Last Seen Leaving (30 page)

“Okay, first of all? I will
never
use the word ‘bazooms,' and if you value your testicles, you won't, either. Number two? You tell a guy you have a boyfriend, and he just ogles you even more, because now you're ‘a challenge.' And third, you have nothing to worry about.” She made like she was going to touch my nose with her cone, but then she pulled it back at the last second. “Anyway, he's harmless. Just weird.”

“If you say so.” I shrugged. “I just don't want you to ditch me so you can become the next Mrs. Claus.”

She did her gross-old-man impression again, adding in a wink for good measure. “You've gotta be a little naughty this year if you want to get on my Nice List, Mrs. Claus!”

I laughed so hard I almost dropped my ice cream. “Ho-ho-ho!”

*   *   *

The mood inside the Lexus was subdued, to say the least, on the drive back to Ann Arbor. I couldn't stop thinking about Klara's account, what it meant, and how frankly helpless it made me feel. The images gathering in my mind were even darker and more ominous than the storm clouds that finally opened up over I-96 as we were passing the exit to Northville.

“That fucking bastard,” Kaz finally hissed, his jaw clenched so tightly I could see a muscle fluttering under his ear. He snapped the windshield wipers on with more force than necessary, and they swung wildly back and forth, throwing the rain across the glass in ropy streaks. “He even joined the search party! What kind of a … a
monster
…” He stopped and sucked in air, his arms ramrod straight in front of him, hands gripping the wheel. “We have to go to the cops with this. Right now.”

“With what?” I asked, giving a pessimistic snort. “They already know about all this, remember? There's no way to prove any of it.”

“But it's a
pattern
.” Kaz refused to back down. “I mean, it has to be enough for them to at least take him in for questioning, right?”

“At which point he would deny everything and then threaten another lawsuit, for harassment.” Frustration made me sound condescending. “Kaz, I don't think they took me seriously when I told them there'd even
been
a rape!” I exclaimed. “They're not going to bring anyone in for questioning about a crime they don't even think happened. And anything I tell them that Reiko told me that January told her is all hearsay, anyway, and it doesn't count for jackshit!”

“So … what, then? We just let it go?” Kaz was incredulous and angry. “We just sit on our asses and wait and hope that the police eventually get around to investigating Cedric as a potential suspect? Fuck that!”

“I don't want to give up either, but unless you want to go and threaten him—the same move that might have gotten both January and Reiko killed, by the way—then what other choices do we have?” I wasn't trying to argue with him; pointing all this out only made me feel more useless and miserable.

“We can … we can…” Kaz fumbled for an idea and then lapsed into silence. The rain was coming down in sheets, cars racing past us at speeds way too fast for the slippery roads and diminished visibility, and he compensated by slowing down. I'd been distantly hoping we could get back to town in time for me to catch my last class and minimize the extent of my truancy a bit, but it was far too late for that. Finally, Kaz spoke again. “It all fits, Flynn. Everything. We know she stayed late that day; he could have killed her right after rehearsal and then dumped her clothes in her own backyard to divert suspicion from the school, knowing Dumas would be the last place anyone would have seen her alive. Then he put her body in the river somewhere, or buried her in the woods, or … who knows, but
somewhere
so no one could ever find it and test the fetus for DNA. He had the motive, the means, and the opportunity, and
damn it
we need to figure out how to get the cops to pay attention!”

“Wait,” I said, the beginnings of a terrible idea taking root in my mind. Kaz was absolutely right that we couldn't simply sit around and hope the police eventually heard and lent credence to all the same gossip we had—it felt wrong, and betrayed every sense of justice I had—but I also wasn't anxious to phone in tips that they would be unable or unwilling to explore, due to a lack of evidence and the fact that I was probably still technically a suspect. Garcia and Becker seemed to automatically doubt everything that came out of my mouth, and a bunch of unsubstantiated rumors that conveniently implicated somebody else probably wouldn't be received with any more credulity than the last unsupportable tidbit I'd shared with them. But if I managed to get my hands on something concrete …

I pulled out my phone, connected to the Internet, and did a quick search. “Change of plans—we're not going back to Riverside. I need you to take me somewhere else instead.”

