I took a deep breath. My crying jag from the night before seemed silly now. Viv and I could find something to do. I was off work, I had time to think of something.
I showered and dressed, planning how I would tell Bobby what I'd discovered about David Baucum's half brother. I was fairly sure he would disregard it entirely, and I wasn't sure what I would do in that case. I had a gut feeling there was something off with the guy.
I remembered that night at the side of the road. “Vultures,” he'd called the reporters, his voice dripping with hatred.
Or was I just remembering it that way because I'd decided he was a bad guy?
I dried my hair and decided I needed to lay everything out for Bobby. I would write down all the links, the stories we'd re-watched, and put everything together for him.
I shook my head, thinking about how mad Viv would be to have to turn all this over to Bobby so he could get the credit. I would have to remind her that we knew—and most importantly, Bobby would know—who was the real hero.
I found a pad of legal paper in Tony's office and sat at the bar in the kitchen to make my notes. I figured a timeline was probably the best way to start.
How long had the Baucum brother said he had been in Lubbock? A few months, if I remembered correctly. He hadn't given a number. But still, it kind of lined up with the collapse of Baucum Engineering.
I opened my phone and recorded the different URLs that Trisha had sent us. I wrote the one that was supposed to be for the security camera that captured the school collapse, but then decided I should include the one that the kid at the coffee shop had given us, too.
I started typing, and the memory filled in the rest, thank goodness. Just to make sure I had the right one, though, I filled in the date and waited for the image of an intact school to load.
The screen was so dark at first that it must have stalled. Then I saw brighter lights emerging and realized the screen was there, it was just dark.
Why was it dark?
I brought the phone closer to me and looked at the lights that moved slowly across the scene. It was raining.
I frowned. I'd typed in the wrong date again. This wasn't the bright March day of the earthquake. This was a dark rainy day in—yep, November. I'd typed in 11-3 instead of 3-11.
I started to hit the back button, then froze, watching the car that drove slowly, swerving slightly, past the school.
My phone rang and I jumped.
Viv's picture popped up in the top right corner of my screen. I tapped it and said, “Viv! What kind of car did Peter Browning drive?”
“A tan Honda,” she said.
“A light-colored one?”
“Tan is pretty light, yes.”
“I think I found a clue.”
I dragged the blue dot on the video backwards, then let it play again.
The car slowed almost to a stop in front of the school. The video was grainy, but I was pretty sure I saw something. Something I had to share.
My heart began to thud heavily, and my mind spun. Viv rattled on, something about Nigel and Anne.
“Stop,” I said. “Hush.”
“Well,” she said, but I think it was mostly for show.
“I'll be by your place in fifteen minutes. Be ready to go to see Bobby.”
Chapter Fifteen
Charade
It actually took me and Stump more like thirty minutes to get there, but Viv still wasn't ready to go. While she primped her hair and put on fresh lipstick, I pulled up the security camera footage again. I was glad to see her back in normal clothes today—chocolate brown slacks and a gold satin button-down shirt, with a brown jacket over it.
I found the right time in the video and rose to stand beside her. The picture was a bit grainy and dark from the rain, but it was still possible to tell what we were looking at. The front part of the school still stood, and if you only looked at that part, you'd never know anything was wrong.
“Okay, check the date,” I said. I tilted the phone so Viv could see.
“November third?” she asked.
I nodded. “The day Peter Browning disappeared. Look at this.”
The car entered the frame—a light-colored hatchback, the kind we knew Peter Browning drove. It entered the driveway to the school and then the parking lot, driving first straight down the middle of the drive, then hugging the right side of the road, then back to the middle. Even on this small screen, I could tell that the license plate would probably be easy to make out on a larger screen. The car drove slowly to the front of the parking lot, slowing even more as it reached the very front of the building where the sidewalks converged to provide one wide entryway into the building. It stopped there for a few seconds, then, with a quick burst, it sped out of the frame and presumably out of the lot.
“See that!” I said. “Did you see that?”
“What?”
“Did something move on the other side of the car? Look again.”
I dragged the dot back a bit. Watched again as the car made its wobbly way up the driveway and to the drop-off loop.
“There!” I did see something. Something small and barely perceptible, but it was there. I was almost sure.
We rewound again. “Now look, there on the passenger side. Something moves right before he speeds up and drives off.”
It was almost impossible to see, because the movement was on the other side of the car. And it could have been nothing—just a blip, some static or something, a glitch in the film. Except this was digital. Did digital recordings get blips? I had no idea. But it looked like just the merest hint of movement at the passenger door. A small triangle, darker than the rest of the area around it.
“Did the passenger door open?” Viv asked.
“That's what I am wondering.”
We watched it again. And again.
It could be.
I tried to imagine Peter Browning's frame of mind as he drove up to the school that night. Driving by the school would certainly support the theory that he felt remorse for the death of David Baucum—this school was the scene of Baucum's own undoing, after all. It was the scene that Browning himself brought to the public's attention, again and again, relentlessly.
If he had swung by the scene of this devastation on the way to intentionally carrying out his own death, it could have meant that despite the self-assured face he put on, he was consumed by guilt over David Baucum's death, the shuttering of the firm.
