He backed out of the space and turned toward the park entrance. The stress stirring in his gut ebbed as he reached the main road, and he took the left back toward town.
Nate would never come here, never see that woman. He deserved better. And Elijah would see to it that the boy had the best. Until then, it was his duty to protect him, and the first order of business was to eliminate Paul Thompson.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Missoula, Montana
Tuesday, August 24
1:00 p.m.
Bryce was curious as he stood in the back of Ann’s classroom and watched her hand out semester syllabi on bright yellow paper. She had texted him an hour ago and asked to see him.
He took a seat, the amphitheater half-full of at least a hundred students. All looked young as hell, but he guessed most were either senior or graduate level.
As she began to talk about what she hoped to cover in Forensic Perspectives, a woman to his right began to wave her hand wildly. “Dr. Bailey!”
Ann nodded to the woman. “No questions yet.”
The woman was silent for only a moment before she flapped her hand again. “But I need to ask this very important question.”
A second woman two rows in front of her twisted in her seat and said, “Can you shut up! The professor is talking.”
The first woman leaned forward in her seat. “I can ask whatever question I want. This is a free country.”
“And you are free to get the hell out of this classroom.”
Bryce noted the first woman’s eyes narrowed as she stood and curled her fingers into a fist. Her body language rippled with anger and tension, and whatever her issue, she was spoiling for a fight. He rose, and when he did, he caught Ann’s gaze. She managed an imperceptible shake of her head, as if to ask him to stand down.
He held off, watching as the fight between the two women escalated into a shouting match. About half the students in the room had put down their phones and were watching. Behind Ann, the doors opened, and an armed security guard appeared as if on cue. The guard ordered both women to leave with him. The first woman resisted, but when he threatened to bring in the local police, she followed him and the other woman out of the room.
The room buzzed with nervous laughter, and Ann moved slowly behind her podium. She raised her hands, told everyone to calm down, and then asked if anyone could describe the two women.
“That first woman was crazy,” a young woman with blue hair said.
“What was she wearing?” Ann asked.
She received a flurry of adjectives, none of which really hit the mark. When she asked for details about the second woman, she was bombarded with descriptions as varied and inaccurate as the first.
Ann listened, nodding as each student talked. She gave no hint whether she agreed with the students or not. “Turns out we have a real law enforcement officer here today,” she said. “What do you think of our recap, Sergeant McCabe?”
Bryce felt the glare of the proverbial spotlight as the students turned in their seats. He was hard to miss, since his persona screamed cop. “Eyewitness testimony in a high-stress, unexpected situation is often unreliable. A few students got a couple of details right, but most were wrong.”
“Can you describe the women?” Ann asked.
“The first female was approximately twenty to twenty-five years old. She was five feet five and weighed about one hundred and fifty pounds. Black hair, gray dress with white fringe. The second woman was about the same age, five eight, brunette, and she wore jeans and a blue T-shirt.” Both women were dressed inconspicuously and would have been easily forgettable, as most criminals were.
Ann walked to the rear door, opened it, and the two women appeared. They stood on the stage, each on one side of Ann. They were just as he had described.
“They are paid actors,” Ann said. “This was a setup.”
Nervous laughter and murmurs rumbled over the crowd. Several pointed out they had been right about age and height—some teased others for being dead wrong.
“Sergeant McCabe is correct about eyewitness testimony. It is often wrong. Our perceptions are colored not only by stress and the brevity of the incident, but also by our own personal biases. It’s human nature to mix up events with all the other distractions we have going on. My point is that we as forensic psychologists have to be better than the average witness. We have to note the fine details, because they will often give us greater insight than the subject’s words. Stay on your toes, kids. This is day one, and you never know when I’ll have another surprise for you.”
“Are we going to get graded?” a young man joked.
Ann grinned. “Of course. Today’s assignment is to find a quiet place, write up what you saw, and read chapter one of the textbook. See you on Thursday.”
Bryce watched the students file out of the classroom. Several tossed him curious, even nervous, glances. When the aisle was clear, he made his way down the steps toward Ann. When he was a few feet from her, he smelled the faint scent of her soft perfume, and he realized the fragrance invigorated him.
“Nicely done, Dr. Bailey,” he said. “Your actors had me fooled for a second.”
“When I saw you stand, I knew it was going to be over before it started if I didn’t stop you.”
“All worked out in the end. You said you had something to tell me.”
“I met with Paul Thompson this morning in a public coffee shop.”
“After my text?”
She hesitated as if chewing on words and then met his gaze. “Yes.”
“For a lady who appears cautious and reserved, you take a lot of risks.”
“It was important to determine if he had more to say about the Fireflies.”
Bryce would bet it was more than that. “And?”
“He admitted to sleeping with Sarah, just as Brown suggested. And he said the Fireflies communicate with each other.”
“You already established they had the chat room. Which, by the way, my IT guy was able to find.”
“And what did he discover?”
“Content was taken down. He’s trying to locate the administrator.” He leaned toward her a fraction and dropped his voice. “What aren’t you telling me, Ann?”
“Mind if we take a walk, maybe sit in a car or go back to my house? I have more to tell you.”
“Sure. We can go now.”
She appeared relieved he did not argue or press for details as she gathered her bag. He followed her out of the building and then trailed her in his vehicle the few miles to her house.
She opened her front door. “I can make coffee.”
“Sounds good.” He removed his hat and set it on the table by the front door, next to Nate’s worn copy of King Lear. He picked up the book and casually thumbed through the pages. This time he saw Elijah Weston’s name on the inside front cover.
The boy had not ended up with one of Elijah’s books by accident. “Did Nate finish reading this?”
“Twice.”
“On a scale of one to ten, how smart is he?” He set the book down.
“Eleven.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“That comes with challenges.”
“The goal is to keep him busy and his mind engaged.”
“A full-time job.” He suspected the small talk and coffee were delay tactics as she searched for the right words. “Unpacking still at a standstill?”