When the caller ID read: “U Penn police,” Reed ducked out from his sister’s breakfast table to answer it. “Agent Markham?… It’s Jed Bolden. I got a message here this morning that you wanted to talk to me about an incident with Professor Stone’s car some years ago.”
“That’s right. I was told yesterday that you were the one who responded to the scene?”
“Yes, sir. It was just past ten at night. Professor Stone was working late in his office. A student out jogging saw the blaze and called it in. Someone had poured gasoline on that silver BMW Z20 and then tossed a lit match. No witnesses. At the time, we had cameras at the front of the building, but not at the back where the car was parked in the lot, so we didn’t have much to go on.”
“You never identified the perpetrator?”
“Professor Stone thought it might be one of his students angry about a bad grade. We do occasionally see that sort of thing. A few years ago, a failing student took a fire extinguisher and sprayed it under the door of his teacher’s locked office. Destroyed four grand’s worth of computer equipment.”
“Did you interview the students?”
“We talked to them. They all denied it, of course. We didn’t have anything to prove otherwise, and well…”
“Well, what?”
“Professor Stone didn’t seem all that eager to continue the investigation. He kept saying his insurance would write it off, but of course, they were leaning on us for answers before they’d pay up. I wondered if Professor Stone might have known more about the fire than he wanted to say.”
“You think he set it himself?”
“No, we ruled that possibility out right away. Computer data showed he was in his office working when the car went up. But he has a son, you know, and rumor had it that the kid was struggling with drug addiction at the time. I heard his parents had kicked him out, they were so fed up.”
“Justin,” Reed said, musing to himself. His name kept coming up.
“Right. That was his name. Justin Stone.”
“Did you look into whether he’d set the fire?”
A heavy pause came through the other end. “You mind telling me why you’re asking? I’m happy to cooperate, but it’s a little strange to have the FBI poking around in a property crime fifteen years after the fact.”
“I’m not at liberty to disclose any details. However, I do appreciate any help you can give me.”
“Right. It’s just—I work for the university. So does Professor Stone. He’s got some AI grant about teaching computers to predict economic recession that got a write-up in the papers last year. 60 Minutes came out and interviewed him.”
“You don’t want to make trouble for him.”
“I don’t want to make trouble for myself.”
Ah, Reed thought. There’s something here. “You did look into Justin Stone,” he surmised. “What did you find?”
“A whole lot of nothing,” Bolden admitted finally. “As in, he couldn’t account for his whereabouts at all. But he had a McDonald’s receipt from three blocks away just about three hours before the fire. I checked every gas station in the vicinity to see if he might’ve picked up a can. No one remembered seeing him. But no one could swear he wasn’t there, either. Between you, me, and the lamppost, I figured he did it and his father was covering for him.”
“Okay, thank you.” Reed paused. “What, if anything, do you know about a possible complaint against Professor Stone a few years ago? One by a female student.”
Another long pause. “I heard about it,” Bolden replied at length. “I also heard she made it up.”
“Did you do any investigation into her complaint at the time?”
“No, sir. The Dean of Students told me they’d handle it.”
“What did you think about that request?”
“What did I think? I think Professor Stone’s grant is more than a million dollars a year. That buys you your own personal investigation by the special committee.”
“Does it also buy you a particular outcome?”
“I don’t get to ask those questions,” answered Bolden. “But you go right ahead.”
Reed thanked the man for his time and candor and then hung up the phone. It rang again immediately in his hands. He braced himself when he saw Sarit’s name on the screen. “Hello, Sarit,” he said through gritted teeth as he answered.
“Hello. Just checking in to make sure you’re not dragging our child into any other police investigations. How is Tula?”
“She’s fine. Would you like to say hello?”
“Yes, please.”
Reed found his daughter with her cousins, Renee and Callie, dancing in their pajamas and singing along to Taylor Swift. Reed was a tad alarmed to note his seven-year-old appeared to know all the lyrics. “It’s Mama,” he said over the din as he handed her the phone. He motioned for Renee to cut the music. “Come give me the phone when you’re done,” he told Tula.
“Mama, guess what? I’m at Auntie Kimmy’s house!”
Reed winced as he left the room, knowing he would get an earful about this later. Sarit was an only child to older parents who had long ago passed on. She had cousins in India she had met a few times, but stateside he and Tula were her family. She had always been intimidated by Reed’s ever-expanding brood of relatives and the way they were enmeshed in one another’s lives, whereas Reed relished the sense of belonging he felt whenever they were together, even if it did get noisy or uncomfortable at times. He wanted to give that same grounding to his daughter, the knowledge that there was a small army of Markhams on her side, ready to pick her up should she ever fall. To Sarit, it seemed like he was passing off Tula to whoever was handy, as though he didn’t value time with her, but Reed did not want his daughter to be a stranger to her extended family.
