by Mary Stone
She was definitely in a horror movie. In the background somewhere, a person was shouting at her to get the hell out of there while another leaned over to their friend to ask why that stupid girl had gone back for her bookbag in the first place.
Shit, shit, shit.
Why hadn’t she used the buddy system? Since second grade, her teachers had preached the gospel of the buddy system, but Emma either hadn’t cared or hadn’t listened.
Though Emma’s mom permitted her to carry pepper spray during the summer months, a can of mace would be enough to expel her during the school year. As she shouldered her backpack and crept away from the short row of lockers, she wished she had taken the chance. Instead, she would have to make do with her smartphone.
She dared a glance down to the screen only long enough to type in the PIN. Then another to tap the phone icon. And finally, a third to type the numbers 9-1-1. She moved her thumb to hover over the call button.
There. Now, if any creepy assistant coach leapt at her, the cops would show up to knock down the doors in less than ten minutes.
Each step Emma took was measured, and even her footfalls were soundless as she pushed open the metal door. She glanced up and down the hall before she willed herself to ease the door wide enough to let herself out of the locker room.
The set of double doors at the end of the corridor were automatically locked after five, and she mentally berated herself for the oversight. Since she couldn’t use the main exit—the doorway that led straight out into the parking lot—she had to walk the other direction. The alternate route would take her past the boys’ locker room, the entrance to the gym, and then the faculty offices. Any student who stuck around later than five had to checkout with the security guard in the principal’s office.
After a quick swipe to make sure the touchscreen didn’t go dark, she started on her painstaking journey. Another set of heavy double doors separated the hall from the main portion of the school, and Emma could only assume they would muffle any shouts or cries for help.
Swallowing against the sudden dryness in her mouth, Emma forced one foot in front of the other. A slat of golden light fell across the drab concrete floor, a slat of light that hadn’t been there before.
An hour earlier, the overhead lights had dimmed to a faint glow, and the brighter illumination stood out in stark contrast. The office was shared by a couple different assistant coaches, but this time of year, there was only one likely occupant.
She snapped her head around to take stock of the corridor, but nothing stirred. If Emma didn’t get out of that hallway soon, she was liable to lose her damn mind. Someone was here—she could hear them as they shuffled around the office.
“Mr. Yarr?” she called, her eyes flicking from her phone to the doorway and then back.
The crack between the door and the frame didn’t yield Emma a wide glimpse to the interior of the office, but her attention was drawn right away to the splotch of vivid crimson.
At first, she thought the red pool must have been a decoration or a prop.
Maybe one of the assistant coaches had taken it upon themselves to put out an early Halloween decoration.
If it was a prop, what in the hell was it supposed to be? A zombie? A dead person seated behind the coach’s desk?
As the door creaked inward, she heard herself take in a sharp breath.
The figure that blocked out the light from the doorway wasn’t Marco Yarr.
This man wore a black hoodie and dark wash jeans, not the polo and khakis that comprised the entirety of Yarr’s wardrobe. His eyes were dark, not the pale shade of blue she so often saw linger on the other volleyball players. From beneath the hood, she could see his ebony hair, could see that he hadn’t been stricken with the same receding hairline as Mr. Yarr.
But the cause of her gasp wasn’t the stranger, it was the way the white light glinted off the bald patch on the top of Marco’s head as he lay facedown in a growing pool of his own blood.
Every nerve ending in Emma’s body told her to run, to push open the heavy doors and sprint out past the principal’s office and into the parking lot.
She had saved money diligently over the past few years to buy her own car, and she wanted to find out how fast she could drive it away from this damn building.
Beneath the icy stranglehold of adrenaline, she struggled to breathe, much less manage an escape.
“I won’t hurt you.” Though the man’s tone was hushed, the bass in his voice gave the words a commanding edge.
“Y-you won’t?” she stammered.
He shook his head. “Nope.”
He was playing her. Again, she could hear the imagined movie watchers screaming at her to run. Instead, she found herself stammering, “B-but, I-I mean, I s-saw you, d-didn’t I?”
The slightest smile played across his clean-shaven face. “You did. And I’m sure you’ll do what you think is right once I leave.”
“What do you mean? Y-you, you killed…” Her eyes flitted past the man, and she had to swallow back bile. “Who are you?”
He chuckled softly as he held up both gloved hands. “Me? I’m no one. I got who I came for, and it wasn’t you.”
“You mean Mr. Yarr?”
Why was she conversing with a killer? She could hear the movie audience moaning at her stupidity.
As he nodded, the corner of his mouth turned down in a scowl. “That’s right. Marco Yarr was a predator. He preyed on the weak and the vulnerable, and he exploited his position of authority to keep his victims quiet. But Marco didn’t know that there are deadlier predators out there.”
“Holy shit,” Emma breathed. “Y-you killed him because he…because of what he did to those girls? That was all real?”
“It was,” the stranger confirmed.
She was curious now. Although she was still afraid, she wasn’t as afraid as she probably should have been. Was this man a hero? Saving her and others from the creep who could never ever hurt any girl again?
“But why?” she asked, her voice steadier now. “Did you know one of them? Are you one of the girls’ fathers?”
