Innocent Bystander (16 page)

The black Ford sedan rolled down a quiet suburban street. Farrow drove. Mayweather, beside him, munched a cinnamon raisin bagel. Morning sunlight flickering through the trees forced Farrow to squint. He wiggled a pair of sunglasses free from his shirt pocket.

“You going to tell me what you found,” Farrow said, “or just wait for me to guess?”

At that moment, the last thing Mayweather wanted to do was reveal the outcome of his research. Informing his partner that Desmond had never even been charged with so much as jaywalking probably wouldn’t persuade him to open an investigation.

During the night he’d realized the only thing he could do was spy on Desmond, see where he went in his off hours, and note who he came in contact with. Anything more would be deemed inappropriate and could compromise the official investigation.

Problem was, he had little free time to devote to Desmond. He needed the resources an official investigation would offer.

“Desmond’s got no record,” Mayweather said.

“We need to warn him about Burnett.”

“What?” Mayweather said before he even realized he’d spoken.

“He could have been a thousand miles away. He chose to stick around and research his teacher. No question he’s planning something.”

Mayweather agreed. Burnett would go after the computer. He’d remained awake the rest of the night debating whether or not to give him that chance. He’d been forced to admit that there wasn’t much he could do to help him at this point, and when he was truly honest with himself, he wasn’t even sure if he should. While his gut continued to assert Burnett’s innocence, his head reminded him that all the existing evidence pointed to his guilt.

The temptation to inform Farrow of his conversation last night grew. Should Burnett be caught, his cell phone records might reveal they had spoken. He weighed the pros and cons, and elected to remain silent.

Professor Desmond stood hunched over his office desk at the university. The petite, early-twenties redhead seated in his chair stared intently at the 700-page tome on the desk.

It was 9:27 a.m. and he was running late for class. He’d had to wait for Ryder to arrive and dispose of De Stefano’s body. To further complicate matters, one of his students had dropped by his office. The one who always sat in the front row, always questioned anything she didn’t agree with, and never left the auditorium satisfied with his answers. She had a question about the chapter they would be discussing this afternoon.

He loathed tardiness. Habitual lateness was a sign of being lazy or ill prepared. He was neither. Early in his career, however, he had made a promise to never turn away a student who came for help. With a full schedule today, this would be his only opportunity to work with her.

“So, Professor Hawking,” Desmond said, “is credited with proposing the theory that Black Holes emit radiation. That’s why it’s referred to as Hawking Radiation.”

“I understand that,” the young woman said. “But so far there’s no empirical proof Hawking Radiation exists.”

“True. But it’s considered likely that it does.”

“Yet this paragraph makes it sound like it’s been proven.”

Desmond skimmed the three sentences in question. “I could see where some people might interpret it like that. The way it’s worded is questionable. I want to thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

She remained in the chair, her gaze still at the paragraph highlighted in red. He could hear her teeth grinding, a physical manifestation of her mind grinding out yet another question.

Desmond stole a glance at the clock. It was 9:31 and class was supposed to start at 9:30. The trek to the lecture hall required three to four minutes at normal walking speed.

He shut the book and passed it to her, hoping she would get the message he had to leave. “I’ll be certain to mention it in class later, in case anyone else has the same misunderstanding.”

The textbook hovered in front of her face for several seconds. Desmond feared his response had not satisfied her.

At last she snatched the textbook and turned to him. “Thank you for your help, Professor.”

“Anytime.”

He followed her out of the office and down the hall. He waded through a sea of students, fighting the impulse to jog. Increasing his pace would appear more suspicious than arriving late.

He checked his watch as he neared his classroom. When he reached for the door handle someone shouted his name. It seemed all the forces of the universe were conspiring to make him as late as possible. He cursed softly, dipped his head, and turned to his left. Detective Farrow marched toward him. Mayweather trailed several steps back.

“We just need a moment,” Farrow said. He stopped beside Desmond and waited for his partner to arrive.

“I’m already late for my own class, Detective. I’m sure whatever it is can wait an hour or so.” Desmond twisted the handle, but Farrow slid between him and the door.

“We just want to warn you,” Farrow said.

“I don’t understand.”

Farrow glanced at Mayweather. His partner remained silent. “As I’m sure you know, your former student, Michael Burnett, is accused of killing a girl whose body was discovered in the trunk of his car.”

“And?”

“He’d been hiding out at the condo of another student who’s out of the country,” Farrow said.

He nodded, but could not imagine why the detective insisted on wasting his time with this. Now more than five minutes late, control over his temper slipped. “I really am late for my class. If this could wait.”

