by Mary Feliz
He growled under his breath, and for the first time I wondered if he’d ever thought about what he sounded like to others. Did he intend to be as obnoxious as he seemed? I finished my text to Paolo and then sent a quick message to Max to assure him I was okay.
“Where’s your professor?” Awful asked. “What are you doing here? Returning to the scene of the crime?”
The crowd around us gasped and Awful appeared to notice them for the first time. What was he thinking, blurting out information like that on a university campus? Before he could adjust his pants again, the news would have raced around the dorms twice.
“Get up and come with me, Mrs. McDougal.”
I sat, waiting for some semblance of manners from Awful and wondering if I’d wait all night. I was so tired of his constantly combative nature. And his inability to remember my name. I deserved respect from him. Everyone did. But this time I was going to insist upon it.
“Are you deaf? Come with me. Now,” he commanded.
“Please?”
“Aw, for crissake—puh-leese, Mrs. McDougal. Won’t you puh-leese join me beyond the crime-scene tape. Don’t trip now, ma’am. Watch your step.” He took my arm but I shrugged it off. I tried another strategy.
“I’m glad you found me, Detective. Did Paolo pass along my messages? Linc’s life is in danger. Someone’s been targeting him and tried to run him off the road.”
“Mrs. McDougal. The police are not in the habit of seeing threats when an uncoordinated fool falls off his bicycle, or fails to maintain his automobile.”
“But you’ll look into it? Now that someone tried to blow up his lab? A lab he habitually worked in past midnight?”
The detective sneered and started to respond, but I suddenly had the sense that I was being watched. I looked over my shoulder at the crowd, which had doubled in size in the last few minutes. Of course I felt like I was being examined under a microscope. Hordes of students were monitoring me and everyone else working beyond the barriers and tape. Half of them were taking video or snapshots with their cameras. The other half were texting.
“Why are you here, Mrs. McDougal? If it’s to tell me how to run my investigation, I’m quite sure that I’ve told you to stay. Out. Of. It.”
“It’s Mrs. McDonald,” I reminded him. “And is this, in fact, your investigation, Detective? I was certain that Chief Trent told me she was coordinating her investigation with the Santa Clara County Arson Squad. Is Orchard View here in a support role? To help with crowd control?”
Detective Awful reached for his handcuffs and I stepped back, fearing I’d pushed him too far. Lucky for me, his radio squawked and he stepped away to answer it. While his back was turned, I ducked under the crime-scene tape and sat on the bench in the shadows, pulling up the hood on my coat. I’d be able to spot Linc when he came back out of the building, but I hoped it would be difficult for Detective Awful to find me.
I looked at the clock on my phone. Where had the time gone? It was nearly four in the morning. I yawned, shivered, and tugged my coat more tightly around me.
“Evening, Maggie,” a voice said from just over my shoulder.
I turned and saw one of the scientists I’d met when I picked up Linc’s dog. I searched my memory for his name.
“Keenan Barnaby,” he said. “You’re here tonight without the beautiful Belle?”
“This isn’t really her kind of adventure,” I said, wrinkling my nose at the smoke, lights, and crowd. “No one has a ball to throw.” I stood to shake hands, then looked at the ground and rocked from my heels to my toes, trying to keep warm. “I’m sorry,” I said, shrugging. “My conversational skills are at low ebb at this hour.”
“No worries. I spotted you in the crowd and figured I’d say hello.”
“This is pretty incredible. A bomb? I didn’t know people actually planted bombs in academic buildings. When I was in school people would call in bomb threats to disrupt the campus, but no one was stupid enough to actually plant one.”
“It’s the first time I’ve been happy to have my lab in the annex,” Keenan said. “But this will be a major disruption for the whole department.” He lifted his chin toward the building. “The dean is over there and I want to see if there’s anything I can do to help, if you’ll excuse me?”
