Decades ago—but I didn’t say it out loud. I had to believe there was a chance to catch him, even though this was about as cold as a case got. I might have to settle, as Mrs. Wakefield thought, and Laura wanted, for just ruining him. Could ruin myself in the process, of course.
I thought briefly that I should take this to the prosecutor, get a go-ahead on what amounted to a sting operation. But this wasn’t the bold, risk-taking sort of prosecutor you got in big cities. This was a good old boy with a thirty-five-year-old law degree and a big mortgage, who spent a lot of time worrying that actually prosecuting anyone might cut into the private practice he had on the side.
The college president was an important man in town, and he would have some powerful allies. If I started going after him, and couldn’t finish, well, I wouldn’t be Wakefield police chief much longer.
As I got in my squad car, Laura was still regarding me warily. In some ways, she had the most to lose from a trial. Outside of this little town, no one cared about me or Mrs. Wakefield or even the college president. But Laura was out there in the public eye every day. And for a semi-famous person, she kept a fierce hold of her privacy. If this investigation developed into a trial, she’d be a featured player in tabloid stories. The spotlight would be on her, but for all the wrong reasons.
I couldn’t let that stop me. But maybe I’d find a way.
She was still standing there, silhouetted in the driveway, as I drove off.
It took the morning and half of the afternoon to set everything up—calling in the off-duty cops, assigning them to quadrants, recruiting my fake computer techs. Getting an appointment with the big man on campus.
The college spread out on the north side of town, a small tidy campus grouped around a central red-brick quadrangle. It was all quiet and lush in the afternoon sun, the lawns almost empty now with most of the students gone.
I’d actually gone to college back when, gotten a degree in criminal justice. But my college was a barren stretch of concrete low-rises on the edge of downtown Bristol. Tuition was cheap enough that the department paid for it, and classes were held at night and on weekends, because most of the students worked. There weren’t any dances or football games or marching bands. Just the grind of adults and their cheerless career-driven studies.
Loudon, on the other hand, was a real college, with dormitories and bearded professors and sororities. Weird that every time I set foot on this campus, I felt like I was on a movie set. It just seemed a world apart from the real West Virginia, where a lot of kids didn’t have textbooks or toothbrushes, and working men didn’t have work. But the college was the only thing that kept Wakefield’s economy relatively stable. So I made sure my department worked well with the administration and the tiny college security force whenever there was a football game or some fraternity had an extra-wild party.
Ridell, the security chief, a frail man with a bad cough, was waiting for me in the administration antechamber. He tried to get more details as we walked into the office, but I didn’t say much until we were sitting there in front of the desk, with President Urich there, his hands clasped on his blotter.
I did my best not to gaze at the framed sketch drawn by Edward Wakefield. But I could see it there, in my peripheral vision, just over the president’s shoulder. It was right underneath a photo of him with some governor or senator.
Could he have kept it, if he’d killed the girl who gave it to him?
Well, hell, that was a stupid question for a cop to ask. There were men who didn’t worry about such contradictions. That’s how they went on, achieving their goals, succeeding at whatever criminality they chose. They didn’t look back at the damage they’d caused.
It’s just most of them didn’t look like this guy. Most of them didn’t teach botany and hit up old ladies for endowments. Most of them didn’t look calm but concerned when I arrived.
It wasn’t that I didn’t suspect him. I did. But I had to keep an open mind. And I had to admit that Urich was pretty plausible. He looked shocked, but in that college-president responsible-for-students way, when I explained about the Internet predator who was using a college computer for his predation.
Pretty plausible. If I didn’t already suspect him, I probably wouldn’t suspect him. He coughed a little and asked if this could be handled quietly, the reputation of the college, all that, just like any college president would do. And I had to take a slightly tougher tone, just like any police chief would. “The more cooperative you are, the quieter we can be.”
“What can we do?” he said, his hands out, palms up.
“First, you agree to a search and I won’t have to get a search warrant. Search warrants, the newspapers could find out about.” I didn’t bother to mention that the local editor could probably be prevailed on to keep that quiet. “We’ll send in a couple technicians, no big deal. They’ll look just like regular computer techs. But they’ll be checking every PC owned by the college—in the computer labs, and the library, and the offices.”
“That could take weeks,” Ridell, the security chief, protested. “Got to get access, maybe permission, passwords . . .”
“Well,” I said easily, “takes that long, we can bring in the FBI, I suppose. They have plenty of agents can do this.”
Urich’s face went a little pale. “No, no, I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Maybe you should start with the library. We don’t require passwords to use those computers, and townspeople have been known to gain access.”
Townspeople. My people, that is. Not college people. “Sure. We’ll start there.” That meant, if he was actually chatting up teenagers, he wasn’t doing it from the library terminals. “How many students you have here for the summer session?”
“About two hundred.”
“And about half are male?”
“Yes, I suppose.” Urich’s eyes narrowed. “You think whoever this was—he’s been doing this during the summer session. So he’s still around.”
I shrugged. Best to let him wonder and worry. “I didn’t say that. How many faculty and staffers are still here?”