“Burnett managed to flee the condo before we arrived,” Farrow said. “But we discovered he’d spent quite a bit of time doing research on you.”

He withdrew his fingertips from the door handle. Now the detective had his full attention.

“He spent several hours reading reviews of your papers,” Farrow said, “and information about you personally. Any idea why he’d do that? He could have been hundreds of miles away. Instead, he stuck around to read up on you.”

“Am I in danger?”

“We’re not sure. But we wanted to make you aware of the situation.”

“Thank you.”

“Tell me,” Farrow said, “when you spoke to Burnett yesterday outside the Starbucks, did he ask you for anything besides money?”

Desmond shook his head. “I assumed he came to me because it’s common knowledge among the students that I stop for a coffee every morning at the same time.”

“Sounds like there may have been more to it. If you’d like police protection, I can arrange it.”

Desmond pretended to think. “I don’t believe that will be necessary.”

Mayweather cracked a crooked grin, his first reaction of any kind since he and Farrow had arrived.

“Okay,” Farrow said. “You change your mind, let us know.”

Burnett fidgeted in the passenger seat as Emma guided her Nissan Leaf down a quiet, tree-lined street. Large, overpriced homes sat half-hidden behind stone and concrete fences. She drove at the posted twenty-five miles-per-hour speed limit. To him it felt like they were barely moving. Perhaps that was a good thing since they had no destination in mind.

He felt exposed driving around in the daytime and wanted nothing more than to abandon the car on the side of the road.

“There must be someplace you can leave it,” Burnett said, no longer able to keep silent.

“I just don’t know.”

“Some relative’s house.”

She opened her mouth to speak when she and Burnett spotted a Hummer racing toward them. She hit the brakes.

“Oh shit,” Emma said.

The Hummer skidded to a stop in front of them. Burnett could see she considered making a run for it. Instead she kicked open the door and jumped out. He leaped from the car and braced for a confrontation.

A distinguished-looking, gray-haired man in a blue pin-striped suit stepped from the Hummer. He and Emma approached each other.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asked.

“Are you out of your mind?” the man shot back. “Your mother is going absolutely nuts worrying about you.”

She just shook her head.

“And on the run with this murderer,” he said.

“Someone framed him, Dad.”

“I’m not looking for explanations. I just want you to get in the car with me.”

“The cops are after me, too.”

Mr. Blankenship aborted his attempt to cover his ears. “I think we can take care of that. Mr. Frank has agreed not to press charges. If you apologize to him for nearly breaking his arm.”

“I’ve also aided and abetted a suspected murderer,” she said.

“Just get in the goddamn car,” Mr. Blankenship said.

“One question before I go.”

“Go? You’re coming with me.”

“How did you know where to find us?” She paused. “GPS locator in my car?”

Mr. Blankenship grabbed his daughter’s sleeve and dragged her to the Hummer.

“Explain to him you’re innocent,” she said to Burnett.

“It’s true,” he said. “I haven’t killed anyone. Somebody’s setting me up.”

“No offense,” Mr. Blankenship said. “I don’t give a damn about you or your problems right now. My daughter’s in so far over her head it’s going to take months to dig her out.”

“He’s right,” Burnett said. The perfect opportunity had arisen to remove her from the equation. “You don’t need to get any more involved.”

“Listen to him,” Mr. Blankenship said. “Come with me now. I think we can still keep you out of jail.”

“I was there when Henri jumped from the balcony,” she said to her father, stone-faced. “They think Michael pushed him. I know he didn’t. They think he killed that little bitch who showed up at Henri’s apartment. I know he didn’t. I have to find out what happened.” She paused. “If he gets blamed for this, we may never find out why Henri’s dead. I can’t live with that.”

“There are ways to find out without running from the law,” Mr. Blankenship said. “We can look into it.”

Emma gazed up at her father with disgust. “I don’t believe you.”

She yanked her arm free. He reached out for her again, but came up empty handed. She backed several feet away.

“I’m an adult, and I’ve made my decision,” Emma said.

“I respect that,” Mr. Blankenship said. “At least let me help you somehow.”

Burnett tipped forward, eager to hear the man’s offer.

“I know you, Dad. You say that, then you’ll turn him in yourself to get the credit.”

Mr. Blankenship smacked himself on the side of his head with an open palm. “What an idiot.”

“For once we agree on something.”

Mr. Blankenship lunged forward and wrapped his arm around her elbow. An instant later he whipped out his cell phone. With his thumb he punched in 911. “Yes, I’ve spotted that person of interest you’re looking for. His name is Burnett. He’s on South Road, traveling by foot. No, no, I won’t try to apprehend him myself.”

