Did the traffic light have a camera? And if it did—could the lens capture him? Could the Crime Stoppers line track where the call came in from? Could they track the line and pull the film? He should have checked into traffic cameras.
Cade pulled the phone a little farther from his ear, ready to hang up, but a bored female voice answered. “Thank you for calling the Crime Stoppers anonymous tip line. Would you like to leave your name or remain anonymous?”
“Anonymous.” He pitched his voice just a little lower than usual and forced himself to speak slowly, to adjust his normal rhythm to a more relaxed pace. He was going to do this. It was for Jeni. He forced himself to calm down.
The line buzzed with static, and then cleared. “And to what does this call pertain?”
“Dr. Anthony Stratford. I know who killed him. His name is Tyler Green. He murdered Professor Stratford. I saw him dragging the body out of the school. He wrapped him in plastic and put him in the trunk of his car.”
“What—sir—please stay on the line while I transfer this call to our lead detective—”
Cade dropped the phone, letting it dangle at the end of its metal cord.
He walked away, shedding his coat as he went. He hadn’t wanted his DNA in the booth, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, either.
The police would come later. They would have to investigate further. And if the operator was a local, she would probably know Tyler’s name . . . or one of the detectives would. They would know Tyler’s background, and look into it because his story sounded plausible.
There was a chance that when they picked up Tyler, he’d give them all up. But between Tyler and Cade, Cade felt pretty sure that the cops would be eager to pin it all on Tyler.
Exactly as Cade had planned.
Ivy
Monday, June 29
Ivy hated her brother in a whole new way. Not like she had thought she hated him when he used to pinch her and tease her when she was little. Or the time when he’d ruined her new stereo by putting Cheez Whiz in the headphones slot. Not even like the time when he’d dumped tampons all over her during a sleepover.
This was a new kind of hate. It was fueled by fear. And truth.
She glared at him from the other side of his messy desk. He had an office about the size of a closet, and it was a disaster. Folders spewed papers everywhere. Wrinkled files. Documents covered in 3 Musketeers wrappers. Papers that had slid off the packed desk and onto the floor. A tall bookshelf, empty except for a copy of Helter Skelter and a lone metal bookend, hunched in the corner and half covered a tiny square of a window that looked out onto the sparse grass of the lawn in front of the police station.
Ivy sat in the chair across from him. Her knees hit the desk and the back of the chair was already shoved against the brick wall.
“We need to talk, Ivy. Really talk.”
Her phone buzzed. It was her father, wondering if she’d pick up milk on her way home.
Milk. What an odd, normal thing to think about.
At the police station. Be back soon.
Her phone buzzed again, but she ignored it.
“I need you to really talk to me, Ivy. I feel like you know something you’re not saying. Something that might be important. And obviously, Mrs. Stratford thinks so too.”
Daniel rested his elbows on his desk and folded his hands, like he was praying for something. And for a moment, she wanted to give him exactly what he was looking for.
Who would miss her, anyway? She had no friends. She’d turned Garrett away. Her parents were annoyed with her constantly—they liked Fun, Popular Party Ivy, the girl they’d raised. They didn’t know what to do with the Sulky, Homebody Ivy who spent most of her time at home, underfoot. They were constantly bugging her to get out of the house, to get away.
She supposed that prison would qualify as “out of the house.”
And it would feel good to finally tell someone. To get it off of her chest and just let everything sort itself out. The right way. The way it should have been from the beginning. She should never have let the others bully her into keeping the secret.
Ivy leaned forward too, and looked to her left and right. “Can we close the door, Daniel?”
Daniel barely had to stand up to swing the door closed. It nipped Ivy’s sleeve as it shut.
“Do the other officers know why I’m here?”
Daniel shook his head. “I wanted to talk to you first. I want to know why Mrs. Stratford thinks you know something.”
Ivy swallowed hard. Here was one question she could answer. “I don’t know, Daniel. I was driving Mattie home after class, and—”
“Who?”
“Mattie Byrne. He’s living next door with his aunt in that crazy-big mansion.”
“Really?” Daniel raised his eyebrows. “I’ve never seen anyone come in or out of that place besides the help.”
“Well, he’s there now. He’s nice.” For some reason, she wanted to defend Mattie and his aunt. Mattie felt almost like a friend to her now. Maybe even something a little more. And he was definitely the only one who understood her, even a little.
“Is there something going on between you two?”