Bloody Genius (Virgil Flowers, #12)(98)

“So Krause can do voices—like the CD, and China White tip we got,” Trane said.

“Yeah. And the rest of it: there’s a Clue game in Megan Quill’s closet, and he’s a fanatic gamer. He’s been toying with us, all those Clue names: Green, White, Peacock, Blackie, the dog. Here’s another thing: he went to high school in England for eleventh grade, and Megan said he came back with an accent. He said Barth Quill’s girlfriend was wearing English riding clothes and had a dog named Blackie. Well, in the English version Clue Mr. Black is the victim; in the American version, it’s Mr. Boddy. Krause played the game in England . . . I don’t believe there’s actually a girlfriend; I think he made her up of composites of people he saw in that Starbucks—a woman in riding clothes, a guy with a dog.”

Knox pressed his index finger to his lips, thinking, then said, “Okay. I’m buying it.”

“So am I,” Trane said. “Because I’ve got one more thing that Virgil doesn’t.”

Virgil: “What?”

“After you called last night, I got up early and got Krause’s phone records,” Trane told Virgil. “His phone was often blacked out, as if he’d pulled the battery.”

“That little asshole has a Faraday bag,” Virgil said. “He used it on Quill’s telephone.”

“That’s what I think,” Trane said.

Knox: “I’m buying it, but I don’t think we’re going to find a judge who’ll issue us a search warrant on the basis of Krause playing Clue and the coincidence of those names.”

“Not really a coincidence,” Virgil said. “He knew the Green name, and he played on that with the others.”

“Do you think we could get a warrant?” Knox asked.

“Maybe with the right judge.”

“Not here in Hennepin. Maybe from one of those good ol’ boys down in Hogwash Corners, but not here,” Knox said. “Maggie, what do you think?”

“I think you’re right,” she told Knox. “We’re not there yet, on a warrant. I’ve talked to Megan Quill a couple of times. She felt bad about her father, even if they had a rough relationship. I know for sure she’s freaked out about Renborne. I think we talk to her. I think we can set a trap, if she’ll cooperate. Bug her room. Get Krause in there . . .”

“Could work,” Knox said.

“Gotta be careful,” Virgil said. “If he reacted like he did with Barth Quill, he could whack her with something before we could get in the room.”

“We also have to be ready for an adamant and detailed denial of why he couldn’t have done it,” Knox said. “Get that on tape and it’d get a lot tougher in court later on; the jury would hear nothing but a denial.”

“Let’s work through all of that, do some brainstorming,” Trane said. “Maybe we don’t have to get Megan involved. If we do, we’ll have to be careful.”

“All we need is enough to get a warrant,” Virgil said. “I’ll bet you a zillion dollars that he’s still got that computer. I’ll bet he’s hotter for that laptop than he is for Megan Quill.”

Knox asked, “Which one of you is going to talk to Quill?”

Trane and Virgil glanced at each other and simultaneously said, “Both of us.”





CHAPTER





TWENTY-FIVE



Virgil and Trane drove over to Megan Quill’s apartment, but she wasn’t there. Virgil called her a half dozen times, walking up and down the sidewalk outside her apartment. Each time, the phone went to voice mail. But, in Virgil’s experience, people Quill’s age tended to walk around with their cell phone in their hands, and his persistence eventually paid off. On the sixth call, she answered, with a weak, tremulous, “Who is this?”

“Virgil Flowers. We need to talk to you. It’s pretty urgent. Where are you?”

“Student center. What do you want to talk to me about?”

“Best to do it face-to-face,” Virgil said. “We’re at your apartment. Do you want us to come over there or do you want to come here?”

“I’m with a girlfriend.”

“This talk has to be a private. So, whatever you think, but it has to be private.”

After a moment, she said, “I’ll walk home. It’s five to ten minutes.”

“We could pick you up.”

“No, I’ll walk.”

She took longer than five to ten, long enough that Virgil started to worry, but Trane said, “Girls that age don’t always have a tight grip on the passage of time. Give her a few more minutes.”

And, a few minutes later, they saw her coming down the sidewalk, head down, hair loose and frizzy, carrying a backpack by a single strap over her shoulder.

Virgil said, “She looks like she’s been hit hard.”

Trane agreed. “She has been. Death of a lover, first dead man she’s ever seen, and she found him. She’ll remember this all of her days. She’ll be sad all of her days.”



* * *



—

When Quill came up, she raised her head and looked at them, and asked, “Is somebody else dead?”

“No, nothing like that,” Virgil said.