could forget.
He climbed out, nodding affably at the parents as he passed. There were plenty of older dads around, so he fit right in.
The familiar scene in the front office gave him a bittersweet twinge in his chest. Kids and parents milling around, turning in field-trip paperwork, nursing twisted ankles, organizing group projects. The secretary was being pulled in a half dozen directions, so distracted that she barely noticed when he flashed his creds.
“Just following up on the security protocols,” he said. “Someone should’ve called last week.”
She waved him past onto school grounds.
He cut through the quad, dodging kids and teachers as he searched out the best intrusion points. The playground fences were too high, protected by privacy slats. The vehicle gate by the handball courts was locked and in full view of a wing of classrooms. He reversed course past the cafeteria.
A small alley led to a chain-link service gate.
Promising.
Heaving a sigh, he walked up to the gate. Twined his fingers through it. It let out onto the side of the school, hidden from the drop-off lanes and most of the cars. A van could back right up to it. The rear doors could swing open, blocking everyone and everything from sight.
Then it was just a few strides up the alley to the nearest row of classrooms. Stealth in, stealth out, and no one would be the wiser.
Not that it would ever need to happen.
He reached down and tugged at the padlock securing the gate.
He’d tell the men to bring bolt cutters.
“Hey!” A high-pitched voice from behind him. “What’re you doing?”
He turned to see a slender black kid standing at the mouth of the alley, a soccer ball tucked under his arm as if he’d just retrieved it. Fourth grade, or maybe he was in third and big for his size the way Jimmy had been.
Fitz released the padlock, did his best to look unsuspicious, though he knew it was already too late. “C’mere and I’ll tell you.” He started walking toward the boy, but the boy took a step back. Smart kid.
“You look sneaky,” the boy said. “All hiding back here.”
Fitz held up his hands. “No, it’s okay,” he said, feeling as low as he’d ever felt in his fifty-seven years on the planet. “I’m a police officer.”
He reached for his creds out of habit before thinking to flip his leather billfold over to show off the more impressive badge. Holding it out, he approached.
The kid didn’t retreat any further. But he didn’t come closer either.
“What are you doing back here?” he asked.
“Can you keep a secret?” Just asking the question made Fitz’s stomach roil. In his long and distinguished career, he’d learned how pedophiles groomed their victims, how abusive parents inculcated loyalty in their kids. That he was employing these tactics now made him want to puke.
“Depends.”
“What’s your name, son?”
“Miles.”
“I’m doing a super-secret security check on the school.” Fitz crouched to bring himself to eye level, another predatory trick. “To keep you safe. And to keep all your classmates safe.”
Nothing could be further from the truth.
“And I need to know you’re on my team, Miles. That you have my back.” He kept the shiny badge visible, glinting in the morning light. “Are you willing to help? To be an honorary junior police officer?”
Miles studied him, and Fitz worked to keep his face relaxed, the situation threatening to tilt either way. His lower back ached from squatting, but he made no move to rise.
“Sure,” Miles finally said. “What do I gotta do?”
“This security check is top secret. Because if the bad guys find out, they’ll know I was already here. So they’ll figure that it’s safe to come now.”
“Come and do what?”
“You never know.” Fitz pocketed the badge and offered his hand. “Can I count on you?”
Miles reached out and took his hand. It was a limp shake, but Fitz firmed it and looked the kid in the eye. “I’m counting on you.” He was dismayed to hear the edge of a threat beneath his words.
Miles slipped his hand free, stepped away a few paces, then turned and ran back to the kids on the playground.
Fitz rose with a groan, threaded past the picnic tables, and cut through the front office. It was so busy that the secretary didn’t even look up to see him go.
Back in his Lexus, he gulped the last of his laced coffee and pulled out into traffic.
Last resort, he told himself.
Last resort.