CHAPTER TEN
“So his alibi checked out?” Mac asked on Wednesday morning.
Veronica was back in the office, leaning against the color printer as it churned out copies. Mac sat on the edge of her desk a few feet away, her slender legs crossed at the ankles, her short hair falling over her forehead. Her coffee mug was printed in running lines of binary. Veronica was willing to stake a day’s pay on the fact that it read something like “Hackers do it better” in code.
“Completely. According to the surveillance cameras he left the library at twelve twenty-six, and Professor Hague said he was on time for his eleven a.m. class the next day. There’s no way he could have made it from Stanford to Neptune and back in that window, even if he was driving like a bat out of hell.” She sighed. “Did you dig anything else up?”
Mac shook her head. “He didn’t use any of his credit cards that night or the next day. And he didn’t fly—or if he did, the FAA didn’t know about it.”
Veronica stared over Mac’s head at the window. Outside, the bricks of the warehouses looked a brilliant red in the afternoon light. The truth was, she’d wanted it to be Chad. Between what Hayley’s friends had told her about him and her own investigative Spidey-sense, he’d looked like a perfect suspect. She’d spent the whole evening at Stanford, questioning security guards and professors about him. She’d even talked to a few of his friends. One hulking boy with a nose that had obviously caught more than its share of lacrosse balls said he’d always told Chad not to “tie himself down” with Hayley. “He gets all caught up trying to imagine what she’s doing. I’m like, man, the point of having a girlfriend on the other side of the bay is so she doesn’t know what you’re doing. Why are you making such a thing of it? Let the girl have her fun and just make sure you’re getting yours.” Another one of Chad’s teammates told her it was obvious that Chad had been head over heels in love. “She was all he talked about. He sent her flowers every week. He took her on a couple crazy shopping sprees for new clothes and jewelry. I mean, I’ve never seen him lose his head over a girl like this.”
Ah, true love. Who ever went wrong measuring it in dollar signs? But there wasn’t any evidence pointing her toward Hayley’s ex, and his alibi was airtight. There were no recent charges on his credit card, except for the aforementioned shopping sprees and athletic socks from the campus bookstore. It didn’t matter what she thought of what sounded like a very Stella-and-Stanley relationship if it didn’t get her closer to the truth.
“Well, I got some interesting returns on the background checks you asked for.” Mac set down her cup and rummaged around on her cluttered desk for a minute before finding a plain manila folder that read DEWALT on the tab. She handed it to Veronica. “The first search didn’t pull anything up, but I did a little creative digging.”
Veronica flipped through the pages. “Crane Dewalt has a record?”
“It’s a juvenile record, so it took a little extra work to find. The Montana Department of Corrections seals them when the offender turns eighteen. But their databases are, um, not that secure.” Mac looked innocently out the window, and Veronica grinned.
“Underage intoxication. Shoplifting. Possession,” she read. “All kid stuff. Until … oh, wow. Aggravated assault?” She flipped through the documents. At sixteen Crane Dewalt had attacked another kid with a bike chain wrapped around his fist. The victim lost two teeth—and the use of his left eye. Crane was sentenced to nine months in juvie.
“He’s been clean since then. But he definitely has a temper. I’ve been going through his employment history. Looks like he was let go from a Kinko’s after getting in a shouting match with a customer. He’s been doing odd jobs for more than a year now.”
“Interesting.” Veronica closed the folder. “Anything in his recent history that might place him in Neptune the night Hayley disappeared? Credit cards, phone calls, flight records?”
Mac shook her head. “He has six credit cards, all in default. No savings. Twelve dollars and sixty cents in his checking account. So not a lot of traceable activity.”
“If he works under the table, he might have a wad of cash, though. And freeing up some of his parents’ income from Berkeley’s tuition fees would be motive,” mused Veronica.
Mac’s eyes widened. “Motive? So are you saying … he killed her?”
“No, and that’s the problem.” Veronica frowned. “I don’t even know what crime I’m investigating yet. And I won’t until I piece together what really happened that night.” She met Mac’s eyes again. “What did you pull up on the party house?”
“Not a lot. It’s a rental. Owned by a company called Sun and Surf, Inc.” Mac frowned. “I’m still digging, but as far as I can tell that particular address wasn’t rented out to anyone the night in question. According to their records, every single property they have is rented through the month of March. Every single property except that one.”
Veronica was about to respond when loud voices on the stairwell interrupted her thoughts. She and Mac both looked up to see Wallace Fennel herding two teenage boys through the office doors. Neither one looked happy.
“This is blackmail,” said one. He was a tall, dark-skinned boy with long, gangly limbs, a Lakers cap perched at a jaunty angle over his forehead. The other boy was shorter, with carroty red hair and a light smattering of acne over his pale face. He stared around the room in mutinous silence.
“You can’t do this to us,” the first boy said.
“Excellent,” said Veronica, pushing up off the copy machine. “My assistants have arrived.”
Mac looked at Veronica, one eyebrow raised. “Your what?”
“This one tried to bolt while we were coming up the stairs,” Wallace said, jerking his head toward the first boy. “You’ll have to keep an eye on him. Hey, Mac.”
“Hi, Wallace. Why are you delivering urchins to our door?”
“Because I’m a helpful guy. Veronica Mars says she needs boots on the ground, I find her some boots.” Wallace gave a lopsided grin, running a hand over the stubble of his goatee. “See, Coach Fennel knows all and sees all. I caught two of my best players in the Cabo Cantina with the worst excuses for fake IDs I’ve ever seen. In exchange for my clemency they’re gonna help you out this afternoon.”
The kid in the hat turned around to scowl at Wallace. “It’s no fair. You can’t give us detention for something that happened during spring break. We weren’t even at school, Coach!”
Wallace gave him a pleasant smile. “You’re right, T.J. I can’t give you detention. But I can bench you for the rest of the season. Or—now, here’s an idea—I could call your mom.” A look of horror flitted over the kid’s face. Wallace pretended to pick up a phone. “Ring ring. Well, hello, Mrs. Wiggins. I just wanted to make sure that T.J.’s allowed to drink three-foot pi?a coladas, right?” Wallace dropped his hand. “But see, I want to keep my point guard alive. So instead, I’m giving you the option of a few hours’ work to pay your debt to society. Sound fair?”
The kid nodded, eyes wide.
“How about you, Quinton?” He turned to the redhead, who nodded too.