“We keep some on ten-month contracts. About half will be off now. And most of the faculty takes the summer off for research.”
“But they could be doing research here, using their offices and the library,” I said. “So what’s the breakdown of how many are still on campus this summer?”
Urich glanced at his security chief. “What would you say, Bill? About one hundred fifty?”
Ridell sat up straighter and tried to look knowledgeable. “Uh, a lot of the professors went off to Europe and the beach. But there are twelve teaching summer classes. And maybe another dozen using their offices. I think they’re cutting paychecks for about one hundred twenty people on the staff. Got to keep the place running. But some of those are seasonal employees, like gardeners. Don’t think they’d be accessing the computers.”
“No.” I looked at Ridell and said, one regular guy to another, “This fellow seems pretty, what do you call it. Erudite. You know what I mean.”
Ridell nodded. “Big words.”
Urich picked up on this—that the recipient of the chat must have kept a record somehow. And I didn’t even have to out-and-out lie.
“What exactly are you hoping to find?” Urich said. “Logs of conversations?”
I shrugged. “If he was a really stupid erudite guy.” Couldn’t help myself. I had to add, “Of course, anyone who has to hang out with 14-year-olds to feel like a man probably is pretty stupid.”
“Got that right,” Ridell growled. “Should be put in jail with some real tough guys, and find out what it’s like to be molested, huh?” Then he glanced at his boss, and down again. “Just saying. We don’t want jerks like that at Loudon.”
“So you’ll be looking for logs?” Urich repeated.
He said it in a way that made me think he wasn’t actually stupid enough to keep logs. But then, I didn’t expect that he would be. I had a fallback plan. “Logs, sign-on names, what
ever. And you know—” The kid Brian had written this down for me, and I memorized it, so it came flowingly from my tongue: “See, every computer has a unique IP address. So we just need to look for that IP address, see who was logged onto the college network the right time—easy enough.” I added the kicker. “He might try to delete stuff, but you know, nothing is ever really erased on a hard drive. So if there’s anything to find, we’ll find it.”
He was quiet for a moment. Not so plausible now, I thought. Not that the pensive expression on his face was any kind of evidence. Finally he said, “What do you need?”
“I’ll need your techs to work with mine, starting immediately. I’ll need a record of all the college’s computers. And I’ll need a pass key to the offices.”
We worked out the details, me and the security chief, while Urich sat there quietly. But he rose as I did. “I’m sure this can be . . . handled without undue difficulty,” he said.
Without undue publicity, I was supposed to understand. A good college president sentiment. “We’ll do our best,” I said, and headed out.
I had it all set up. I had five off-duty officers in civilian clothes walking around the campus, watching for straying computers. I had Theo, the recruit who liked to come in on his off-time and install new hard drives and sound cards, waiting at my car. And I had the kid Brian waiting there with him.
“Theo’s in charge, you hear?”
“Yeah, okay.” Brian looked like a videogame junkie, not like a police officer, but then, Theo didn’t look much like a cop either. They were both pretty weedy. But that was fine. They were just supposed to look like they knew computers. So they were both in the uniform—that is, faded t-shirts and olive-drab cargo pants and webbed tool belts, just like any techie.
I gave the boy a hard look. “I’m going out on a limb here, kid. You being a civilian and all that. You just do like we discussed, check out the PCs and Macs, don’t talk much. Got it?”
“Got it,” he said, gazing down at his Doc Martens. Then he looked up, sincerity sitting odd on that defiant face of his. “Thanks. I just wanted to help. Because it’s my . . . ” it took him a moment, but he finished, “my mother.”
Theo was looking away politely, pretending not to hear. He didn’t know much, just that he was supposed to pretend to look for a specific IP address, but if he found anything suspicious at all, he needed to confiscate the computer. And he needed to watch out for anyone trying to sneak out with a computer or hard drive. Or anyone who looked like he was doing some major erasure.
I walked with them into the big granite-faced library. The atrium lobby was brighter than a library should be—the ceiling four floors above was splintered with skylights. Urich was waiting by the terminals—the card catalog terminals. Somehow I doubted anyone would troll for jail bait there, so I said in a low voice, “Don’t waste too much time on these—head over to the admin building in a few minutes. Start at the first floor, and make plenty of noise.”
It wasn’t much of a plan. But if Urich had done anything wrong, maybe he’d panic. If not, well, I’d probably blown the whole Internet predator angle. And I didn’t think there was much chance I’d make a charge on a seventeen-year-past murder stick.
Brian fiddled in his tool belt and pulled out something square and blinking, and, with a muttered apology, pushed past Urich to the first terminal. I could see the effort it took the boy to pretend nonchalance, so close to this man who might have killed his mother. Maybe he wasn’t such a worthless over-privileged whiner after all.
Or maybe he was a worthless over-privileged whiner who could keep his mouth shut.
Anyway, Urich watched them for a moment, then followed me out to the quadrangle. “I’d really prefer—”
“I know. Discretion. Sure. That’s why they’re dressed like techs and not cops.” I was watching him pretty closely, and I thought he looked spooked. Then again, nervousness wasn’t unlikely in a college president who thought his school might soon be featured on CNN Headline News. “I’ll let you know if they find anything.”
