"Why you personally?"
"Because the program fell under student services. Bernard's suing anyone who was remotely connected with the tutoring program. He lost his state pension, his benefits, his retirement."
"It's illegal for him to have sex with students."
"Not unless you catch him red-handed," he countered in disgust. "None of the girls would testify against him."
"Then how did you find out?"
"One of them came forward. He was pretty rough with her. There was some kind of fight and she got hurt. She didn't come to us until a few weeks later. I tried to get her to go to the police, but she wouldn't. Her word against his, right? She was scared of being paraded in front of the media. She was scared of being ostracized by the campus." His lips went into a thin line. "It's disgusting enough that it happened, but for him to sue us…"
"Why isn't this public knowledge?"
"Because he wants money, not headlines, and the university sure as hell isn't going to call up CNN and give them the scoop. It's only about the money, Faith. That's all it ever boils down to." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"He teaches at a high school. Did you know that?"
"The lawyers told us not to contact them. He could sue us for slander."
"It's not slander if you're telling the truth."
"That's a high-minded attitude when you're not looking at fifty thousand dollars in legal bills to defend yourself against a bastard you've never even met." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry, Faith. I saw the photos and I thought they sent you to get me."
"It's not a criminal case."
"I know that," he said. "I'm just so…" He shook his head, leaving her to fill in the blanks. "I'm paranoid. I worked damn hard to get where I am and I don't want to lose my job and my house because of some asshole who can't keep his dick in his pocket." He shook his head again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't use that kind of language. I shouldn't have grabbed you, either. I'm under a tremendous amount of stress. That's not an excuse. I know that."
"Why didn't you tell me about this before? We spent the night together talking about everything but this."
"For the same reason you didn't talk about your case. It was nice to just talk to a human being about normal stuff. I've been dealing with this lawsuit all summer. I just wanted somebody who sees me as Victor the nice guy, not the administrator who's being sued because students got poached on his watch."
Faith wrapped her arms around her waist, frustration building to the boiling point. Emma Campano had been abducted by a madman. How many more people had been standing idly by while the girl was being brutalized, her friends were being killed? "You have no idea what you've done." He tried to respond and she shook her head. "This man could be connected to my case, Victor. He was sleeping with one of the girls who died. His sperm was found inside her body."
His mouth opened in shock. "What are you saying?"
"That Evan Bernard is a suspect in our case."
"He kidnapped that girl? He killed…" Victor seemed truly horrified by the prospect.
She was so angry that she felt tears come into her eyes. "We don't know, but if you'd shared this information with me two days ago, you might have spared another girl from-"
Footsteps echoed in the tunnel. Faith shielded her eyes from the harsh lights and made out a round figure making its way toward them. As the man got closer, she could see that he was wearing shorts, a T-shirt and a white lab coat that was stained with catsup.
"Chuck," Victor said, his voice strained as he tried to get back his composure. He reached toward Faith, but she shrugged him off. He still managed introductions. "This is Faith Mitchell. We were just coming to find you."
By way of greeting, Chuck said, "Shockrete."
Faith asked, "Sorry?"
"Your gray powder is Shockrete. It's a high density concrete that's reinforced with titanium fibers."
"What's it used for?"
"Retaining walls, wine cellars, skateboard parks, swimming pools." He glanced around. "Tunnels."
"Like this one?"
"This baby's old," he said, patting the low ceiling. "Besides, I found granite in the mix."
"Like Stone Mountain?" she asked, referencing a mountain that was several miles outside the city.
"That particular granite is known for its clusters of tourmaline, which aren't common to other granites. I'm no igneous petrologist, but my guess is that it's our trusty three-hundred-million-year-old Atlanta bedrock."
She tried to put him back on point. "So it came from a tunnel in the city?"
"I'd say a construction site."
"What kind?"
"Any kind, really. Shockrete's sprayed on the walls, the ceiling, to hold back soil."
"Would it be used in water main construction, fixing lines under the road?"
"Almost exclusively. As a matter of fact-"
There was more, but Faith was running too fast to hear him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WILL REPEATED HIS question. "What does the concrete powder look like?"
"Like you'd expect," Petty answered, indicating the glass door Will had just walked through. He could see it now. Light gray footprints across the blue carpet. Will glanced around the room, the furiously working copiers, the empty storefront. Anyone who had been in the Copy Right or the parking lot could have tracked through the concrete dust and deposited it anywhere, but only one of them was holding a knife that matched the one used to kill Kayla Alexander and Adam Humphrey.
He asked Petty, "Are you the only one here?" The man nodded, chewing another bite of steak. "Warren should be back soon. He's out making a delivery." "He has a van?"
"Nah, it's just down the street. We walk over the deliveries sometimes. It kind of breaks the monotony."
Outside, the jackhammer kicked in, the vibrations so hard that Will could feel the floor shaking under his feet.
Will raised his voice, asking, "Do you ever make deliveries?" He shrugged. "Sometimes."
"What?" Will asked, though he had heard the man well enough. "I can't hear you over the jackhammer."
"I said sometimes."
Will shook his head, pretending he still couldn't hear. This wasn't going to be like Evan Bernard. Will would not leave this building without a suspect in handcuffs and a solid case to back the arrest. Petty had the knife, he had the opportunity and he certainly had the motive-what better way to end his illustrious career at the Copy Right than to retire with a million dollars cold hard cash in his pocket? Having Emma Campano in the process would be icing on the cake.
Was that enough, though? Was this pathetic pothead the kind of man who could beat a girl to death and take another away for his own pleasure? Faith had said she'd be the ruler of the world if she could spot a killer from a hundred paces. Was Lionel Petty someone who hid murder in his heart, or was he just caught up in something bad-the wrong place at the wrong time?
Either way, Will wanted to get Petty away from the exit and in an enclosed space where he could talk to him. He especially wanted him to put down the knife.
He told the man, "I still can't hear you."
Petty cupped his hands to his mouth, making a joke of it. "Sometimes I make deliveries!"
Will knew the office was in back of the room. He guessed that all the paperwork would be kept there. He yelled to Petty, "I need to see who you deliver to."
Petty nodded, dropping the knife and standing up. He started to leave, then changed his mind. Will reached around to his paddle holster as Petty's fingers moved toward the knife, but the man only scooped up a handful of French fries. He ate them as he led Will to the back of the store. At the door to the office, he pulled out a ring of keys.
Will asked, "Does Warren always leave those with you?"