It’s nine-twenty. Victor should have been back fifteen minutes ago. At this point I figure I’m entitled to call him, and besides, I have new information.
That man was not the Principal Roberts I know. And why does he have Journey’s van and his cell phone? Why would he steal Chief Culson’s shoes? Why did he look so beat-up? I turn my phone back on and call Victor. I immediately hear a cell phone ringing nearby.
I open the hall closet. Victor’s briefcase is sitting on the floor, the top gaping open. His phone is inside ringing and lighting up. Great. I take it out. He’s had seven calls, only one of them mine. I drop the phone back into his case.
Next to Victor’s briefcase is a gym bag and, just visible inside, another pair of white basketball shoes that look to be about the right size.
I grab the shoes and turn them over.
Horizontal rays that cut through a circular tread. These are Victor’s shoes and they’re also Michael Jordan AJ1s.
Looking at the sole of the right shoe, there’s a smooth, kidney-shaped spot near the outer edge, toward the heel. It looks like gum or something sticky got on the sole. The sticky part is nearly worn off now, but the outline of where it was is clearly visible. There’s also a faint rust-colored residue along one edge of the shoe.
Shaky, I drop into my seat at the table. I’m instantly stung by a terrible realization. Oh my god. It was Victor! He did it! He killed Miss P. That’s why he acted so weird and took off suddenly, because I was going to know.
But wait … I wasn’t going to know. I don’t know how to read DNA stuff. And, Victor wasn’t even in Iron Rain until after—
These aren’t Victor’s shoes.
They belong to Principal Roberts. I remember now, he loaned them to Victor.
I lay the shoes and the things Principal Roberts dropped in the driveway out in front of me.
My face is feverish, but my bones have turned to ice. The fear that has been a constant companion my whole life fades. In its place molten anger rises.
Journey’s green armband, stretched out and soaked with blood, speaks volumes. I know it’s a long shot, but I’m hoping all of this blood belongs to Principal Roberts.
The square of notebook paper twists my insides, too. It’s damp, tattered, and spotted with blood. But I instinctively know what it is even before I open it.
It’s a handwritten note from Miss P.
I’m not surprised to see a strip torn out of the middle.
I dig around in my evidence box to find the Ziploc bag containing the scrap of paper I found lodged in Journey’s seat belt. It’s an exact match, which completes the words: “I even lifted your DNA from a coffee cup you left in my office—just to see if I could. And it worked. Pretty cool, huh?”
Coffee cup.
CC.
Miss P’s fatal move must have been testing Principal Roberts’s DNA just to prove that she could.
There’s only one thing left.
With cold precision I retrieve the bottle of luminol and a swab from Victor’s briefcase. I repeat the test that he just demonstrated for me by rubbing the swab on one of the rust-colored spots on Principal Roberts’s shoe, then squirting a few drops of luminol onto the tip of the swab.
The swab turns bright blue.
This evidence throws me back to two years old. Vulnerable and alone. I shrink in on myself. What if he comes back? What will I do?
The betrayal is overwhelming, followed by extreme sadness. Somehow I have to grasp that a man I have known and trusted my entire life is responsible for ruining it.
Not once … but twice.
I don’t know why, but I do now know, without any doubt, that Principal Roberts not only killed Miss Peters and tried to kill me—he also is the one who killed my mother and left my two-year-old self locked up alone with her body.
Why? Why would he do this to me?
I can’t reach Victor, but I’m certain Principal Roberts has Journey, no idea why, and I need to get to him before … well, I’m not going to think about that. I just need to get to him.
I don’t know what happened to Mr. Roberts. But he’s reasonable and I’m persuasive. I’m sure I can talk this through with him.
I race up to my room and change clothes: dark jeans, dark turtleneck, tennies, heavy jacket, and knit cap. Ready for anything. Before I leave, I pause in front of my laptop. I quickly send an e-mail to Lysa that just says, “Something’s going down. Call me if you can.” I race downstairs and stuff the shoes, the armband, the note, and the luminol into my bag. I pick up the extra set of keys to Rachel’s car, lock up the house, and hurry into the garage.
Information is power, and I’m armed with a buttload of it.
It’s nine-thirty and the streets of Iron Rain are quiet as a tomb. The only places still open are clubs and bars. I drive past a few, looking for Victor’s bright red rental car. Then I remember he said he was going to check on something at the police station.
I make a U-turn in the middle of the street.