Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(85)

Two patrolmen were questioning the driver when Conor ran into the Rittenhouse.

Gerome paced the lobby.

“Does he remember anything?”

“No.” Gerome stopped and shook his head. “Someone zapped him as he came out of the stall. Whoever it was dragged him into the utility closet, stole his clothes and keys, and tied him up.”

One of the cops walked over. “Are you the boyfriend?”

“Yes.” Conor gave him his personal information. “Do you have any clues? What about tracking the GPS in her cell phone?”

“The town car is fitted with a GPS. We’re trying to get a position on it now.” The cop looked grim. “Her purse was found in the street in front of the museum. Her phone was inside.”

Pacing, Conor dialed the museum, but the after-hours message played. He tapped Gerome on the shoulder. “I’m going to the museum. Call me if anything happens here?”

“Will do,” Gerome said.

A police cruiser was parked at the curb in front of the museum. An officer was in the foyer, talking to the guards and a tall man Conor recognized from the fund-raiser as Louisa’s boss. Conor banged on the door. Cusack opened it.

Conor pushed his way inside and introduced himself. “Where’s Louisa?”

Cusack crossed his arms over his chest. “The police are reviewing the security camera footage. The guard saw Dr. Hancock walking toward a black sedan about fifty yards down the street. That’s all he saw. It was rush hour. Most of the office staff was heading out. We’re not open on Monday nights.”

A second cop hustled down the hall.

“Are you familiar with the museum murder case?” Conor asked.

“Every cop in the city knows about the case,” the cop said and then turned to Cusack. “Did anything unusual happen here today?”

“The whole office was out of sorts. Between the news that Isa Dumont had disappeared and Professor English had been arrested, everyone was in shock.” He paused. “I doubt that it’s connected, but just before she left, Dr. Hancock brought a box to my office. She claimed to have found it in one of the third-floor storage rooms. We’ve had a petty thief in the museum over the past few weeks. The box contained some of the items the staff had reported missing. I called the detectives in charge of the case. They weren’t available, so I left a message.”

“Would you show us the box?” the cop asked.

“Of course.” Cusack led them to his office. “We changed cleaning contractors this week in hopes that would solve the problem. The things seemed to go missing at night.”

Conor and the cop looked into the box of random personal items.

The cop pulled gloves out of his pocket and lifted the museum brochure onto the desk. He opened it, and a pile of papers fell out, including what appeared to be a map printed off the Internet. “It’s a map.”

Conor pointed to a fat line on the map. “The expressway.” He moved his finger to tap two wavy squiggles. “The Delaware and Schuylkill Rivers.”

They identified other landmarks.

“I wonder what these stars mean?”

“They’re numbered. One and two are in North Kensington. Number three is in West Philly. Number four is in Camden.” Conor squinted at the tiny marks.

The cop looked over Conor’s shoulder. “Those aren’t the best neighborhoods.”

“Wait. The first two bodies were found in North Kensington.” Conor’s heart clenched. The blood it pumped through his veins turned refrigerator cold. “Number three must be Isa. Louisa is the fourth victim. That means she’s in Camden.”

“I think you’re right.” The cop reached for his radio and turned toward the corridor.

Camden, New Jersey, then. It had to be.

But what if he was wrong?

“You need to talk to Detectives Jackson and Ianelli,” Conor shouted after the officer. He grabbed the map, carried it out of the director’s office, and ran off a copy at the machine next to the secretary’s desk. He hit the hallway running before the cop turned around. He read the map as he bolted down the main corridor and through the lobby.

“Wait!”

Conor stopped and turned.

“They located the town car,” the officer shouted down the hall. “In the Delaware River.”

Conor paused, terror freezing his feet in place for a few long seconds. No. He couldn’t believe she was dead. He wouldn’t be able to function. She couldn’t be gone. “Was anyone inside?”

“Not that they could see,” the cop yelled. “They won’t be able to open the trunk until it’s pulled out of the water.”

Conor ran out on the implication that Louisa could have been in the trunk. His Porsche was still illegally parked out front. He jumped in and roared away from the curb. Detective Jackson hadn’t called back. Conor headed toward the Ben Franklin Bridge. He raced down Market and made a left onto Fifth Street. The bridge loomed bright in the night sky, its lighted frame spanning the Delaware River. Somewhere on the other side of that dark width of water, Louisa faced a killer.



The car door opened. Louisa lay on the seat. She’d managed to roll onto her side, but the ride had been short, not even long enough for her to regain complete use of her body after the electrical shock. She blinked, temporarily blinded by the vehicle’s interior dome light. Outside, everything was dark.