Panic

“Hi,” said the slim blonde. She had aimed the question at Jerome, but her eyes flickered over to Leopold when she didn’t receive a response.

“Hi,” said Leopold, “I wonder if you could help us. We’re looking for Christina Logan. I understand that you girls know her pretty well.”

The slim blonde raised her free hand up to the door frame and looked back at her roommate, who shrugged lazily.

“What’s this about?” she asked, shifting her weight uncomfortably.

Leopold glanced at Mary and flicked his eyes in the direction of the girl. Mary took the hint.

“We’re friends of Christina’s dad,” Mary said softly. “There’s nothing to worry about. We just know that Christina hasn’t been around for a few days, and her dad’s really worried. Would it be okay if we came inside and asked you some questions?”

The girl looked back at her roommate again. “Sure, I guess.”

“Thank you. My name’s Mary,” she held out a hand.

“Isabelle,” said the slim blonde, taking her outstretched palm, “and this is Beth.” Isabelle thumbed toward her roommate.

“It’s nice to meet you,” said Mary, stepping through into the dorm room.

Once the police sergeant had crossed over from the hallway, Jerome and Leopold followed, quietly closing the door behind them. The dorm room itself was of modest size, with two single beds separated by a nightstand. The room had two desks, upon which sat an array of jumbled textbooks, handwritten notes, and stuffed animals. Both girls had laptops flipped open on the beds; Isabelle’s was dimmed and Beth was using hers to check email. Jerome and Leopold stood near the door, not quite sure what to do with themselves, as Mary took a seat on the empty bed and motioned for Isabelle to sit down next to her.

“When’s the last time you remember seeing Christina?” asked Mary.

“Monday, I think,” said Isabelle.

“Okay, think back. What were you girls doing last time you were together?”

“We were at a coffee place around the corner, talking about this week’s study group session and what time we were go

“And you three were going over there together?” asked the sergeant.

“Yeah. Christina said she’d meet us there around eight-thirty,” said Isabelle. “Then she left and we haven’t seen her since. She said she was going over to meet this guy she’s been seeing.”

“Belle!” Beth slapped the lid of her laptop closed and glared at Isabelle.

Isabelle looked nervously at Mary.

“Fine, tell her,” Beth shrugged, turning back to her computer.

“Don’t tell her dad,” said Isabelle. “He’d kill her. The guy she’s seeing isn’t exactly someone her dad would approve of. He’s not a nice guy.”

“What do you mean?” pressed Mary.

“Well, I never saw it happen, but I’d see Christina with bruises on her arms and legs. She’d say she fell, or that she’d been knocked over during hockey practice, but it never felt right. This guy’s a real piece of work. I’m pretty sure he’s got a record.”

Mary nodded in support. “What’s this guy’s name?”

“Hank. I don’t know his last name. Christina would just vanish for days and then say she was just staying with him at his place off campus. I’ll bet that’s where she is. Just don’t say anything to her dad, please,” said Isabelle.

“Don’t worry,” said Mary, “we’re just trying to find out where she is. We don’t want to get her into any trouble.”

“You’re probably too late for that,” said Beth, sitting up to face the police sergeant. “Christina’s blind to this guy. She’d do anything for him. She’s completely in love and there’s no talking to her. It doesn’t matter how much of a bastard he can be, or how he treats her. She always defends him and says it’s her fault. Makes me fucking sick. This is the guy.”

Beth scribbled Hank’s address down on a piece of scrap paper and handed it to Mary. “Here’s a picture,” she said, holding up her phone. “Don’t tell him we sent you.”

“Thanks for talking to me,” said Mary. “We’ll make sure Christina gets home safe.”

She stood up and walked over to the door, nodding at the two girls reassuringly. Jerome and Leopold followed her out the door, and they rode the elevator back down to the lobby together.

“That was good work,” said Leopold, as they walked out onto the street. “You really co

“You really think the boyfriend has anything to do with this?” asked Mary, as the elevator opened up to the entrance hall with a subdued chime.

“It’s a good place to start. Besides, if he’s not the one pulling the strings, he should at least be able to tell us where Christina went after she met up with him.”

“I don’t like the sound of this guy,” said Mary, her expression hardening. “I don’t know if I’m going be able to hold myself back if it turns out he’s beating her.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Leopold. “I’d be more concerned about what Jerome might do.”

Chapter 17

It had been easy enough to gain access to Hank’s building. As Leopold had predicted, they were immediately buzzed in once Jerome had informed a neighbor they were there to check the gas lines, following the report of a leak. The tenant they spoke to simply told them to let themselves out when they had finished.

The bodyguard led the way as they climbed the stairs to Hank’s seventh-floor apartment. The only other movement in the building was on the third floor, where a team of decorators was making renovations. The stairwell smelled of new paint, and judging by the mess the decorators had left, it looked like each apartment was being given a full revamp. They reached Hank’s door and Jerome knocked heavily. There was no answer, so he tried the handle.

“Deadbolts.”

“Do the honors, Jerome,” said Leopold, gesturing for Mary to stand behind him.

The huge bodyguard took a couple of big steps backward, lowered his shoulder, and charged. The door frame splintered as the force of his body ripped out the hinges and bolts, scattering pieces of wood all over the floor. Jerome stepped inside, kicking the debris to one side.

Hank’s apartment was small and modestly furnished. The doorway opened into the living area, which also included a small kitchenette. To the right was a short hallway that led through to a cramped bedroom and a bathroom. The apartment had been recently decorated with a new coat of magnolia paint, except for the hallway, which was still exposed drywall. Overall, the apartment was meticulously arranged and scrubbed clean, with nothing out of place. Nothing except for the dead body that was slumped up against the wall.

“No one’s here; place is deserted,” said Jerome, his hand still resting on his firearm as he returned from checking the other rooms.

Leopold knelt by the body. The dead man was wearing casual clothes, had short brown hair and was decorated with numerous ear piercings and tattoos. Leopold noticed tiny red marks on the inside of his elbow, probably from drug use. The dead man’s left wrist had been slashed, leaving a gash that ran half the length of his forearm. Thick, dark blood had pooled around his arms and legs, staining the carpet where he sat. He held a serrated knife in his right hand, the blade flecked with dried blood.

Mary knelt down next to Leopold and fished the man’s wallet from inside his back pocket, tilting the body slightly to allow her access.

“This is Hank,” said the sergeant, examining the driver’s licence and getting back up on her feet.

Leopold leaned in closer and examined the wound. Hank’s injuries appeared to have been caused by the serrated blade he was holding, judging by the tears in the flesh surrounding the deep gash on his arm. There were no other signs of injury on the body, although a full autopsy would be required to know for sure.