"I'm afraid Mr. Porter isn't here,” the receptionist said, studying Ilse intently.
"Bobby. He said his name was Bobby."
Ilse leaned against the information desk. She watched as the old woman leaned forward, as if the motion taxed her in ways that weren't quite visible. She let out a long sigh, that turned to a groan halfway through.
"Bobby Porter. He's on staff, but he's not working today.
Ilse waved away the objection, glancing back towards where Sawyer was examining a vending machine and trying to make it dispense a Gatorade.
She would really have to talk to him one day. Caffeine pills and sugar drinks were a quick way to an early grave. For now, she stayed on task. "All right, in that case, we need a roster of students and teachers and organizers for the classes you teach to adults.”
The woman shook her head. “I can't just provide that information.” She glanced towards the identification on the counter which Ilse had provided. The FBI logo visible. She swallowed. "Not even to you. Not without a warrant.
Ilse sighed, shaking her head. They didn't have time for that. "Who is your boss?"
"Excuse me?"
"Your boss. Who?"
The old woman leaned back in her chair, resting her hands on her ample stomach. She glared at Ilse. "I'm in charge of hospitality and administration. And I'm telling you, without a warrant—"
"That would be a shame," Ilse interjected. She felt the slow flicker of guilt at what she was about to say. But she calmed herself, reminding her conscience it was for a good cause. At least, she hoped it was.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing. Just, if we have to come back with a warrant. If we have to go through all of that, we might have to shut the center down for a few days. Might have to cancel classes, and then, there would be a reimbursement of fees, I'm sure. I would hate for it to go on a week, maybe two.”
Ilse knew she was bluffing. But the woman behind the counter didn't. She flinched, staring now, her eyes darkening. "Are you trying to strong-arm me, missy?"
"No...," Ilse began.
"Yes," Sawyer called from the direction of the vending machine. He flashed a thumbs up.
The woman behind the counter glanced from Sawyer to Ilse, hesitant, and then shaking her head, flustered, "Highly irregular. Highly." She muttered a few more moments, glancing down the hall as if searching for backup. A couple of kids in swimsuits with pool noodles were waddling by. The woman sighed and shook her head. “The community needs us. You can’t shut us down.”
“I just want the information.”
“All right. Fine. But if anyone asks, you had a warrant.”
Ilse made a crossing motion over her heart and then folded her hands inside her sleeves, waiting patiently as the woman behind the counter typed on her computer, paused, and then clicked a button. A printer beneath the desk began to churn, and a few seconds later, the woman emerged with two sheets of paper. “Teachers,” she said firmly, “and instructors.” She handed one piece of paper to Ilse. And then she pointed to the second sheet: “Students. The information is private. Make sure this doesn’t get into anyone else’s hands.”
Ilse wrinkled her nose. “Of course. Thank you.”
“Whatever.”
Ilse tried not to think too long about the dark looks she was receiving from the administration assistant. She took the sheets and then moved over to Sawyer, feeling daggers glared into her spine as she left.
Tom was busy fishing around, trying to grab his lemonade Gatorade which had lodged against a raspberry one jutting too far. He cursed a couple of times, shaking his head.
“Leave it,” Ilse said. “I have what we need.”
Sawyer kicked the machine a couple of times. There was a thud. And then he grunted. “Good enough.”
A different Gatorade had fallen from its slot but Sawyer reached in, grabbed the blue energy drink, and pulled it out, cracking the seal. Ilse could still feel the glare of the administrator.
"Maybe we should find a room," she murmured.
Tom just nodded, gesturing down the hall towards an empty row of benches beneath coat racks.
The two of them moved off, and Ilse only really relaxed once they were out of sight from the information desk.
"No, no no," Ilse was murmuring as she scanned the list of teachers and shook her head.
"What?"
The two of them settled on one of the benches, facing a blank wall. "They already did background checks on all the instructors."
Sawyer leaned in, staring at the printed excel sheet.
