by Elle Gray
“Astra, do me a favor and call the field office,” I tell her. “I want a crime scene unit out here on the double. And make sure they snag that laptop and get it to Rick.”
“Yeah, I can do that,” she nods. “I’ll make the call downstairs though. The reception here sucks.”
“Good thinking. And I’ll start trying to track down this Chloe,” I say, then turn to Dwight. “Hey, can you do me a favor and make sure the front door is locked up tight behind you when you leave? Also, make sure there is nothing missing that shouldn’t be.”
Dwight nods and gives me a faint smile. “Thank you, Agent Wilder. I appreciate that.”
“You’re welcome.”
Twenty-Four
Registrar and Records Office, Oakmont University; Richland, WA
“The trip isn’t very conducive to a relationship,” Astra observes.
“It is if you’re trying to keep it on the down-low,” I reply.
“Takes some dedication to make this run every weekend.”
I shrug. “Well, if they’re as in love as Dwight thought they were, I’m sure they thought it was well worth it.”
“Yeah, but my question is, who were they trying to hide their relationship from?” she responds. “And why?”
“Good question. Let’s just hope we can get some answers here.”
After badging our way through the security gates at the front, we pull into the parking lot outside the administrative offices of Oakmont University. It’s a private liberal arts college—which is a nice way of saying it’s a school rich where people send their kids to keep them away from the big, bad world. It’s a bubble for the wealthy, and the high cost of tuition ensures it stays that way. But it’s nestled in some absolutely beautiful forest country. Built in a Gothic style, the buildings on campus all have soaring towers, tall arches, and high gables. It’s gorgeous, to be honest. If I’d had the money, I might not have minded going here.
I called the only other school within driving distance from WSU last night, Wellington College, and was told the same thing I was told when I called Oakmont—they can’t give out private student information over the phone. So, with no other options, we had to make the hour-and-a-half drive from Pullman to Richland. We’ve got a fifty percent chance of being right, and I really hope we are. Because if we’re wrong, we’re going to have to turn around and head back the other way, which means a four-hour trip to Wellington, something I really don’t want to do.
Private security pulls their golf cart next to the car as soon as we get out. The two men, one black and one white, look hard at us. I look over at Astra and smile.
“At least we know the student body is well protected here,” I comment.
“No wonder the cost of tuition is so high. Private security isn’t cheap.”
“Can we help you ladies?” asks the white guy as he slips out of the golf cart.
He’s tall and thin, but carries himself like a man who’s confident in his ability. His hair is crew-cut short and he’s got blue eyes. His partner has dark umber skin, is a few inches shorter than his partner but still has a few inches on me, and is wide and brawny. He’s bald underneath his ballcap and has a neatly trimmed beard. He carries himself like his partner—with confidence. I’d guess that both are either cops or military. They just give off that naturally authoritative vibe.
I pull out my creds. “SSA Wilder. That’s Special Agent Russo,” I say. “We’re on our way to the registrar’s office.”
“Can we ask what this is about?” asks the black guard, his voice higher pitched than I would have expected of such a burly man.
“We’re conducting an investigation and need information on one of your students. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you right now,” I say.
“If it involves one of our students—”
“Our investigation does not involve the school, so you’re not exposed legally. That’s all you need to know,” I tell them.
Astra and I walk away from the guards before they can ask any more questions, and follow the signs that lead us to the registrar’s office.
“This campus really is stunning,” Astra remarks as we climb the stairs to the office.
I nod. “It really is. Oh, to have rich parents.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
The doors slide open and we step into the office. There’s a sitting area immediately to our left, with a sofa and a pair of plush chairs. To our right is a wall that holds several bulletin boards and glass display cases. There’s a door in the wall that leads back to some of the administrative offices. And further inside on the left is a long counter with winding rope lines in front of it. Everything is done in a soft cream color trimmed with white. It’s all very sleek and clean inside.
Other than Astra and me, the entire office is empty and there is only one older woman behind the counter. She scrutinizes us closely from behind her black horn-rimmed glasses as we approach the counter. She’s a couple of inches shorter than me and is thin. Her steel gray hair is pulled back into a tight bun that sits at the nape of her neck, and her face is softly lined around the eyes and mouth.
“May I help you?” she asks.
We step to the counter and flash her our creds. “Yes, we need to verify whether or not you have a student named Chloe on campus—we unfortunately don’t have a last name,” I tell her. “We do have a photo of her though. And you are?”
“My name is Alice. Is there some trouble?” she asks.
“To be honest, we’re not sure yet. Her name came up in the course of an investigation and we just need to speak with her,” I say.
“We ordinarily are not permitted to give out our students’ information. The families of our students have an expectation of privacy.”
“We understand that completely. But we are in the middle of a homicide investigation,” Astra says. “And we need to speak with Chloe. If you could just do us a favor and look through all the information on your computer and compare it against this photo. We only need to know where to find this one girl.”