I nodded and he left. “Good luck,” I called after him as he pushed through the crowd. I glanced around me to see if there was anywhere I could get warm. My hands and feet were freezing, although the temperature was a reasonable 45 degrees and the wind was low. I searched my sluggish brain for something to distract me, and remembered that Stephen was often up late at night and early in the morning. Sleep sometimes eluded him completely. It was a problem for him, but tonight it might work in my favor. I phoned him and left a message when he didn’t pick up.
“I hope I’m not waking you. I’m at Stanford. There’s been an . . . incident at Linc’s lab. When you get a chance can you let me know if you got that list of suspects? Oh, and do you have a number for the Santa Clara County District Attorney’s Office? I’ve completely lost my patience with Gordon Apfel. He’s getting increasingly obnoxious, which I might be able to tolerate if he were any closer to finding Sarah’s killer. This case goes beyond Orchard View. Apfel is over here at Stanford mucking up an investigation that involves Stanford and Santa Clara County. He’s neither use nor ornament and someone has to do something about it.” I took a breath and realized I’d been ranting. “Good morning—and—I hope Jason is doing better. I spent just a few minutes with that awful man and my manners have become almost as dreadful as his. Sorry. Call me.”
I ended the call and looked up to take in my immediate surroundings. I still had that itchy feeling between my shoulder blades that made me feel I was being watched. I moved through the crowd to be nearer the back entrance through which Chief Trent and Linc had disappeared.
Chapter 15
You can’t break the laws of physics. Entropy dictates that any system, unattended, will move in the direction of increased disorder. For proof, look no further than your sock drawer.
From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald,
Simplicity Itself Organizing Services
Friday, November 7, 4:00 a.m.
By the time Linc was finished, we were both ready to drop. “Keep me awake on the way home,” I told Linc as I backed the car out of the loading area and we found our way to Campus Drive, approaching Foothill Expressway one stop sign at a time. “Do you know what happened?”
“It was a bomb. In my office. Under my desk. If we’d been there, Newton and I would have been injured very badly, or . . .”
Linc coughed to try and conceal a sob. He covered his face and his head dropped.
“What is it? What’s wrong? Do I need to stop?”
Linc shook his head, unrolled the window, and leaned his head against the seat back.
“Maggie, it’s my fault. Sarah’s death too. Someone wants me out of their way and they don’t care who gets hurt in the process. Who’s next? You? Your family? One of my grad students or colleagues? It’s not even safe for you to drive me. Stop here and let me off.”
Linc reached for the door handle and I feared he’d jump out while the car was moving. I flicked the lever to activate the child locks on his door and kept driving.
“It’s not your fault, Linc. You didn’t kill Sarah and you didn’t detonate the bomb. Whoever murdered her and caused the explosion is at fault. Not you.”
He looked unconvinced.
“If anyone else is blame-worthy here, it’s Gordon Apfel. He shortcircuited the investigation into Sarah’s death and refused to look at any suspects other than you. She died in your house, Linc.” Linc made a cry of pain and I quickly backpedaled. “No, Linc. I didn’t mean that. Just because it was your house doesn’t mean it was your fault. But wouldn’t it be reasonable to think that whoever set a trap in your home had been hoping to murder you? Sarah typically spent Sunday nights at her own house. If she was the target, wouldn’t the
y have gone to her house?”
“That’s logical thinking, Maggie. But who’s to say that a murderer would be rational?”
“You’ve got me there, but we have to start somewhere.”
My phone interrupted as it rang and vibrated on the console between us.
“Can you get that? I think it’s Stephen. Put him on speaker.”
“Hi Stephen, I’ve got you on speaker in the car with Linc,” I said once Linc had answered the phone.
“I got your message and left a message for the district attorney on your behalf. I know that she’s been following Apfel carefully, particularly after he did that end-run around her to get the warrant for Linc’s arrest. I expect she’ll be on the phone to the Orchard View chief first thing in the morning.”
“That’s great news, Stephen. Thanks.”
“My pleasure. I’m not sure how soon you’ll see action on this. There’s always a bit of friction between the DA’s office and the police.”
“And how’s Jason?”
