“I saw what happened in the courtyard, who you met at the Telegraph—what your plan is with the cop,” a male voice whispered. “The conductor already sent a text for a rule broken, said someone’s gonna pay. Maybe you.” The stranger’s grip tightened. “Play Russian roulette with my family again, I’ll make sure it’s not the clown who kills you.”
With that, the whisperer released Alec.
It took him several moments before he worked up the courage to look back. He rubbed his throbbing neck while Ivan continued his speech.
“These three before you opened the doors to something this world has never seen, all by way of stepping into a risk on an ambitious performer”—his booming voice sputtered and weakened—“and this otherworldly ensemble of talent before you.”
Ivan grabbed his chest and bent slightly at the knees.
Something wasn’t right.
Something was happening to him.
9
SATURDAY, 6:43 P.M.
Pleading my case to coworkers who I knew despised me didn’t seem like a helpful course of action as Mitchell and Hopkins escorted me out of the gymnasium. People being escorted out of anywhere always pleaded their case—and they always sounded like fools.
But Hopkins had given me reason to think that he may be caught in the string. I needed to lean into that now. If the conductor proved to be half as dangerous as he seemed, then tens of thousands of people were at risk.
We stepped out of the gymnasium’s side entrance into the biting cold.
“This is weird even for you, Haas.” A gust of wind tousled Mitchell’s hair. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying it.”
He shoved me and I stumbled forward onto the red bricks. My fists clenched involuntarily.
I wanted to shout. To scream. To burst back into the gymnasium and stop the chief from walking into a deadly trap—not only for Renfroe but perhaps for every person in attendance.
“Let’s go,” Mitchell said to Hopkins. “Chief’s midcourt and it’s gonna be awful.”
“Sorry, Haas,” Hopkins said.
They both turned back inside.
“Hey!” My mind was spinning as I tried to communicate the danger they were in.
Mitchell and Hopkins both glanced back at me. I focused on Hopkins. “Keep your eyes open—it’s not safe. You know that, don’t you?”
Hopkins stared back at me, eyebrows scrunched, pensive.
Mitchell smacked Hopkins’s chest with the back of his hand. “You bet it’s not safe—not with them dorm girls milling about. They’ll swipe your gun right off your belt, isn’t that right, Haas?”
Again with the references to that night that changed everything for me.
I stepped directly into Mitchell’s space. “Let me tell you something.” I looked at his left cheek, right cheek, forehead, refusing to make eye contact. I wanted him to know I was looking past whatever facade he’d barricaded himself behind. “Fear loves to hide—hates to be known. But it’s got a weakness, a stench to it.” I leaned closer. “You reek of it.”
Mitchell pushed me and lunged toward me, fist cocked, but it was half-hearted. Hopkins, who now looked as though he were experiencing an awful dream, grabbed Mitchell from behind.
They were showing their hand.
“Those people are in danger.” I pointed at the gymnasium. “You get that? Let’s do something about it.”
Hopkins looked to Mitchell.
Mitchell scoffed. “Neither of us know what you’re talking about, Haas, just like you don’t know what you’re talking about. If you’re smart, you’ll go home. You’re drunk.” Mitchell put a hand on Hopkins’s back and herded him through the gymnasium side door. “You’ve done enough already,” he whispered over his shoulder.
The door locked with a loud click. On the other side, Mitchell rebuked Hopkins, but his words were too muffled to make out.
The conductor had gotten to them. I was sure of it. They were a part of it. And they were not going to go against the white-faced demon, fearing only God knew what.
I had always believed that, like passengers aboard a sinking ship staring at the life buoy, people paralyzed by fear like Hopkins and Mitchell would be the first to leap and take hold of freedom if given the choice at the right moment. But that wasn’t happening here.
If I was right, then what had Mitchell meant by “you’ve done enough”? What did he know that I didn’t? Had the conductor done something terrible because of my choices?
I needed to move.
Going back in the way I’d come wasn’t an option, not with my colleagues on the lookout. But there were other entrances for vendors and shipments around the side of the building. Would anyone be there to let me through?
I rounded the building. The first door I came upon was closed. But water was pooled on the ground right outside as if a concessions worker had dumped it moments ago. I rattled the handle. Should I wait for someone to open the door or search for another way in?
Standing like a wall around the gymnasium were dozens of rhododendrons, and under each sat several softball-sized stones. If I didn’t find a way inside on my first pass around the building, I could bust an office window.
The athletic director and coaches each had an office toward the back of the building. I could snatch a hat and one of the T-shirts in the athletic department, blend in, then search for the threat. I glanced at the time on my phone.
The game might last two hours, and I had about thirty or forty thousand suspects. Or half of that if the conductor were indeed male. But his high voice made me wonder if he were a girl trying to throw me off.
I continued along the side of the gymnasium—
“Hey,” a voice said from behind me.
I turned to find a woman holding the door I’d tried opening. She looked to be a decade older than me, early forties, with stylish hair and wearing glasses under one of the team’s hats. Pure business but decked out in basketball gear. She gazed at me as if she knew me.
Why wasn’t her face registering?
She waved me to hurry inside. I stepped in and the door closed behind me.
