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Campus Security Director Roy Travers parked his Nissan in the street beside Desmond Autos just north of the center of town and got out and threaded his way past the three police cars that were already there.

Jodi Cushing’s silver Mercedes was parked in the end of the lot, its passenger door open.

“Hey, Phil,” he said as he stepped up.

Chief Garner, sitting in the passenger seat, closed the glove box he’d been rifling through.

“Hey, Roy,” Garner said as he gave Travers a knowing here-we-go-again look.

It was a look Travers had seen before, many times. He and Garner had known and worked with each other for over a decade, patching up all the things in a small expensive college town that needed patching. The secret things that were best kept out of the papers. And especially the college’s marketing brochures and ESPN.

All the rapes, the ODs, the drunk driving accidents, the suicides.

Yeah, they had mopped up some real doozies together all right.

But none of them compared to the night they were both called in to deal with Olivia Ramos a year ago.

And here, just like that, the can of worms had suddenly reopened, hadn’t it?

It was going to be one hell of a long night, Travers thought.

“Any sign?” Travers said.

“They’re on foot,” Garner said, standing. “An old lady across the street heard the brakes and saw them walking away from the car toward the town square.”

“Does Cushing’s wife have any friends over this way?” Garner said as he stood. “Any family?”

“I asked the boss the same question,” Travers said. “He has no idea. He doesn’t think so.”

“Okay, I’ll set up roadblocks. What do we do when we grab them at a checkpoint? Just detain them? Give them the runaround?” Garner said.

“Uh-huh,” Travers said. “Just hold them in the town tank. The boss said Shaw is on his way.”

“Oh, no. Not that guy again,” Garner said, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t sweat it, Phil. We just work here, right?”

Garner went to his cruiser and reached in and lifted the radio.

“Listen up, guys. Drop what you’re doing,” Garner called into it. “I need roadblocks on both sides of the Route 4 bridge ASAP. I repeat. ASAP. Set it up like a drunk driving checkpoint. We are on the lookout for two females.”

“What?” cried the sergeant on duty after a crackle of radio static. “Why?”

“We got a BOLO from the feds about detaining two women. I will send you the pics forthwith,” Garner lied.

“What did they do? Rob a bank?” the sergeant said.

“Some Homeland Security thing from the Counterterrorism Center. Above my paygrade. Just says that they are definitely in the area and if we find them, take them into custody. The feds are on their way.”

“You got it, Chief,” the on-duty sergeant said over the radio. “Where do you need me?”

“I’m already set up by the canoe place to the west. You take east on the far side of the bridge and set up back a little in the canyon on the other side of the old package store.”

“Roger that.”

Travers smiled grimly as he shared another look with Garner.

Middle-aged, barrel-chested and short, Chief Garner played like he was a harmless, goofy, small-town dope but he was sharp. Especially when it came to covering his own ass.

“How are we on containing this?” Travers said. “The boss said we need to try to block any calls.”

“I heard. Don’t worry. I got the big bubble box right here on already so there is no cell service in or out from the area now. If they’re still within a three-mile radius, we’re good on that front.”

“So, what now?” Travers said.

“I need pictures of them for my guys,” Garner said.

Travers with his head down at his phone sent the picture of Colleen Doherty he’d already taken from the campus security footage. Or tried to send it. But it didn’t work.

“I can’t send. Turn off the bubble box for a second,” Travers said.

“Oh, right,” Garner said, reaching in and hitting a switch on the electronic box on his seat that was jamming all cell service.

“Okay, good,” Garner said as he re-sent the pics along to his men with his own phone.

Then Garner turned the cell site jammer to the on position again.

“Let me get this straight,” Garner said, peering at Travers now. “You’re telling me Cushing wants us to put his wife, his own wife, in the slammer to wait for that maniac Shaw? Wow.”

“Yeah, that is some pretty coldhearted shit right there. Isn’t it?” Travers said. “I knew the boss didn’t play around, but sheesh.”

“I guess what they say is really true,” Garner said, shaking his head.

“What’s that?” Travers said.

“The rich really aren’t like you and me after all.”