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“Why do you say that like you’re the cat who ate the canary?”
Jessie smiled sheepishly.
“Because I may have already reached out to him on something else.”
“Care to share?” Ryan asked.
Jessie told him about her late-night visit to Michaela’s apartment, the discovery of the envelope, and her handoff of the cash to Dolan.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before but I was trying to keep your hands clean.”
“I understand,” he replied. “But they’re completely muddy now so please don’t hold out on me anymore.”
“I won’t.”
She sent Dolan screenshots of the men and then turned back to Ryan.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Let’s go back to the station,” he suggested. “There’s nothing more we can do about Michaela for now. But we can continue to look busy on the Paulo Ristore case. Maybe CSU has fingerprints for us.”
Jessie agreed. She said goodbye and was just returning to her car when her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number but decided to answer anyway.
“Hello?” she said.
After an unusually long silence, a digitally altered voice responded.
“Stop now. Hannah has been through enough already. Do you want her to suffer more?”
Then the line went dead.
“Ryan!” she screamed.
He was halfway to his car but sprinted back over immediately.
“What is it?” he asked breathlessly.
She told him what the caller had said.
“We have to go check on her,” she insisted.
“Of course,” he said. “Where would she be right now?”
Jessie looked at the time: 11:37.
“She’d still be at the school she started at last week.”
“Okay. Give me the address and I’ll follow you there. You call her directly while I call for a unit to get over there now. They’ll do a welfare check and stay until we arrive.”
She gave him the address, hopped in the car, and immediately called Hannah. It went straight to voicemail.
Stay calm. The school makes them turn off their phones during class. That’s all this is.
But knowing it was normal not to be able to reach her and believing it were two different things. As she zigzagged through midday traffic on the longest twelve-minute drive of her life, Jessie called the front office. She got voicemail for that too.
“This is the administrative office. We’re sorry no one is able to take your call. Please listen to the list of options and select your preference. A staffer will respond at the earliest possible convenience.”
Jessie screamed at the automated message as she punched in “0.” The action had no impact. She wanted to throw the phone but instead forced herself to listen to the phone tree choices, trying to determine who was most likely to actually be at their desk. When she heard that she should dial “6” for the library, she decided that was as good a choice as any.