I had found an address, which I punched into Kaz's GPS, and we followed the directions all the way to an apartment building on Ann Arbor's north side, not far from the neighborhood where Tiana's family lived. It was a boxy, nondescript edifice that had probably been built in the sixties or seventies: three stories of stone and plaster, roughly twelve units to a floor, and each unit with its own tiny balcony. It wasn't a slum by any stretch, but I was still willing to bet that the place had been a huge step down for the guy who lived there.

“Are we here to see someone?” Kaz asked dubiously, looking up through the rain at the orderly balconies with their dark wooden pickets.

“The exact opposite, I hope,” I answered, jumping out and sprinting for the entrance. A twenty-yard dash, I was nevertheless soaked by the time I reached the door, but I hardly noticed the chill of my drenched hoodie sticking to my arms and back; for this part of my shaky plan I was flying entirely by the seat of my pants, and unless January's ghost were really out there somewhere, pulling strings from beyond The Veil, this detour might well have been a wasted trip.

I was in luck, however. Someone had wedged a chunk of wood between the security door and its frame, propping it open so tenants wouldn't have to bother with their keys every time they came and went, and a rectangular bank of mailboxes on the wall just inside the vestibule gave me my next piece of vital information: The box for apartment 2D boasted a hand-printed label with the name
C. Hoffman
.

“Why are we at Cedric's apartment building?” Kaz asked nervously. I had barely been aware that he'd followed me in.

“We need evidence, right? Can you think of a better place to look?” I made the equation sound simple enough, even though I well knew that what I meant to attempt was anything but. It was as hazardous as it was foolish, and there were a dozen or more ways for it to go horribly wrong—or to simply fail before it even got off the ground—but, on the other hand, what did we have to lose?

“We're going to
break in
to Cedric's place?” Aghast, Kaz still had the good sense to whisper this horrified question as he tailed me up the stairs to the second floor. The carpeting was threadbare and smelled like mothballs and butt, the wallpaper weirdly thick and textured, but the ugly insulation deadened the sound of our steps and voices. “Flynn, that's insane!”

“Technically, only I'm going to break in,” I corrected him, still pretty optimistic, all things considered. “One of us needs to keep watch.”

A single hallway ran the length of the second floor, jogging a little to either side to accommodate support beams, a trash chute, and flights of architectural whimsy. Number 2D was easy to find; a solid wooden door fitted with a peephole, a knocker, and a little bell. I had just put my hand on the knob when Kaz grabbed my wrist and pulled me back. “I'm not kidding, Flynn—have you lost your mind? What if he's home?”

“He's not,” I assured him confidently. “They have rehearsal after school every day until six. He won't be back for hours.” Kaz was still looking at me like I'd just volunteered to join the bomb squad as I gently removed his hand from my arm. Unable to resist, I let my fingers glide slowly across the back of his hand when I released him; just the feeling of his skin against mine sent sparks popping and sizzling up my spine, and I got the guilty rush of an addict stealing one secret gulp of wine. “It's our only shot, Kaz.”

He set his mouth in an unhappy line, but didn't argue, so I tried the knob again. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. I'd figured it as a long shot, but if I hadn't at least tried, I'd have felt even stupider. Letting out a breath, Kaz asked, “Now what?”

There was no welcome mat to conceal an extra key, and no spare hidden above the doorframe, either. It was disappointing, though not totally unexpected, and I devised an even stupider plan B on the spot. Taking a look up and down the hall, I made a mental note of where 2D was located in the building's layout; then, just as quickly as we'd come up the stairs, I went back down, darting through the vestibule, out into the parking lot, and around to the back side of the building.

The balconies were arranged one atop the other, and Cedric's faced the rear lot. Luckily, we were out of sight of passing traffic back there, and owing to the foul weather, there were no people hanging out, either. Looking up at the building again, taking in the tidy grid of apartments that contained so many human existences, I counted up and over until I found the one I wanted.

