Blood on My Hands

CHAPTER 37

Wednesday 11:02 A.M.

SILENCE. I LIE in my new hiding place in the pool table, feeling worried and scared and baffled. Then comes a rumble of commotion and voices in the hall. A door bangs open and I hear heavy footsteps and breathing as several people rush into the room.
“Check everywhere,” a man orders. “The closets, cabinets, everything.”
I hear shuffling, banging, and the scraping of furniture being moved. “She’s not here, sir.”
“The window,” someone says.
“Damn it!” another man grunts, as if angry with himself that he didn’t notice it sooner.
“You think she went down the fire escape?”
“Down, or up. One of you go each way.”
More grunts. I imagine two police officers climbing out the window to the fire escape. A walkie-talkie crackles on. A man in the room asks, “Any sign of her?”
“Negative,” comes the reply over the walkie-talkie.
“McGregor and Petersen, you in the front?” asks the man.
“Yes, sir.”
“I want one of you on either side of that crowd. Watch for her.”
“Ten-four, sir.”
I listen as he gives more orders and suddenly realize something I didn’t think of before. Because of the ceremony, the whole police department is probably here. For the moment no one’s out on patrol, no one’s taking the day off. I couldn’t be more surrounded.
“Wilson,” the man in the room says, “anything on the roof?”
“Negative, sir.”
“Palluci?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Go out in the front with McGregor and Petersen. Keep your eyes on that crowd. When people start to leave after the congresswoman’s speech, look for anything she could hide in. You see a baby stroller, check it.”
“Ten-four.”
Another voice in the lounge says, “Heating ducts?”
“Christ, only in the movies,” mutters the man giving orders, who I think must be Chief Jenkins.
“Ready to stake your job on that?” asks the other man.
“Wilson, go find a janitor or someone who knows where the ducts are and check them.”
“Ten-four, sir.”
A door opens and closes. Is the police chief still here? Is he alone in the lounge or did he leave, too? I strain to hear what’s going on. Then there’s a burst of walkie-talkie static. “Chief?”
“Whatcha got, Howard?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“You checked under the cars, too?”
“Affirmative, sir.”
“Okay. Remain where you are and keep your eyes open. She can’t have just disappeared.”
“Ten-four.”
The lounge goes quiet, but I can hear breathing. I’m pretty sure Police Chief Jenkins is still here, but there could be someone else, as well. I wait. How long is he going to stay in the lounge? Why doesn’t he leave? I hear a faint hiss and a thump, as if a window was just closed. “She’s got to be somewhere in this building,” he says.
“Or she could be hiding in that crowd,” the other man answers in a way that makes me think he’s an equal or a confidant. He didn’t feel the need to add “sir” or “chief.”
“It’s only a hundred people,” Chief Jenkins replies.
“Someone could be helping her.”
It’s quiet for a moment. Then the police chief mumbles, “Christ, what a mess.”
“Did you ask her about the medical review board?” the other man asks.
“She won’t talk about it,” Chief Jenkins answers.
“What about the other girl and the Clemment kid?”
I lie perfectly still, afraid to move, trying desperately to hear an answer. The “Clemment kid” has to be Griffen. What could he possibly have to do with this? But just as the police chief begins to answer, his words are drowned out by applause coming from outside. The next thing I clearly hear is the other man saying, “The congresswoman’s leaving?”
“That was quick.” Chief Jenkins must be standing beside the window, looking down at the crowd.
“And still no sign of her,” the other man says gravely and without the astonishment I’d expect to accompany that statement. “What do you make of it, Sam?”
“Damned if I know.”
“Know what worries me?” the other man says. “That we may never know.”
Know what? I wonder. What are they talking about? Are they worried they may never know who did it? Why did the other man bring up the medical review board? Was Mia the “other girl” they were talking about? And what is Griffen Clemment’s role in this? I wish Chief Jenkins would answer, but there’s only more silence until the other man says, “I better get moving.” I hear something faint that might be a soft pat on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
The opinion piece in the Soundview High School Bugle was supposed to have had both Mia’s and my names on it. That was what she said would happen. But there it was with only my name on it, causing a big stir. Even I was surprised when I reread it. Somehow it looked and sounded different on my computer than it did in black-and-white print on the opinion page. At school some kids came up and congratulated me, but it seemed they were impressed more by my bravery than by what I’d had to say. Others glanced in my direction, frowned, and shook their heads, as if I’d voluntarily climbed into the lion’s cage.
As soon as first period was over, I looked for Mia in the hall and the girls’ room but couldn’t find her. I did the same thing after second period. By the end of third, I was almost certain she was avoiding me, so I sent a text: Have 2 talk 2 U.
The reply came almost instantly: Home sick.
So not only had Mia left my name alone on the piece we’d cowritten; she’d left me alone in school to face the reaction. I couldn’t help wondering just how sick she was.