Fair Warning (Jack McEvoy #3)(79)

“Hammond. Maybe they knew about you. Hammond warned the Shrike and the Shrike started eliminating threats. You are a threat, Jack.”

I broke away from her and started walking down the two-row parking lot, looking for a Tesla or any car with someone sitting behind the wheel. I found nothing.

Rachel caught up to me.

“He’s not here,” I said. “Maybe I’m totally wrong about this. I mean, we’re talking about a composite. It could be anybody.”

“Yes, but you saw Gwyneth’s reaction,” Rachel said. “I don’t usually put much stock in composites, but she thought it was dead on. Where did you go after the coroner’s office?”

“Back to the office to feed everything I had to Emily.”

“So he knows where FairWarning is. I didn’t pay attention when I was there, but could he have had any sort of angle of view from the outside?”

“I think so, yes. The front door’s glass.”

“What could you see from the outside, looking in? Could he have seen you working with Emily?”

I thought about the times I had gotten up and gone to Emily’s cubicle to confer with her. I pulled my phone.

“Shit,” I said. “She should know about this.”

There was no answer on Emily’s cell. I next called her desk line, though I assumed she would not still be at the office.

“No answer on either of her phones,” I reported.

My concern was now tipping toward fear. I could see the same apprehension in Rachel’s eyes. All of it was amped up by the interview with Gwyneth Rice.

“Do you know where she lives?” Rachel asked.

I called Emily’s cell again.

“I know it’s Highland Park,” I said. “But I don’t have the exact address.”

“We need to get it,” Rachel said.

No answer. I disconnected and called Myron Levin’s cell. He answered right away.

“Jack?”

“Myron, I’m trying to check on Emily and she’s not answering her phones. Do you have her address?”

“Well, yeah, but what’s going on?”

I told him of the suspicion shared by Rachel and me that I had been followed earlier in the day by the killer at the center of the story we were writing. My concern immediately transferred to Myron and he put me on hold while he searched for Emily’s address.

I turned to Rachel.

“He’s getting it,” I said. “Let’s start driving. Highland Park.”

I walked to the passenger side of her car as she took the driver’s seat. We were out of the parking lot by the time Myron came back on the line and read off an address.

“Call me as soon as you know something,” Myron said.

“Will do,” I said.

I then suddenly thought about Myron and the times Emily and I had conferred with him at the office.

“Are you home, Myron?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said.

“Lock the doors.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking that.”





37

I entered the address Myron had given me into my GPS app and muted the command voice. I gave Rachel verbal directions because the incessant commands from the app were always annoying. The app showed we were sixteen minutes away. We made it in twelve. Emily lived in an old brick-and-plaster apartment building on Piedmont Avenue off Figueroa Street. There was a glass entry door with a keypad to the left with individual buttons for eight apartments. When repeated pops on unit 8 did not receive a response, I hit all seven other buttons.

“Come on, come on,” I urged. “Somebody’s gotta be waiting for Postmates. Answer the damn door.”

Rachel turned and checked the street behind her.

“Do you know what she drives?”

“A Jag but I saw a parking lane leading to the back. She probably has a space back there.”

“Maybe I should go—”

The electronic lock snapped open and we went in. I never looked at which unit had responded and finally opened the door, but I knew if we had gained entrance so easily then the Shrike could have as well.

Unit 8 was on the second floor at the end of the hallway. No one answered my heavy knocking and calling out of Emily’s name. I tried the door but it was locked. I stepped back in frustration, a dread growing in me.

“What do we do?” I asked.

“Call her again,” Rachel said. “Maybe we hear the phone through the door.”

I walked down the hall twenty feet and called. When I heard the phone start ringing on my end, I nodded to Rachel. She leaned an ear toward the doorjamb of apartment 8, her eyes still on me. The call went to message and I disconnected. Rachel shook her head. She had heard nothing.

I walked back to Rachel and the door.

“Should we call the cops?” I asked. “Tell them we need a wellness check? Or call the landlord?”

“Looks like it’s off-site management here,” Rachel said. “I saw a number on an apartment-for-rent sign out front. I’ll go get it and call. See if that leads to the back lot and if her car is here.”

She pointed to an exit door at the end of the hallway.

“Don’t get locked out,” I said.

“I won’t,” she said.