Above the Paw

by Diane Kelly

  I shrank back before she could see me. Had she been in the library when I’d made my first run-through? It was possible I’d missed her. She could have been in the restroom, or moving about on another floor.

  I sat down on the floor as if looking at the books on the bottom shelf and peeked over the tops of the row while dialing the dealer’s number on my phone. When the phone rang, Emily shifted slightly in her seat, but did not take the phone out of her back pocket. I’d heard no sound of her phone ringing, and I was too far away to tell whether her phone had vibrated in her pocket. Maybe her movement had nothing to do with her phone.

  I tried the number again, but she remained still this time. Hmm …

  Frustrated by the lack of definitive evidence so far, I ventured back down to the first floor and slunk through the stacks until I reached the spot from where I’d spied on Ruby and the brown-haired boy earlier. While the other boy and girl were still in the study room, Ruby and the boy who’d been sitting across from her were gone. There were no telltale backpacks in the seats they’d vacated, and nothing on the table to indicate they planned to return.

  I rounded the entire first floor to see if they’d simply relocated, but saw no sign of the two. I texted Detective Jackson again. Ruby and boy are gone now. Has phone moved? If so, it would point to one of them as being the dealer.

  It was several minutes before Jackson replied. Phone still in library.

  Blurgh! I wanted to toss up my hands in frustration. Who here in this library right now has that damn phone?!?

  I decided to try a different tack and wait outside the library. I led Brigit outside and took a seat on a bench nearby. I phoned Jackson to let her know my plan. “I’m sitting outside the library now. I was afraid I’d look suspicious if I kept walking around. Can you let me know when the phone moves outside the library?”

  “Sure.”

  I sat there for what felt like forever, the sun setting and the night growing dark, and still there was no contact from Jackson. I got up and walked Brigit around a grassy area within view of the library doors. I sat down in the dark under a tree with her and listened to the rhythmic chant of the crickets. Chirp-chirp-chirp. Still there was no contact from Detective Jackson.

  While the library schedule posted on the window indicated it was open twenty-four hours during the fall and spring semester, it closed at nine in the summer, reopening in the early morning. At nine, the lights dimmed, first on the third floor, then on the second, then on the first. The last remaining diehards filtered out into the night, none of them spotting me and Brigit watching from across the way. Other than Emily, none of them looked familiar. Still there was no contact from Jackson telling me the phone had moved. I wasn’t sure whether to try to follow any of these students or not. If so, which one? I had no idea. A couple of people I recognized as the front desk staff came out, locking the door behind them.

  I texted Jackson. Library just closed. Everyone seems to have left the building.

  She texted back. KingFish says phone is still in library.

  How could that be? Was the dealer a night janitor? Or had Ruby or Emily or whoever the dealer was left the phone behind by accident?

  I sent her another message. What should I do?

  Get some sleep, she replied. We’ll figure this out tomorrow.

  I roused Brigit and we headed back toward the dorm. Emily was still awake and working on chemical equations when we entered the room. Though I greeted her with a “Working hard, I see,” she either ignored my comment or didn’t hear me with her earbuds in. Regardless, she failed to greet me, apparently in one of her bad moods again.

  I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and put on my pajamas. Climbing into bed, I rounded up my laptop from the desk, sat facing Emily’s back so that she couldn’t see my computer screen, and opened a new document. Over the next few minutes, I pulled my scattered thoughts together and set about making an inventory of my list of potential suspects and the evidence both against them and in their favor.

  Suspect #1: My roommate Emily.

  Evidence against her: mood swings and appearance indicate possible drug use. She directed me into women’s bathroom in lobby of dorm where I found Fun Time Molly’s phone number. The vitamin C bottle found in air vent could belong to her. Fingerprint confirmation is pending. She was in the library when the dealer’s cell phone was pinged there. She could use some extra money.

  Evidence in her favor: 4.0 GPA. Would this make her too smart to get involved in drug dealing?

  Suspect #2: Ruby Rathswohl.

  Evidence against her: She was likely the girl with Miranda Hernandez at Panther Pavilion. Brigit alerted to drugs in her room. Though no drugs were found in a later search by campus police, she could have moved or sold them in the interim, or taken them out to the trash. Like Emily, she was in the library when the dealer’s cell phone was pinged there.

  Evidence in her favor: None.

  Suspect #3: Ashleigh White.

  Evidence against her: She sold pills to her visiting friend and Colby Tibbs, though they have both stated they believe the sales to be isolated cases rather than a regular business for Ashleigh. She has refused to cooperate with police unless given immunity deal.

  Evidence in her favor: She was not in the library when the dealer’s phone was pinged there.

  Suspect #4: Miranda Hernandez.

  Evidence against her: She used Molly on the Fourth of July. She could have sold Molly to Ashleigh White before the Fourth.

  Evidence in her favor: She was not in the library when the dealer’s phone was pinged. By all accounts she is not worldly enough to know how to run a drug operation.

  Suspect #5: Hunter.

  Evidence against him: He’d told me that drugs were easy to get, that all someone had to do was start asking around and a source would appear. He wasn’t forthcoming about whether he used drugs himself. He was in the library when the dealer’s phone was pinged there.