“His fever was up a bit. I’m taking him to the doctor in the morning.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I thought he was doing so well.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s tough. But enough about us. I haven’t had a chance to run those suspects’ names for you. I can’t do it remotely, but I’ll head over to the VA in the morning.”
“I’ll call you then. Right now Linc and I are fighting to keep our eyes open. We’ve been up since the wee hours with—well, it’s a long story. Can I bring you some food this afternoon? I can explain then.”
“No more food. Our fridge is overflowing. If you want to visit, that would be great. Or if you want to come and get some food to take home, we’ll welcome you. But no more food.”
“Give your guy a hug for us.”
We ended the call and I turned to Linc while we waited at a red light. “Sounds like the DA is on your side.”
“Maybe. But Maggie, do you want to turn left up ahead and take me to Sarah’s? I’ll crash there and grab her car in the morning—if you don’t mind taking care of Jelly.”
I signaled for a lane change, checked my mirrors and blind spot, and frowned. A silver pickup truck with darkly tinted windows followed us as closely as if someone had tied it to my bumper.
“Check your mirror. Could that be the truck that ran you and Newt off the road?”
Linc looked in the passenger-side mirror, then turned and squinted into the high beams of the truck.
I sped up to catch the end of the left-turn light at El Monte Road. My tires squealed as I went through the intersection on the yellow light. My phone, my notepad, and the assorted detritus of a busy “mom car” flew off the console and into the darkness of the backseat and beyond.
“He’s still on our tail,” Linc said, peering into the right-side mirror.
There was no traffic as far ahead as I could see, so I sped up, trying to lose him. I considered turning left or right into the residential neighborhoods but rejected that idea. Too many Orchard View pet owners walked their dogs early before leaving for work. With few streetlights, and at the speed I was going, my chances of seeing them before I ran them over were nil.
“If you can get to El Camino, you can head to the police station in Sunnyvale,” Linc said. “If you drive this fast, you may even snag the attention of a patrol car. They’ve been cracking down on speeders.”
“Good idea. In the plus column, I’m not sleepy anymore.”
I took another squealing turn right onto El Camino and my SUV rocked from side to side before it settled enough for me to push the accelerator to the floor. My suburban kid-transport vehicle wasn’t designed for a high-speed chase.
“Keep an eye out for cross-traffic,” I told Linc. “I going to run the red lights unless you see someone I can’t avoid.”
“You’re doing great.”
The car swerved for no reason and I feared I’d blown a tire. But the car quickly stabilized, and I figured I’d hit a defect in the road surface. Even if I’d seen a pothole, I wouldn’t have had time to avoid it.
“Watch out. He’s right on your bumper.”
The truck rammed us and I struggled to maintain my grip on the steering wheel. “Where are all those people who call about loud parties? Can’t they hear my tires squealing? They should call the police.”
Linc patted his pockets. “I’ll call. If I can figure out where I put my phone.”
“Don’t. Don’t take your eyes off the road and don’t light us up with your phone screen.”
Before we were even halfway to Sunnyvale, before we heard a single siren, the pickup backed off, and I thought we were safe. I started to let out a breath, but froze again as the pickup’s lights blinked on and off and its engine revved.
I felt the truck ram us before I heard it. He hit the left rear corner of the car and the taillight broke with a pop. I fought to keep the car from heading into a spin, but the wheels bounced up over the curb and into a large parking lot. It was empty of cars, but full of parking berms. I struggled to avoid them, but was afraid to hit the brakes. If I slowed, the truck would catch us. I half-remembered instructions from my driver’s-education classes about not braking during a skid. I wasn’t sure if those rules applied during a car chase.
My attention faltered and I bounced off a parking berm and scraped the front driver’s-side tire on another one. A bang I felt as well as heard, along with a shudder from the wheel, told me I’d blown a tire. Unless that sound was a gunshot?
“Tire,” said Linc as if he’d heard me. “Not gun.”
I spotted an alley between two of the buildings and turned down it, nearly clipping the front of the car as the tires squealed, desperately trying to hug the road as they made the turn. Trying to regain control, watch the truck, and the alley ahead of me all at the same time was too much. I bounced from one wall of the alleyway to the other, knocking off first one mirror, then the other.
