Desmond nodded. “Any news on Burnett?”
“He has us a bit puzzled,” Farrow said. “We found a Nissan Leaf abandoned near a bus stop on Palmer Avenue.”
Farrow must have spotted the confusion on Desmond’s face because he spoke faster. “Do you know a Miss Blankenship? Emma Blankenship?”
He did not recognize the name, yet something about it sounded vaguely familiar. “I don’t think so.”
“She was Henri Laroche’s girlfriend,” Farrow said.
“Now I remember. I may have even met her once.”
“It’s her car. And we believe she’s helping Mr. Burnett.”
Desmond felt his eyebrows rise.
“We have video of them boarding a bus,” Farrow said. “The bus driver remembers them getting on—they were the only two at that stop—but couldn’t recall where they got off. We think they may have changed clothes and possibly gotten off between stops.”
“Why?” Desmond asked. He immediately recognized how foolish the question must have sounded.
“An attempt to trick us into believing they left town,” Farrow said. “Throw us off their track.”
“What time did they board the bus?”
“About 10:45 this morning,” Farrow said. “He still may be planning to pay you a visit. We’ve doubled the number of cars patrolling this area. We can have an officer stay in your house if you’d like.”
“No, no, that won’t do,” Desmond said. He thought quickly. Burnett almost got caught last night, yet he waited more than twelve hours to grab a bus out of town. He’s coming, and he’s coming tonight. “I’m having someone over this evening. I can’t cancel. Maybe after they leave.”
Farrow returned Desmond’s gaze with a puzzled look.
“I have an excellent security system,” Desmond said. “No one can get in if I don’t want them to. As long as you have police cars in the area, it should be fine.”
“You own a gun?” Mayweather asked.
“I don’t believe in violence of any kind.”
“I see,” Mayweather said. “Michael Burnett is suspected in two deaths. He’s considered extremely dangerous. Aren’t you concerned about your safety? Your wife’s?”
“No.”
“You’re not worried that he risked everything to stay in the area, do research on you, and may try to get in touch with you again?”
“You see, I don’t believe he killed Henri Laroche. And I don’t believe he killed that girl who was found in his trunk.” Desmond savored the surprised expressions that spread across both detectives’ faces. Keep them as confused as possible.
“Then you believe he’s been set up?” Mayweather asked.
“I’ve known Michael Burnett for some time. I had him in another class two years ago. And there is no way he could kill anyone. I’ve had other students whom I would have believed capable of such a thing. Not him.”
Farrow and Mayweather stared at each other, speechless.
“Now,” Desmond said, “I am certainly glad you have increased your patrols so someone can be here quickly in the event he does show up. But while waiting for your men to arrive, I would like to ask him what his interest is in me.”
Farrow’s expression graduated from confused to dumbfounded. “Okay, Professor. It’s your call.”
Farrow returned to the sedan, but Mayweather lingered.
“I admire your honesty,” Mayweather said. “And I know we can count on you to do the right thing if he does show up at your door.”
* * *
Detective Farrow eased the black sedan to the side of the road several hundred yards from Desmond’s house.
“What do you make of that?” Mayweather asked.
“I’m not sure he knows anything about his chairman’s disappearance. But he knows Burnett’s coming.”
“He wants him to. Burnett breaks in. Desmond kills him in ‘self-defense.’ The truth dies with him.”
“Perhaps,” Farrow said, not sounding convinced.
“If he hasn’t left town.”
“You really believe that?”
“We missed him by minutes yesterday. If he had no safe place to go, he might.”
“Maybe they’re in it together,” Farrow said, shaking his head. “Each one trying to confuse us about the other’s involvement.”
First, Farrow had proven he suspected Desmond was not as innocent as he came across. Now, he’d even floated the possibility of the professor’s involvement. Mayweather debated for a moment, then decided to push harder. “What if it’s Desmond alone?”
“Why?” Farrow asked. “Show me one scrap of evidence against him.” He paused, obviously waiting for a reply.
Mayweather had none.
“You keep coming back to him,” Farrow said. “I’ve no problem with your having a different opinion than where the facts point. But if you’re going to keep pushing this guy as a suspect, give me something. Anything.”
Mayweather remained silent and motionless. He refused to engage his partner’s stare. The man was right, yet Mayweather felt he could not be more wrong.
“I want an unmarked car at the end of the street,” Farrow said. “Until I know otherwise, I’m going to assume Burnett’s still in our back yard.”
He nodded, still deep in thought.
“Right now, though,” Farrow said, “there’s someone else I want to speak to again. Someone who’s not been entirely honest with us.”
Mayweather barely heard the statement. He’d made the difficult decision to do nothing to prevent Burnett’s attempt at Henri Laroche’s computer. Common sense told him to reconsider. All his training insisted it was a mistake. He was risking people’s lives and he knew it.
His gut, though, insisted he give Burnett one chance to prove his innocence. Something far more powerful than logic, and infinitely more potent than reason, had grabbed hold of his mind: emotion. Burnett had nobody in his corner. He deserved one shot.