  Evidence in his favor: Brigit did not alert on his dorm room. He’s too cute to be guilty.

  Okay, yeah. I realized cuteness had nothing to do with whether or not the guy might be a drug dealer. But I simply couldn’t see it. I hoped my judgment wasn’t being clouded by the fact that he had a crush on me, which was flattering.

  Suspect #6: Logan.

  Evidence against him: Has a rumored lack of moral integrity, along with crotch critters.

  Evidence in his favor: He’s said nothing to indicate he does or sells drugs. Brigit did not alert on his dorm room. He was not in the library when the dealer’s phone was pinged there.

  Honestly, I wasn’t sure why I even put Logan on the list. While he was guilty of being a general sleazebag, there was nothing else that pointed to him being a drug dealer. Still, something about him got my senses tingling, and not in a good way.

  Suspect #7: Graham Hahn

  Evidence against him: I found drugs on him at Panther Pavilion the day Miranda Hernandez collapsed.

  Evidence in his favor: He has no apparent acquaintance with any of the victims.

  I realized that the evidence in Hahn’s favor, which Detective Jackson had initially thought to be important, seemed less relevant now. While he might not have much direct interaction with lowerclassmen, now that we knew the dealer was using cryptic bathroom messages, a secret cell phone, and e-mail and post office boxes to run the operation, the lack of direct contact no longer seemed to exonerate him.

  Part of me wondered whether I should add Paige McQuaid to the list. She seemed worldly, and had shown some knowledge about Molly when she’d talked about the importance of users staying hydrated. Of course she’d also stated that she didn’t use Molly and that she only knew what she knew because she’d “heard stuff.” But Brigit hadn’t alerted on Paige and Alexa’s room, and neither had been in the library when the cell phone was pinged there, so I felt comfortable leaving her off the list. After all, what college kid hadn’t heard something about drugs?

  My homework completed,
I saved the document for later reference, turned off my computer and desk lamp, and turned over to go to sleep, leaving my roommate to burn the midnight oil.

  THIRTY

  NIGHT LIGHT

  Brigit

  Something was wrong with their roommate.

  Unlike other humans, she seemed to be nocturnal, like a possum or a bat. While Brigit couldn’t tell time, of course, she knew by instinct that it was the wee hours of the night. Why Emily still had her light on, the dog had no idea.

  As Brigit watched from the foot of Megan’s bed, Emily popped a white pill into her mouth and washed it down with water from a plastic bottle.

  Emily might want to stay up all night, but the dog sure didn’t. Brigit turned to face the wall and put her paw over her eye to block out the light.

  THIRTY-ONE

  TRUMPED

  The Dealer

  He’d tried to negotiate, to barter a deal. He’d rationalized. He’d reasoned. He’d pleaded. Hell, he’d begged. And he’d failed. Miserably.

  After all his arguments, all the guy would tell him was, “I’ll think about it.”

  Think about fucking yourself, he was dying to say back. Donald Trump would have said it.

  Maybe it was true, after all, that nice guys finish last. Hell, he hadn’t been able to finish at all last night. She’d finally said, “I’ve been done for ten minutes now. Can we call it quits?”

  Maybe she should go fuck herself, too.

  Then and there, he made a vow to himself. He’d do whatever it took to get ahead. No more playing by the rules. And no more playing nice.

  Hell, the whole world could just go fuck itself.

  THIRTY-TWO

  IMMUNITY, IMPUNITY, IMPURITY

  Megan

  Halfway through my class Thursday morning, my phone jiggled with an incoming text. It was from Detective Jackson. Call me.

  Unfortunately, the interruption would cause me to miss the remaining discussion about polarization in American politics. But fortunately, the room was a large one with a back door that enabled me to quietly slip out without causing too much disturbance.

  I held Brigit’s leash close as we stepped through the door, and closed it as quietly as possible behind me. Knowing my conversation with Jackson could be overheard in the hallway, I hurried down the corridor and three flights of stairs, dialing the detective as I exited the building.

  She answered as I hurried over to a quiet place near a row of bushes.

  “We worked out the immunity deal with Ashleigh White,” she said.

  “Did she identify the dealer?”

  “Unfortunately, no. She got her Molly the same way you are, by calling the number she found in the bathroom and having the drugs sent to a PO box. She said they came in a small padded envelope.”

  “Does she have the envelope?” If so, it could be dusted for prints.

  “She threw it out.”

  Dammit! “What about the return address?”

  “She doesn’t remember there being one on the envelope.”

  “What about the postmark? Could she tell where the drugs had been mailed from?”

  After all, for all we knew there could be more than one person involved here. One person could be handling the money pickups, while another could be handling the delivery of the drugs.

  “She said she didn’t think to look. Kids these days don’t get much snail mail. They hardly know where to put a stamp, let alone know that they can tell where a package was mailed by the postmark.”

  I exhaled in frustration. “So she gave you no new information?”

  “A little. She said that her drop point for the cash was in the family bathroom at Chisholm Trail mall. She was told to tape the money underneath the countertop.”

