The Stranger You Know. Andrea Kane
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needs help. And our detectives are there interviewing Kendra’s friends.”
“Anything yet?”
“Only that she was a studious, quiet girl who spent most of her time in the library. Her major was philosophy, so we’ll be interviewing all her professors. As for her whereabouts last night, she was supposedly on her way to a fraternity party, but never showed up.”
Claire had tears in her eyes. “The students must be planning something.”
“Yeah, that’s the other thing I wanted to tell you. There’s a vigil being held on Morningside Campus at eight o’clock tonight. We’ll have plainclothes detectives and video surveillance there.”
“Since the killer will probably show up to get a firsthand look at the emotional devastation he caused.” Marc spoke from his BAU training.
“Exactly.”
“Our team will be there, too,” Patrick told Tom. “We’ll keep a low profile and let you do your thing.”
“I figured as much.” Tom’s tone was grim. “Sometimes this job really sucks. But it sure as hell makes you want to solve a case.” There was a pause. “Give me your office number. I’ll keep you posted as information turns up.”
Casey complied, giving him not only the office number, but each of their individual cell phone numbers, as well.
As soon as the call was disconnected, she glanced around the table, focusing specifically on Ryan. She knew what was coming.
And it did.
Ryan turned to Marc. “Our surveillance blows theirs out of the water.”
“No question.” Marc finished off his cup of coffee. “Looks like we’ll be treading into that gray area sooner than expected.”
* * *
It was 6:00 p.m. With two hours left before the vigil began, the area was deserted, except for Kendra’s photo and a small circle of flowers surrounding it.
Ryan glanced out the window of the van as he, Marc and Patrick approached the campus. “Tom’s right. This whole thing sucks.”
Marc said nothing, although he didn’t disagree. He’d seen some heinous things in his time. That didn’t make a brutal crime like this any easier to comprehend.
Security was tight, as the FI team had expected it to be. Patrick got out of the van a block away and walked toward the campus grounds. He was wearing business casual clothes and had left his gun at home. He’d been given the necessary law enforcement okay. He’d have no trouble getting in. And he’d look like any professor or father paying his respects.
That left Ryan and Marc to do their own jobs.
The FI van pulled up to the security guard. Ryan reached into his pocket and produced his ID from New York Sound, one of the many corporate aliases Forensic Instincts had created to allow them to conduct surveillance operations without raising suspicion. As expected, New York Sound was on the approved vendor list. Once the guard verified that, he handed Ryan back his ID and nodded.
Ryan paused long enough to gaze around the area on campus where the vigil was about to be held.
“Where’s the closest place for me to park?” he asked.
The guard pointed, uttering a series of lefts and rights, which Ryan memorized. Then he issued a mock salute and pulled slowly onto campus.
Situated where he wanted to be, Ryan turned and nodded at Marc. The two of them climbed out of the van, unloaded the tripod base speakers and positioned them strategically around the area where the vigil would soon commence. Next, Ryan connected the long cables to each speaker and attached the opposite ends to the special jacks protruding from the side of the van. He climbed inside and fired up the equipment.
Marc went from speaker to speaker, waiting to hear Ryan say, “Testing one, two, three,” before he waved to acknowledge that Ryan’s voice was coming through loud and clear. Next, Ryan gave Marc instructions at each speaker about how to position it. “Up five feet, turn left twenty degrees,” he directed the first time, his voice emanating from the elevated speaker. The two of them continued the process until it was done.
To a passerby, it would appear as if Marc was adjusting a sound system. But inside the truck, Ryan was checking the angles of security cameras he’d concealed inside the speakers. Once the process was complete, he’d have a three hundred and sixty degree view of the entire vigil area. The output from each video camera would be recorded, allowing Forensic Instincts to analyze the footage, and use facial recognition software if needed. Casey had instructed Ryan to make the video available to her on the FI server as soon as they returned to the office.
Marc opened the back door of the van and climbed in. The place looked like a mini TV production room.
“Ready?” he asked, glancing around.
Ryan sat back on his heels. “Show time.”
* * *
Kendra might have been a quiet and private girl. But the vigil was packed with students, some of them white with shock, some of them openly weeping. Whether or not Kendra was part of their individual social circles, her murder hit them all hard. She was one of their peers, one of their classmates. Any of them could just as easily have been the girl found in that warehouse. Knowing that, they hugged one another and stood in traumatized solidarity, overcome by the horror of the situation.
Patrick moved among the crowd, subtly but intently studying the vigil’s attendees. No one paid particular attention to him, since there were other people his age, most of them parents who lived locally. They, too, felt a fearful kinship with the other parents—and not only out of grief for Kendra, although that was a huge part of their reason for being there. But they were also well aware that if this psychopath was targeting Columbia students, their own children could be in danger. Kendra’s own parents were, understandably, absent. They were in no condition to be out in public when they were still utterly shattered and in shock.
Marie, Kendra’s closest friend and the last known person to have seen her alive, made a brief but heartbreaking speech. She spoke about Kendra’s kindness, her commitment to her family and friends, and her determination to graduate and make a difference in the world. When no more words would come, she wiped away her tears and bent down to place a bouquet of flowers at the foot of the pedestal holding the photo of Kendra.
After that, students all filed forward, placing everything on the grass from a single flower alongside Marie’s bouquet to Columbia notebooks and T-shirts. The “pizza crowd,” all of whom were among Kendra’s small number of close friends, were huddled together. They each put a yellow rose—Kendra’s favorite flower—on top of the pedestal, and then turned away, tears rolling down their cheeks. Even Robbie was there, squatting to place an empty pizza box near the flowers.
He walked over to Kendra’s friends. “I don’t know what to say,” he told them. “She was a terrific girl. This is a nightmare. I hope the cops find the motherfucker who did this to her and lock him up for life.” His voice got shaky. “The last time I saw her, she was trying to help me. Some car was blocking my delivery truck and I could barely get out. She would have gone up to the driver and blasted him if I let her.”
“She told us about that,” Amy said. “She went on and on about how miserably delivery people are treated.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve gotten used to that.” Robbie swallowed, obviously struggling to make mundane conversation. “I normally just let it roll off my back. But I would’ve been fired if the truck got dented. So I appreciated Kendra’s concern. I’d be screwed without that job. As it is, I just took on a second one. But this new one lets me deliver pizzas by bike.”
“That’s good.” Amy hadn’t really heard him and he knew it. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the senseless and brutal crime that had taken away their friend.
The candle-lighting aspect of the vigil got under