But...was he alone? I tried to gauge the distance from the driver's side to the passenger door. Peter was a tall man, so he probably had long arms. The car was small. It was within the realm of possibility that he had leaned over and opened the door, before driving away.
But why? Had he thrown something out?
I took out the notebook I had been writing notes in. “We have to tell Bobby all of this.”
Viv frowned. “We do?”
I chewed my lip. “Yes?”
She made a groaning noise. “This is rubbish. He'll probably get a promotion and a raise from this. You know that, don't you?”
“Yes, I know.” I thought for a moment. “Of course, when it comes right down to it, I'm the one with the concerned husband. There's no reason you couldn't follow up on this lead.”
She curled her lip. “That wouldn't be nearly as much fun.”
Like the complete dork I am, I teared up.
She sighed and stood. “Oh, well. We might as well get this over—” She stopped when she looked at me. “Oh, good grief. Are you crying?”
“No,” I said, through tears. “Don't be stupid.” I sniffed and cleared my throat. “You're crying.”
“You're not pregnant, are you?”
“No!” I hadn't meant for it to come out so loud. Even Stump flinched a little. “I mean, no. I don't think so. I'm just a little emotional. My aura's all out of whack.”
“Well, get a grip. You're not a civilian yet.” She locked up and we headed toward the elevator. “You need to keep a steely grip on your nerves for a bit long
er.”
“Okay, I have never had a steely grip on my nerves, as you well know.” I pushed the elevator down button. “You should have seen me this morning when I realized that we had been talking to David Baucum's half brother and I hadn't even known it.”
“Why should that scare you?” Viv fluffed her hair in the reflection of the elevator doors. She rolled her lips together and stepped back as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.
“Because. What reason would he have for being so...secretive?”
“Well, he didn't do anything.”
“Not that we know of. But...why is he lying about who he is? What reason could he have?”
“Has he actually lied?”
“Well, he hasn't been honest. I mean, we don't even know his name. We've had all these conversations with him. He's had every opportunity to tell us who he really is, and he hasn't. Doesn't that imply some ill intent?” I said as we headed for the front doors.
“It is odd.”
“It's very odd. I think we should find out what it means.”
I heard something around the corner as we approached it. I almost jumped out of my skin. I whirled and faced the perpendicular hallway in a crouch, fully expecting to see what's-his-name ready to bring something heavy down on my head.
Instead, we saw Nigel, frozen in the middle of the hall runner. He had a most definite “I'm caught!” look in his eye.
I stood with an apologetic smile for him. Poor guy. It must be wearing him out that Viv was after him so blatantly. He probably had all he could handle on his plate with poor Anne.
His eyes darted between the two of us. “I—uh, I forgot something in my room.” He turned and hurried away.
Viv grabbed my shirt. “Come on!” Viv whispered. “I thought of another one this morning.”
We quick-footed after Nigel, while Viv hissed, “You say, 'How long has it been since you've played cribbage.'“ She gave me a raised-brow look, then nodded.
“What? What is that?”
She grimaced at Nigel's retreating back. “Just say it. Now!”
“How long has it been since you've played cribbage?” I shouted after Nigel.
“It's been at least a bloody fortnight!” Viv shouted back.
Nigel kept up the hasty retreat. I was getting out of breath, so I slowed.
After a few moments, Viv gave up, too. She watched Nigel around the next corner, then turned back, her shoulders slumped. “Come on. Let's go give Mr. Hot Detective the lead of his career.”
There was a new receptionist at the police station and she got, frankly, quite rude when Viv and I walked through with Stump.
“Excuse me!” she shouted through her glass partition. She slid it back so she could direct the full force of her outrage at us. “Where do you think you're going?”
“We're going to see Detective Sloan about an important murder case.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
Viv gave me the side-eye and waltzed up to the window. “Let me see. Do we have an appointment? Why don't you check your little book there?”
Her gaze never leaving Viv's, she said, “Nope. Nothing in my little book.”
I joined Viv at the window and, just to be annoying, positioned Stump so that her front feet rested on the counter.
I checked the name plate. “Jeannie? Jeannie. Nice to meet you. I'm Salem, and this is Viv.”
Viv gave her a flat smile. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“I know who you are,” Jeannie said.
I was guessing Jeannie was about ten years older than my mom. She had dyed long blond hair that swept back from her head in big waves. I had seen that style in pictures of the ‘70s. It was probably the style she'd had in high school, and she just never changed it. You had to admire that kind of commitment.
“So Bobby's told you about us?” I asked. “Good. We don't have an appointment, but we do need to see Bobby. It's important. We have a lead in the Peter Browning case.”
“Have a seat.”
“He won't mind if we go on back to his office,” Viv said. “We've been there before. We know where we're going.”
“Have a seat.”
“Has he told you that we've worked together on other cases? Did he tell you we brought down the Hombres' cock-fighting ring?”
“Have a seat.”
Viv's mouth thinned, but she said nothing for a moment.
“Maybe you could just call Bobby right quick and tell him we're here,” I suggested.