  I was familiar with the mall, which sat within the boundaries of the Fort Worth PD’s W1 Division. Brigit and I had nearly been blown to smithereens by a bomb there.

  “The mall management is getting us a copy of the security-camera footage from the outer hallway. Of course there’s no footage from inside the room. It may take a few hours, but I’d like you to come take a look. I’ll text you when I’ve got it. You can review Hector’s dash cam video then, too. We weren’t able to identify anyone from it, but maybe you can.”

  “It’s a plan. Any luck with the IP address on the dealer’s e-mail?”

  “Our tech guy confirmed that your e-mail came from an IP address associated with the TCU library.”

  “That means the dealer has to be a student or staff member. So we’re definitely on the right track, right?” Given that TCU was a private university, access to the library was only granted to those with a student or staff ID.

  “It certainly looks that way,” the detective replied.

  “What about the cell phone?”

  “We’ve pinged it several times this morning. It hasn’t moved. I’m beginning to think that whoever it belongs to isn’t carrying it around with them.”

  “You think they left it in the library?”

  “Possibly.”

  I thought that tidbit of information over. “That would point to a staff member, too, wouldn’t it? If a phone were just lying around in a public area, someone would probably pick it up and turn it in to lost and found or keep it. But a staff member could have a cell phone plugged in at their desk and nobody would think twice about it.”

  “It would seem that way,” the detective said, “but I won’t be convinced until you’ve checked all the public areas. The phone could be plugged in behind a potted plant, or tucked behind a copy machine. Who knows?”

  It was my job to know. Or at least to try to find out. “I’ll go back and take a close look around.”

  “If you find the phone,” she said, “leave it in place for the time being. We don’t want to risk alerting the dealer if he comes to check on it.”

  “Got it.”

  “One more thing,” she said. “Ashleigh had a second pill in her purse. She’s turned it over to us. The lab is going to run it, see what else might have been in it besides MDMA. They can also compare it to the pills you found in the air vent and see if they appear to be from the same supplier.”

  With that, we ended the call.

  I made a beeline for the library. The building was even busier today than it had been the night before. I slunk around, surreptitiously checking out all of the outlets. While most were on the walls, a few of the beams contained outlets as well, while others had been installed in the floor and covered with flat plastic inserts to protect them.

  When I reached the bank of copy machines on the first floor, I set my backpack down on the floor next to them and pretended to riffle through it while I leaned forward and glanced behind the copiers. The three plugs in the twin outlets were attached to cords that ran to the machines. Nothing unusual here.

  I continued around the space. In a couple of spots, students studying had plugged their laptops and cell phone chargers into outlets near them. Nothing unusual about that, and given that they were being obvious about it, no red flags were raised.

  I led Brigit up to the second floor and we did the same. I looked around to make sure no one was watching me before checking behind the single copier on this floor. Nope. Nothing. More cell phones and laptops openly plugged into outlets, their owners working in close proximity.

  Like last night, the third floor was significantly less populated than the others, only a random student here and there, types who looked less sociable and/or more stressed out and had come to this floor for the relative peace and quiet. I meandered around and checked every outlet. Nope. Nope. Nope.

  I’d found nothing. How can that be?

  A student bent down and removed a book from a bottom shelf in one of the stacks, making me realize that there could be more outlets on the walls behind the books. The other outlets were placed about a foot high on the wall, give or take an inch or so. That would put the outlet’s height just under the second shelf.

  I cruised the room again, kneeli
ng down at each row of books that was set against a wall. In the far back corner my eyes spotted something plugged into an outlet behind a tall, thick hardback. Paydirt.

  I pulled out the book, an extensive treatise on the history of art in the Ottoman Empire, and peeked behind it. The thin cord ran down from the plug and disappeared under the bookshelf. I reached my hand behind the books and felt around. Sure enough, my fingers found something hard and rectangular that had to be a cell phone.

  Rather than contaminate the evidence with my prints, I left the phone there and replaced the book, making a mental note of its location so I could return just before closing time to remove it.

  I glanced up and around to see if there were any security cameras here that might have recorded the person plugging the phone in. Unfortunately, there were none. To be expected, I supposed. The dealer had taken pains to place the phone in a discreet place. He or she would have been smart enough to check for video cameras.

  I stood and led Brigit down the stairs and outside. Despite the dark thunder clouds that had begun to gather in the sky, the heat was as bad as ever. Worse even, because it was moist and humid, smothering the city like a wet blanket. It took only a minute of walking for my skin to break out in sweat and Brigit’s tongue to loll out as she panted.

  We returned to the dorm for lunch. I sat with Jasmine and another girl, today indulging in a pasta salad rather than a green salad for the sake of variety. As we ate and chatted, a loud crack of thunder came from outside. Brigit whimpered and attempted to climb onto my lap. It was hard to blame her. Last spring, she and I had been caught in a tornado that flipped our squad car over.

  “It’s okay, Britney,” I reassured her. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “Poor thing,” Jasmine said. “You think some pizza would make her feel better?”

  As if she understood she’d been offered people food, Brigit’s ears perked up and she looked from Jasmine to me. “Okay,” I told Brigit. “But only a little bite.”