To Catch a Killer(46)

23

Tracking Internet activity is one of the easiest forms of forensic surveillance. Every mouse click and key press can be traced by a computer specialist.





—VICTOR FLEMMING


Rachel is already at work and Lysa and Spam are allowed to come over anytime, but getting the forbidden Journey past Victor could be a problem.

I finish my homework around five-thirty and head downstairs. Victor and Principal Roberts are collapsed around the kitchen table guzzling neon sports drinks.

Sweat streams down Victor’s neck and his T-shirt clings to his torso in damp patches. “Man, I’m at the gym four days a week, but you killed it out there,” he gasps. “Who do you play with to stay in that kind of shape?”

Mr. Roberts is damp, too, but he appears less exhausted than Victor. He blots his forehead with a small towel. “It’s high school, those guys can play for days,” he says. “Seriously, our team went all-state last year. I try to hang out with them once or twice a week.” He grins as I enter. “Hey, there’s the little lady. Grab a seat.”

I try not to think about the fact that my high school principal is in our house and just focus on how long I’ve known him … basically, since I started kindergarten. He called me “little lady” back then, too.

I slip into my chair and curl my foot up under me. “Should I even ask who won?”

“No,” Victor says. He slips off his shoes and pretends like he’s going to toss one at Principal Roberts. “This guy here totally humiliated me. It was like being time-warped back to high school.”

“Hey, wasn’t me dishing out the humiliation back then. It was Chuckles. And, if you recall, he smoked both of us.”

Victor snorts. “I saw him yesterday. He’s the same pompous bag of crap he always was.” Victor glances at me. “Sorry, you didn’t hear that.”

I shrug. “No worries.” He must mean Chief Culson, whose real name happens to be Charles.

Victor stuffs the basketball shoes into the gym bag and nudges it toward Roberts with his toe. “Thanks for the loan of the shoes, that was fun.”

Principal Roberts nudges the bag back to Victor. “Keep them here, at least until you leave. Maybe we’ll have the chance to do it again. They’re my old pair anyway.”

“If you insist. I’m entitled to a rematch.” Victor picks up the bag and takes a few steps to the hallway outside the kitchen. He opens the closet door, which is built into the space under the stairs, and stashes the gym bag inside. At first it seems weird that he would make himself so at home. Then I remember that he and Rachel grew up in this house.

I glance at the clock. It’s a quarter to six, and the girls will be here soon. I send Journey a text asking him to hold off. First I need to figure out what Victor has planned.

“So you know Rachel won’t be home for dinner tonight, right?”

Victor nods. “She called a little while ago. I’m going to run through the shower and then Carl’s taking me out on the town.”

Mr. Roberts grins. “I promised to show him the Iron Rain nightlife.”

“That’ll take fifteen minutes,” I joke. It gets a laugh out of both of them. I hope they don’t notice how relieved I am that I’ll have the house to myself for a couple of hours.

Victor plucks a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet. “Rachel told me to buy you a pizza. Will this cover it?”

“Yep.” Normally, I’d mention that Spam and Lysa are coming over, but with our principal sitting right here, I pass. He already knows more than enough about us.

Instead, I stuff the bill into my pocket. “Have fun, you guys.” I’m smiling as I head back to my room to send Journey another text.

About thirty minutes later, Victor and Principal Roberts are gone, and the pizzas and Lysa and Spam have arrived. I lead them upstairs to my bedroom.

“Where’s Journey?” Spam asks. “Did he bail?”

“No. He’s on his way.” An awkward silence develops between the three of us as we just stand there in my bedroom. Finally, I clasp my hands together and take a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to show you something and I don’t want you to freak out.”

Spam slides her tongue over her teeth and exchanges a heavy eyebrow look with Lysa. I’m getting a little sick of all the meaningful looks going on around here.

“It’s nothing bad. In fact, it’s actually really cool. It’s just something I haven’t told you about yet.” I open the door to my closet and perform the ritual of moving in the desk chair, standing up on it, and pulling down the stairs. I don’t tell them, but I’ve left the balcony doors unlocked for Journey.

“You want us to see your attic?” Lysa asks.

Bringing the pizzas, paper plates, and napkins with me, I head up the ladder. “Yes. C’mon.”

First Spam and then Lysa tromp up the ladder behind me. Balancing the pizzas over my head, I slide through the narrow opening at the top and switch on the light. I motion them past the decoy pile of junk and into the open area. I’m slightly breathless at what they’ll think of my makeshift lounge/lab.

Their faces are a mix of confusion and awe.

“Where did all this stuff come from?” Spam asks.