Emma kicked him in the shin and easily freed herself. “How could you?” she screamed and punched his shoulder repeatedly. “How could you?”

“I’ve got to go,” Burnett said from beside the Leaf.

Without looking at him, she raised her hand in a “stop” motion. She stared at her father with a steely-eyed determination that altered his expression from angered to worried. No tears came from her bloodshot eyes. “Henri’s dead. When you came over, did you once ask me how I was feeling? Did you once ask how I was coping? No, you left the hard part to Mom.”

Mr. Blankenship watched, motionless, as Emma strode to the driver’s side of his Hummer, leaned in, and yanked out the keys. Then she walked back to where he could see her.

“If you had any emotions of your own,” she said, “you might know what it feels like to be dying inside.” She displayed the keychain for him, then tossed it into the drain on the side of the street.

She motioned for Burnett to get into her car. He hesitated, then flung open the door and climbed in.

“If you try to stop us,” Emma said, “I won’t speak to you again for the rest of your life.” She returned to the Leaf. “I won’t have any contact with you. Do you understand?”

She entered the Leaf. Burnett waited for a reaction from her father, but he just stood there, a vacant look on his face.

She shoved the car into gear and steered around the Hummer. Mr. Blankenship didn’t even turn when the electric car accelerated past him.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“I feel like I’m the one who should be sorry,” Burnett replied. “Maybe you should have gone with him. Not that I don’t want your help. But your father was right. And I feel like I’m dragging you down with me.”

“My choice,” she said. “Do I have to tell you again what this means to me? You hear what I said to my father?”

“I heard. But you know what? When you’re this emotional, sometimes you don’t think as clearly as you should.”

“Who’s emotional? The only thing I feel right now is determination. I’m determined to find the truth.”

He didn’t believe her, nor did he like where the conversation was headed. He reminded himself he should be grateful for her help. More than that, he vowed not to mention it again. “There’s a parking garage a mile from here.”

“Near the library.”

“It’s about fifteen blocks from Desmond’s house. We park the car in the basement or the top floor. Leave it there. Then hide out someplace until dark.”

She noted the time on the clock. It read 9:55 a.m. “Do you know where we can
hide out
, as you put it, for nine or ten hours?”

Silence was the only answer that came to him.

“It won’t take them long to find the car,” she said. “We have no place to go. So it won’t take them long to find us either. We need to get out of town. There’s someone we could stay with for the day.”

“How far?”

“Less than fifty miles. We can get there.”

A sarcastic laugh burst through his lips before he could stifle it. “And how do we get back?”

“I don’t know,” Emma said. “Borrow another car. But the first order of business is not getting caught.”

She was right, but no doubt every police department in the northeast had detailed information on the car and the two of them.

“We have to get rid of the car now,” he said.

“In the parking garage?”

“Every second we drive around is risky.”

“Then why not just turn ourselves in?” she said, her voice quivering. “I mean, we can’t drive around during the day, but we can’t walk around either. We got no place to leave the car and we have no one to go to for help. What the hell are we doing?”

He could barely watch as moisture pooled in her eyes. No tears came, but the sparkle of liquid beneath her brows pulled his attention more effectively than any magnet. He wanted to reiterate how she could have left with her father, how she would be safe watching from the sidelines. But he stuck to his vow. “Pull over here.”

“So we can get caught walking around in the daytime instead of driving around in the daytime?”

“Please stop the car.”

Emma tapped the brake and directed the Leaf to the curb. “Now what?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Not good enough.” Mascara-coated tears cascaded down her cheeks. “Not good enough.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to tell me what the hell’s going on. Can you explain that? It’s so insane. Everything’s so crazy. I don’t understand.”

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. He spread his arms and reached out to her. When she saw him, arms open beside her, she hesitated, then leaned in.

His grief scratched for the surface. With so much at stake, he refused to let down his guard even for a moment.

He held her while her sobs abated. A van sped past them, followed by an empty school bus. In an instant he knew what to do.

* * *

Burnett’s focus swung side-to-side as the Leaf neared Palmer Avenue. He searched for a blue, rectangular sign.

“Make a right,” he said as the Leaf reached Palmer. Emma complied, but his head turned in surprise as the Leaf floated past the blue bus-stop sign mounted atop a ten-foot post.

He motioned to it. “There’s the bus stop.” A parking space waited less than ten feet from the pole. He twisted his torso and watched the sign shrink behind the rear window. “Where are you going?”

“It’s a good idea. But if you really want the cops to buy it, we have to sell it to them.” She rotated the wheel to the left, and the Leaf raced down a side street.