Kimmy was on her third cup of coffee from a mug that read: ALL MY PANTS ARE SASSY. She watched him as he lowered himself into the empty seat next to her. “Did you bring up Houston?” she asked.
“No, it didn’t seem like a great idea to get into that over the phone.”
She smiled and tousled his hair. “Look at that—my little brother is learning.”
“Do you even own any pants?” he asked as he ducked away from her touch. Kimmy dressed in skirts and heels almost exclusively.
“Of course. I do yoga.”
“With sass, I take it.”
“Honey, I do everything with sass,” she replied, putting on the Southern drawl for effect, and he grinned and shook his head. She sobered and regarded him with serious blue eyes. “I looked over that paperwork you forwarded me. It does say that the custody terms can be renegotiated if either party doesn’t abide by the initial agreement.”
“I have abided,” Reed protested.
“You told me you didn’t always stick to the schedule.”
“My life doesn’t happen on a strict schedule. Sarit damn well knows that.”
“Yes, and that’s probably the source of your problem,” Kimmy told him. “You’re still with the other woman.”
“What? I didn’t even start seeing Ellery until a few months ago. Sarit and I were long divorced by then.”
“I am not talking about Ellery. I’m talking about your job. You remember–the thing that broke up your marriage. I’m sure in Sarit’s view, your work took you away from her and now it’s taking you away from Tula. She thinks she’s protecting her.”
“Tula is right in there, with me.”
“So you’re working a case with your seven-year-old daughter in tow? I don’t think I’d bring that up, either. And, as long as we’re laying all the cards on the table, then yes, there’s Ellery, too. Sarit doesn’t like her.”
“Sarit doesn’t know her.”
Kimmy frowned. Sarit hadn’t met Ellery, but she had. “All things being equal, that’s probably a good thing. She’s, um … well, she’s a lot.” Reed shot her a look and Kimmy held up her palms. “Hey, I like her. I do. Now. But you have to admit, Reed, she comes on like a freight train. She’s got nails in her closets. She nearly lost her job because she shot a guy in cold blood.”
“A man who nearly killed me.”
“I know.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I know it all makes sense to you and her, and maybe that’s how love is supposed to be, but a judge is going to look at the considerable number of hospital bills and wonder whether she’s fit to be around kids.”
Reed jerked his hand back at the word “love.” He didn’t say anything for a long time. “You’re saying I have to choose, then. Is that right?” He gave Kimmy a hard look. “Tula or Ellery?”
Kimmy didn’t get a chance to answer. Tula came bounding into the room with Reed’s cell phone. “Here, Daddy. Mama says to tell you she’ll deal with you later.” She peered into his face, her eyes worried. “Are you in trouble? That’s what she says to me when I’m getting punished.”
“No, baby.”
“Good.” She slid into his lap and threw her arms around his neck. He hugged his daughter close, laying his cheek atop her shining hair, and he met Kimmy’s gaze. She looked away with a sad smile and Reed closed his eyes. If he had to choose, there was no choice at all.
Reed had one additional stop to make before returning to Boston on the train. Fortunately, Kennedy Harris worked as a barista in a coffee shop just one mile from the station. “How would you like to buy some cookies to eat on the trip back to Boston?” he asked Tula, who was skipping along beside him, swinging his hand back and forth as they walked.
“Yeah, chocolate chip!”
“Let’s see what they have.” His phone buzzed as he pushed open the door to the coffee shop. “Ellery,” the ID read. He took the call and prayed for good news. “How goes it?” he asked as he and Tula took their places at the end of the line.
“We found the guy from the picture, Tyreek Cantrell. We’ve brought him in for questioning.”
“Sounds serious.”
“He’s got Chloe’s bracelet. The one from the day she disappeared.”
They shuffled forward in line. “You don’t sound convinced he’s the guy.”
“We checked the apartment, even going down to the basement. There’s no sign of her. He’s not giving off the vibe of an angry kidnapper, though. We’re letting him stew by himself for a few minutes before we hit him with the bracelet. Meanwhile, people here are divided on whether Teresa should do another televised plea.”
“What does she want?”
“She wants to do it.”
Reed glanced down at his daughter. Of course a parent would say anything, do anything. Pluck out all their eyelashes. Give away their savings. Stand naked in Times Square and scream for God Almighty to smite them for their sins. The kidnapper was using this natural desperation for their own pleasure. Whoever it was didn’t care about Chloe. It was about making Teresa suffer, and Teresa would do so endlessly. Reed’s concern was the end game—taking Chloe’s life would be the final move. They had to hope the kidnapper hadn’t made it yet.