“No. You’ve heard the story of Artemis, right? The goddess of the hunt?”
She didn’t have to stray back far in her memory banks. She loved history. It was one of her favorite subjects. “Yeah. I have.”
“Artemis wasn’t just the goddess of the hunt,” he said, showing her the tattoo of Artemis on his forearm. “She was a protector for girls and women, for those who the scum of society might have preyed on otherwise. There’s no one like that in our society anymore. No one to catch the victims who fall through the cracks. The police do the best they can, but they can’t be everywhere, can’t know everything. So, that’s what I do. I take out the trash.”
“Oh my god,” she managed.
Though Emma didn’t pay much attention to the news, she’d spent enough time online to familiarize herself with The Norfolk Executioner. The last time he had been mentioned on television, Emma’s mom had muttered a comment about how the police should give him a job once they caught him.
The smirk was back as he stepped out of the doorway and turned to make his way to the double doors. As he pushed his way into the main cafeteria beyond, all Emma could do was follow his movements with her dumbfounded stare.
She could leave, she thought. She could forget what she had seen, and she could follow the tall man’s path out past the principal’s office and into the night. He would go on to live his life, and she would go about hers.
There were security cameras throughout the school, but based on the snippets she had read about him, he knew how to avoid detection.
Emma didn’t.
Once the cops reviewed the footage, it would be obvious that she had been in the same place as the killer.
Thinking hard, she thought through every cop show she’d ever watched.
She had to play this just right.
Just because she knew she had to call the police eventually didn’t mean she
had to dial the number right away. After all, she had just witnessed the tail end of a murder.
Sinking to the floor, she began to wail.
She was traumatized, after all.
35
Noah had been stretched out on his couch when he got the call from Max Osbourne. After he asked Max to repeat himself a couple times, he leapt to his feet to get ready to leave.
Winter was at Autumn’s apartment, and he called her on his way out the door to advise that they had another witness.
She had just finished a call with Max, and the SAC had given her the same option to stay home or come to the office that he had offered Noah. Bobby Weyrick, Sun Ming, Miguel Vasquez, Max Osbourne, and Chloe Villaruz were already at the FBI building, and Winter suspected there would be too many agents left to sit around and twiddle their thumbs.
Her assessment was accurate, and Noah mulled over her words even as he sped through a yellow light.
Based on what Max had told him, Sun was in charge of questioning the witness once her parents arrived. On a good day, the woman came across with the same level of hospitality he would expect from a cactus, and on a bad day, her demeanor was closer to a stick of dynamite.
Even if she was in a great mood, that left their only cooperative witness in the company of a prickly desert plant.
Had Levi Brandt already been present, Noah would have opted to stay home. He needed a break from the investigation and the FBI office as a whole. Tomorrow was Friday, but weekends didn’t mean much when they had a serial killer to track down. But in Levi’s absence, someone had to ensure the cactus didn’t get too close to their witness.
With a sigh, he shifted his pickup into park. He glanced up to the rearview mirror to make an effort to tame his hair, pulled the key from the ignition, and stepped out into the parking garage.
“Agent Dalton,” Max Osbourne greeted as Noah neared the cluster of desks that belonged to the Violent Crimes Division.
“Sir,” Noah replied with a nod. “Where’s everyone else?”
“The witness’s parents just got here. Come on, I’m headed to the interview rooms now. Agent Ming is usually good in the interrogation room.”
Noah wasn’t so sure. “She’s good at getting information from suspects, but with all due respect, Agent Ming’s strong suit isn’t talking to witnesses. Or, honestly, anyone we need to cooperate with us. Agent Black told me what happened with Gina Traeger and the Richmond PD, and we can’t afford to have that happen again.”
The SAC slid him a look. “Go on.”
“This isn’t a normal case with normal witnesses. We aren’t talking to a witness who saw someone like Ted Bundy out on the prowl. This guy, The Norfolk Executioner, or whatever in the hell people are calling him, he’s got a lot of sympathy from people in the community. Shit, he’s got a lot of sympathy from people in the bureau.”
“And you think Ming will fuck it up?”
Noah was on a slippery slope, and he knew it. “Again, with all due respect, Agent Ming can’t charge in there like her normal self. If she does, she’ll fuck this up for us like Detective Olson did with Gina Traeger. We’ve tried two more times in the past couple weeks to get something from Gina, and she stonewalled us both times. Someone needs to go into that interview room and talk to this kid and her family like they’re fellow human beings, not suspects.”
Max narrowed his eyes, but he nodded. “You’re right, Agent Dalton. Good call. You’re with Agent Ming, then.”
Noah’s intent had been to remove Sun Ming from the interview equation altogether, but he could tell by the SAC’s expression that he had made all the progress he could. Jaw clenched, he strode into the room behind the one-way glass.
“Evening, Agent Dalton,” Bobby Weyrick greeted. “Welcome to the night shift.”
“You’re the only person here who’s actually on the night shift,” Chloe Villaruz reminded him.
When the agent from Dallas flashed a grin at Bobby, Noah thought he saw a twitch of irritability on Sun’s face. As much as he wanted to dismiss the look as a figment of his imagination, he knew better.
