“I’d guess he’s at least six feet tall.”
Dan glares at Finch. “How are you getting that? We’re looking at this guy from above.” Because the camera is mounted in the top corner of the elevator, our point of view is a little skewed.
Finch shrugs and points to the top of our guy’s head. “I could go measure the elevator and see if I’m right.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Anything would help.” Dan states absently as he fiddles with the controls trying to make the picture clearer.
We watch it one more time, but nothing jumps out to identify the mystery man.
“So that was a whole lot of nothing,” I mutter angrily. “I had hopes for that.” I point at the screen. The one good thing it does is give Tayler Sorenson a better defense. If it came to it, she could show there were other possible suspects, which means there’s reasonable doubt.
Turning to Finch, I ask, “Did you get in touch with Falco?”
“Yeah. Finally.” He sighs. “He called me back last night.”
“And?”
“He claims he hadn’t seen our vic for several months. I asked him to come down today so we can print him and talk to him in person.”
“Good.” I nod. Smart thinking, rookie. I want to get a look at this guy too. “What time’s he gonna be here?”
“He didn’t say. I’ll follow up with him, though.”
“Good.”
“What about the grades, Dan?”
The detective sighs. “ISU won’t release any information about Dr. Buchanan’s grades. They’re confidential, and I think we’d have a hard time convincing a judge for a warrant because our reason for wanting them is flimsy as fuck.”
He’s right, and it’s probably nothing, anyway. I mean, Dr. Dorian Gray Buchanan is very well respected.
“Hey… wait.” I reach for the folder we took on our trip to Stuart yesterday. Opening it, I search for the notes from Kara’s journal. “DG.” Looking at Dan, I ask, “Did you ever figure out who DG was?”
“Nope.”
“Dr. Buchanan’s name is Dorian Gray Buchanan.”
“Wasn’t Dorian Gray a movie?” Finch asks.
“It was a book by Oscar Wilde.” I nod. “And also a movie.”
Dan shakes his head. “Wouldn’t he be listed as DB if it was him?”
My shoulders slump. “Probably.” Not giving up, I stand up to find the actual journal. When I can’t find it, I look at Dan. “Where’s the journal?”
“Captain’s got it.”
What? “Why?”
Dan shrugs.
I’m up and out of my chair in a second and in front of the captain’s door in five more. Knocking, I listen for him to tell me to enter. When he finally speaks, I open the door and step inside. “I need the journal.”
“Why?”
Wow, okay. “I’ve got a theory.”
With a sigh, he opens his desk drawer and withdraws a pink leather-bound book. “Bring it back. Her father’s concerned Kara’s personal thoughts are going to get out there.”
Ignoring him, I take hold of the journal and tug it from his hands.
What is it with the captain and Kara’s father?
Back in the conference room, I slide back into my seat, open her journal to page one, and read.
Opening the door to my house, I’m tempted to pronounce, “Honey, I’m home,” but I don’t. I sniff the air, hoping she’s cooking again, but smell nothing new or delicious.
Not only that. It’s quiet. Too quiet.
“Daisy?” I say loud enough that if she’s in one of the bedrooms, she’d hear me. When I get no response, I walk past the kitchen and down the short hallway to the bedrooms and bath. Peeking into the spare room, I see it’s empty. The bathroom door is open, so I know she’s not in there. Pushing open the door to my bedroom, I hold my breath, hoping she’s already in my bed. Preferably naked. Sadly, that’s not the case. My bed is still made from this morning and empty.
“Daisy?” I say again just for the hell of it.
Then I remember the deck. She could be out there. Moving out of my bedroom, I walk through the kitchen to the back door. Opening it, I step onto my wooden deck that overlooks a decent-sized yard. “Daisy?”
Still nothing.
In the kitchen, I spot a note. I hold my breath again, worried it’s going to tell me she’s leaving—a goodbye note. Reaching out, I pick it up and slowly bring it close enough for me to read.
Gage,
I’m running errands. I’ll be home back later.
Daisy
Relief washes over me except for one thing. The way she crossed off “home” and replaced it with “back” bothers me. A lot. Why can’t this be her home too?
Which reminds me. Captain Billings asked me point-blank today if I’d dealt with the Daisy issue. I merely nodded.
“Good,” he said, then walked away.
Yes, I lied to my commanding officer. But it can’t be helped.
Changing into sweats and a tee, I grab a beer from the fridge and return to the deck. It’s a nice night. There’s a little chill in the air, but nothing that will bother me. Sitting in one of my lounge chairs, I sip and think about today—about the investigation.
Bryant Falco finally showed up. With his father. And a lawyer.
Strange. Why would he bother bringing a lawyer with him? Unless he’s got something to hide. But in the end, the interview was worthless. He claims he hasn’t seen Kara for months and that they weren’t dating, just sleeping together. He claims she was clingy and, with a nonchalant shrug, added, “She’s kind of a bitch.”
She was. Kind of a bitch, I mean.
When we asked him where he was at the time of the murder, his father interjected, “He was home, with us, visiting.”
It’s not that I don’t believe him, but I don’t believe him. Finch is going to dig a little deeper into Bryant Falco. Hopefully he’ll find out if he was, in fact, back home in Des Moines. Even if he was, it’s only thirty-five minutes away. He could have driven to Ames and back before his father even knew he was gone.
Which gives me an