Alice frowns and looks from us to her computer. “I suppose if we can help solve a homicide, we’re morally obligated to do that,” she says as if speaking to herself. “Integrity and duty are two of our founding principles. Yes, I suppose in that narrow scope, it will be alright.”
“That’s fantastic. Thank you,” I smile, sliding the picture of Chloe over to her.
“Do you know what year she’s in?”
I shake my head. “All we have is the name Chloe and this photo.”
“Well, that’s alright. How many Chloes can we have on campus?” she giggles to herself.
Her fingers fly over the keys then pauses for a moment and frowns.
“Is there a problem?” I ask.
“No, it’s just that I didn’t know we had so many girls named Chloe here,” she replies and gives me an apologetic smile. “This should only take a couple of minutes, though.”
Alice hums to herself as she pecks away at the keys, glancing at the photo every time she pulls up a new student—they apparently have quite a few Chloes on campus. I can see the student ID pictures she’s pulling up in the reflection off her glasses, and after half a dozen different student files, Alice nods to herself and smiles.
“There we are,” she says brightly, then looks around furtively, making sure we’re still alone. Alice leans forward anyway and pitches her voice low to avoid being overheard. “You’re looking for Chloe Diamatta. She’s twenty-one and a third-year student.”
“That’s fantastic. Would you mind printing—”
Alice comes out with a printed page and hands it to me. I take it from her with a smile and quickly look it over. It’s got a picture of Chloe as well as her class schedule and dorm assignment.
“This is perfect,” I say. “Thank you so much, Alice.”
“Of course. Just don’t tell anybody where you got that if you’re asked,” she says with a conspiratorial smile. “And I hope you catch the crim
inal you’re after. Good luck and be safe out there, Agents.”
We thank her for her help and walk out of the registrar’s office and back into the sunshine of the afternoon. We walk to a coffee cart and order a couple of cappuccinos then head for the dorms, because, according to her schedule, Chloe is in class right now. If her roommate is in the dorm, we’re likely going to get more out of her than anybody else. It takes us ten minutes to get directions to Wembley Place, the all-female dorm where Chloe lives.
Once we get firm directions, we walk across campus. I can’t help but notice the difference between campus life here and at Washington State. The atmosphere at WSU was lively and energetic. Here it’s staid and low-key. There is no music playing from a dozen different speakers, nobody throwing frisbees across the lawn, no spontaneous jam sessions—it’s much quieter here. The buzz I feel on other college campuses is muted.
We follow the signs that lead us to Wembley and head inside. We garner quite a few strange looks from the students,but it’s mere curiosity rather than the open hostility we usually get in places like the Kings’ bowling alley. Astra and I take the elevator up to the fourth floor and find Chloe’s room. There’s a whiteboard attached to the door with a combination of crude and cutesy notes written all over it.
“Nice to see they still know how to be kids,” I say.
Astra nods. “I swear to God, walking across campus felt like we were walking through a retirement complex.”
“I had the same feeling.”
She laughs as I knock on the door. A moment later, a blonde girl opens the door with a wide smile on her face. The instant she sees us, her smile drops, and she quickly slams the door. Through the door, I can hear the sound of things being hastily shoved into drawers and I glance over at Astra.
“Get the feeling something’s going on in there she doesn’t want us to see?” I ask.
“Pretty sure she’s not just hiding a boy under her bed.”
Knowing she didn’t think to lock the door, I turn the knob and push the door inward. The girl is standing in the middle of the room with a can of air freshener in her hand, spraying furiously with the window standing wide open. She’s a petite five-three, with honey blonde hair and wide green eyes. Wearing nothing but boy shorts and a t-shirt and with her hair sticking out in a hundred different directions, it’s obvious she just rolled out of bed.
“You do realize you’re only making your room smell like lemon-scented pot, right?” I ask.
Astra laughs as she closes the door behind her. “Nothing like a little wake and bake, huh?”
“I prefer coffee,” I say as I show the girl my creds. “SSA Wilder. This is Special Agent Russo.”
The girl’s eyes are wide and she’s gaping at us with fear etched into her features. She sets the can of air freshener on the small table beneath the window and quickly tries to smooth her hair down. She straightens up and puts a haughty look on her face, trying desperately to recapture some of her dignity.
“Y—you need a warrant to be in here or something,” she starts. “You’re like violating my Second Amendment rights or something.”
I turn to Astra. “Clearly, fifty thousand dollars a year doesn’t buy you the kind of education it used to.”
“Clearly,” Astra agrees.
The girl cocks her head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Maddie Jergen?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah?”
“Chill. Pot is legal in this state. I don’t know the college’s policy, but we’re not in the business of busting you for your extracurricular habits.”
She lets out a long breath of relief and sags down onto the bed. I look around the room and see that only her side looks lived in. Her bed is unmade and the desk at the foot of it is cluttered with empty cans of Red Bull, notebooks, textbooks, and her laptop. Clothes are strewn about the floor and are hanging out of her dresser drawers.
