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One minute in, Maggie Cooper walked into the apartment set, where two of her old pals were obsessing over the possibility that another old pal was cheating on the old pal he was supposed to be dating. The story line was absurd, way dumber thanFriends, but their interest perked up when Cooper’s character decided to stupidly disguise herself to spy on the possibly philandering old pal.
She did it by putting on a dark hoodie and black sweatpants. Hanging around a stoop outside the apartment of the man she was spying on, she was a dead ringer for the Sand killer.
Virgil: “Ah, man.”
“But she was in her car...” Lucas began.
“Or Melton was. Never could see who it was, on the garage and Whole Foods videos. Cooper leaves the U early, driven by Melton, who drops her off away from the house. Cooper walks to the house in the dark and waits. Melton goes back to the U, gets Cooper’s car, drives to the Whole Foods, buys some olives, to establish the alibi, then to the house and parks in the garage.
“Cooper has already done the shooting,” Virgil continued. “She walks off the porch, then around the house past the basketball net to the garage. Remember how you never see Sand and the boys leave the house through the garage access door? Because the camera in the garage looks the other way, down the driveway? In the garage,Cooper takes the jar of olives and finds the bodies. At the same time, Melton goes out that door, through the yard and disappears.”
“I don’t believe it,” Lucas said.
“But it’s possible. And it would explain a lot of stuff, like we can’t find any sign of the killer after he leaves the porch. There were people walking around the neighborhood when the rain started, but nobody saw him, nobody knows where he went. He’s like smoke, he vanishes.”
“But that leaves Melton here in St. Paul. Miles from her car at the U. What, she walked there?”
“She could have,” Virgil said. “Five or six miles, maybe? Maybe she caught a bus part of the way. I don’t think an Uber, that’d leave a trail... Or maybe she pre-positioned her own car over here. I mean, she really doesn’t have a perfect alibi.”
“Not perfect, but pretty good,” Lucas said. “Besides, I still don’t believe it,”
On screen, Cooper was back in theOld Palsapartment set, now showing a ridiculous bushy mustache and hexagonal steel-rimmed glasses. The camera switched to another old pal, then back to Cooper, by the door.
Virgil: “Look at her shoes.”
Lucas. “Yeah. They look big.”
“Maybe even size eleven,” Virgil said.
12
After Darrell Hinton showed Lucas and Virgil to the office door, and when they’d safely driven away, Hinton turned to the big-haired receptionist and said, “Those guys were cops, Doreen. They know all about Noah and the charities. I’m getting my ass out of here. If I were you, I’d do the same.”
Doreen didn’t argue. She leaned sideways and picked up her purse. “Is Noah gonna call Ron?”
“I doubt it. Two fires would be one too many. But, who knows?”
“Well, if he’s gonna call Ron, I’d come by and grab my chair and computer, you know?” Doreen said.
Hinton shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that. If the cops figured out they were missing, they’d know you knew what was coming. If you grab anything, make sure it’s something that would burn, so they don’t know it’s missing.”
Doreen was already moving and as she passed Hinton, she said, “Okay, smart guy. I see what you mean. Are you gonna see Noah? Warn him?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Tell him that I don’t know nothin’ about nothin’.”
“I will,” Hinton said. He saw her out the door and locked it behind her. When she was in her car, he hurried back to Heath’s office. Heath didn’t know it, but Hinton had once put a GoPro on a bookshelf and had gotten video of Heath opening the office safe. Just in case.
Now he knelt in front of the safe, punched in the combination, turned the crank and opened it. Heath kept what he called his “persuader” in a brown envelope, and Hinton took it out, relocked the safe and carried the envelope to his cubicle.
Sixteen hundred dollars, in twenties and fifties. Less than he’d hoped, more than he’d feared. He put it in his back pocket. He pulled the bottom drawer out of his desk, which had metal catches to keep it from popping all the way out. He reached under it and stripped out the two passports that were taped to the bottom of the drawer, one in the Dahl name, one in the Hinton name.
The cops had warned him not to run, but he’d learned through hard experience not to trust any cop, ever: they lied like a fish breathes water. He’d squeeze more money out of Heath, steal some license plates at a Walmart, and hit the road. He’d be in Florida in two days, unload the van, get a new one, start working on a new name. He knew how to do all that, because he’d already done it.
First, he’d stop at home, load up the good stuff. The house and furniture were rented. If he kept moving, with God’s help and a matchbox full of black beauties to keep his eyes open, he’d be in Kentucky before the cops woke up in the morning.
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