We were standing in a hallway that served as a loading dock to the lobby. Boxes, crates, and chairs lined the walls, all of which emitted a musty smell.
“Thanks,” I said. “I know you?”
“No need for pleasantries.” The woman crossed her arms. “I know what’s happening. I’ve been hiding in this garb”—she ran her hands down the sides of her jersey—“and followed you out. I’m Janet Blevins.”
“Are we safe?”
“No idea, but I blended in then slipped away. What’s done is done—we have to talk.”
“The note—that was you.”
She drew in a breath. “No, not me. But I know who left it for you and I took his place in finding you. First I need to tell you that I’m the one who dropped that package in your truck today.”
“The tablet?”
“That’s what it was? I thought I’d dropped off a bomb. Thank God. I’m sorry for looping you into his sick game. I had no choice.”
Her directness surprised me. “No one’s at fault but him.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, appearing thankful for the response.
“I understand how dangerous and awkward this is.” I glanced down the corridor. “Let’s start with questions.”
My abruptness seemed to awaken a lion in her. “Shoot,” she said.
“How long has he been threatening you?”
“Four weeks.”
“What are you doing for him?”
“I’m head of IT on campus. I’ve helped him spy on whomever he wants. He has eyes and ears everywhere because of me. Emails, texts, calls, purchases, secrets—he’s been watching for a long time, much longer than when he pulled me in.” She reached into her handbag and withdrew her cell. “Don’t use one of these—he can hear and see it all.”
“Is there an alternative?”
“I haven’t been able to find
one, not without him knowing. Nearly cost me my Ruby.”
I squinted.
“My Labrador,” she added.
“Were you followed to the game?”
“No clue. Any number of them could be tailing me . . . or you.”
I nodded. “What’s he holding against you?”
“My sister has cancer.” Emotion crawled up her throat, but Janet composed herself. “He’s threatened to visit her wing of the hospital. And not only that. He poisoned one of her nurses. I can’t prove it, but he did—I went against him like I am now . . . and he did it.” Her eyes seemed to be making a plea for trust. She wanted to know in this moment if she’d stuck her neck out to the right person.
“Understood.” I peeked around her to see if anyone was lurking down the hallway. “I’m going to help you stop him and keep your sister safe. You’re doing the right thing.”
She nodded. “I believe that. But I’ve still got a question: Why did you get booted from the game by your own colleagues?”
How many eyes had I drawn while being escorted out? “He’s holding people close to me and sent me here to get the chief to midcourt. I couldn’t go with it. I think he’s a target. And my two colleagues—they’re a part of it, I’m sure of it, but not of our shared intention. At least not yet.”
Images of Stephanie, Cody, and the girls cowering in a basement flashed in my mind, their eyes laced with fear as the conductor approached. I shook my head.
“Family?”
“Close enough.” I checked my phone. No messages from the conductor yet.
Janet frowned and spoke softly. “What are their names?”
The fact that she wanted their names threw me off a bit. “Isabella and Tilly, five and two—daughters of my . . . other. Stephanie.”
“It’s not the end.” The bite in her tone had returned. “I’ve butted against him. Twice, actually.” Her lips quivered, showing bared teeth. “But he didn’t hurt my sister after he said he would. He went for the nurse instead, then Ruby. His string means too much to him. If he needs you for it, he’ll hit you where it hurts, but not always where it hurts most.”
That raised a question: How badly did the conductor need me for his plot? Janet had a valuable skill set for his agenda. She could hack this and that and spy from behind a screen. But what did I offer that he couldn’t replace? He may not be as lenient with me.
The monster had given us both an initial free pass. But Janet’s second offense almost cost her a pup that, while not her own flesh and blood, still meant the world to her. For my second offense, he’d gone straight for Steph and the girls—and I had no way of knowing whether or not Cody could keep them safe.
What would he do next, knowing I’d tried to warn the chief and was now conspiring with Janet?
I shook my head. Needed to focus on the action, the steps to take to stop the conductor. Anything else—giving in to him or fleeing town with the girls—was an illusion of a solution. The only way to win was to put an end to the string.
We needed to move fast.
I reached into my jacket pocket and withdrew the charred tablet. “Can you track whoever programmed this? It’s the only lead I’ve got.”
Janet’s eyes went big. “Let me see.”
My shoulders softened as I handed it to her. It wasn’t me versus the conductor anymore. It was us. Janet was smart and may have already found a chink in the conductor’s armor. Her skill set complemented my own. Together we’d stop him faster than either one of us could on our own.
“Who’s the other?” I asked.
“Earlier today, one of the paper’s photographers was taking shots of your truck after it happened. He looked so scared. I knew the look and confronted him. Alec McCullers. He’s a part of it, the first I’ve found who I wasn’t assigned to—here tonight, on our side now.”
Janet’s gumption was an incredible asset. She wasn’t a woman in distress. She was a wolf looking for others to join her pack.
“But Alec told me something about you, something the conductor texted him. I trust I can tell you, and that you’ll keep your wits about you.”
I nodded.
“The conductor said he was going to kill you tomorrow and that Alec was going to help him.”
