“Ask Brennan—maybe he knows something or can at least point you in the right direction,” Len suggested.
“Good idea,” Gwyn said. She smiled at Ashley. Ashley liked Gwyn. Gwyn was tough and careful. She was a black woman—tawny gold, actually—and she had been born in Cuba. Raised a Catholic, she had once told Ashley she had considered converting to Judaism, just to make sure she had a foot in every local minority out there. With public institutions required to have quotas, she was determined to prove she was more than a statistical offering. She studied hard, worked hard and meant to be the best at what she did. “If you need help, or just moral support, let me know. I’m happy to oblige.”
“Thanks.”
“Any of us would help you out, Ashley,” Arne said.
“Ditto,” Izzy told her.
“Thanks,” she repeated.
“I’ll ask around, too,” Len assured her. He rose. “I’ve got to get back to my station. And you guys need to get back to class. I know Brennan. He’s a stickler for people being on time.”
He gave Ashley a kiss on the cheek, waving to the others as he walked toward the parking lot.
Arne offered Ashley a hand. “Ready to head back in?”
“We’ve still got some time,” Gwyn said.
“A few minutes,” Arne said. “No more.”
“You know what? I’m going to make another quick phone call. Excuse me,” Ashley told them. Rising, she discarded her trash and walked halfway toward the building. She dialed Karen’s cell phone number and was glad when her friend picked up the phone. Karen had recognized her cell number on caller I.D and spoke before Ashley could say a word. “Hey, you read the paper, I guess. Can you believe that it was Stuart? We drove by a body on the highway, and it was just a body—I don’t mean that badly, it was horrible, no matter what—but we drove past right after it happened, and it was Stuart Fresia.”
“I know. That’s why I was calling.”
“I’m glad you called. I wanted to talk to you, but I can’t call you during the day because you’re in class. But I can’t believe it. I mean, he’s got to be one of the nicest, straightest, most decent kids we ever knew. How the hell could this have happened?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did. But I’m going to ask some questions.”
“Well, yeah. You’re a cop. Or almost a cop. You should be able to get some answers from someone.”
“I’ll try.”
“I hope…”
“What?”
“I hope he’s still alive,” Karen said.
“He is—or was as of this morning. Nick called the hospital. He’s still in intensive care. No one can get in to see him but family.”
“No, and I guess it wouldn’t do any good even if we could get in. He’s in a coma.”
“I’ve got to get back into class. I just wanted to touch base with you.”
“Thanks. And promise to call me if you learn anything at all.”
“Promise.”
Ashley hung up and realized that the others had preceded her into the building. She glanced at her watch and noticed with dismay that although it had seemed before as if she had plenty of time to get to class, she was just going to make it.
She hurried along the halls to the right room, sliding in just as the minute hand swung. The rest of the class were already seated. She walked quickly to her own seat, noting that Captain Murray, head of personnel, had chosen that afternoon to come in and take a look at the current class. Her heart sank. She felt like a sore thumb, threading through the seats to reach her own.
She knew, of course, that he was watching her, even as he spoke with Brennan. She kept her eyes ahead, on him and Brennan, praying she showed no emotion. Certainly not guilt. She’d actually made it in time.
Neither of them singled her out. Brennan spoke to the class for a few minutes, telling them that Shelly Garcia from forensics was going to give them a talk on blood splatter and crime scene scope, and then Captain Murray would talk about some of the directions in which they might want to go after they graduated.
Brennan sat after introducing the woman from forensics. The talk was fascinating, and Ashley was intent on what she was hearing. Then Murray stood at the front of the room and talked about various specialties within the department. She had a pad and took notes, as did the others. But she found her thoughts wandering on occasion as well.
Without noticing, she began drawing the scene of the accident once again.
She caught herself and was careful to look up frequently as she began filling in substance and shadow in her drawing.
And once again…
The figure. Just a black figure, far across the many lanes, but watching…
Watching from the other side of the road.
Mary Simmons was sitting in the rear of the property, waiting for them. She smiled when she saw them, then rose, and welcomed them. She was thirty-five and looked ten years younger, very much at peace with herself. The garden area of the temple’s property was pretty, with greenery surrounding small benches. Jake had to admit it was a serene setting.