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Matthew shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Alex managed a final swallow of coffee. “Okay. I’m going to do some investigating. I might have questions. If I call, answer your phone. Got it?”
“Yeah. Do you need help? I can help.”
The last thing Alex needed was an unstable accomplice aiding and abetting her as she bent or broke laws in her effort to protect him.
“Just keep your phone on,” she said as she stood from the booth. “I’ll call if I need anything.”
CHAPTER 41
Washington, D.C. Friday, April 28, 2023 2:45 p.m.
ALEX SAT IN HER CAR AND STARED AT THE APARTMENT COMPLEX. Her research had told her that Laura McAllister lived in unit 7, and that her roommate was named Liz Chamberlain, a fellow senior who was taking fifteen credits this semester and should be about to leave for her 3:00 p.m. poli sci class. Alex waited and watched. At 2:48 p.m. the door to unit 7 opened and Liz Chamberlain appeared. The girl locked the door behind her and walked off in the direction of McCormack University’s campus. Alex took one last look around the parking lot, saw no one, and exited her car. She pulled out her leather-bound lock pick set as she approached Laura’s apartment door. The lock proved to be a less complicated mechanism than Byron Zell’s a few weeks before, and Alex was inside in less than sixty seconds.
She closed the door behind her and slipped her hands into latex gloves. The college apartment had a floor plan similar to that of Matthew Claymore’s place: kitchen, common living area, and two bedrooms. Alex headed to the first bedroom, saw a photo of Laura McAllister and her parents on the desk, and entered the room. Laura’s bed was made and organized. The desk was fastidiously organized, and a quick glance into the closet revealed a wardrobe perfectly hung on matching hangers. The shelves above the hanging clothes held department store–folded jeans, leggings, and sweatshirts. There was nothing out of place to suggest anything nefarious had occurred in this room, or that Laura had been in any rush to leave.
Alex knew that detectives either had already been, or would soon be, in this room looking for evidence. She would be careful to leave no signs of her presence. She held a deep-seated mistrust of detectives; the contempt was rooted in the mismanaged investigation of her family’s murder and was watered often by memories of her time at Alleghany Juvenile Detention Center. Every case she worked for Lancaster & Jordan was done so with the memory of her illegal interrogation fresh on her mind, and all the dishonest tactics that had been used to try to paint her as a killer. In a heart-to-heart with Garrett years earlier, Alex promised to use her abilities as an investigator to prevent what had happened to her from happening to anyone else. Currently, that “anyone” was Matthew Claymore, and she felt no remorse for the strategies she employed to protect him. That included breaking into a missing girl’s apartment and rooting through her things.
Alex sat at the desk and shook the mouse that rested on the Apple pad. Laura’s iMac came to life and a screensaver of spring flowers greeted her. She clicked the e-mail icon on the top right of the home screen. The computer was password synched and took Alex directly to Laura McAllister’s inbox. She chose the e-mail titled “The Scoop Tip Line” and began scrolling through the messages. Alex spent fifteen minutes reading subject lines for anything that caught her eye. Finally, one did. It carried a date from March 13, more than a month ago, and the subject line read: “Rape at McCormack U.” Alex opened it. There was a conversation thread consisting of two e-mails. Alex scrolled to the beginning.
Dear Laura,
I’m writing to tell you about my recent experience on campus. Have you heard of gamma hydroxybutyrate? It’s called Liquid G, and it’s being used so girls can be raped. On this campus. I have proof.
—Ashley Holms
Farther down the thread, Alex read Laura’s response.
Ashley, you’ve piqued my interest. Let’s talk.
—Laura
Alex logged out of the e-mail and put the computer to sleep. She made sure nothing was out of place, and then left the apartment in search of Ashley Holms.
CHAPTER 42
Washington, D.C. Friday, April 28, 2023 3:30 p.m.
DURING HER EIGHT-YEAR CAREER AS AN INVESTIGATOR FOR LANCASTER & Jordan, Alex had been tasked with tracking down a number of unsavory souls, including random gangbangers on the streets of Washington, D.C. with nothing more than a first name. Finding Ashley Holms, who lived on the campus of McCormack University, took thirty minutes. There was only one sophomore dorm, Wakington Hall, which housed 156 second-year students. A confident lie to the kid behind the dorm’s front desk, explaining that Alex was there to surprise her cousin, Ashley, but didn’t know her dorm room number, was all it took for Alex to be knocking on number 455.
“Ashley?” Alex asked when the door opened.
“Yeah?”
Alex recognized the confusion on Ashley Holms’ face. Students from affluent families made up the enrollment at McCormack University, and Alex was certain there were rules banning tattoos and rogue piercings. That Alex’s right arm was covered with ink, the remnants of another tattoo crept up her neck and peeked from under her collar, and a nose ring pierced her left nostril was likely enough to get her thrown off campus. It was at least enough for Ashley Holms to give her a second glance. The spiked blond hair and today’s shade of lipstick—bright magenta—likely added to the girl’s confusion as to why this foreign creature was knocking on her door.
“I’m Alex Armstrong. I’m doing some legal work involving some things going on at McCormack U. Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Um, I guess,” Ashley said. “Is this about Laura McAllister?”
“Peripherally. Can I come in?”
Ashley pushed through the doorway, stepped into the hallway, and closed the door behind her.
“Can we just talk out here?” she asked.
“Sure, that’s fine.”
