Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun (Finlay Donovan, #3)(41)

“I’ll go to that one. What else?”

“There’s a forensics presentation in the auditorium, a K-9 demonstration on the drill field, and an arson presentation scheduled in the fire tower.”

Vero shuddered. “Pretty sure we’ve both seen enough of that. When do we get to the fun stuff?”

“Looks like we get to pick two hands-on classes tomorrow. A few patrol officers are offering ride-alongs,” I said, tapping Roddy’s name on my schedule. “I’ll sign up to ride with Roddy. That’ll give me a few hours with him at least.” We could affirm him as a possible suspect or scratch him off our list.

“Nuh-uh,” Vero said, snatching the schedule from me. “You’ve been on three ride-alongs with Nick already. I’m signing up with Roddy. You can take firearms training with Wade. You still have the bullet we dug out of the Aston?”

“It’s in my gym bag.”

“Bring it with you. Maybe he can tell you something useful about it.”

“Where am I supposed to tell him I found it?”

“You’re the storyteller. Make something up.”

We both clammed up as Max and Riley exited the food line with their trays, searching the bustling cafeteria for two empty seats. Max gave us a broad grin when she spotted us, making a beeline for our table.

She and Riley dropped into the seats across from us. “We missed you at the movie last night,” Max said to me, breaking the seal on her carton of milk. “Sucks that we couldn’t stay to watch the end, but at least we got to practice using the extinguishers. It took two of them to put the fire out.”

“Two? For popcorn in a microwave?” I shot Vero a look. “Must have been a pretty big fire.”

Vero smiled. “No hotter than your next book.”

“Speaking of your books,” Max said between spoonfuls of oatmeal, “we researched some of your earlier publications last night in preparation for our interview. And we read all twenty-four of your Amazon reviews.”

Vero nudged my elbow. “Hear that, Finn? You got one more. I wonder who wrote it?”

Riley consulted his notes. “Some guy calling himself FarmerSteven.” Great. My ex-husband had resorted to leaving me book reviews.

Vero rolled her eyes. “And what did FarmerSteven have to say?”

“He said your work is ‘a fine example of contemporary American literature.’ And he said the sex was good, if a bit unrealistic.”

Vero slammed her hands on the table. “Good? He thought the sex was good? That man wouldn’t know good sex if it was happening in his own damn pants!”

“We also read that article in the gazette about your new series,” Max said. “The one about the assassin. That must be so challenging to write from the point of view of the villain.” She and Riley each uncapped a pen. Were they taking notes?

“She’s not a villain. She’s the hero,” I corrected her.

“She’s really more of an antihero,” Vero said. “Admit it, Finn. Your lady killer is deeply flawed.”

“She’s not deeply flawed. She has a very strong moral compass, thank you very much. She’s just…”

“An opportunist,” Vero said as I said, “… misunderstood.”

Riley nodded, scribbling furiously. “Max and I were curious,” he said. “What kind of research do you do to put yourself inside the head of a killer?”

Chocolate milk shot out of Vero’s nose.

I kicked her under the table. “Mostly Google.”

Max looked up from her notes. “Too bad there aren’t any forensic profilers on the faculty. You know, like Clarice Starling from the movie last night? Someone who could help you really understand who your assassin is and what makes her tick.”

I set down my coffee. Curious, I reached for my schedule, skimming the classes. Vero frowned suspiciously as I bolted to my feet.

“Would you look at the time! We don’t want to be late for Dr. Kirby’s seminar.” I scooped up my tray, urging Vero to follow.

“But our interview!” Max called after us.

“Later!” I promised.

Max was right … there were no forensic profilers at the academy, but a department psychologist just might do.



* * *



Vero and I had agreed to split up at the stairwell. Vero went to Samara’s class on cybercrimes and I had made it to Stu’s class just as it was starting. I’d slid silently into a seat in the back of the room, strategizing a list of questions I planned to ask him and, more important, how to frame them, when I’d become engrossed with his lecture, nearly forgetting why I was there. His presentation on victims’ advocacy covered a broad swath of dark terrain, from human trafficking to domestic violence to sexual assault, including accounts of actual cases and his experience working with both the victims and the law enforcement professionals who’d been involved. I couldn’t help wondering what he and Nick talked about every week, or the kinds of traumas Nick had been a witness to.

I lingered in the classroom as the other students filed out after Stu’s lecture. He smiled when he spotted me, as if he knew who I was. I introduced myself and extended a hand.

“It’s good to meet you, Finlay,” he said, confirming my suspicion as he set down his messenger bag to shake my hand. “Nick speaks very highly of you.”