* * *
Desmond stood in the kitchen, a phone clenched in his fist. He jabbed at a key and slammed the phone to his ear. He’s going to save me the trouble of tracking him down. And he’ll give me the perfect excuse for having him killed.
“Yeah?” Ryder’s voice snapped.
“It’s Desmond.”
“My caller ID works.”
“Thank you for your help this morning,” Desmond said, trying to ease the tension pouring through the speaker. Although Ryder had a sense of humor, at least that’s what he had heard, most of the time he was just a self-absorbed son-of-a-bitch. But he was a self-absorbed son-of-a-bitch who was damn good at what he did.
“Thank me after you get my bill,” Ryder said.
Desmond assumed he was trying to be funny, so he chuckled. Silence followed on both ends.
“You were right,” Desmond said. “We should have killed Burnett right away. Now we might have another chance.”
He waited for a response. None came.
“The police,” Desmond said, “thoughtfully informed me that Burnett has been reading up on me. Then he tried to convince them he had left town. I believe he’s coming to the house. Tonight.”
“Good,” Ryder said. “He enters your house, you call the cops, and he gets locked up for a long time.”
“That’s not going to work anymore. He may have gathered enough information to cause me more than just a little embarrassment.”
“Kill him when he comes in. Call it self-defense.”
“I don’t want the cops to even know he was here. No, I need you to make him disappear. A girl who’s helping him, too.”
“For a college professor you don’t have too much brains, do you? One of your students just took a flying leap. Your department chairman vanished from the face of the earth. And now you want to make another student and his girlfriend just disappear? After the dust settles, there’s gonna be an awful lot of people whispering your name.”
“What would you suggest?”
“There’s no easy way out now.”
Desmond sensed he had not finished, so he waited for him to continue.
“Your best bet is to make it look like a murder-suicide,” Ryder said. “As though Burnett and this girl were behind it all. The chairman knew something. They had to get rid of him. Then one double-crossed the other.”
“Sounds good,” Desmond said. “But they can’t be found here.”
“Sounds like shit. It’s just the best I can come up with.”
“How soon can you get here?”
“Things could get dicey if the police are nearby.”
“I asked them to keep a discreet distance. Told them I was having company tonight.”
“What if he doesn’t show?” Ryder asked. “What if the cops get him first?”
Legitimate questions, Desmond thought, but he knew Burnett would come. Obviously he would have preferred to dispose of Henri’s computer, but now that his immortality had been placed on hold, he needed it more than ever.
Burnett could be caught before he arrived, but he thought that unlikely. His student had managed to remain in town and elude the police this long. With so much at stake, he would find a way to do it a little longer.
“I’ll pay you whether he shows up or not,” Desmond said.
A long, drawn-out sigh traveled across the connection. “I’m not a big fan of risks. Especially unnecessary ones.”
Despite the reluctance of his words, Desmond could tell by his tone that Ryder had agreed.
CHAPTER 36
The sun had just set. Burnett and Emma strolled along the lightly traveled road. Modest homes near the parking garage had given way to the elaborate mini-mansions of Desmond’s neighborhood. Their new habit of walking only on side streets was a trade-off—less likelihood of encountering a police car, but increased time spent out in the open. To the best of his knowledge, there still had been no mention of Emma on the news, so no one would be expecting him to be traveling in the company of a young lady.
Burnett spotted a woman walking her dog on the opposite side of the street. The German shepherd strained at the leash and towed her forward. She was the fifth person they’d encountered since they’d exited the parking garage.
Spontaneously, he tugged down the brim of his baseball cap. Also out of reflex, he tilted his head back enough to determine whether she recognized him as she passed. She glanced their way for just an instant.
Burnett almost stumbled when he noticed the woman, who appeared to be in her mid-sixties, bore an uncanny resemblance to the woman whose station wagon he’d carjacked following his escape from the park. Although she now wore a powder-blue jumpsuit and her curly gray hair had been yanked back into a ponytail, he felt certain it was her. She’s working for the cops. They know where we are. They know where we’re going.
He shook off the absurd notion. The unwelcome cocktail of stress and sleep deprivation stubbornly obscured reason. He labored to regain control of his thoughts and pushed his attention to Emma.
Leading her into harm’s way provoked such ambivalence that he felt uncomfortable inside his own body. While he remained grateful not to be alone in his attempt to prove Desmond’s guilt, his feelings for Emma continued to grow, and it troubled him more and more that she was risking her future, maybe even her life, to aid him.
“I wish you’d reconsider,” Burnett said. “It’d be a lot more helpful if you stayed outside and watched for the police.”
“Don’t be a fool. There’s been nothing on the news about me. Who else is going to get him to turn off the alarm system? Who’s going to distract him while you wander through his house? Though I agree with Dr. Stone. Even if he took the computer, he probably got rid of it by now.”
“Maybe. But I know Henri’s computer was new enough to at least require a password. So I’m betting he’s had trouble accessing what he wants.”
“What if he doesn’t even need it? What if he’s already got a copy of the paper and just took the computer so no one else would find it?”
His body drooped. That possibility hadn’t occurred to him.
