Color Blind (19 page)

“Hallie?” Jenna said, pulling up a chair beside her.

The girl folded down the corner of the page she’d been reading. “Man, I’m popular today.”

Jenna’s introduction died on her lips. “What makes you say that?”

The girl squinted at Jenna, suspicious. “Who are you?”

Hank sat across from them. “I’m Special Agent Hank Ellis. This is Dr. Jenna Ramey. We’re investigating a string of crimes, and—”

“Man, the weed is
not
mine. My roommate is always doing God-knows-what, and I have to live with her ’cause I can’t afford the fees for a private room—”

“We’re not here about anything like that,” Jenna interrupted.

“Have you seen this man?” Hank asked, and he slid a small photo of Thadius they’d retrieved from his house over to her.

She chomped on a carrot stick. “Yeah, actually. He was here earlier. Said he was looking for his daughter’s boyfriend or something. Is he a psycho? He seemed nice! I felt sorry for him.”

“No, he’s not a psycho,” Jenna replied. “What’d you tell him?”

Hallie looked at the carrot on her fork, then set it down on her plate corner. She yanked out the holder from one of her pigtails.

“I told him we didn’t keep records of old members, really. Said he could ask the film professor, Dr. Coppage.”

“Where do we find him?”

•   •   •

H
ank banged on Dr. Rutland Coppage’s office door for the third time. “FBI! Open up!”

A woman’s gray head poked out from the next office.

“FBI! Good grief, are you really? What in tarnation is going on?” the lady asked.

“Ma’am, we need to speak to Dr. Coppage as soon as possible. Can you tell us where he might be? In class?”

The bewildered woman shook her head. “Dr. Coppage left for the day. I passed him in the hallway coming back from my lecture.”

One of two things had happened: either Dr. Coppage had already encountered Thadius Grogan on campus, or Thadius had yet to talk to the professor. If he came to see him during normal office hours tomorrow, they could have plants ready to intercept. Still, to Jenna, that seemed too easy. Garnet pulsed in Jenna’s brain. The color of danger.

“We need to talk to Dr. Coppage immediately,” Jenna said. “Do you have any idea how we can reach him?”

“D
r. Coppage, thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” Thadius said as he stepped into Rutland Coppage’s two-story Tudor on the cul-de-sac of Emory Place. He’d phoned Coppage’s office and asked him for a meeting. He hadn’t come on strong, because he wasn’t sure this guy had met the man responsible for Emily’s death. But this way, if he had to employ less than sociable means to get answers from the man, he’d be able.

“Oh, it’s no problem, Mr. Gilmer. I try to help with these things when I can. I’m so sorry to hear of your daughter’s passing, by the way,” the elderly gentleman said as he closed the door behind Thadius and led him into the sitting room.

You didn’t even know my daughter
. “Thank you.”

Dr. Coppage sat in an overstuffed chair across from the chaise he’d pointed Thadius to. The man crossed his legs. “How can I help?”

Thadius held out the envelope that contained the surveillance pictures. Coppage took the package and dumped the contents into his left hand, then spread the pictures out like a deck of cards.

“Your daughter’s boyfriend, you said?” he asked, tilting his wire glasses up, down, and closer to him as he studied the photos.

“Mm-hm,” Thadius assented, his chest tightening painfully. The excitement of finally doing something yielded to resigned, adrenaline-filled anxiety.

Dr. Coppage wobbled his head on top of his wrinkly neck. “Yes, yes. I think I do remember him.”

If Thadius thought the adrenaline was coursing before, now it was like he’d been shot up with heroin. Heart racing, he leaned forward but didn’t speak.
Let him talk on his own.

“Yes, yes. I remember him very well. Film student, very passionate. Bright kid. Oh, what was his name? Always asked questions about the movies I showed. Particularly odd interests, he had. I was always amused by his dark side!”

Dr. Coppage chuckled, nostalgic, but Thadius’s throat constricted.
Dark side.

“How do you mean?” Thadius managed.

The professor leaned back now, relaxed some in his memories. “Oh, he asked lots of questions about the making of certain films and the tactics employed. Inquired if I thought the best way to get a reaction from actors portraying scientists in the Arctic would be to actually bring them to freezing temperatures, things like that. I showed one film he was interested in—old silent film called
The Passion of Joan of Arc.
He had a strong opinion that the fear the actress showed didn’t seem real enough. Was curious how to make it more organic.”

Thadius could hear his own heart in his ears, but mostly, he could feel the heartbeat of the SIG tucked safely inside his jacket, reminding him it was there, ready. This man had known that his daughter’s murderer had a penchant for violence. He had to have known.

“Do you remember his name, sir?”

“Oh, what was it?” Coppage repeated, tossing his head from side to side as if to jar it loose. “I’m sure I know it. Hold on, now.”

A beeping ripped the air, almost knocking Thadius out of his chair. Dr. Coppage rummaged through his pants pocket.

“Darned phone. Forgot to turn it off,” he said. He jabbed the button to silence it and stuffed it back into his trousers.

A million questions sat on Thadius’s tongue, every one of them impatient. He had to let the man think, but he wanted to know so much more, so many details of this kid’s personality that had apparently charmed Dr. Coppage so much.

“Any papers he wrote that might jog the memory?” Thadius ventured.

“Hm,” Coppage wondered out loud. “He checked out one of my films, come to think of it. I probably have a record somewhere in my office. Could probably get back to you tomorrow.”