“Reed? Are you there?”
“Yes, just thinking.”
“What do you say? Should she do it?”
There were justifications either way from a tactical point of view. Conceding to the demand invited Chloe’s abductor to make further contact, and each contact increased the data they could draw on to find her. Giving in could also embolden the kidnapper to up the ante, moving them all closer to the end. But as he stood there, Tula’s warm hand in his, Reed answered like a parent, not an FBI agent. If this went bad, if the worst happened, he would want Teresa to know she had done all she could. “Do the TV appearance,” he said finally.
“There’s not much else new. Just some additional security camera footage from the T. Chloe got on the Green Line at Arlington headed inbound.”
“Can I see the footage?”
“Sure, I’ll send it. What about you? Anything from Philly that explains this case?”
“Nothing yet. I’m headed back to Boston shortly and I’ll fill you in then.”
He heard voices on her end. “I’ve got to go,” she said.
“Ellery—” He almost said, Love you, but bit it back. “Be careful,” he amended.
She hesitated, like she heard what he didn’t say. “You, too.”
At the counter, they ordered a milk for Tula, a coffee for Reed, and a pair of chocolate chip cookies to go. Reed set Tula up at a small table with her iPad and went to pick up his coffee. The barista had a nose stud and bright red hair pulled back into a bun. She prepared the coffee in no particular hurry, looking preoccupied with her thoughts. Her name tag read: KENNEDY, so he knew he had the right woman.
“Reed!” she called out as she brandished the paper cup.
“That’s me,” he said, but he didn’t take the coffee from her. Instead, he showed off his FBI credentials. “Are you Kennedy Harris?”
She didn’t look impressed. “You already know that I am or you wouldn’t be asking.”
“My name is Reed Markham. I was hoping to ask you a couple of questions.”
She waved at the expresso machine. “I’m kinda busy here.”
“It’s important.”
She rolled her eyes, but she hollered toward the back, “Hey, Max! Can you cover for me?”
“It’s not your break yet!” a male voice yelled in return.
“Tell that to the Feds.”
A young man with floppy hair and visible arm tattoos emerged to look at Reed. He held up his ID again. “Holy shit, Kennedy. What did you do?”
“Just cover for me, will you?” She pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her back pocket and headed for the door. “We can talk outside.”
Reed took his coffee and brought Tula along to the sidewalk. Tula regarded their new companion with solemn eyes. “You shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for you.”
“I’ll quit tomorrow,” Kennedy said around the cigarette. She looked to Reed. “Talk fast. I’ve only got five minutes.”
“I’m here about Professor Ethan Stone.”
“Oh God, not this again.” She spun in a circle, her gaze to the sky. “I haven’t been anywhere near the guy. I swear.”
“You filed a complaint against him with the university,” Reed said. “For inappropriate behavior.”
Her gaze flickered to Tula, who was sucking her milk through a striped paper straw. “Do you always take children around with you on your cases?”
“Never mind what I do. I want to hear about the complaint.”
She blew out a frustrated breath along with a plume of smoke. “I made it up, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”
“If it’s the truth.”
“Ha, right. The truth. It’s out there—isn’t that, like your motto or something?”
“Or something. Why did you make that complaint about Ethan Stone?”
“Because he was an asshole who liked to stare at my breasts and then he flunked me. I studied for that exam, too.”
“He stared at you. Did he do anything else?”
“No,” she said, impatient again. “Not to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I made up the complaint, okay? He didn’t corner me in his office and grab my ass. He did it to this other girl, Laurie Schofield. She told me what happened, and I saw the bruises he gave her. She didn’t want to make a big stink about it, though. Her grade was already an A.”
“I see. So then you used her story in your complaint.”
“If she wasn’t going to use it, sure. Someone should make the asshole pay, right?” She glanced at Tula. “Sorry.” Tula shrugged.
Reed had to give Kennedy points for cunning. If the story was true, Ethan Stone would have recognized the details and known the true origin. It was a power play of epic proportions, but unfortunately for Kennedy, Ethan Stone didn’t blink. “Laurie didn’t come forward,” Reed said. “Not even when the investigation let him off the hook.”
She turned her head away to blow out smoke. “It’s all fine when it’s just a story,” she said. “When it’s real, you don’t want to talk about it.” She looked him up and down, assessing. “What’s your angle here, anyway? Did some other girl get groped?”
This, Reed thought as he considered Professor Stone’s grant, was the million-dollar question.