"Makes our job easier.” He raised his phone and took a picture of the second list. A far more crowded, denser roster of students.
"What are you doing?"
"Sending it to Rudiger," Sawyer muttered. "I sure as hell don't want to type in each of those names. He's fast. Just give him a bit."
Sawyer sent the attachment off.
Ilse remembered Rudiger. One of the tech guys for the FBI. A flamboyant, oversized man, with an ever joyful personality. He was the opposite of Sawyer in nearly every way. And yet the two of them had an unlikely friendship.
Ilse looked away from the second list, scanning through the teachers and directors once more.
The names didn't mean anything to her. Nor did the phone numbers. But the background checks for all of them returned clean. They had even been required to take a biometric scan. Fingerprints. A new obligation for many centers when people worked in the same building as children.
"Here's Bobby Porter," Ilse said, tracing her finger across the line. "Clean record. Just like the others."
"What about the AA class Abigail was in?"
Ilse scanned down the list, and then paused. She read out the name next to Alcoholics Anonymous. "The teacher is named Marjorie Cortez," Ilse murmured. Also a clean record. She sighed, then glanced up. "Did Rudiger text back yet?"
Sawyer glanced at her. "He's fast. But not that fast. Give him a second. He can run the names in batches and see if anything shows up.”
“No, hang on," Ilse said, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter."
"Excuse me?"
"Look. On the student list. They group them by the classes they were taking. See, here's Claudia's name. Here's Lauren. See, these two were in the grief counselor's class. Abigail was in AA."
"What's your point?"
"My point," Ilse said, running a finger along the printout, "There were no student crossovers between the classes. See? Ten names here. Twelve here. None of them match. No one was in both classes. Plus, look at the time. They met on different nights."
Sawyer leaned in, frowning. "Ha."
"Exactly."
Sawyer crossed his arms. “What does that mean?
"It means it doesn't matter about the records. Because none of them would've known each other.”
"Maybe one of the students audited the other classes.”
Ilse sighed, shaking her head. Sawyer's phone beeped. She glanced over, feeling a jolt of anticipation. Sawyer's tech friend was fast at his job.
"Anything?" she said hopefully.
Sawyer glanced down, scanning the text message. Over his shoulder, Ilse glimpsed a series of emoji's all holding up the middle finger.
Sawyer lowered his phone. "Rudiger says it might take a moment."
Ilse rolled her eyes. It didn't matter anyway. The classes were on different nights. The students didn't have any crossover. So how would someone target both the AA meeting and also the trauma class?
"What if we're approaching this wrong?"
“Hmm?"
"What if," Ilse said, carefully, "this isn't about a fellow attendee or teacher. What if it isn't someone associated with the classes at all."
"I thought you said our connection was here."
"Yes," Ilse said, quickly, "but what if, what if—" she began to speak, but Sawyer's phone rang
He winced and for a moment looked like he was going to turn it off, but Ilse said, "Let's see what he wants."
Sawyer gave her a look like he was sucking lemons, but then let out a puff of air and, with a dramatic air of reluctance, finally answered.
No sooner had he responded, then a flamboyant voice declared, "Hello beautiful!"
"Rudiger, you're on speaker," said Sawyer. "Be nice."
"When am I ever not nice?” the speaker buzzed. “That's rude. You could hurt my feelings."
Sawyer rolled his eyes. "Why are you calling?"
"Because I missed you."
"Funny. Why?"
"Because, you just plopped a list of a hundred names in my lap. What do you think I am, some sort of computer?"
Sawyer glanced at Ilse, then back at the phone. "Yes."
A series of cussing echoed over the phone, and Sawyer muted the device against his thigh as another couple of children were moving down the hall. He raised it a few moments later to catch Rudiger mid-sentence, "I can work through that list, but it's gonna take some time."
"Forget about that," Sawyer said. "None of the students had crossover in the classes anyway."
"What?"
"Rudiger," Ilse said, leaning in. "Hello."
