“When did your source claim they found the body?”
“About forty-five minutes ago or so.”
Wilson cleared his throat. “So you’re telling me someone called you up in the middle of the night and told you that they found some kind of secret room at the local university, and that the body of the missing guy we’re looking for is conveniently being stored there?”
The degrading tone with which Wilson spoke sent my heart sinking to the bottom of my rib cage. He didn’t believe that Wes’s source was credible.
“Yes,” said Wes firmly.
Wilson sighed, and a breath’s worth of feedback came through the phone. “Go back to bed, McAllen.”
“Whoa, hold on!” Wes detached himself from me and got out of bed, jostling Franklin. He paced back and forth in front of his desk. “Wilson, are you serious? You really aren’t going to check this out?”
“McAllen, we’ve got an actual lead on the O’Connor case, and it doesn’t have to do with some anonymous tip-off about a fabricated, underground basement,” said Wilson, clearly aggravated. “Sounds like your source is yanking your chain. Either that or they’re smoking some really great stuff. I mean, they claimed to find a dead body and didn’t immediately dial nine-one-one? Doesn’t that sound a little off to you, McAllen?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I whispered, outraged. This was not how an experienced police officer was supposed to react to reports of a dead body. Sure, an anonymous tip wasn’t the best way to inform the station of my discovery, but there was no way I could admit to my exploits beneath the Waverly library without getting in some serious trouble. Technically, I was withholding evidence.
Wes waved at me, a signal to hush up. “Wilson, since when is this protocol?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then in a deadly voice, Wilson said, “McAllen, why don’t you let me worry about protocol, and I’ll let you off the hook for pulling this shit so early in the fucking morning? How’s that sound, rookie? Is that a fair trade?”
Wes caught my eye. He was stuck. I could see it in the slight downward tilt of his lips and the way his shoulders had rounded off. There was a bitter hint of betrayal and disappointment in the air. Never before had Officer Wilson been so brusque to me or to Wes. He had always been cordial to everyone, even to the rookie officers under his command.
“Yes, sir.”
“Fantastic. Have a good rest of your morning, McAllen. I’ll see you later today for your shift. If you can get your shit together by then, of course.”
There was a click as Wilson hung up, then nothing but a dial tone. Wes stared at the phone for a moment, as if waiting for Wilson to call back and apologize for his poor facilitation of the situation.
“That was—”
“Suspicious?” I finished, still in awe of the route the entire conversation had taken.
“I was going to say weird,” countered Wes. “I’ve never heard him lose his cool like that.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, considering the weight of the thought on my mind. “Wes,” I said, a note of hesitation evident in my tone. “Do you think, I mean, is there any possibility that the Black Raptor Society has inside men at the police station?”
Wes’s gaze snapped to mine. “No way.”
“Think about it.” I shoved the blankets off of my legs and stood up to approach Wes. “We already know that BRS has paid off the cops to keep their student members out of trouble. What’s to say that they aren’t doing similar shit for more serious crimes?”
“Nicole, you’re wandering into some really intense territory,” Wes said. He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. It was a nervous tic of his, one that I had picked up on over the years of dating him. “That’s a serious accusation.”
“I wouldn’t mention it if I didn’t think it had any merit to it,” I insisted. “Come on, Wes. How weird is it that Wilson didn’t even bat an eye at a report of a possible body? Even if a source is unreliable, aren’t the cops supposed to check it out anyway?”
Wes remained silent, gazing through the gap in the blinds behind his desk.
“What if we went back?” I asked quietly. “I could show you the basement and the body. That way, you can take the proof to the station yourself.”
Wes shook his head. “That will just get us into a world of trouble.”
“Wes, what’s worse? Potentially getting in trouble with Wilson or leaving the body of my favorite professor to rot underneath the library?”
He sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re right. Let me get dressed.”
By the time Wes had donned his uniform and we left the apartment, the sky was just beginning to lighten. A pale pink stripe decorated the horizon, the first signs of the sun’s ascent. Exhausted, I leaned into Wes as we walked across campus. He tucked me under his shoulder, which made for slightly awkward travel, but I was so tired and cold that the occasional stumble over Wes’s work boots was worth it. We moved fleetly, making short work of the trip across campus, but we were not so hasty as to raise any suspicion. If a student happened to glance out of their dormitory window, it would appear as if Wes and I were simply out for an early morning stroll.
As we approached the library steps, I slowed Wes with a soft hand on his chest. “Donovan Davenport was here when I left,” I said. “He might still be inside.”
“So?”
“So he’s a member of BRS. If he’s in the clubhouse—”
“If he’s in the clubhouse with a dead body, I’ll arrest him,” finished Wes, holding open the library door for me. “Where to?”
I led Wes to the Rapere Wing. He gazed around in awe as we wound our way through the bookshelves. It occurred to
