Along Comes a Wolfe

by Angie Counios

  “Yeah. Connor.”

  chapter 107

  I hang up and look over at Charlie. “So, what do you think?”

  “I think we should go grab a sandwich.”

  “Really? You just finished a bag of doughnuts.”

  “No, I still have one left.”

  “You’re not going to eat it?”

  “Nope. It’s special.” He gets off the curb and starts walking to my car. When he realizes I’m not behind him, he turns. “You coming?”

  “What about Jayce? What about everything she said?”

  “Come on, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

  We’re so close now, and he wants to eat?

  “Why don’t you weigh 400 pounds?”

  “Cuz.” He grins and jogs to the car, as eager as Ollie when he knows a squirrel is in the backyard.

  “Can I drive?”

  I laugh, imagining what he might do to Dad’s car.

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Do you even have a licence?”

  “Do you think it would matter?”

  I pop open the lock with the remote and point to the passenger side. He obliges and takes his usual seat. I climb in and he’s got the window down and is already going through Dad’s cds, looking for music. He chooses Bones by Bodhi Jones. He listens to it for a few seconds and slowly grows into the mood, tapping his hand against the roof of the car.

  “Where to?”

  “South.”

  There’s lots of traffic and the drive is slow, but it doesn’t seem to faze Charlie. He’s on his phone, but I can’t see what he’s scrolling through.

  “I think he’s our guy,” Charlie announces.

  “How can you be sure?” I don’t want to be biased by hope.

  “First, the car. When Robbie said he lost it, he called it the car his parents let him and his brother drive. As you pointed out, it’s a piece of shit, not a family car—especially not for that family. Maybe it’s the second vehicle for the kids. It also explains the difference between the killer’s first attacks and the next few. The first were on the outskirts of the city. After Robbie lost the car, the bodies were dumped near the places where the girls were attacked. Then, when he got the car back, he was clearly going to start moving them again.”

  I pull up to a light, thinking about finding Chrissy in the trunk of that car. I look over at Charlie, watching him work through the puzzle.

  “Second, the mirrors and the camera. We thought he was performing, first for us, then for himself. This Connor is a theatre student, and from what Jayce said, a serious one at that.” He hands me his phone. “Look at the guy left of centre.”

  Charlie’s brought up a photo from the university newspaper of a recent production by the Theatre Department. Three rows of cast and crew stand on the stage. They’re smiling, goofy, having fun—except for one guy.

  Charlie flips to the next tab and shows me another image. Production promo photos. Same guy in two photos. Again, the people around him are engaged and laughing. He is stoic and separate.

  I look closely—there’s a slight resemblance to Robbie, more of a distant cousin than a close sibling.

  He’s tall with dark hair. He looks utterly boring. Over these past few weeks, I’ve imagined the person who attacked Sheri, who’s been killing all these girls. I imagined the devil, a monster, a sex freak, some hillbilly with a chainsaw full of perversion and bloodlust. I want to hate him, to be scared of him, but I don’t know if I can. He’s nothing like what I thought he’d be—he’s a screwed-up teen, floating along just like everyone else.

  Well, maybe not just like everyone else, the bastard.

  A horn honks behind me and I realize the light is green. I hand Charlie the phone and quickly make the turn. I drive down the block and make my decision.

  “We’re not calling Gekas on this,” I say, confident.

  “We’re not?” He looks at me, a little speechless.

  “No, we’re not. Not until we’re certain. Not until we are without a shadow of a doubt.”

  “Well, all right then.”

  There is no argument from Charlie.

  chapter 108

  We sit by the window at the sub place. I finish off some potato chips and Charlie chows down on a twelve-inch meatball sandwich. He eats it slowly and with what appears to be wicked pleasure. It’s sloppy, but he’s careful and tidy—much tidier than when he eats doughnuts.

  I think about the comment he made about how the contents of a fridge reflects the household. Ours is stocked with fruits and veggies and carefully labelled leftovers. I wonder what his must be like. Is it empty or filled with food he hates and that’s why he seems to eat out so much?

  “Good sandwich?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  He’s enjoying it and I let him eat in peace. He puts the last bite in his mouth and leans back in his chair.

  “We should go to the university.” He wipes each finger one at a time with a napkin.

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  We’re on the same page. Perfect.

  Charlie picks up his fountain drink and slurps the last of it. He takes everything off the table and tosses it into the trash bin. I walk with him.

  “Any idea where we’re going when we get there?”

  “Nope. I don’t,” he says with his usual certainty.

  That’s good enough for me.

  We agree en route that we should just go directly to the Theatre Department. Asking the Registrar’s Office if they have a student named Connor in all the thousands of students would be an exercise in futility, even if they were willing to troll through their files. Going to the Theatre Department where the faculty is small is a much better strategy.

  As I drive onto the campus, I realize I have no clue where I’m going. “Been here before?” I ask casually.

  “No, you?