"Hi darling," came the reply. "And who is this? You sound pretty. Sawyer, is she pretty? Tell me she's pretty Tommy."
Sawyer winced apologetically. Ilse, who had been inoculated against Rudiger's somewhat over the top personality, said, "We met before. It's Ilse. Ilse Beck."
"Yes, of course. Wonderful. I'm so happy to hear you two together."
"We're not—wait. Look, Rudiger, forget the student list. I actually need you to look up something else. Think you could do that?"
"For you, dear, anything. Name it."
Ilse hid a smile, noticing how Sawyer was scowling now.
“I was wondering if you could get access to the employee records at Green Leaf community center in Seattle."
"Done."
"Wait, you mean you can?"
"No, I mean it's done. They have a stupid encryption shield that I could've cracked when I was eight. Right now, I have all three of those lists from the community center. I found it easier than trying to fax the names to myself."
Ilse blinked, wondering what sort of technical know-how it would take to think it was easier to hack a website then fax a paper.
Still, she said, "We were looking at teachers and students. But I've been thinking we should focus on employees instead."
"Got it. Employees. I see a list of fifty. Most of them part-time."
"Alright. Perfect. They would have to be working at the community center during Tuesday evenings, Thursdays, and sometimes Fridays.”
Ilse paused, listening. A second passed, and then the bright voice replied, "Ten names."
"Do any of them have a record?"
Another, longer pause. Sawyer glanced at Ilse, and she shrugged back. "He's your guy," Ilse whispered.
Sawyer rolled his eyes. "Don't let him hear you say that."
"Just because you're whispering doesn't mean I can't hear you!" barked the voice over the speaker. "Rude. Rude and hurtful. I thought better of you Tommy. But look, darling, Ilse, can I call you Becky?"
"You can call me whatever you want if you have what I need."
"Do I ever. Yes. Two names. Both of them with records. One of them mostly misdemeanors. Hasn't been involved with trouble for more than twenty years."
"And the other?" Ilse said.
"A janitor. A long record. Two stalking charges. One breaking and entering. Another burglary."
Ilse blinked. "The janitor, do you have a name?"
"I have a name. I have an address. I have a report of his most recent physical. Apparently he has a mole on his left buttock. Is that relevant?"
"I'm not sure," Ilse hesitated, unsure if the techie was joking or not.
His tone became a lot more serious a moment later, though "Hang on," he said, "the janitor, he was arrested ten years ago but they let him go."
"Something separate from his criminal record?"
"Yes. Yes it looks like it. By the looks of things, oh, how terrible."
"What?"
"His wife was killed. Or, she killed herself. That was what they arrested him for. She cut one of her wrists with a pair of scissors. One of the investigating officers thought the circumstances were suspicious. They never charged him though. So I suppose there's that."
Ilse felt a slow tingle along her spine. A suicide. A cut wrist—not quite the same MO, but close. A janitor who worked on the nights when both classes were being held. For a moment, Ilse's mind wandered, shepherded by her subconscious. She recalled the janitor she had seen outside the classroom when they had first visited the trauma class. A janitor who had been speaking to one of the female attendees. The woman had seemed uncomfortable. But the janitor had kept pressing, trying to get her attention.
Ilse's eyes narrowed. She wished she'd paid closer attention. Her first instinct had been that the fellow was old. But perhaps she hadn't looked closely enough.
"Thank you," she said, quickly. "Rudiger, please, could you send us an address and a picture?"
Before he replied, Ilse and Sawyer were already getting to their feet, and moving hastily back towards the exit.
"Suicide, ha," Sawyer muttered. "Convenient. Coincidence?"
"Let's find out," Ilse said, pressing her teeth together.
The same janitor had access to all three victims and had a long record. On top of it, his wife had died the same way as the three women.
No. Not a coincidence. Too much connected them.
Ilse picked up her pace, refusing to glance in the direction of the information desk while leading Sawyer hastily out of the community center and back into the parking lot.