I had just started hauling myself up to the balcony below Cedric's, elevated a few feet off the ground—and, fortunately for me, with vertical blinds snapped shut across its sliding doors—when Kaz caught up with me again. “
What
are you
doing
?”

He grabbed me by the arm once more and yanked me back down to the blacktop of the parking lot, glaring like I was starting to piss him off. Rain was spraying into my eyes, and I had to squint, but I tried to give him a resolute look as I said, “I can't break down the door, so I'm going in through the balcony.”

“What if the balcony is locked, too? Are you going to smash the glass? Take a chance on breaking your hand or cutting your arm open?” His tone was patronizing, and anger stirred to life in the pit of my stomach.

“Yeah, maybe I will,” I retorted. In point of fact, I had no intention of smashing anything; if the sliding door was locked, I would curse the fates and then clamber back down the side of the building—but I was betting I wouldn't have to. Unless they live at ground level, very few people worry about keeping their balcony secured. It isn't really worth the risk for casual burglars to go around scaling the outside of apartment complexes and checking doors at random. The odds are too great they might be spotted, pick a place whose owners are home, or break into a student flat filled with nothing but busted Ikea furniture and empty beer cans. Only someone with a lot of determination and a specific purpose would bother to do what I was trying to do, and I doubted that Cedric was expecting me.

Kaz still had me by the elbow, and now his other hand reached out for me, seemingly of its own accord; he placed it on the side of my neck, fingers taut, his thumb brushing my cheek. It was an affectionate gesture, almost proprietary, and his irritated expression gave way immediately to one of worry. “Flynn, someone could see you. You could get caught or arrested, or … or you could fall off the balcony and fucking
die
! It's dangerous, don't you get that?”

Between his obvious concern and the touch of his hands, my stomach was coiling and springing like an excited terrier. I wanted him to close the distance between us; I wanted to turn my face into the palm of his hand and kiss it, just to feel his skin against my lips.
Fuck
, I wanted him to feel the same way about me, too—but he didn't, and I had to accept that, like it or not. “I know it's dangerous,” I answered him as calmly as I could, “but it's also our best chance at finding evidence—
real
evidence. If I can prove he's got roofies up there, or creepy mementos, or … I don't know, a diary of his crimes or something, the police will have to take it seriously!”

“I just … I don't want you to get hurt,” Kaz replied with difficulty.

“Neither do I.” I forced a lopsided smile. The notion that I could get busted—or could potentially just bust open my head—had certainly occurred to me, too. “That's why I need you to stand guard. If Cedric comes back unexpectedly, or if the police show up, call my cell and tell me to get out.”

He finally let go. He didn't look happier, but he at least looked resigned to the fact that I intended to do this stupid thing, and he couldn't convince me not to. Glancing around to make sure no neighbors were watching, I took hold of the first-floor balcony again and pulled myself up.

Perched on the railing and standing on my tiptoes, I was just able to reach the bottom of Cedric's balcony, hooking my fingers over the edge of the rectangular platform. Rain pelted my eyes, and my fingers dislodged fat, dirty droplets that splattered revoltingly against my face and coursed down my arms, but I heaved upward again and brought my shoulders level with my hands.

Despite the fact that I don't have much in the way of muscle mass, I also don't have much in the way of weight to support; my arms burned, but I was sure I could do this. Maybe not unequivocally, but at least ninety percent sure. Then again, with my drenched sweatshirt hanging on me like a sack of potatoes lashed around my neck, my legs dangling clumsily in open space, I mentally adjusted that number to eighty. Instinctively, I tried to brace my feet against something, but they merely pedaled clumsily in the air, increasing the strain on my shoulders. I made a move to reach up with my right hand, and felt the fingers of my left begin to slip hazardously back toward the edge of the slick, painted floor of Cedric's balcony. I brought my right hand back down with a wet slap and sucked in a frightened breath of air. My confidence factor plummeted to sixty percent. Thank God the man didn't live on the third floor.