Innocent Bystander (13 page)

The hard, lumpy mattress in Stone’s garage dug into Emma’s shoulder blade, and her stomach insisted on reminding her of how long it had been since her last meal. Not that she could have slept anyway. Between reminiscing about two years with Henri and the dire situation she and Burnett found themselves in, she conceded the fact that there would be no sleep in her immediate future.

Lying next to Burnett, on an uncomfortable mattress near a chilly concrete floor in a stranger’s garage, she wondered if they could get out of their predicament unscathed. Not likely, she reasoned. She’d risked everything to help him. Was it to uncover the truth or was there more?

She sat up on the mattress. Her life in shambles and her future uncertain, the oddest thought floated into her head. Had she been with the wrong man all along? A stab of guilt knifed her in the gut. But there was no denying it; Henri had had his faults, and she’d chosen to overlook them. She didn’t know why but sensed it had to do with the fact that he’d been the antithesis of her father. Success and money had turned her dad into a different person, a man whose primary concerns were greater success and more money. Henri had been the opposite, and that had attracted her from the moment she’d met him.

At the same time she recalled the countless occasions he’d taken her for granted, ignored her, or shouted his highly original nickname for her—spoiled rich bitch. She’d put up with all of it, and now she questioned whether it had been the right choice. She’d tried to rationalize his treatment of her, arguing that he was going through a difficult time or would be true to his word and never do it again. Truth was, he could be a bastard, and she’d chosen to wear blinders.

Their trip to Cancun, which she’d remembered so fondly the other night, had been a rare bright spot in an otherwise turbulent relationship. And her offer to trade her life for his had been more a gesture to humanity than an act of love.

Burnett rolled over and faced her. His eyes were closed and she assumed he was asleep. Despite their age difference, she’d always considered him a good friend. Did he feel the same? Maybe his opinion of her included the words “spoiled rich bitch” as well. Just the possibility lowered her spirits. She shoved the notion from her mind and studied his face: the lock of hair that had fallen out of place, the frown line beginning to crease his forehead. She traced the line of his sturdy jaw with her eyes. The sensations that arose intimated that she approved of what she saw.
Curious I hadn’t noticed before
.

As her curiosity drifted to his mouth, his eyes fluttered open. Startled, she turned away and hoped her reaction hadn’t exposed her thoughts.

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

His ironic chuckle clearly said,
How could I possibly sleep with so much going on?

For an instant she allowed herself to wonder if he’d been thinking about her the way she’d been thinking about him. She knew it was ridiculous. His future, perhaps even his life, was in jeopardy. No way would he waste his time on such foolishness.

“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’m starving.” He wiggled off the mattress and extended a hand. She took it, and he yanked her to her feet.

They felt their way along the rear of the dark garage. Burnett banged his knee against the front bumper of the Leaf. He massaged the knee, and they shuffled their way between the electric car and the exposed wall-studs.

Three metal racks lined the far wall. A shaft of light from a street lamp thoughtfully illuminated the closest rack.

Burnett slipped a box off the top shelf.
SOS Soap Pads
was written large on the front. “Probably need some salt.” He returned it to its spot.

Emma grabbed the box beside it. “Ritz Crackers.”

“Not exactly a three-course dinner,” he said, “but it’ll do.”

Each of them slid another half-dozen boxes and containers from the shelves. All were chock-full of cleaning products or automotive parts.

They maneuvered their way back to the mattress. Burnett dug a fistful of crackers from the box and passed her a couple.

“Know what I was thinking?” he said.

Emma lowered herself onto the edge of the mattress.

He sat beside her. “I was wondering what Henri would do if he were here.”

He’d been thinking about Henri. She should have been thinking about him, too. It was wrong of her, and she mentally chastised herself for it.

She shifted gears to respond to his comment. “He’d walk right up to Desmond and ask him where he hid the computer. And he’d do it in front of the whole class or maybe his wife.”

“I agree. ‘Subtle’ was not in his vocabulary.”

“It was part of his charm.” She popped a cracker into her mouth and gagged. Ten years ago one might have referred to it as stale. Now it was inedible. Since the soap pads held little appeal, she chewed and swallowed it, her eyes closed the entire time.

“The thing with Henri,” Burnett said, “was you had to get past his defenses and really get to know him to appreciate him.”

He was right. Most of her friends disliked him. They’d seen his erratic behavior, and little else. None had taken the time to get to know him, to meet the human being behind the actions. She assumed that was the reason he had few close friends.

“You had to get past his crankiness and moodiness,” she said.

“How did you?”

It was a question she’d never considered. “I’m not sure. I guess I could sense he was a decent person underneath. Either that or I believed he’d be an interesting challenge.”

They shared a brief laugh.

Emma considered her choice of words—
a decent person
and
an interesting challenge
. Not a ringing endorsement of Henri’s character. Her ambivalence toward him stirred up the contents in her already queasy stomach.

She needed to lob the conversation back to Burnett’s side of the net. “What about you two? You were very different.” Speaking about Henri in the past tense thumped a nerve.

“Our love of physics. I hate to keep using this word, but he was the most brilliant student I’d ever met. More than that, he was the most brilliant
person
I’d ever met. He knew more than all the professors at the school. Dr. De Stefano was right; Henri should have been teaching them. Anyway, I just started picking his brain one day, and we spent the rest of the night talking about physics and its potential to change the world.”

