“She’s part mine now,” Ellery replied.
Ashley beamed and rocked on her toes with happiness. She bounced in front of Ellery and then sized up her injuries. “A half hug for a half sister?” she suggested, holding out one arm.
“Give me a second.” Ellery grimaced as she slowly removed the sling. “There,” she said, cautiously extending both arms. “The whole tamale.”
Ashley teared up again as she moved in for a cautious embrace. “Thank you,” she whispered against Ellery’s uninjured shoulder. “For everything.”
Ellery touched the back of the girl’s head. “Text me when you get home.”
She watched from the window as they climbed into a ride share and drove away. She turned to find Reed had disappeared into her bedroom again, and she dragged herself to collapse on the couch. Bump joined her and she closed her eyes, enjoying the quiet of her mostly empty apartment. Her father’s remarks made her curious about the newscasts and what they might be saying about Bobby Frick. She located the remote and clicked around until she found the local news, where, to her horror, she found her own face. A woman with a frosted-blond bob and impossibly red lipstick was opining about her relationship with Reed.
“You have to remember, Cindy, they met under extremely emotional circumstances. Frightening circumstances. The moment of her rescue would be supercharged in their brain circuitry forever. Strong emotions like that can take on different emotional shading with time.”
“I’m sorry. She was fourteen back then. A child. Are you saying he was attracted to her?”
“No, probably not then. I’m saying that because of their history they both get a brain buzz, so to speak, when they are in each other’s presence. Over time, that buzzing may turn into attraction.”
“I don’t get it,” said the anchorwoman. “Imagine having a serial killer for your matchmaker.” An image of Francis Coben from his federal trial flashed on the screen and Ellery shrank back into the cushions. She grabbed the remote and clicked the television off, but her heart continued to pound even in the silence. She screwed her eyes shut and tried to breathe. She’d been an idiot to think it would ever work with Reed, that they could invent whatever relationship they wanted. Their story only ever went one place.
“Ellery?” Reed poked his head out from her bedroom.
She jerked up. “Yes?”
“Come see what I’ve done with your bedroom wall.”
“I’m not sure I want to,” she grumbled as she gingerly got up from the couch. “I like my wall the way it was.”
“It’s a temporary redesign.”
She discovered he’d tacked up a bunch of yellow sticky notes. Each one had his handwriting on it, and she moved closer to inspect them. “‘Irma Goodwin breaks her leg,’” she read off the first note. She turned to him. “Who is Irma Goodwin?”
“That’s the start of it all,” he said, a glint in his eye, the satisfaction of a man who had cracked the puzzle. He seemed to want her to play along now, but her head hurt.
“Reed, just tell me. What is all of this?”
“It’s the answer to who killed Trevor Stone and Carol Frick,” he replied, and she looked with fresh eyes across the long string of sticky notes. She limped along, barely reading them until she got to the end.
“Oh my God,” she breathed as she pulled the square of paper free from the wall to stare at his conclusion. No wonder the cops had been running in circles for fifteen years. They had the theory of the crime wrong from the very beginning. Reed had discovered the answer to a question no one bothered to ask.
Reed put his hands on his hips and surveyed his handiwork. “Mind you, I can’t actually prove any of this yet. I’m not sure it would ever rise to the level of a criminal prosecution.”
“Who would you even prosecute? Bobby Frick was right about one thing—we’re far too late.”
He made a beleaguered gesture at the timeline. “Yeah, but if this is true, Bobby Frick was wrong about everything else.”
34
The dean’s office at Penn displayed several oil paintings of past men who had held the title. They wore dark robes and serious expressions, and Reed felt their eyes on him as he sat with his briefcase full of scant evidence at his feet. In the end, he had pinned his hopes on some old phone records, a piece of charred jewelry, and the only timeline of events that made coherent sense. His boss had demurred when Reed pitched the idea of this particular confrontation. It’s not the agency’s purview, she had said. It’s a university matter.
The university failed to act, he had protested. It set everything in motion.
Even if I find that argument persuasive, and believe me, I’m inclined to find fault with them, it doesn’t change the facts.
The facts are currently not on record, he’d replied. We can change that. This case had been a wrecking ball swinging loose through multiple families now. He could not repair the damage, but he could perhaps bring it to a halt.
He sat with the current dean, George Altman; the attorney representing the university, Ava Moss; and Ellery, who had insisted on coming even if she, too, was skeptical of what the outcome would be. The actual murderer is beyond criminal prosecution at this point. All you have left is … I don’t know … humiliation and public ruin, she’d said.
Then public ruin it shall be, he’d replied.
He turned as the last person joined the meeting. Ethan Stone stopped with surprise by the open door, but he recovered quickly and forced his features into a welcoming smile. “George, good to see you. Agent Markham, I didn’t realize you’d be back to visit us again so soon. Teresa’s daughter is home safe and sound, I see. How wonderful.”
“Thank you for coming, Ethan,” the dean said. “Won’t you have a seat?”
“Of course.” His gaze slid to the lawyer, Moss. “It’s Eva, isn’t it?”
“Ava Moss,” she said without a trace of warmth. Reed had given both the dean and the attorney a brief synopsis of the reason for this meeting.
“And this is my colleague who has assisted me in the investigation, Detective Ellery Hathaway,” Reed said, indicating Ellery.
Ethan’s eyes lingered on her. “I think we all know Ms. Hathaway. Not as well as you do, though, I’m sure.” Reed took out his folders and put them on the table in front of him without opening the contents. Ethan regarded them with interest. “I thought you closed the case—Chloe’s abductor killed himself. He was that boy of Carol’s; at least that is what I read in the papers.”
“You read correctly,” Reed told him. “We’re not here to discuss Chloe Lockhart’s kidnapping. We’re here because we finally know what happened to your son.”
He sat back, his jaw going slack with shock. “Trevor? You know who killed him?”
“Yes, but we can’t start with that day, not if we’re to understand what happened. We have to go back some years. You’re a world-renowned expert in economics, Professor Stone. What would you say that the basic principle of economics is?”
A furrow appeared in his brow. “Supply and demand, I suppose. Why?”