He sighed, and held out his hand. I took it, trying not to flinch.
It was late afternoon, the sun edging down behind Lantry Mountain, so the light was gold and green. The two men students walking on the quadrangle paths glanced curiously at me, but then cast their eyes down, hiding whatever minor transgression made them feel guilty. I walked to my squad car and made a big show of driving off, just in case Urich was watching. Then I went back to the department garage and changed to civilian dress and an unmarked car.
I drove along College Avenue, past the faculty houses, and back onto campus using the service road. In the parking lot, I parked between a couple other cars, hidden in the shadows of the HVAC plant, and waited, leaving the motor running and the air conditioning on.
The radio crackled with the usual traffic messages as what passed for rush hour passed in Wakefield. I sat there, with that as my background music, watching the back of the admin building. The shadows were lengthening as evening came on.
When the cell phone rang, I thought it must be one of my officers, reporting someone exiting, laden with PC. But it was Laura. “Where are you?” She was still reserved, I could tell, but at least she was asking.
“On a stakeout.”
“No. I mean, where exactly?”
I debated. Imagined her here, beside me, maybe laying her hand on my thigh. Sue me. I’m a man. “Behind the admin building, in the parking lot. Facing out—back lane.”
The Wakefield house was only a half mile away, so it was just a couple minutes before the headlights broke the dusk around me. She parked a few cars down, and I leaned across the front seat to shove open the passenger door.
She slipped in, and I smelled her faint perfume, and she settled back against the seat with a sigh. She turned her head and regarded me in the half-light from a distant streetlamp. “Bored?”
“Lonely.”
She turned to the side so she could lean past the computer sticking out of the dashboard, and she nestled her head against my chest. “This isn’t a good car for making out.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.” I tilted her face up and kissed her, and we forgave each other—for being who we were, for having conflicting values, for expecting too much. Anyway, I thought that was what the kiss meant, and she must have thought so too, because she kissed me again.
But even then, I kept my gaze over her shoulder at the back of the building. We should give up and go home, I thought, but it was only desire talking. Stakeouts often lasted for hours, and it made sense that Urich would wait until it was dark and everyone had gone home before he made his move.
If he was going to make a move at all.
She sighed and settled back into her seat. “What are we waiting for?”
I explained the whole flimsy strategy to Laura—the sting to trap Urich in some evidence of guilt.
“I can’t believe you’re using Brian.”
“Why not?” I knew I sounded defensive. “He’s not in any danger.”
“Not that. I was just thinking that you kind of held him in contempt.”
“Well, sure. Nasty little jerk, he is. But . . . but he’s got a right, I suppose. And at least this time he isn’t breaking the law.”
She stared into the gathering dusk. “Is this the right way to go?”
“Yeah. The truth is always the right way to go.”
She gave me a slight smile. “That sort of attitude would put the TV industry out of business.”
“Except for reality TV.”
“That’s just as invented as the show I’m on.”
We sat there in the dark, listening to the radio static. Holding hands. And I wanted to ask her like I would have when we were kids—Are we okay? Are we together? Is this for keeps?
But I was grown-up now, and I knew nothing was for keeps. We had what we had, and for as long as it lasted, and that was as long as we appreciated how lucky we were to get another chance. I wasn’t go
ing to force the issue, because it still felt so fragile. But we were here together now, and that was more than I’d ever let myself expect.
A slice of yellow light in the second building over. The science building, I thought. Could be just a student leaving the back way—
But it looked like Urich, stuffing something in his jacket pocket, looking around, then stepping carefully down of the loading dock.
“Get down.” I urged Laura’s head down below the dashboard level and leaned back myself, back against the seat. I kept my gaze on the man walking through the line of cars to a black Mercedes parked in front of a Reserved sign.
I let him get in the car and out of the parking lot before I reached over and opened Laura’s door. “Out.”
Laura just pulled the door shut again and buckled her seatbelt. “No way.”
“I don’t have time to argue—”
“Then don’t. Get going.”
I was three parts annoyed and one part charmed. “Could get scary. High-speed chase, all that.”
She shrugged. “Big deal. I had a bit part in Speed. I was one of the passengers on that bus. I bet you drive better than Sandra Bullock.”
She trusted me too much. Always had. When I was a wild teenager driving too fast on the mountain roads, she trusted me. When she was so sick and I told her I’d take care of her, she trusted me. And she trusted me now. Again.
I put the car in gear and eased out into the road, and then picked up the radio. I instructed my officers to station themselves near the major intersections and the three bridges and wait for my word. No need to spook him— but if he was going to toss his evidence into the river, I wanted someone to witness it.
But Urich was cagier than that. He drove along the river road, just under the speed limit, windows rolled up. I hung back a few cars, staying focused on the distinctive Mercedes taillights. When he turned onto the north bridge, I followed him, keeping one car between us.
“Where do you think he’s going?” Laura whispered, as if he might be listening.
The year She Fell Page 42
