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“Not since Jon Benet Ramsey has a murder so shaken people in this otherwise quiet university town . . . .”
The anchorman droned on about the police revealing few details concerning the murder and their theories. I wondered when the picture was taken. Fred looked different somehow. Maybe happier. Before I could decide, the picture was gone.
Only to be replaced with mine.
“Police are seeking another university student for questioning. Jessica Evans, who was last seen leaving Berwin’s apartment, is considered a person of interest. Police refuse to divulge Evans’ relationship to the victim, but other sources confirm they knew each other . . . .”
I sank back onto the mattress. So much for feeling safe.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kevin
So Jessica had taken flight. And the news was painting her as a likely suspect in Fred’s murder. This was working out even better than he’d expected.
Kevin had plans for Jessica Evans. She might run, but she couldn’t hide.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jessica
By the time I awoke later that morning, Liz had already gone to work. I wondered if she’d heard about the murder. Did Liz watch CNN? If it was on CNN, it was probably in The Washington Post, too.
Even though I hadn’t done anything, I worried that Liz could be accused of harboring a fugitive.
I got Liz’s Mr. Coffee brewing and searched the kitchen for breakfast choices, rejecting Liz’s healthy cereal, which looked more like bird food than breakfast. As I waited for my bagel to toast, I agonized over the implications of hiding out in her place. Holing up here could put Liz’s bar license at risk.
But where would I go? I’d already left the state. Should I turn myself in to the D.C. or Boulder police? My previous dealings with the Boulder cops were less than satisfying. And I didn’t treasure the thought of being held on suspicion in a D.C. jail.
The toaster oven dinged, snapping me to attention. As I went through the motions of buttering the bagel and eating it, I thought again about the van, the strange phone calls, and the note. I had nothing to feel guilty about. I’d done nothing wrong. But the thought of dealing with the police was not a pleasant prospect. I didn’t know why Fred was dead. I couldn’t be sure that Red and Flattop were the ones who killed him.
Maybe I should just pretend I never saw the news.
For the moment, I wanted—needed, really—to focus on something else. So I poured myself some coffee and did what I often do to distract myself. I set my laptop up and reviewed my draft, starting at the point where Alexis and Swede had reached Portland and were trying to access Daniel’s safe deposit box.
Alexis
“Dude, I nearly forgot about that box,” Lena said.
Alexis wasn’t sure if Daniel’s elder sister was talking to her or to Swede when she said this. They were sitting in the sunny kitchen of the old house in southeast Portland that Lena shared with three other people.
“You think we could have a look at it?” Alexis asked. Her eyes were drawn to Lena’s arms, both covered with elaborate tattoos fully exposed by the tight, black spaghetti-strap top she wore. One arm was a study in bright, happy images. The other featured flames and grotesque, demonic faces. Heaven and hell, she thought.
Lena shrugged. “Can’t see why not.” She took one last drag on her cigarette and snubbed it out in a chipped, ash-laden green saucer. “The bank’s on my way to work. We can stop by. I’ve got time.”
Alexis noticed Lena hadn’t even checked her watch before saying this, as if she always had time.
At a Washington Mutual Bank on Woodstock Boulevard, Lena spoke with a bank manager and arranged to unlock the safe deposit box. While Lena and the bank manager retrieved the box, Alexis and Swede waited at a table in a private room, where they could all view the box’s contents. Lena entered holding a small box with a latched top. She joined the others at the table and opened it. Inside, there was an envelope.
It was marked: “For Alexis (private).”
“Obviously, this was meant for just me to read,” Alexis said, sounding apologetic, although she couldn’t think what she had to apologize for.
Lena gave Swede’s upper arm a playful jab with her fist--hard enough for Swede to flinch. “Let’s give the girl some room.” She placed a firm hand on Swede’s back and led him out. He glanced back at Alexis, obviously curious.
When they had left, Alexis tore open the envelope. Inside, was a letter:
Dear Alexis,
