To Catch a Killer(39)

I slide his pen back across the table. “Thanks, Chief. I have a pen.”

He closes his hand over mine, sealing the pen inside. “Please, Erin, I insist. This is a Conway Stewart. I have an aunt who lives in London and she used to work for the factory. Every year she would send me a whole box of these pens for free, because she knew they were my favorite. You can consider it a gift from me to you. After what you’ve been through, you could use a little something. Don’t you think?”

Before I can even answer, Sydney strides up. She gives me a little half smile, but otherwise she’s all business. “Here’s where we’re at, Chief. We’re all in agreement that we want him held on probable cause regardless of whether she makes a statement against him or not.”

I erupt out of my chair. “You can’t do that. He saved my life. Why can’t you people get that through your heads? That’s it. I want to see him. Now. I’m not saying another word until you let me.”

Rachel joins the conversation. “Sit down, Erin. You’re in no position to demand anything. Chief, every time she’s with that boy something bad happens.”

I plop down into my chair and aim a frustrated, helpless gesture to Victor. As the others wander back over to the door to continue plotting against Journey, Victor nudges the notebook and pen in front of me.

“Sketch me the layout. Where was the van, where were you, where was Journey?” he says.

Finally, someone is asking questions that make sense.

I quickly make a few marks on the page. I sketch a rectangle labeled van near the bottom, surrounded by some squiggles labeled junk and pallets. A line across the page is labeled stone wall. An X labeled house on the other side of the wall. A stick figure next to a scooter, labeled me, on the van side of the wall and finally, a stick figure Journey on the house side of the wall. Then I spin the notebook back to Victor.

He cracks his knuckles and looks it over for a couple of seconds. “How high is the wall?” I hold my hand up about hip height. He nods. “And this distance here?” He points to the space between the van and my stick figure. “About the same as the width of our yard?”

I agree.

He presses the pen into my hand. “Hold on to your socks,” he says.

Victor walks over to the whiteboard and erases what was on there. On one side of the board he quickly reproduces my sketch in bold black marker. He curls his lower lip in and whistles for attention.

The room goes silent as everyone stops talking and turns toward Victor.

“Here’s the question, folks.” At the top of the whiteboard he pens the key words as he says them. “Is it possible for a teenage boy to apply a brick to the gas pedal of a rickety van launching a deadly trajectory … then run, vault a four-foot-high wall, and drag an average-sized teenage girl to safety before the van can reach her?”

“Just so you know, Vic, that boy is a star athlete,” Principal Roberts says.

“Okay.” Victor scribbles the word “athletic” above the words “teenage boy.” “Any other qualifiers I need to factor in?” No one responds. Victor looks to me. “This is the layout, right?”

I nod.

“Okay. Let’s break this down. A Tesla Roadster Sport accelerates zero to sixty in three point seven seconds.” He draws a rocket on wheels. “I’ll assume Journey’s van has almost nothing in common with a Tesla Roadster?”

I shake my head and stifle a giggle.

“Then it’s probably fair to say the van would take at least ten seconds to achieve sixty miles per hour, giving it an acceleration of approximately eight point eight feet per second per second. I didn’t just stutter. I know it sounds weird, but that’s how you say it.”

I sneak a look at Rachel and the rest of the adults. While Victor is clearly enjoying the hell out of this, their enthusiasm for blaming Journey is sinking fast.

He continues. “Since we know the van traveled a distance of approximately eighty feet, we can use a basic physics formula and determine that it probably took the van about four seconds to hit the wall with a final velocity of twenty-five point eight miles per hour.”

Chief Culson interjects. “Okay. We’ve heard enough, Vic. You can stop there.”

Rachel, Sydney, and Principal Roberts head for the door. I don’t know what they’re going to do and they show no intention of including me in their plans.

“Wait. Don’t you want to hear how it’s technically possible?” Victor asks.

Sydney walks back to the whiteboard. “Are you saying he did it?”

“I’m saying Usain Bolt—the fastest man in the world, with a top sprint speed of twenty-seven point seventy-nine miles per hour—could’ve done it.” Victor writes this number on the board and underlines it. “Which means it’s technically possible … but highly improbable. I don’t see how holding this boy will generate the outcome you desire.”

Rachel takes Sydney by the arm and guides her toward the door. “Sorry. My brother’s always been an a-hole,” she mutters.

Meanwhile, I’m elated. Mini fist pump.

That. Was. Amazing.





20

Arches, loops, and whorls might sound like hot roller coaster moves but really they are how we distinguish between the three common fingerprint patterns.