“If the girl didn’t fall off a bike, then what happened?” Tippen asked. “Some kind of precipitating stressor that set off the rebellion?

“I spoke with Penny Gray’s adviser at school,” he said. “She told me the girl’s writing had taken an angrier tone this school year. She said the girl had always been an outsider, had trouble relating to other kids, but she used to be more shy than aggressive.”

Kovac got up and went to the board, looking at the timeline they had started. He picked up a marker and extended the line far to the left, then added the date of the alleged bike accident. He made a notation about the changes in the girl’s appearance over the summer, and the date of the violent incident with the father’s new wife at the open house. He made note of Julia Gray’s alleged fall that had injured her wrist.

He stood back and looked at what he’d written. A suspicious injury. A dramatic change in appearance. Escalating violent outbursts. He thought about the comment Christina Warner had made regarding Penny Gray’s change in sexual preference—that she said she was through with men . . . a girl who hadn’t had a significant boyfriend as far as anyone knew.

“You know what this looks like,” he said.

“That our precipitating stressor could be sexual abuse,” Tippen offered.

“What do we know about Dr. Feel Good?”

“That he is a man above reproach,” Elwood said.

“That makes him a bastard, for sure,” Kovac muttered.

“He’s got nothing but accolades in the press. Awards out the wazoo for community service and so on.”

“That makes him a man with a lot to lose,” Kovac said. “Big reputation. Big ego. Big ambition. Dig deeper on him. And I want another talk with him—preferably with Julia Gray present. We’ll twist those screws good and hard.”

A knock sounded on the door, and Sonya Porter stuck her head in, small oval rhinestone-crusted glasses framing her eyes.

“Welcome to the nuthouse, Sonya,” Kovac said, waving her in. “Come have a seat. I don’t think you’ve met Elwood. Elwood Knutson, this is Sonya Porter—Tip’s niece.”

Elwood got up and made a little bow. “I’m so sorry.”

Tippen made a disgruntled face. “Why is no one sorry for me? She’s mean!”

Sonya batted her eyelashes at Elwood as she shrugged out of her coat. She wore a peacock-blue sweater with a keyhole cutout in the chest, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of her tattoo.

“Do you have anything for us, Sonya?” Kovac asked. “Anything coming in from the blogosphere or the Twitterverse or whatever the hell it is? A confession would be nice, but I’d settle for an eyewitness.”

“I can’t make your job that easy,” she said, taking the empty seat next to Elwood. He held the chair out for her. “A lot of sensational rumors about the zombie. Some unpleasant comments about your victim.”

“Such as?”

“She was a whore. She was a lesbian. She was a lesbian whore,” she said dispassionately. “Everybody hated her, and nobody cares if she’s dead.”

“Charming generation you’ve got there,” Kovac mumbled.

“Kids have opinions,” she said. “They’re not shy about sharing them on social media.”

“No,” Tippen said. “It’s more like a shark feeding frenzy. Rapacious animosity hidden behind the faceless mask of anonymity. Cyberbullying is rampant. The physical disconnect from the victim gives the bully the false sense of freedom to say whatever they want.”

“Their computer isn’t going to punch them in the face for typing something hateful,” Liska said.

“Just because people have the right to freely express themselves doesn’t guarantee they’ll have something nice to say,” Sonya said. “Ultimately, a lot of people just suck. With social media we get to see instantly who those people are.”

“That’s my niece,” Tippen said. “Always looking for the silver lining.”

“There is no silver lining,” she returned. “Just the reflection of abject disappointment.”

“I prefer to shine a light in the darkness,” Elwood said nobly. Sonya looked up at him with her head cocked to one side like a curious little bird.

“I’m with Sonya,” Kovac said. “People suck. Shine your light on that, Elwood. Get with Sonya and figure out who the cyberbullies are.”

“I was also thinking we might be able to put together a clearer picture about what was going on in Penny Gray’s emotional life by looking more closely at her poetry,” Elwood suggested. “Poetry is a fingerprint of the soul.”

Tippen picked up a file folder off the table. “The girl’s adviser gave me access to all the work Penny Gray has turned in this school year. She sent me the whole file electronically. I printed out the poems. There are also some video pieces of her performing.”

“If she’s into visual media, she’ll be on YouTube and Vimeo,” Sonya said.

Elwood took the folder from Tippen and opened it. Kovac watched him frown as he looked over the first of the poems of Penny Gray.

“Share with the class, please, Elwood.”

The big man cleared his throat and read the poem aloud, the words of a girl who believed no one wanted to hear her. She could never have imagined that she would find her audience among the people trying to solve her murder.

“Silence”

Silence is golden, I hear people say

But words rot inside you

Your heart will decay

They don’t want your trouble, they don’t want to care

You’re just inconvenient

They don’t want you there.

I’ve learned to stay silent on matters like this

Absolve them of burden

Give ignorant bliss.

And still I’m more bother than I ever was worth

I’m nothing but trouble

Since the day of my birth.

33

“Are you okay to drive?” Kovac asked.

They walked toward the parking ramp, flurries coming down like fine powdered sugar. It was later than she wanted it to be. Again. Her head was pounding. She was cold and tired and weighed down by the heaviness of the case and everything else in her life. She felt as if she were made of lead.

“I’m fine,” she said. She could feel him looking at her.

“Seriously? You don’t have a concussion?”

“No. It’s just a cut. I got hit by a girl, not Mike Tyson.”

“You’re a girl,” he pointed out. “I don’t want you coldcocking me.”

“Yeah, well . . . What did Kasselmann want?” She had watched him go into the boss’s office after their session in the war room had ended. He had come out with a dark expression on his face.

“Nothing important.” He shrugged it off but then said, “I’m coming home with you.”

She looked up at him, surprised. “What? Why? I’m fine.”

His mouth twisted a little in that way that told her he was figuratively chewing on something he didn’t like.

“I have to confiscate your hammers, remember?”

She waited for the other shoe to drop.

“I need to speak to Kyle again,” he said. “I don’t think we have the whole picture of what went on at the Rock and Bowl.”

Nikki narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “You’re leaving something out.”

“You’re reading something in,” he countered. “I just want to clarify a few details, that’s all. A couple of the kids today made comments I want to follow up on.”

“You know those are the kids Kyle doesn’t get along with.”

“I know.”

“That Fogelman kid,” she said, her protective instincts rising. “He’s a spoiled, entitled little shit.”

“I know.”

“Did he say Kyle did something?” she asked.

Kovac looked annoyed. “Will you relax?”

“No,” she said, stopping in her tracks. “I won’t. Tell me what’s going on.”

Kovac turned around and sighed. “Don’t flip out on me.”