The other side of the room has been stripped clean. The bed and desk are bare and the dresser is empty. Astra opens the closet on that side of the room, and I see there’s nothing in there. It’s been cleaned out entirely.
“We’re looking for Chloe Diamatta,” I explain.
“She’s not here.”
“Where is she?” Astra asks.
The girl shrugs her shoulders. “She said she’s taking some time off school. Went home.”
“When was this?”
“A few days ago,” Maddie replies. “I—is she in trouble?”
“Where is home?” I ask. “Where did she go?”
She shakes her head. “I have no idea. All I know is that her dad came and picked her up.”
“You were her roommate, and you don’t know where she’s from?”
“We were roommates. It’s not as if we were best friends,” she says defensively. “I mean, we were friends, but we weren’t super tight. We ran with different crowds.”
“I see. And what crowd did she run with?”
“I have no idea. Not mine, though.”
I sigh and glance at Astra, who gives me a small shrug. This is beginning to look like another dry hole. Or maybe just a really stoned one.
“Did you know her boyfriend, Maddie?” I ask.
She nods. “Sure. I met Ben a few times. He was nice. Good-looking.”
“Did she ever mention anybody hassling them? Anybody have a problem with them?”
“No, she never mentioned anything like that.”
I cross my arms over my chest and frown, thinking about my next question for a minute. When I have it, I look up at her again.
“Do you know why she was keeping her relationship with Ben a secret?” I ask.
“I didn’t know she was. I mean, I guess I just figured they weren’t like, one of those couples who weren’t overly affectionate or something,” Maddie says. “They weren’t like, all over each other or anything. I assumed they just weren’t into the whole PDA thing.”
“Do you know anything about Chloe’s home life?” Astra asks.
Maddie shakes her head. “No, she didn’t tell me much about it. She was pretty quiet and kept to herself mostly. She didn’t spend a whole lot of time with me. Like I said, we ran in different crowds.”
“Yeah, I get that,” I say.
We ask her a few more questions without getting anything useful from her. But at least I can say that we did our due diligence. After finishing with Maddie, we track down a few of her friends on campus and get much the same story—she kept to herself and didn’t invest a lot of emotional energy into her relationships on campus. All that energy was saved for Ben.
Once we finish up, we climb back into the car and drive back to the shop, since neither of us feels like waiting for a plane. It’s only about three hours from where we are now, but I’ll bet I can trim that to two hours and fifteen minutes, tops.
Neither of us speaks for the first half-hour of the trip. I know we’re both tired and anxious to get home. I’d like a hot shower before I crawl into bed, though. I never feel as clean showering in a hotel room as I do when I’m at home.
“These two,” Astra finally breaks the silence. “Committed. I’ll give them that.”
“Committed? Or co-dependent?” I raise an eyebrow.
“She shrugs. Maybe a little from column A and a little from column B.”
I nod. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”
We were able to get a lot of information overall, but I don’t yet know how those pieces fit into the puzzle. But given Ben’s sideline business, it seems as if a drug deal gone bad is back at the top of our list. There’s still a lot more work to do before we decide it’s the theory we should be investing yet more energy into pursuing. And there’s still the laptop to be investigated.
For now, we just have to keep digging.
Twenty-Five
Criminal Data Analysis Unit; Seattle Field Office
“Okay, well our trip east wasn’t entirely fruitless,” I start as I pace at the front of the bullpen.
> “But the pickings are pretty slim,” Astra points out.
“That’s true,” I acknowledge. “Did CSU deliver the evidence from Ben’s apartment yet?” I want Rick to get that laptop.
“Negative, boss,” Mo says. “They say it’s going to be another day or so before they’re finished processing it.”
“How did things go in Bremerton?” I ask.
She nods. “They went well. I think I’ve managed to track down the source of the opioid crisis there. A Dr. Eugene Hastings,” she says. “His finances had a sharp spike about a year and a half ago and he’s maintained that higher income level since. I checked with the hospital, and his standard of living is well beyond his salary.”
“Excellent work, Mo,” I say. “Absolutely excellent. So, are you going to pick him up?”
She gives me a strange look. “I thought you—”
“This is your op and you’re running point on it. You identified this case, you put in the legwork, and I’m sure you’ve documented everything extensively,” I tell her. “This is your collar. Take a SWAT team and go snatch him up.”
The flush of pride and excitement on her face is unmistakable. I can see it in the way she’s suddenly sitting a little bit straighter, and in the smile stretched across her lips.
“Thank you, boss,” she says.
“Don’t thank me. You put in the work. I need to thank you for that,” I tell her. “Make sure you get warrants for both his house and office, though.”
“On it already.”
I give her a nod, proud of the agent she’s becoming. “Of course you are,” I say. “Then go get him.”
Mo gets to her feet and heads for the shop door, but I stop her. She turns around.
“Be careful out there. Let your SWAT team go in ahead of you,” I tell her. “Everybody comes home tonight.”