My brows furrowed. Was this the retaliation, killing me? That would bring attention to the university and stir up an investigation. Unless what he had planned was set to go down soon.
“You’re providing info to him. Where is he? How do you reach him?”
“If I knew he’d be dead already,” she said, practically seething. She tapped her bag. “Just my cell.”
The gymnasium erupted into continuous applause, too loud and boisterous for lineup introductions. Whatever was going on was exhilarating the crowd.
I blocked out the noise. “The conductor: any idea of age, ethnicity, height, weight?”
“High-pitched, pathetic tone. Maybe Caucasian but I’m not sure. Height?” Her eyes looked as if they could cut through steel. “Small. A weak, tiny man. That’s how I picture him. In reality, I have no idea.” She looked at her heels, then back up at me. “But he’s intelligent. I don’t know if he’s figured out that we’re talking yet or that we’re finding each other, but it’s only a matter of time. We need to find him first. And frankly, that’s why I came to you.” She held up the tablet. “Maybe you already delivered.”
It was a start. But only a start.
Observe.
I tried to focus on any strategic advantage we might have now that we were two instead of one—or three, depending on the student journalist. Janet offered technical help, I had the punch. But neither of us knew what the conductor looked like or how to find him.
Even so, no mastermind was perfect. He had to slip up somewhere, with someone.
“Well? What’s the plan?”
I held up one finger. “OODA.”
“Whoda?”
Before I could explain myself, an ear-piercing scream split the air, followed by a collective gasp from the fans.
Both of us turned toward the horrible echo ricocheting down the corridor.
“I have to go,” I said. “It’s him.”
“Wait.” I could tell she was searching for the right words. “I’ll take the tablet to my office, second floor in the communications building. Where can I find you if I get something?” Her eyes popped open a little bigger. “Wait, give me your phone.”
I did as she asked and she maneuvered some things around on it. “There. I can track your phone now.”
I looked down at it skeptically. “Just like that?”
“I’m good.”
From somewhere outside the stadium, the on-site ambulance’s siren shrieked.
“Go, go,” Janet said before sneaking out the door she’d used to let me in.
I took off and pushed open the door at the end of the hall, which spilled into the lobby. No other officers in sight, but the on-call paramedics were rushing toward the gymnasium. I followed them in.
Everyone in the grandstands was standing, most covering their mouths. But there wasn’t mass hysteria, and nobody was sprinting toward the exits.
What had happened?
I followed their gazes to the court, where Renfroe sat, surrounded by a couple of high-level university officials—Franklin Iseman and Anita Postma, if I was remembering their names right. They were asking the chief questions.
One of the paramedics joined the three, shining a light into Renfroe’s eyes. Behind the chief crouched a larger cluster of people, and that’s where the rest of the medics were rushing.
The bunch broke open just enough for me to see Ivan Mikolaev, and my mind immediately did a double take. This was the popular leader of the Celestial Orchestra.
No, not leader. Conductor.
Alarms were blasting in my mind. Ivan, the famous conductor, in town at the same time a psychopath was parading himself around as the conductor?
Ivan was lying with his cheek pressed to the three-point line, moti
onless. Had he been shot? I couldn’t spot any blood.
Above Ivan floated a platform. He must’ve fallen and landed directly on the chief.
I felt a buzz in my pocket.
I jogged back into the lobby. Brought the phone up from my side as I pushed through the exit into the bitter cold outside.
Naughty, naughty knot, Markus.
Franklin Iseman recognized an opportunity from a mile away. He also recognized that there were some people in this world you didn’t mess with. But he’d never experienced these two absolutes battling for his attention at the same time and in equal measure.
Until now.
The opportunity: leverage the string for a truckload of money. The person not to mess with: the conductor—that much had been clear long before tonight. But after the circus that had just gone down in the gymnasium, Iseman was beginning to think that the conductor was even more disturbed than he’d imagined.
He glanced at the text he’d received after Ivan had fallen on the chief.
You feared that the opera had reached its end. But this was merely the prelude.
Down goes Ivan, down goes Chief. What could it mean, what could it mean?
And what of the flanks, Mr. Iseman and Miss Postma? What’s to happen to them?
Iseman folded his arms, looked at the door in front of him, back to his phone, then to the door again.
It was the office of Anita Postma. She was arguably the most powerful person at the university—even more so than the president, due to her deep pockets, relational equity, and political connections.
She was also a crow of a woman who’d earned many promotions at Iseman’s expense. She certainly didn’t need all her money. And really, a generous proportion of that wealth should’ve been his. He’d done better work, fought harder for his status, and was far better liked than her.
Iseman withdrew the envelope he’d forged from his pocket. He’d done an incredible job, if he did say so himself: the font, the mahogany coloring, the sickly obscure and verbose tone.
He tapped the envelope into his left hand. Paydays like this didn’t present themselves except once a lifetime, and only to those smart enough to see them. The conductor’s latest text, which Postma had almost certainly received as well, was perfectly vague enough for Iseman to use to his advantage. Postma would be shaken up once again, vulnerable, willing to do whatever the conductor asked just to stay alive.
The String Page 7