"I'll get to you. Tell me where to go."
"Call you when I get there. Bye." Nat closed the phone and in time saw the blue sign ahead, welcome to Delaware. Her heart lifted, and she made a beeline for the border. She remembered that some cell phones had GPS in them, so she found a pen in the car, scribbled Angus's cell number on her hand, then powered down the phone. She'd have to get rid of the car, too. Another strip mall lay ahead, and she pulled in.
People milled everywhere around the lot, families with kids in winter gear, carrying plastic bags and pushing oversized shopping carts. She drove around the back of the big-box store, so she couldn't be seen from the main drag. She toyed with the idea of parking the car around the back, with the license plate against the wall, but cops would come back here eventually. She wanted the car disappeared and she couldn't go out in the middle of nowhere to dump it or she'd never get back. Then it struck her. She shouldn't hide the car at all. There was only one way to get it disappeared instantly and still make a clean getaway.
She drove around to the front of the store, where customers were coming and going, and found just what she was looking for. Signs.
NO PARKING. NO STOPPING. VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED AT OWNER'S EXPENSE. She parked in front of the store, gathered up the prison file, grabbed her purse, and got out of the Kia and walked quickly away. On a busy shopping day like Saturday, the car would be towed within an hour, hopefully before Bill got wind that she was wanted for murder. She walked calmly out of the parking lot to the street, watching the traffic for a bus or a cab.
Fifteen minutes later, she was still waiting nervously when a blue tow truck that read Bill's Tow-the-Line steered past her and into the mall's parking lot. She turned and watched with satisfaction as the Kia was tugged away, hanging from the chain like a minnow on a fishing line. She finally spotted a cab, hailed it, climbed inside, and told the older driver she needed a cheap, out-of-the way motel.
"I know just what you mean," the driver said, with a knowing wink, and Nat didn't disabuse him of whatever notion he had. The cab lurched into traffic and eventually steered into the outskirts of Wilmington. She felt suddenly as if she were leaving her life. Speeding away from her home, her city, and the job she loved. And Hank and the family who, as annoying as they were, at least didn't believe she'd killed anybody. There was no way she could see them now.
She was officially on the run, a law professor turned fugitive. She didn't know how it had all gone so wrong, or how she could set it right. She knew only that it wouldn't be as quick a fix as a box of Beach Blonde and CVS eyeglasses. And that Angus would help. She felt like he got her, in a way no man had before. She felt as if he'd fight for her, and help her fight for herself. And she loved what he'd said:
I'll get to you.
Because she knew he already had.
Chapter 34
Nat hit the cheesy motel room, threw her stuff on the bed, crossed directly to the curtains, and yanked them closed. She went to the TV, grabbed the greasy remote, and clicked through the channels, relieved not to see her face on the screen. She left the news on, muted, so she could monitor the cops. She was on edge, keeping fear at bay by sheer denial. Academics were ill-suited to life on the lam, and she felt disorientated, lost in time and space.
I thought you wanted space. Which is it, space or time?
Nat thought about calling Hank, but he’d tell her to turn herself in.
We can figure out the best thing to do, together.
She went to the phone, double-checked the number on her palm, and called.
Nat showered, dried off, and put the same clothes back on, having no other choice. She brushed her teeth with a finger and combed her hair so it was less Bart Simpson, then put on some makeup, pretend-ing that she wasn't wanted for murder. Her eyes looked back at her from the mirror, a darker brown against the contrast of the blond, They looked worried, too, but that had nothing to do with Revlon. She vanished all negative thoughts. She had work to do.
She went to the bed and picked up the prison file, but a packet of blueprints fell onto the patterned rug. She got the packet and took it to a little veneer table, where she spread it out so that it dropped over the sides like a tablecloth. A hanging light with a gold-toned shade hung over the table, casting a circle on a floor plan of the prison, before remodeling.
On the plan, she could see the entrance of the prison, the control center, the cafeteria, the classroom where she'd been attacked, and, on the other side, the room in which Saunders and Upchurch had been killed. She turned to the second page, which was HVAC, then turned to the third page. It was the electrical plan, the schematics that showed the wiring.
She eyed them, then looked closer. She could see the straight black lines that would have been wiring for the security cameras, because they went to a central spot in the ceiling, which she gathered was the silver orb Angus had mentioned. She compared the wiring in the room where Saunders and Upchurch had been killed. There was no such wiring. No security camera.
Nat double-checked. She could see the wires going to the other security cameras, but the room where Upchurch had been killed had no such pattern of wires. She followed the black lines of wiring to the other staff rooms on that side of the hallway. There were three staff rooms, and they all had wiring for security cameras, except for one at the end of the row nearest the RHU pod.
She mulled this over. She didn't ask Graf why he and Saunders had taken Upchurch into that room in particular. She had assumed it was because it was the security office, but maybe it was because it didn't have a camera. Graf had to have known that. If he didn't know it before the remodeling, he would certainly have known after. His brother had the schematics, and even a professor could read them.
She felt as if she were onto something. So Graf knew that whatever he did in that room wouldn't be recorded. It suggested a degree of premeditation that gave another lie to Graf's version of events. So either Upchurch had been involved in dealing drugs, or he'd simply found out that Graf and maybe Saunders were. So what did Upchurch do exactly that merited execution? His killing seemed like an overreaction to skimming profits or a double-cross of some kind. Why bother killing him, given the risk? Why not simply make his life miserable?
Nat felt stymied. What if Mrs. Rhoden had been right, and Upchurch was a quiet little guy who never bothered anyone? A victim of teasing, first by schoolkids and later by Graf. It forced her to re-analyze the problem, which led her to a startling question: What if Upchurch wasn't the intended victim that morning? What if it was Saunders whom Graf had intended to kill? What if Graf merely used Upchurch as an excuse, to catch Saunders unawares?
She tested her theory. Could Graf have killed both Saunders and Upchurch? Was it even physically possible? She went through the steps in her mind. Say Graf brings the knife in. He kills Saunders, then Upchurch, then makes it look like Upchurch killed Saunders. Graf tells the lie to cover up his crime. So it was possible. If it was a cover-up, how high up did it go? At least to Machik, for all of the foregoing, as the lawyers say. But why would Graf have killed Saunders, his best friend? And if it happened that way, why hadn't Saunders told her that before he died? His keeping mum shot her whole theory.
Nat jumped at the sound of a knock, then walked over and peeked through the peephole. She couldn't deny the fluttering inside her chest at the sight of the familiar shaggy ponytail, thick gray sweater, and jeans. She opened the door.
"Natalie," Angus said softly, scooping her up into an embrace that lifted her off her bare feet, then quickly setting her back down. "Okay, that hurts. Sorry."
"My, jeez." Nat tugged her sweater down, flustered. That was a definite hug, wasn't it?