By tomorrow, the cops might still be far away from the MM Society, but if Woody had talked, told them everything they’d discussed, that was unlikely. Chances were greater than not that he
had
talked. That was the danger in leaving him alive.

“Which film?” Thadius blurted out, instinct.

“Good question!
The Bad Seed
, I think. We talked about the film in class. Interesting, that one. The film was written with three different endings, and the script for the actual one wasn’t released until shooting. The original ending had the child survive, but the Motion Picture Code at the time stipulated that the perpetrator of a crime couldn’t ‘get away with it,’ if you will. My, how things have changed. Don’t see why it mattered, of course. That child got away with enough as it was. Come to think, that was why he wanted to borrow the film, I believe. Research for the fire scene.”

Now Thadius’s pulse thundered against his neck as if a live animal were trying to escape his arteries. “Fire scene?”

“Yes, yes. The film contains a rather gruesome scene where the child sets a cellar afire with the handyman inside in order to hide her crimes. Rather disturbing, that. S’pose she learned it from her mother. Earlier in the film, the woman finds evidence the child is guilty of a crime, and instead of turning her in, she instructs the girl to burn the evidence in the incinerator. Sad, the woman. S’pose there isn’t much a parent won’t do for their child, after all.”

Thadius’s hand came to rest on his leg on his right side, the same side where the gun was tucked inside his jacket. Emily’s killer had all but done this! Emily’s house, blown to pieces to cover his tracks. The film that pressed the idea into the bastard’s skull, given to him by this ridiculous little man before him who thought the kid nothing but a harmless enthusiast.

Dr. Coppage snapped his fingers. “Waters! That was his name! Waters!”

S
ebastian Waters hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Zane since he saw her in the meeting in the hospital. He’d since been released from observation and sent home, which happened to be an apartment he and Isaac had set up in anticipation of him needing a home to go to when he left the hospital.

Now he sat on the threadbare orange velour sofa they’d bought at a thrift store and drank lukewarm tap water. Zane was a weird bird. The way she acted the cheerleader for that “Healing Celebration” she was volunteering for, you’d think she was a college kid promoting a sorority clambake instead of the girl with the speech impediment caused by half her face being a chargrilled deluxe.

But here he was, dwelling on her like she was a Brazilian supermodel, so much so he’d forgotten the
real
reason he should be thinking about her. Until now.

Luckily, she’d been more than willing to pass on her number to him. “We have to stick together,” she’d said.

He needed to get on with it. Sebastian punched the numbers on the prepaid cell he’d bought at the local discount store and waited to hear her voice. Her awful, grueling voice.

“’lo?” The word sounded like half a greeting, what with the sucking sound her vowels made.

Sebastian cringed. He couldn’t do this. Wasn’t made for this.

He had to! He’d come way too far. This setup was perfect.

“Zane?”

“Sebastian? I didn’t think I’d hear from you this soon!”

She knew his voice?

He regripped the phone. “Um, yeah. I wanted to talk to you about that City Walk event you mentioned the other day. I was wondering if I could, like, come with you to it.”

A slurping noise. Maybe a gasp? “Oh, Sebastian! That’d be so wonderful! You’ll love it. Music, games. It’s the best. I’d love to meet you there!”

Sebastian stared at the dumbfounded look on his own face in the wall mirror across from the sofa, the one piece of decor in the place. No one had ever been so thrilled to hear from him in his life probably. Not even his own mom.

“Uh, okay. Right. Where should I meet you, you think?” he stumbled.

“Want to ride together? I have a parking pass. I don’t drive—you know, I had trouble after I lost my eye—but if you can! Oh, man. This’ll be so fun. I was going to walk around by myself all day.”

Had she really just told him that? Tons of times in his life, he’d wanted to say things like that, but he’d never
actually
say them out loud. Heat crept up his neck, almost embarrassed for her.

Almost.

“Right, sure. I can drive us. Can I, uh, pick you up somewhere?”

No answer.

“Zane?” Sebastian said, afraid the call had been lost.

The shallow breathing gave away she was still on the line. “Pick me up at the hospital, will you? I’ll be there that day volunteering.”

Of
course
she volunteered at the hospital. She had time to do that in between saving an exotic species of barn owl and pulling babies from fires. And yet something about her hesitation sounded nervous. Self-conscious, even.

Sebastian thought of his father, of the day he’d torn apart Sebastian’s room. He’d found Sebastian’s stash of porn under the mattress.

His father’s face was so glaring, accusing. Of course, he might not have gone so pale if they’d just been
Playboy
s, but these weren’t exactly Hugh Hefner’s girls—or even boys. More like the kind of thing you’d find on the Cartoon Network, if it was rated for nudity and animals. From then on, Sebastian had been convinced every person who saw his father look at him could see the disappointment, knew the reason for the shame in his eyes.

If Zane didn’t want to tell him about her living situation, who was he to ask?

“Okay, the hospital it is. What time?” Sebastian said, infusing his voice with a deliberate shot of confidence.

“Nine a.m.,” she replied. Then, after another sucking noise, “Hey, Sebastian, are you sure you’re up for this?”

Immediately, every muscle in his body seemed to stiffen. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s great for you to be out and in the sunshine. It’s only . . . it’s a lot of people, and it’s a crowd setting. I’m afraid it won’t . . .” Her voice trailed off.