  “I played a couple of basketball games here, so I know where the courts are.”

  “But the Fine Arts Department?”

  “Nope.”

  “Nice.” Charlie smiles as he says it.

  “Really?” I don’t know how two clueless teenagers can navigate this scenario one bit.

  “Yeah. It’ll be an adventure.”

  Charlie’s still grinning and I shake my head, equal parts amused and worried, but I’m game. Besides, nothing in this place can beat what happened in that basement.

  I find a parking meter near the Kinesiology Building and park the car. I dig into my pockets for change while Charlie stands there. I don’t expect him to contribute—I have a feeling there’s no use, whether he can afford it or not.

  We walk through the main doors with no idea how far we are from the Theatre Department. I recognize the area, having come for tournaments and summer basketball camps, but I’ve not strayed far from this one building. While I’m confident outdoors, my sense of direction inside buildings could use some work. I pause, trying to get my bearings.

  Charlie pushes past me. “Keep walking,” he says quietly.

  I speed up to catch him. “But where are we going?”

  “If you stop right in the doorway, you look like a deer in the headlights and everyone notices the lost guy. Look around while you walk, and we’ll figure it out as we go.”

  I wonder if this is the mantra that Charlie lives by. It makes sense, like a play on the court. I don’t know what’s coming, but I can’t just stand there like an idiot trying to figure it out.

  We get to the end of a hallway and I finally know where I’m going. The pools are to the right and to the left is a long corridor.

  We go down it.

  Students and adults move past me. I always assumed they’d be self-assured, that I’d look like a kid to them, but most of them seem as confused or stressed or bored with life as I sometimes do.
I think about saying this to Charlie, but university might not be his thing—he might not have the money to get in, or, smart as he is, even the grades to get in. I hold my tongue, feeling another difference between us that I’d never considered.

  There’s a map on the wall that we casually walk over to, but it only tells us where to find things in the building we’re in. I’m thinking we should stop and ask for directions, but I know Charlie will ignore the suggestion.

  We get to the end of the long hall and it breaks in a t. On the right, the hallway curves up to a set of double doors with another set of doors behind that. A sign above guides us to student residences and the library. Charlie goes left and I follow. It’s another long corridor. We turn at a sign that directs us toward the Film Department and walk down a narrow hallway full of closed doors and come out the other side, feeling more lost than we did before.

  “Well, that was a bust,” Charlie says.

  He turns back down the hallway we’ve just come out of, and we make our way back to the t intersection. This time we turn right and go through the doors.

  We’re in a bright corridor with floor-to-ceiling windows on the left that takes us between the buildings. It leads to an older section of the campus, with dark brick and tile and another t intersection. I watch the flow of students and teachers moving around me and can’t figure out how they know where they’re going.

  “This place is a maze.”

  “Haven’t you ever played a video game? When you’re in a cave or dark tunnels, you always turn left—that way you’ll eventually end up where you started.”

  “What if the Theatre Department is on a right?”

  He doesn’t want to even acknowledge the question and turns left again.

  We walk past the library and zigzag through the hallways.

  We get to another t and Charlie asks, “Do you have two dollars?”

  “Sure.” I hand him some coins and he makes for a vending machine.

  “You need a drink?” I ask, incredulous.

  As he waits for his bottle to drop down, I realize he’s taking stock of our surroundings. He sees me watching him.

  “You’re sneaky.”

  He smiles at me. “Like a fox.”

  A guy not much older than me walks over to us. He’s got an accent that I can’t quite place. He struggles to ask, “Do you know—how I get upstairs?”

  Charlie smiles at him. He points down the hallway where we came from. “Go halfway down, turn left. Go halfway down that hall, and there are a set of stairs that should get you up there.”

  The student smiles and nods and walks off.

  I stare at Charlie.

  “What? I pay attention.”

  Turning left, we walk past a cafeteria packed with students.

  “I suppose you’ll be here in a couple of years?” he asks.

  I’m surprised he brought it up but try to downplay it. “Maybe.”

  “Oh, whatever. You’ll be nerding out with the rest of these geeks.”

  “What about you?” I ask, hoping to sound sincere.

  “I don’t think this place could handle this.” He gestures to himself like a game show assistant. It seems like a deflection but he says it with such confidence I wonder if part of him believes it.

  He veers right and stops beside another map.

  “I thought you didn’t believe in asking for directions?”

  “That’s before I realized how disorganized it was here.”

  We look down the legend on the side and find the Theatre Department. It’s somewhere on the bottom left, on the second floor.

  Based on where it is and where we are on the map, I can’t contain my irritation. “We’ve almost gone around the entire campus!”

  “The whole place is one big square loop, to herd the sheep in circles and keep us from realizing we’re being indoctrinated into their system,” Charlie states.

  He’s maybe got a point.

  We move across a bright building made of concrete before slipping back to the brown tile and brick. Now that we have a direction, we move with the flow, like we really do belong. We come around a corner and a set of metal stairs rises in front of us.

