“He doesn’t think so. He said it was confusing enough just getting it to work. Besides, he says he forgets passwords all the time. Thanks, Daddy. I love you. Bye.” Lindsey ended the call.
Jill looked saddened by the brief exchange. Rainy felt deep sympathy for both girls, but for different reasons.
“So it’s possible somebody did what you said and pretended to be Lindsey?” Jill asked.
“If what your dad said is true, and your Wi-Fi isn’t secure, it’s definitely a possibility.” Rainy confirmed that for the girls as much as she was convincing herself of that fact.
“Jilly, now will you believe me?” Lindsey asked.
“What can we do?” Jill said, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “It’s like I want to drop out of school. It’s hell around here for me.”
“For both of us,” Lindsey said.
“I mean, we just got jumped by these three girls,” Jill added. “But I’m convinced of one thing now.”
“What’s that?” Rainy asked.
“Lindsey and my father aren’t having a relationship. I don’t care what the stupid Internet says. My dad thinks that somebody is framing him. Lindsey is saying the same thing. I’m not saying my dad is perfect or anything, but I don’t think he’s, y’know,
Rainy flashed on James Mann. According to him, he wasn’t that sort of person, either. But according to his computer, his claim was a lie. Maybe, just maybe, Rainy thought, both men were telling the truth.
Rainy took two business cards from her cardholder. She set the cards facedown on Osborne’s desk and wrote her home number on the back of each. She handed each girl a card. “Let me look into this for you, okay? Lindsey, I’ll check out your home network. At least confirm if you have any security set up. So don’t touch anything. Okay?”
“Sure,” Lindsey said.
“But if you need someone to talk to in the interim, you call me, okay?”
The girls nodded. They moved out from behind Osborne’s desk and returned to their prior perch up against the wall. Their expressions shifted from engaged to indifferent. Arms slipped back into tight folds across their chests, like two armadillos curling up into protective balls.
“Focus on school and I’m sure things will work out. I’ll touch base with Sergeant Murphy, too. If he tells me anything about the investigation that I can share with you, I promise I will. Okay?”
“Okay,” they both said.
Jill looked at her watch. “I’m going to be late for English.”
“Lindsey, could you stay a moment so we can make arrangements for me to check out your home network for that security issue?”
“Sure,” Lindsey said.
When they were alone, Rainy said to Lindsey, “Do you really want me to help you?”
“Of course.”
“Then tell me who you sent your pictures to.”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“Then I don’t think I can help.”
Lindsey looked as though Rainy had just punched her in the stomach. Her color drained. “That’s not fair,” she eventually said.
“No, it’s probably not,” Rainy agreed. “But I’m only going to help you if you come clean with me, Lindsey. Did you send your pictures to Coach Hawkins?”
Lindsey made that sour-milk expression again. “God, no. No!”
“Then who? Talk to me. You’re not in trouble. You’re the victim here. Remember that. You’re the victim. All I want to do is help you.”
Lindsey bore holes into the floor with her eyes. She looked anywhere but at Rainy. In a whispered voice, she said, “Tanner.”
“What?”
“You asked me who I sent those pictures to. I texted them to Tanner Farnsworth.”
“Who’s that?” Rainy asked.
“My boyfriend,” said Lindsey. “My soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, I mean.”
“Thank you for being honest with me, Lindsey.”
Lindsey paused for a beat, then asked, “Remember when you wanted to see my cell phone, and I said no?”
“I do.”
“Well, here,” Lindsey said as she handed Rainy her cell phone. “I deleted the messages. But maybe your computer people can still recover who I sent the pictures to. It’ll prove that Tanner got them.”
Rainy took the phone and glanced at the display. “Don’t you need your phone?” she asked.
“I’m getting a new one,” Lindsey said. “New number, too.”
“Mind if I ask you why?”
Lindsey made a pained expression. “When the entire school thinks you’re sleeping with a teacher,” she said, “the only way to survive is to disappear.”
Chapter 42
Tom exited his Ford Taurus and walked around to the front of his car. He locked the car doors using the remote and listened for the troubling engine pings to fade. The Taurus had been acting up quite a bit lately. It was slow to accelerate, and he heard that constant pinging every time he shut off the engine. Probably just needed a tune-up. But Tom kept checking each time he turned the engine off to see if the noise was getting any worse. It seemed the case, like a mirror to his own circumstances.
Tom had wanted to be well rested for this important meeting with Marvin, but he had slept fitfully since making his confession. The statute of limitations for Class A felonies in New Hampshire was six years, and Jill couldn’t be considered an accomplice to his crimes. Tom could justify it to himself all he wanted, Roland had left him no alternative, but it still didn’t make it any easier to burden Jill with his terrible secret.
At least they were speaking by phone now. She sounded happy to hear from him when he called. They kept their text message safety checks going, and with Vern’s help, they added a GPS tracking feature to her cell phone. Tom could monitor where Jill was at all times, but choked up when she told him that soon she’d be tracked back on Oak Street. She was thinking it was time to come home.
He’d also been thinking about Adriana. Tom had kept his distance to keep her—and himself—safe from Roland’s wrath. He hoped she didn’t think he was ignoring her or didn’t appreciate what she had done. It was up to Marvin to get Adriana her money back. Tom had faith that his attorney would do just that.
Tom followed the familiar route to Marvin’s office, pausing briefly to say a polite hello to his receptionist.
“Attorney Pressman is expecting you,” his receptionist said, motioning for Tom to go right in. She didn’t appear as nervous around Tom this time. Perhaps that was Marvin’s doing, Tom thought.
Tom entered Marvin’s office but couldn’t see his attorney anywhere. From behind Marvin’s desk, Tom heard a grunt, then Marvin’s labored counting.
“Eighteen… nineteen… twenty…”
“Marvin?” Tom called out.
“One hundred ten… one hundred eleven…”
Marvin popped up from behind his desk. He wore a tracksuit, not his usual attorney garb. His face was dotted with sweat, which he dabbed away with a white towel. “Tom,” he said with a bright smile on his face, “good to see you.”
Marvin came around his desk to shake Tom’s hand.
“You lost another pound,” Tom said.
“Two!” Marvin announced proudly. “But who’s counting? Okay, take a seat. We’ve much to discuss.”
Marvin walked over to his desk, where he proceeded to study a tall stack of folders like a Jenga master
