Bill laughed. “Not if I kill him first,” he said, and knocked on the door. “We’ll be back tonight for the main event.” He smiled over his shoulder at her as the doors opened, filtering light in.
Jennifer let out a shriek that carried out the door with Bill.
* * * *
She watched the doors to the crypt close, leaving her sobbing on the cold stone, and certain she would never see the light of day again.
Chapter 35
Steve sat in the student center pub, looking from his watch to the door and back. Murphy waited, impatiently drumming his fingers on the tabletop.
“Where is she?” Murphy asked, looking up at the clock. It was quarter after twelve.
Steve shook his head. “I don’t know. She said she’d be here.” He pulled out his cell phone and dialed her number. It rang and dumped into voicemail. “Hey babe, waiting for you in the pub.” He snapped the phone shut, the uneasiness getting the best of him. He called the apartment and listened as Tracy and Jennifer’s voices announced that they couldn’t come to the phone right now. He hung up in frustration, glancing over at Murphy.
“Do I need to put out an APB?” Murphy asked, flipping his phone open.
“She might just be fashionably late,” he said, even though his gut told him otherwise. “You’ve got the safe house all set, right?”
“Yes. Are you all set for tonight?”
Steve nodded. “I still don’t know the particulars though.” He glanced at his watch again and opened the phone, scrolling through the numbers. He pressed the call button and put the phone to his ear. “Hey Tracy, Jen was supposed to meet me for lunch. Do you know where she might be?” He closed his eyes. “Okay, I’ll try her cell again.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t know where Jen is,” he said to Murphy and got up, dropping a twenty on the table. His insides knotted. Coiled rattlers struck, their sharp fangs piercing his stomach, their rancid poison burning. That burning sensation generated a certainty that something had gone terribly wrong.
His walk turned into a run as he made a beeline out of the student center toward his car. Murphy caught him by the arm, halting his progress. Steve yanked his arm away, visions clouded his mind—visions of Jennifer lying in her room, unable to get to the phone, unable to get away from the sinister thing in her closet, unable to breathe.
“She was fine when I left her this morning.” He continued toward his car.
Murphy grabbed his arm again. “I’m taking you off this case.”
“The hell you are,” Steve snapped, turning on Murphy. “She wouldn’t just blow me off, Murph.” He started toward the car again and stopped after a few steps. “You coming?”
Murphy shook his head, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got a conference call with my boss in fifteen minutes. As soon as you find her, let me know.”
Steve got into his car and pulled out his gun, checked the clip, and slipped it back into place under the seat. He threw the car in gear, flying over to the apartment. Her car was still in the lot and his heart leapt into his throat. He jogged into the building and waited impatiently for the elevator. “Come on, come on, come on.” The numbers crawled, declining one by one as if time had stopped and restarted in jerking succession.
He closed his eyes. When the ascent began, his entire body tensed like a leopard ready to strike, and when the elevator opened on the top floor, he darted to the door. Knocking and pressing the doorbell in tandem, he closed his eyes, inhaling to calm his racing heart.
“Fuck it.” He stepped back and kicked. The wood around the lock mechanism shattered and the door sailed open, banging against the wall. Steve stepped inside the apartment, yelling her name. He covered every inch of the apartment twice, including her closet.
She wasn’t there.
Cold fingers wrapped around his heart, squeezing slowly.
“Damn, damn, damn,” he repeated under his breath, turning in a circle in the living room.
He stepped into the hallway, surveying the ceiling until he found what he was looking for. He closed his eyes and hung his head for a moment, a fragment of relief flooding through him, tempering the chill in his heart.
Cameras, surveillance cameras. Thank god.
He needed those security tapes. He walked into the rental office on the first floor and realized he didn’t have his badge. Instead of playing the FBI card, he improvised, smiling at the rental agent.
“Hi, I’m doing a story for the school paper about building security. Can you help me out and give me a tour of your security office and set up?” he asked, flashing his student ID. “Tammy,” he added, glancing at her nametag.
“Sure. I’ve seen you around here a few times, haven’t I?”
Steve flashed a brilliant smile and nodded. “My girlfriend lives in the penthouse—she’s the one who suggested I talk to you. She said there are surveillance cameras all over the place in this building.”
“It’s standard these days to have cameras mounted in the hallways, elevators, and lobby, as well as in the parking lot, especially since the front doors aren’t locked during the day.”
Steve nodded, taking a small pad off the desk along with a pen and jotted down notes regarding the camera locations. “What time do you lock the doors?” he asked as she motioned for him to follow her into the back hallway.
“We lock the doors from eight at night to eight in the morning.” She smiled over her shoulder.
“How many cameras do you have in operation?” he asked as they went down a narrow stairwell and into a small room with six monitors.
“Six.” She pointed, smiling at him. “We record video but no audio.”
“How long do you keep the recordings?” he asked.
“We have a rolling seven day recording process. Each disc represents a twenty-four-hour period.”
“Do you ever review the tapes randomly?” he asked.
She blushed. “We sometimes spot check.”
“Can you show me how it works?” He pointed to the recorder.
“I don’t know.” She bit her lip, looking from him to the control panel.
“Come on, we can check out what time I left the penthouse this morning.”
She nodded and rewound the tape for the penthouse hallway. Something flashed across the screen quickly, then there was another flash, and finally she slowed the tape down. She found the spot on the tape where he’d left, slightly disheveled and hung over—a far cry from his current neat appearance.
“Can I try?” he asked.
Tammy hesitated, glancing between him and the monitor.
“I felt as bad as I looked.” He pointed at the frozen picture. “We went to The Dean’s Office last night.”
She offered a knowing smile. “Ah. You recovered well.” She ran her eyes over him and sighed. Nodding, she agreed and Steve sat down at the control board.
He looked up at her for confirmation as he moved the controller back and forth, rewinding and forwarding the tape.
“That’s right,” she said. The buzzer went off and she glanced at the monitor for the rental office camera. “I’m sorry. I have a customer in the office.”
Steve turned. “Can I just write down the make and models of your cameras and system?” he asked. “I’ll come right up when I’m done, I promise.” He offered his irresistible smile.
Nodding, Tammy scurried out of the room.
Steve shook his head. Security around here is pathetically loose. He focused back on the video camera, fast-forwarding. Stopping, he rewound and played, watching Tracy leave the apartment a few minutes after he had. The second pass in fast forward, another flash crossed the screen and he rewound, stabbing the play button just before the anomaly.
His fists slowly closed into tight balls as he watched the screen. Bill stepped into the apartment, blocking Jennifer, and closed the door. The clock on the counter said it was eleven-thirty. Minutes later, he came walking out with Jennifer over his shoulder. She was out cold. “Fuck!” Steve popped the disc out, slipping it into a case, and slid it into the waistband of his shorts, pulling his shirt over it. He replaced it with a disc from a couple days before, pressing record before he took the stairs three at a time. He closed his eyes at the landing, taking a deep breath to compose himself. With a smile plastered on his lips, he stepped into the office. “Thank you, Tammy,” he said, putting her pad and pen back on the counter.