  We take the stairs and are immediately lost again.

  “What’s with these people? Maybe when you sign up, they implant a chip in your skull to guide you around this zoo.”

  I catch sight of a sign that reads theatre department down the far side of the hallway.

  Charlie nods. “Good eyes.”

  I take the compliment. Although Dad has glasses, I seem to have Mom’s genes for good eyesight.

  “We need to figure out Connor’s last name or at least where he might be, his courses, anything,” I say out loud. While Charlie does most of his thinking in silence, it seems to work better if I narrate my thoughts.

  “Yes,” Charlie agrees. “Follow me.”

  Isn’t that what I always do?

  chapter 109

  Instead of going into the Theatre Department, Charlie doubles back down the stairs to an open food court packed with people.

  “But you just ate, man.”

  “I know,” Charlie smirks.

  “You’re not eating again, are you?”

  He considers it, then answers, “No. Not right now.”

  He grabs us an empty table in the centre of the crowd. He hands me the student newspaper and I know the drill. I open it and try to look inconspicuous while he pulls out his phone and flips through it.

  I look over at him. “What are we doing?”

  “Relax. You want to find him, right?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Then we need an access point to figure out more about him and who he is. Look to your three o’clock.”

  I turn slowly. Sitting a few tables over is a man in his late thirties or early forties, multitasking between his laptop and phone. He nurses a coffee in a travel mug.

  “What do you see?”

  “A professor?”

  “And?”

  The professor’s eyes are darting around the food court; he’s barely looking at his computer.

  “He’s waiting for someone?”

  “Uh-huh. And I’m guessing not for long.”

  We scan the area, trying to figure out who he’s looking for.

  Then I see her—a gorgeous, leggy redhead walking down the stairs. I look over at the professor and, yup, she’s got his attention.

  She strolls along the walkway to an empty bench lining the wall, and although she’s trying hard to look older, she’s definitely a student.

  I point her out to Charlie. “I’m pretty sure she’s not a colleague.”

  “Nice work, Shepherd. Just like that ancient Police song, huh?”

  I don’t get the reference, but he doesn’t care. He stands up. “Two cream, two sugar?”

  “Um, sure?”

  “You stay here and keep watch.”

  I say, “Okay,” but Charlie doesn’t hear me and takes off. He walks over to the coffee shop and stands in line, looking around, waiting.

  The professor takes one last, lingering look at the redhead before leaning over to a couple of guys sitting at the table next to him. He gestures to his computer and they nod back. This dude can’t be that stupid. I’m dumbfounded when he rises and makes a beeline for the stairs, leaving his computer behind.

  I watch the silent movie of Charlie shooting out of line. He goes straight over to the computer and takes a seat. The guys beside him glance over and he somehow convinces them that everything he’s up to is legit.

  I turn to watch the professor and the redhead. His hands are in his pockets, acting cool, and she has a pretty smile but an exaggerated laugh. She touches his arm.

  Charlie’s now hacking away at the computer, but stops for a moment to take a s
ip of the professor’s coffee. He cringes at the taste and goes back to work.

  Meanwhile, the redhead’s got her phone out and the professor points at something on it. I look at Charlie and signal that he needs to hurry up. He nods and holds up a finger. He still needs a minute but I’m not sure he’s got one.

  The professor is done flirting with the redhead and she puts her phone away—I’m guessing his cell is the newest number in her contacts. He’s on his way back and I get up to intercept him, but it’s too late. He sees Charlie and yells but everyone in the cafeteria turns and looks at him—no one is looking at the kid on his computer. The professor rushes past me, pushing through a bottleneck of hopeful scholars, but Charlie is already out of his chair and on the move.

  I can’t help but linger.

  The professor gets to his computer, asking the students who were supposed to watch out for him who Charlie was and why they let him use it. They all shrug, indifferent to their temporary responsibility for the laptop while the professor was working it with the redhead. I’m sure they heard a convincing enough story from Charlie to not give a crap, either.

  My phone buzzes.

  Upstairs.

  I take the stairs two at a time. Charlie’s down at the end of the hall and I catch up to him. We hurry down a corridor, far away from the professor and the lunch crowd, and the noise fades away into the quiet hum of the building and the tap tap tap of our running shoes echoing off the bare walls. We’re past the Music Department now.

  “I got it!” Charlie is exultant. “All his details. Class schedule, marks, how much he paid for his books. By the way, I’m definitely not going to university.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Maybe, but aren’t we all.”

  “Does he have class right now?”

  “Nope.”

  I’m disappointed, maybe we’re out of runway on this crazy trip, but something’s up because Charlie’s got that shit-eating grin again.

  “What?”

  “He’s not around because he’s practising for this.”

  I look over to where Charlie’s pointing and see a poster for the Theatre Department’s production of As You Like It starring, you guessed it, our very own in-house serial killer.