To Catch a Killer(80)

The betrayal is overwhelming, followed by extreme sadness. Somehow I have to grasp that a man I have known and trusted my entire life is responsible for ruining it.

Not once … but twice.

I don’t know why, but I do now know, without any doubt, that Principal Roberts not only killed Miss Peters and tried to kill me—he also is the one who killed my mother and left my two-year-old self locked up alone with her body.

Why? Why would he do this to me?

I can’t reach Victor, but I’m certain Principal Roberts has Journey, no idea why, and I need to get to him before … well, I’m not going to think about that. I just need to get to him.

I don’t know what happened to Mr. Roberts. But he’s reasonable and I’m persuasive. I’m sure I can talk this through with him.

I race up to my room and change clothes: dark jeans, dark turtleneck, tennies, heavy jacket, and knit cap. Ready for anything. Before I leave, I pause in front of my laptop. I quickly send an e-mail to Lysa that just says, “Something’s going down. Call me if you can.” I race downstairs and stuff the shoes, the armband, the note, and the luminol into my bag. I pick up the extra set of keys to Rachel’s car, lock up the house, and hurry into the garage.

Information is power, and I’m armed with a buttload of it.

It’s nine-thirty and the streets of Iron Rain are quiet as a tomb. The only places still open are clubs and bars. I drive past a few, looking for Victor’s bright red rental car. Then I remember he said he was going to check on something at the police station.

I make a U-turn in the middle of the street.

At the station, I park in front and hurry inside. I recognize the sergeant at the desk, but don’t remember his name.

He gives me a smile. “What can I do for you, little lady?” I shoot him a smile, too. It’s forced, but I don’t think he can tell. Then he blinks and gets that look. “Oh. Hey. You’re Rachel’s daughter, aren’t you?” he says.

And there it is, the “I-remember-what-happened-to-you look-away” look.

I sigh. He can’t help it.

I offer my hand. “Yes. Hi. I’m Erin.”

“Mike,” he says, giving my hand a shake.

“Thanks, Mike. Listen, I’m in kind of a hurry. Is my uncle Victor here?”

“The FBI guy?”

“Yeah. He said he was coming over to check on something.” I shift from one foot to the other, trying not to panic over how much time this is wasting.

Mike shakes his head. “I haven’t seen him, but I just came on half an hour ago.”

“Could he be using the computer in a back room or something?”

“I doubt it. It’s pretty quiet here tonight, but I’ll check.” He picks up the phone and dials an extension, says a few words, then looks at me and shakes his head no.

“Okay. Thanks.” I whirl and race down the hallway to the door.

Mike calls after me, “Hey. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I say, twisting my hand over my head in an effort at a crazy backward wave. There’s no time to explain. I shoot out through the door, allowing it to bang behind me.

I’m really not fine, though. Not fine at all.

The only place I can think to go is to Spam’s house. Was it just this afternoon that she said those words to me? When Journey and Victor bail on you, you’ll come crawling back to us.

With a sigh, I start the car. She won’t refuse to help me. Not straight to my face.

*

I race up Spam’s stairs to her back door and tap lightly. Mr. Ramos peeks out from behind the curtain. When he sees that it’s me, he opens the door. He’s in the kitchen in his bathrobe eating ice cream.

“Hi, Mr. Ramos, sorry to come by so late.”

“No problem, Erin. She’s in the computer room. Pow-pow, pow-pow.” He pretends like he’s firing a gun with his finger. “She drives me crazy with those games.”

“Thanks.” I enter Spam’s computer room, which looks a lot like command central in the Batcave. Her desk is a wide semicircle with a spot carved in the middle for her to snug up in her desk chair. She has an array of three flat-screen monitors on the desk, two keyboards, and a laptop. And they’re all running views of some colorful, altered universe.

“Die!” Spam mutters as her fingers tap her keyboard.

“Spam?”

“Ahh-hahahaha,” she crows softly. “Got you. And you.”

“Spam?”

She ignores me.

I cross the darkened room and place my hand on her shoulder. She explodes out of the chair and rips off the headphones.

“Erin. You scared the crap out of me.”

I press my hands against my chest because I swear it’s the only thing keeping my heart inside. “Sorry.” I gulp air, trying to catch my breath. “I called your name, but…”

She tosses her headphones on the desk. “What’s up? You look freaked.”

I lean against her chair because my knees are shaking so hard I can hardly stand. “I need your help.”

“Okay,” she says, patting the chair. “Sit down. We’ll talk.”

“No time. We have to go.”

She stands up. “Where are we going?”

I flail my arms. “I’m not sure. I just know we have to go.”