“All I know is,” she said, “if it’s not there, this is a suicide mission for nothing.”
He searched for a way to spin the conversation to his advantage. “All the more reason for you to wait outside.”
“You don’t search a man’s house without having someone distract him. And his wife, if she’s there.”
“Maybe they’ll be out.”
She stopped. “You have any idea how to deactivate an alarm system?”
Of course he didn’t.
He’d traveled thirty feet before he realized she no longer walked at his shoulder. He stopped, spun, and wandered back toward her. She stood, straight-backed, arms folded, and waited.
She was right. Despite her privileged upbringing, she possessed a street wisdom he envied. Either that or she watched a lot of TV. The second explanation sat better with him.
“Then we better hope he’s home,” she said as he arrived at her side.
“Can we keep going now?”
She took a step.
* * *
Mayweather and Farrow sat in a pair of high-backed chairs in front of the oversized, mahogany desk. With the wide-eyed look of a schoolboy, Mayweather admired the glass case in the far corner. Rare ancient Indian artifacts lined its shelves.
Photographs of ten- to fifteen-story buildings in varying stages of completion ringed the office. The spacious room sat on the top floor of a twelve-story building.
“You’re not being honest with us,” Farrow said and hopped up.
Mr. Blankenship squeezed the armrests of his plush leather chair, but remained seated. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You deny calling in a 911 this morning?” Farrow asked.
“You know I did. What is it you want?”
“You claimed Burnett was alone when you saw him.”
“And? I’m a busy man, Detective.” He peeked outside at the darkening sky. “I’ve already missed dinner. I’d like to spend a little time with my family this evening.”
“That include your daughter?”
“I have three. To which one are you referring?”
“Emma.”
“She’s at school.”
“Not far from here.”
Mr. Blankenship sprang to his feet and slammed his chair against the wall with the backs of his knees. The charcoal self-portrait affixed to the wall behind him quivered and threatened to fall. He leaned forward. “If you have a question, ask it.”
“Where’s she right now?” Farrow said.
“I have no idea.”
“She’s with Burnett, isn’t she?”
“You have no proof of that.”
“She was with him this morning, wasn’t she?” Farrow guided his fingertips to the desktop. The two men’s faces bobbed less than a foot apart. Mr. Blankenship opened his mouth to speak but Farrow cut him off, “Don’t bother to keep denying it.”
As Mayweather’s gaze flitted between them, the sense that he’d met Mr. Blankenship before surfaced. He couldn’t remember where or when, but the longer the sensation persisted, the more certain he became.
“You weren’t there, Detective,” Mr. Blankenship said, his voice quiet now.
“So you just happened to be driving down the same street Burnett was on this morning?”
Despite the late hour, Mr. Blankenship looked fresh. His suit did not have the wrinkles one would expect after a full day at the office. Nor was there any sign of five o’clock shadow, despite the fact that it was well past five.
“And,” Farrow said, “you just happened to skid to a stop across the road, then get out and drop your keys in the sewer?”
Farrow’s knowledge of the incident clearly alarmed him.
“Yes,” Farrow said. “One of our men found them in the drain. Want to try again?”
“Fine, he had her car. But she wasn’t with him.”
“Then how’d your car keys end up in a sewer pipe?�
�� Farrow asked. “You telling me Burnett dropped them in while you were on the phone?”
“What difference does it make? Yes, I had a GPS device installed in her car. So what?”
“First, you could have told us so we could have found them,” Farrow said. “And second, I think you know more about where they are than you’re telling us.”
After a minute Mayweather gave up trying to recall where he’d met Emma’s father. “We’re not your enemies,” he said. “In fact, I feel I know you. Have we met before?”
“I have no idea,” Mr. Blankenship said, dismissing the question with a shake of his head.
“We want to help you, and we want to help your daughter,” Mayweather said. “We can’t do that unless you cooperate with us.”
“What will happen to her?” Mr. Blankenship asked.
“As it stands right now,” Farrow said, “she’s aided and abetted a suspected murderer.”
“You don’t know that,” Mr. Blankenship said. “And if she is with him, and I don’t believe she is, she could be his hostage.”
“If she is on the run with him,” Farrow said, “and more people are killed, I’m sure the DA will find additional charges to file.”
Mr. Blankenship grimaced.
“The sooner we find them,” Mayweather said, “and bring this to an end, the better for everyone.”
An expectant silence filled the room.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” Mr. Blankenship said. “I don’t know where they are.”
Mayweather braced for his partner’s explosion, but Farrow simply stood there, his face reddening. Farrow reached into his pocket and yanked out his iPhone. He set it on the desk, parallel to the front edge.
Farrow glared at Mr. Blankenship. “This is a recording from an answering machine that will be entered into evidence against your daughter when she’s found.”
He clicked a button, and Emma’s voice shouted from the device: “Get out of there! The police know where you are! Get out of there now. Meet me at Henri’s favorite restaurant.”
Farrow jammed the iPhone back into his pocket. “We were two minutes away when she called and warned him. You still think the hostage angle’s gonna fly?”
Mr. Blankenship fell back into his chair, a defeated man.
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