“Have a se—”
“We're having a seat!” Viv barked. She stalked toward the plastic chairs at the other side of the room.
Jeannie picked up the phone and bent her head to look at the keypad.
The second she did, Viv raced for the door and jerked the handle.
The door rattled loudly. It was locked.
I looked at Jeannie, who stared stonily at Viv as she dropped the handle and stomped away grumbling. Jeannie talked into the phone. She hung up and slid the glass partition back without another word.
Stump and I had a seat. Viv stalked back and forth, her heels clicking on the tile floor. I pulled my phone out of my purse. “Windy, call Bobby.”
“Gettin' him for ya now, Honey.”
I got his voicemail. “Bobby, Viv and I are in the lobby. We have some information for you. The dragon lady at the front desk won't let us in. Come get us, please.”
Ten minutes later, I called again. “Bobby, I'm quite sure I have at least two pieces of information you don't have. Come get us.”
Fifteen minutes after that, I called again. “Bobby, come on. Tony doesn't want me to investigate any more, so I can't follow up on these myself.”
Less than ten seconds later, he was at the door.
I picked up Stump and gave Jeannie a benevolent smile as we left. “Thank you so much.”
In Bobby's office, I pulled up the surveillance video I had found. “See? That's Browning's car, right? And look at this.” I jabbed my finger at the screen when the car stopped. “See?”
“What am I looking at?”
I dragged the blue dot backward. “Look at the passenger side.”
We watched it again. “He stops, he goes again,” Bobby said.
“Don't you see the door open? I think the door opened. The passenger door.”
“The door definitely opened,” Viv said.
Bobby groaned and watched the video one more time. Then he said, “What am I doing?” He hit the mouse on his computer, then studied my phone and typed in the URL. We all gathered around his computer and watched the whole thing play out again.
On the bigger screen, it was easier to see that something had happened on that side of the car, but it wasn't clear just what.
Viv and I waited while Bobby wordlessly watched the monitor. He dragged the car back and watched it three more times.
“Well?” Viv said. “Did you know Peter Browning had driven by that school the night he disappeared?” When Bobby didn't answer she said again, “Well, did you?”
Bobby sat with his hand on his chin, his finger over his mouth, staring at the screen.
Viv smiled at me. “He's stumped. We stumped him.”
“Do you think he was throwing something out, Bobby?” I asked. “Like, a note or something?”
Bobby gave me a look, but said nothing.
I sighed. “Are you going to say anything? Anything at all? What do you think this is?”
He frowned, then leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers over his belly and said, “This is a good find, Salem.”
I was so shocked I had to sit. “What?”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “Not saying it twice.”
Viv laughed and did a little victory dance, right there in Bobby's office. She mimed spiking a football.
Bobby let her indulge for a few seconds, then said, “We'll follow up on this. Now, go home and stay out of trouble.”
“That's it?” I asked. “That's all you're going to say?”<
br />
“Your husband asked you to quit doing stuff like this, didn't he?”
I nodded.
“Smart man. Now, again—good job, go home.”
Viv shook her head. “Sad. Your professional envy of us is just sad.”
The corner of Bobby's mouth tipped up, but he didn't answer.
I wanted to argue, but there really wasn't much I could say, either. I told myself to be glad we had found something that could be helpful, and let it go. I mean, I should start getting used to that, right?
This was no longer my purview. I mean, it had never been my purview, but I could no longer play like it was.
I stood and hefted Stump on my hip. “Fine. We're going.” As I reached the door, though, I turned back and said, “You could at least say thank you.”
The look he gave me...I wasn't sure what to make of it. He sat with his elbow on the arm of his chair, his hand over his mouth. He was watching me walk out of the room, his eyes filled with something that might possibly have been...regret? Sadness?
Seriously?
He straightened, gave me a small smile, and said, “Thank you, Salem. This is a good find.”
The ride away from the police station was a silent one. I kept seeing that look on Bobby's face. What had he been thinking? He couldn't possibly have been upset to know that Viv and I would no longer be bugging him for inside information or bringing largely useless information to him.
Could he?
To be honest, my feelings about Bobby were pretty mixed-up. I had had a crush on him for two solid years, from the beginning of the fourth grade through the end of the fifth grade. I had written Mrs. Bobby Sloan on every available surface. I had—to my undying mortification—written him love notes that I signed with my real name and left in his car.
It was kind of hard to get past all that, even now—even as a married woman who was in love with her husband. Bobby had kissed me, once, before Tony and I were reunited. It might have been an emotional impulse brought about by the fact that I had almost gotten myself killed.
But part of me couldn't help but entertain the notion that Bobby was a little, teeny-tiny bit attracted to me. And that part couldn't help but be flattered by the idea.
However, that was a thought I had to put out of my mind. Tony didn't deserve a wife who was playing imaginary flirting games with another man. Even if I was sure nothing would ever come from it—and I was quite sure of that—Tony didn't deserve for me to even contemplate it for a minute. I knew how I would feel if I found out Tony had the slightest attraction for another woman—violence and destruction on a massive scale came immediately to mind. So, no. Bobby Sloan needed to be evicted from my head space before he could put down roots.
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