He paused. She observed him in the feeble illumination of an old Scooby Doo nightlight they’d found behind a desk. Although he turned away, she noticed him bite down on the corner of his lower lip. She recognized it as a nervous habit he’d had ever since she’d met him.

“Since I’m so tired of the word
brilliant
,” he said, now facing her, “I think I’ll refer to him as a visionary. I like the sound of that. Anyway, he always thought about what was possible, not about what couldn’t be done. I admired that. Too many people love to tell you what can’t be done and why. Not visionaries.”

Emma sensed a tear well up and try to escape. At that moment she needed to be held. Burnett must have read her mind or seen something in her expression, because he leaned in and wrapped his arms around her.

“I miss him so much,” she said. It wasn’t what she’d intended to say, but she'd spoken the truth.

“So do I.”

She placed her arms around him and they held each other for nearly a minute in silence. Never had an embrace felt so good. Never had the simple act of holding someone provided such security and comfort. Her chattering mind in neutral, she soaked up every ounce of healing the moment offered.

Soon her analytical mind resumed, and she reviewed the brief conversation they’d just had. Something she’d said near the beginning struck her. “You’re not thinking of going up to Desmond and asking him if he has the computer?”

Burnett broke the embrace and met her eyes. “Course not.”

From his expression it was apparent he’d formulated a plan.

“What are you gonna do?” she asked.

“I thought I’d drop by his house, while he’s not home of course. Maybe he stumbled across it and took it home for safekeeping.”

“You really believe Professor Desmond hired that girl, then killed her and framed you?” She could hardly believe the words as she spoke them. “All to get Henri’s computer?”

“His paper was that brilliant. There’s that word again.”

“The man’s a respected college professor. Everybody I know talks so highly of him. Except Henri, of course.”

“It’s tough when the student knows he’s smarter than the teacher.” Burnett paused. “I’m convinced she took it and gave it to him.”

“So he could publish the paper as his?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Henri wouldn’t show it to me. Refused to even consider it. That wasn’t him. He always showed me his work. I had to sneak into his apartment just to read it.”

“You think maybe Desmond ordered him not to let anyone see it?”

“Problem is, I can’t prove it. I can’t prove anything. I’m not even a hundred percent sure I’m right. I just don’t know what else to believe.”

She still found it difficult to imagine that a well-respected professor at SUNY could do such a thing, but since Burnett had risked everything in an attempt to prove his theory, she wanted to stand behind him. “Have you told the police?”

“All I have is a theory. I got zero evidence to back it up.”

“You should still tell them what you suspect.”

“All the evidence points to me. If Desmond is behind this, he’s done a great job of making me the fall guy.”

“Tell Mayweather. I have a good feeling about him.”

Burnett grinned. It seemed he had a similar opinion of the detective. He slipped his wallet from his back pocket and removed a card. Several numbers had been scribbled on the back.

“He gave me his home and cell numbers,” Burnett said.

“Leave him a message. He might look into Professor Desmond’s background. Maybe he’s not as squeaky clean as he appears.”

* * *

The flick of a switch plunged the room into darkness. His contact lenses now safely stored in the medicine cabinet, Detective Mayweather squinted to distinguish each glowing red digit on his desk clock. 3:05 a.m. “Nothing like three hours sleep to refresh yourself for the next day,” he mused.

His cell phone, recharging on top of the printer, vibrated. He leaned close to check the caller ID: an alternating sequence of #s and *s crossed the screen.

“What the hell?”

Only two dozen people knew his personal phone number. Then he remembered he’d given it to Burnett. Every attempt to locate him by tracing his cell phone had failed, so he’d assumed Burnett had had the presence of mind to remove the battery. Now he suspected the fugitive had tinkered with his phone and rendered it untraceable.

His first impulse, courtesy of his training, was to urge him to turn himself in. At the same time, he was curious what the man had to say. He snatched the phone and tapped the answer key. “What’s on your mind, Mr. Burnett?”

“How’d you know?”

“That nonsense on the caller ID. Nobody else hides their name and number. How’d you do it?”

“Henri. Don’t know what he did, but he was convinced the government was spying on him. Didn’t want them listening in on his calls to me.”

“Mmm.”

“Would it do any good to tell you who I think’s behind this?” Burnett said. His voice crackled across the less-than-perfect connection.

“I know you were reading up on your physics professor with Clara’s computer.”

“I have no evidence, but I’m convinced he hired Audrey to drive Henri to suicide. Then he killed her. Or had someone do it for him.”

“You got to give me something to work with here. The man has no criminal record.”

Ten seconds of silence followed, then Burnett spoke: “She took Henri’s computer. She must have. I think she gave it to him.”

“‘I think’ and ‘I’m convinced’ are not enough for me to open an investigation. What do you know?”

Once again silence dominated both ends of the phone. The conversation had done little but nurture doubt about Burnett’s innocence. Although his gut still insisted they believed their story, he couldn’t deny the possibility Burnett and Emma were attempting to frame Desmond.

“Have you found anything out about that girl, Audrey?” Burnett asked.

The change of subject irked him. “She’s still a Jane Doe. Probably a runaway. Changed her name, of course.”

“Why would Desmond be involved with a runaway?” Burnett asked, echoing Mayweather’s thought.

“You tell me.”

A third round of silence followed.
Never should have answered the phone
.

He wanted to urge Burnett to get as far away as possible, because if he remained in the area he would be caught, but he couldn’t do that. “You need to turn yourself in.” His heart wasn’t in the words, and he hoped Burnett sensed that. “Don’t do anything stupid like going after the computer. We’ll track it down.”