Great, he thought. First Sun’s got a chip on her shoulder from the case, and now she’s pissy about Agent Villaruz smiling at Bobby Weyrick.
This was going to be a fun day. Night. Whatever.
He wished Winter was here, and for a split-second, he thought to excuse himself to call and beg for her to drive to the office.
Winter valued her time with Autumn, and ever since the start of the Haldane case, there hadn’t been many opportunities for the two women to get together outside the context of work. Plus, there were five other FBI agents present.
Too many cooks, he told himself.
If Winter was here, she would be relegated to the sidelines where she would lose her damn mind.
Instead, he decided he would make a mental note of all the awkward glances and uncomfortable pauses so he could regale the story to Winter later. In the meantime, he needed to study the school footage closely so he didn’t walk into that room sounding like an idiot.
“Agent Ming,” Max’s gravelly voice called out fifteen minutes later. “Agent Dalton. You’re both here, and the witness’s mother is with her. The rest of you, go look over that security camera footage again and get ahold of Agent Brandt if you need to walk through the scene. He’s at the school with the local cops, but he already sent us the two names on the index card. You know the drill, agents.”
More phone calls. Damn, it really was a good thing Winter wasn’t here.
The three Agents—Bobby Weyrick, Chloe Villaruz, and Miguel Vasquez—nodded their understanding before they let themselves out into the hall.
“All right,” Noah said as he glanced over to Sun. “Showtime.”
Two pairs of dark brown eyes shifted to the doorway as Noah stepped into the drab room, Sun close on his heels. He flashed the two a smile, and he could only hope the warm look was enough to counteract whatever glare they had received from his fellow agent.
“You’re Amber Olmsted, right?” Noah said. “I’m Agent Dalton, and this is Agent Ming.”
Sun offered a stiff nod as he gestured to her.
Biting back a sigh, he pulled out a rickety metal chair and dropped to sit.
“Agents,” the mother replied. Her posture was stiff, but there was no hint of malice on her unlined face. She might have been on guard, but she wasn’t hostile.
Not yet.
He forced himself to look amiable as Sun took a seat at his side.
Amber kept one protective hand clasped on Emma’s shoulder as she and her daughter exchanged glances. “You’ve got some questions for my daughter?” she asked.
“We do,” Noah confirmed.
“All right,” Ms. Olmsted said, squeezing her daughter’s shoulder. “Go ahead, Emma.”
Emma tucked a piece of wayward curly hair behind her ear and nodded. “Okay. What did you want to know, agents?”
As he folded his hands atop the table, Noah offered the teenager a reassuring smile. “Just start by walking us through your day after school ended.”
“Okay.” The girl took a deep breath. “Well, I, uh, I’m starting my junior year, and my coach, Coach Spring, not Mr. Yarr, he’s just the assistant coach. Coach Spring was helping me work on a scholarship to play volleyball at Virginia Tech. I wouldn’t have to take out any student loans, and I could study whatever I wanted.”
“What are you thinking of studying?” Noah asked.
He could feel Sun’s scrutinizing glare on the side of his face, but he ignored the petulant glance. They needed rapport with Emma Olmsted.
With a shrug, Emma took a sip from her bottled water. “I was thinking about actuarial science, but now I’m starting to think more about engineering. I’ve always been good at math.”
Amber Olmsted’s stony expression softened at the mention of her daughter’s college plans.
“My friend is really good at math too,” Noah replied. “But she went to school for psycho
logy. They use a lot of statistics, at least in school. I never knew it, but there’s a lot you can do if you’re good at math. We even have stats people at the bureau.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really. They do data analysis. You should check it out. Data analysis jobs are popping up all the time, and they’re out there in just about any industry you can think of. Law enforcement, medicine, business logistics, even agriculture. Being able to crunch numbers is a good skill to have.”
The start of a smile worked its way to Emma’s face, and for the first time, Noah thought the interview had a fighting chance. If Sun morphed into a cactus, at least Noah had established some semblance of rapport with the girl.
“He’s right,” Sun said, her voice icy but still professional. “It’s a versatile field. Is that why you stayed after school? To talk to your coach?”
Emma shook her head. “No. Coach Spring is on maternity leave. Mr. Yarr…” She paused and visibly shuddered. Noah wondered if it was because she’d seen the man’s body, or from something else. “Mr. Yarr is, was, just the assistant coach, but no. I wasn’t there to talk to him, either. I’m a little rusty from summer break, so I stayed to work on my serve.”
“Was there anyone else there with you?” Sun asked. “Isn’t it against school rules to stay alone that late?”
Emma frowned at Sun. “No, it was just me, and no, it isn’t against the rules or I wouldn’t have been there. Janitorial staff and security staff are there late, plus, there was another girl, but she left about a half-hour before I finished up.”
“Do you stay after school to practice a lot?” Sun’s intent stare was fixed on Emma.
“Yeah, well, mostly when Coach Spring is there. She helps me figure out what I need to work on, and then she’ll help me come up with a plan to get better at it.”
“She sounds like a good coach,” Noah put in.