Page 27

There was no sign of Michael Brooks. Or at least, no one who resembled the picture Janet Foster had given them. Ella was beginning to think that maybe his absence was directly related to the two dead bodies he’d created.

Beside her, Sarah Webb was looking up something about wildlife in Florida, maintaining the illusion that they should actually be doing something.

Meanwhile, across the vast, carpeted tundra of the main floor, Ripley pretended to be fascinated by every paperback in the romance section in turn.

Ripley’s idea of romance had always fascinated Ella, especially after what happened with her ex.

Ella still didn’t understand it even now, so watching her scowl at covers depicting windswept lovers was its own small, bleak comedy.

‘Not like the movies, is it?’ Sarah whispered. ‘Stakeouts, I mean.’

‘You learn a lot about yourself during stakeouts. Like how long you can go without peeing.’

‘Do your pelvic floor exercises and you’ll be able to hold it for hours.’

Ella glanced down at her thighs. She’d always considered pelvic floor exercises as something other women did; something that her genetics naturally took care of. But given that she’d already been to the bathroom twice since she got here, maybe Sarah had a point.

‘You’ll have to teach me.’

‘Sure. Your boyfriend will thank you, too.’

She thought of Luca. According to his last text message, he was still living large at his mom’s house. His sister had arrived with her kids, so he was embracing the uncle role. God, she wished she had him as a stakeout partner, but Sarah Webb made a decent substitute.

‘You mentioned your boyfriend earlier,’ Ella said. ‘He works for your publisher?’

‘Runs it. His name’s Robert Lawrence. You might have heard of him.’

‘Can’t say I have.’

‘It’s just him and a couple of staff members now. Like I said, he’s struggling. We both are.’

4:45PM. Michael Brooks Time was bleeding away.

Their digital ghost was late. Or maybe he was testing them.

Or maybe he’d evaporated back into the ones and zeros from whence he came.

The library’s usual afternoon patrons drifted about: a shuffling retiree looking lost among the biographies, a harried mother trying to keep a sticky-fingered toddler from reorganizing the picture books, a few students absorbing knowledge via osmosis.

‘Maybe you should sell your next book to a bigger publisher. Are you working on anything at the minute?’

Sarah suddenly became fascinated by her monitor. ‘Wow, snakes are responsible for ten thousand deaths a year.’

‘No kidding.’ Ella glanced over at Ripley, who had given up browsing titles and was now staring idly out of the window.

She remembered Ripley saying something about snakes on the way to Frank Sullivan’s house.

Ella hated how Ripley sometimes missed the big picture, but was usually right about the small things.

‘Should I put bait out?’ Sarah asked.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Like an email or text to the White Whalers. Something minor.’

‘Has anyone messaged since Frank died?’

‘Nope.’

‘Then yeah,’ Ella said. ‘Put a feeler out there.’

Sarah pulled out her cell and hammered out an email. ‘Done. I’ve just asked if anyone has anything new to report.’

‘Great. I hope you didn’t have plans tonight. Stakeouts are hours of nothing, followed by a few seconds that might be something, but are usually nothing too.’

Sarah placed her cell beside her keyboard and grinned. ‘I was supposed to go to my dad’s for dinner at seven.’

‘Ah. You said your dad was a cop?’

‘Homicide for Tarpon Springs PD. He had connections to other districts before he retired, so he got me police reports, crime scene photos, all that stuff. Without him, I wouldn’t be doing this.’

‘Sounds great. Me and Ripley can stay here all night if need be. You should go. It’s important to see your parents.’

‘Not entirely altruistic. He’s a good cook.’ Sarah smiled. ‘Food and crime stories. The twin pillars of our relationship.’

Ella was happy for Sarah, and if she was being honest, a little jealous. She looked around the library again and saw the same faces for the hundredth time. The time on her screen read 4:51 PM.

As if summoned by Ella’s eroding confidence, Ripley peeled herself away from the literary embraces and marched over. She bypassed Sarah as if she were invisible and aimed her words directly at Ella.

‘I can’t stand no more, Dark. I’m going mad.’

Their collective gazes flicked to the entrance as someone arrived. A mom with two kids. Not their target.

‘Well, we should probably stay until about six, just in case.’

‘Stay as long as you like. I’m going to walk around outside. Maybe Brooks is watching from the parking lot.’

‘Alright. Stay alert.’

‘Alert? I’ve been doing this since before you were alive. Buzz me if anything happens.’

Ella noted the friction, the almost childish territoriality radiating from Ripley. Since they’d arrived in Florida, dealing with her partner’s mood had been as challenging as dealing with the perp.

‘She doesn’t like me, does she?’ Sarah said once Ripley was out of earshot.

‘She doesn’t like most people.’

‘Must be tiring.’

‘It’s tough for her. Frank was her mentor when she first joined the Bureau. I’ve tried to avoid going to the morgue because I don’t want her to see Frank’s body.’

‘Oh,’ Sarah stuttered. ‘I didn’t know. That’s awful.’

‘Yeah. And she retired earlier this year, but our director dragged her back. This is only her second case back on the job.’

‘Formerly-retired detective, huh. Do you think she has a white whale?’

Ella watched Ripley as she left the library, scan the street outside and take off up the hill. ‘If she did, she wouldn’t tell me about it. Given the way she reacted when I first mentioned the ‘98 Beach Burials, maybe it’s that.’

‘Interesting,’ Sarah said. ‘What if Brooks doesn’t show?’

‘Then we’ve learned something.’

‘Which is?’

‘That our unsub – I doubt Michael Brooks is his real name – is smart enough to break pattern when the pattern gets predictable. That’s information too.’

‘Yeah, but-’ Sarah began before a chirping on her desk cut her off. It wasn’t the standard iPhone tone. More like the sound of a drowning robot. She grabbed her cell and stared at the screen.

‘That’s probably your dad asking if you’re still on for dinner. If you need to head off-’

‘No. It’s not my dad. It’s… Brooks.’

Ella snapped to attention. ‘What?’

‘An email. From Michael Brooks.’ Sarah turned the screen so Ella could see. ‘Just now.’

Ella leaned in. The timestamp read 4:56 PM.

SUBJECT: Frank

FROM: [email protected] .

TO: [email protected] .

Has anyone else heard the news about Frank? Just saw it online. Can’t believe it. Anyone know what happened?

Ella shivered. News of Frank’s death hadn’t made the press yet.

She looked around. The academic three stations down stood and gathered his materials. The elderly woman with the gardening magazine closed it and placed it back on the rack. The mother-of-two ushered her kids out of sight.

Any of them could be Brooks. All of them could be Brooks.

Or none of them.

‘We need to search this place. Thoroughly. What if he slipped past us?’ Ella didn’t know how it was possible to bypass two cops, two agents and one civilian without any of them noticing, but stranger things had happened.

‘He could have emailed from anywhere,’ Sarah said. ‘How’s he going to slip past five of us?’

‘How does David Copperfield make people appear in Hawaii?’ Ella slowly rose to her feet, eyes roaming every soul in sight. ‘Be discreet. I’ll text Mia.’