I had my hand on the door handle, but pulled it away. No. It would be just my luck to get into some kidnap scenario or another equally bad ending. Instead, I took a deep breath and found Detective Gifford’s number on my phone.
By some miracle, he answered with a terse, “Gifford.”
“Detective, this is Robbie Jordan. I got a text from someone this morning who wanted to talk to me at Alice Keck Park. I didn’t know who it was. I am here in my car with the doors locked at the west entrance to the park. Cody Russom arrived a minute ago, and he’s looking around for someone. I expect it’s me. Maybe he knows something about Paul’s death.”
“Thank you. Please drive away now, but stop after a block and text me the number. Did he arrive in a vehicle?”
“No, by bicycle.”
“I’ll send someone over ASAP.”
He disconnected before I could even say okay. Cody had now perched on a bench, but he was tapping his thigh in a nervous gesture and he kept glancing around. I focused on my phone and sent Gifford the number Cody had texted me from. There. Now I was supposed to drive away. But what if Cody left? Someone should tell the police which way he went, and it seemed obvious I was the one to do it.
I glanced back at him. The bench was empty. Shoot. Where had he—?
A noisy breath of relief escaped my lips. A group of tourists passed by on the sidewalk to reveal Cody walking his bike. Straight toward me. I peered at him. Or not walking toward me, per se. I didn’t think he’d seen me.
Now what? I still didn’t think I should get out of the car, but I didn’t want to lose the kid, either. The street had too much traffic to follow him slowly in my vehicle if he started riding. Instead, I leaned over on the passenger seat and lowered the window.
“Cody,” I called.
He glanced around, but didn’t seem to see me. I tapped the horn quickly and leaned closer to the window.
“Cody, hi.”
He bent down. “There you are. Thank God.” His face was a portrait of Worried Young Man. He crouched, resting his bike against the side of the car. “Did you get my text?”
“I got a text from somebody, but I didn’t know who it was. How did you know my number?”
“Oh, that.” He shot a glance at the park and back at me. “I hacked my sister’s reunion account. Your number was in your registrant’s data set. Katherine has, like, zero security on the database.”
The kid was smart, for sure. Well, he had said he was studying computer science. “What did you want to talk about?”
“It’s bad. I mean, like, really bad.” He sounded as if he was about to start crying. “It took me forever to decide whether to tell someone or not.”
Ugh. Now I had a bad feeling, too. He was going to tell me his own father was guilty of murder. Poor Cody.
He shuddered, but shook it off. “It’s just that Katherine, she—”
“Ah, Cody Russom.” Noland Gifford materialized at Cody’s side.
Cody glanced up with eyes widened in alarm.
“Exactly the person I’ve been looking for.” The detective laid a hand on Cody’s shoulder, then leaned down to give me a look through the window. His expression telegraphed his disapproval that I hadn’t followed instructions and gotten myself out of there five minutes ago.
“Why are you looking for me?” Cody shrugged off the hand. He stood and gripped his bike like a shield.
I slid out of the car and hurried around the front. At this point, I didn’t care what Gifford thought. I suddenly cared about Cody a lot more.
“Yes, why?” I asked Gifford.
“I’ll simply say we’re curious about your recent communications, Mr. Russom.” The detective kept his voice low and firm.
A patrol car pulled up and angled in front of my rental, blocking me from leaving. At least the police car wasn’t broadcasting its presence with lights or siren. Two shorts-wearing patrol officers on bicycles rode up and dismounted, too. The male officer held the bikes and the female stood with her hands on her belt. A couple approaching arm in arm on the sidewalk halted, staring, then hurried across the street.
“Do you have any objection to coming to the station so we can record an informational interview with you?” Gifford asked Cody.
Cody looked more like a scared puppy than a college student. “Um, I don’t know. What do you think I should do, Robbie?”
“He’s not being charged with anything, right, Detective?” I asked.
“No, he’s not.”
“You should go, Cody. Go and tell them whatever you were about to tell me. And didn’t get a chance to,” I added for Gifford’s benefit. Or maybe my own.
“All right,” Cody whispered. “What about my bike?” He searched Gifford’s face.
“We’ll bring it with us.” Gifford signaled to one of the bike cops. The woman stepped forward and ushered Cody toward the police car, where an officer waited at the open passenger door. At least they weren’t locking him in the back.
“Cody, do you want me to call anyone for you?” I called out.
Desperation washed over his face. “Not Katherine! Not my dad, either.” He swallowed. “But could you tell Boathouse I’m, um, sick, and won’t make the noon shift?”
“Of course,” I assured him. “Call me when you’re done at the station if you can.”
Within a minute the patrol car was gone, Cody’s bike in the back seat.
Gifford turned to me. “What did he tell you?”
“Nothing, unfortunately. Seriously, I stayed in my car, texted you his number, and was watching so he wouldn’t leave the park. When it looked like he planned to, I spoke to him through the window.”
“I still wish you had left.” He