By the time I got the car back under control, I was sweating and breathing hard.
“I think he’s gone,” Linc said, trying to peer between the seats while keeping his head down.
I let the car wobble to a stop. When some part of the engine let off a hiss that sounded like a human sigh of relief, Linc and I both laughed until tears flowed down our cheeks and our sides ached.
My giggles slowed and I shivered as the adrenaline wore off. I had absolutely no idea what to do next. Nor how long we’d be safe here. Would the truck come back? Would my car restart? Was it drivable with the blown tire? Was it legal to drive a car with no mirrors?
“I’m calling Paolo,” Linc said, grabbing my phone from the floor of the backseat and dialing.
“Paolo, it’s Linc on Maggie’s phone. We’re in trouble.” Linc put the phone on speaker and said in a low voice to me, “He wants to know if we’re okay.”
“Hey Paolo,” I said, barely recognizing my hoarse voice. “We’re shaken, but unhurt. I think my car is totaled.”
“What? You’re not kidding, are you? Where are you? Are you safe?”
“That big shopping center at El Camino and . . . and . . .” I looked to Linc for help.
“El Camino and Grant, center of the lot, on the back side of the buildings.”
“I’m sending a patrol car and a tow truck, and I’ll get there as soon as I can. Call dispatch immediately if either one of you feel any pain after the adrenaline wears off. You’re right near El Camino Hospital and we can get you there in a flash.”
“Thanks, Paolo,” I said, but he’d already ended the call.
“There are the sirens,” Linc said, and a second later I heard them myself.
Paolo arrived minutes after the tow truck and patrol cars. I was dimly aware that officers were measuring skid marks with retractable tape measures and laser devices. Others took carefully-lit photos. I tried to get out of the car at some point, but the world outside, now lightening up as dawn approached, didn’t seem safe to me. I climbed back into the car, pulle
d my coat around me, turned the heat on high, and tried to keep my teeth from chattering.
Paolo knocked on the window. “Maggie?”
I unlocked the doors and pointed to the backseat. Paolo opened the passenger door and climbed in, scooting to the center of the bench seat. He put one hand on my shoulder and his other hand on Linc’s.
“How are you two? That must have been some driving, Maggie. Linc, are you all right?”
I tried to answer and in my mind I replied, “We’re fine. We had a bit of an adventure, like a theme-park ride, but we’re fine.” But saying the words out loud seemed too difficult. I closed my eyes, leaned back against the seat, and listened to the sound of my own breathing.
Linc answered Paolo’s questions in a low voice. “I think she’s just exhausted. We’ve been up most of the night.”
Paolo rummaged around on the floor of the car, then held up my travel mug and shook it. “There’s a swallow or two here that hasn’t spilled. Think you can drink some?”
He held the cup out to me, but I shook my head again. “I just want to go home and sleep,” I said.
“Hang on here. Let me see what I can get you.” Paolo patted my shoulder and got out of the car, walking toward one of the patrol vehicles. I put my hands up to my face and leaned forward. My chest was sore and I wondered briefly if it was from slamming repeatedly against the shoulder belt, or if it was from holding my breath.
“Do I look that bad off?” I asked Linc.
“I don’t think you’re ready for the prom.”
I laughed and was relieved to find that I was able to stop and no longer felt hysterical.
“You’re no prize yourself.” Linc’s face was streaked with dust and tears and he smelled of fear. I sniffed my own clothes and made a face.
Paolo was back and knocked on the driver’s-side door. This time, I opened the door for him. “I’ve got a cola here for each of you. The caffeine and the sugar will help. Can you pass this over to Linc?”
I followed instructions and Paolo opened another can and handed it to me. I took a tentative sip, and then two large ones. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was, and the sugary drink hit my bloodstream like rocket fuel. “Wow, Paolo,” I said, looking at the label, surprised to discover that it was a well-known brand rather than some ultrasecret EMT formula. “That’s like magic.”