CHAPTER 64
A s Lippincott downed his drink, I clicked on the email from Spencer–an attached video clip with a message that read: To think the arrogant prick thought this was encrypted.
Guess he shouldn’t have roomed me with a computer genius.
At midnight, this will go out to every student and faculty member on campus.
Just thought you’d want an early viewing.
Ask him about the file Jenny had that night.
Lippincott prattled on, bitching about Gilchrist and how he planned to pay her back for all the trouble she’d caused.
As subtly as I could muster, I clicked on the video, which opened to a scene of the cadaver tunnel–obviously, from before I’d had the cameras removed.
A figure strode toward the camera, a young blonde, clutching the strap of her bookbag as she hustled down the hallway while glancing over her shoulder. Jenny Harrick.
The screen flickered to the next clip, of her entering the incinerator room. As she made her way toward the exit at the opposite side of the room, she came to a halt and backed up. The video had no sound, so I couldn’t make out what had her backing away from the exit.
Not until another figure moved into the frame.
Melisandre Winthrop.
The body language and throwing of arms told me the two of them were arguing. I gave a quick glance toward Lippincott, who leaned forward, pushing his glass toward me.
I poured him more of the contaminated liquor, then turned my attention back to the video in time to see Mel grab hold of the shovel used to remove ash from the incinerators.
She whacked Jenny over the head so hard, I flinched, noting that Lippincott had his face buried in his glass.
The nauseating impact sent the girl tumbling to the floor, and as if stunned by what she’d done, Melisandre backed herself away, dropping the shovel.
Looking toward the door and back to Jenny, she seemed to be contemplating whether, or not, to help her, or flee. She pulled a cellphone from her back pocket and made a call.
Time lapsed on the video, then sped up, as if it’d been edited. T wo minutes. Three. Four. Five . Nearly ten minutes later, a third figure entered the room.
Lippincott.
Another glance showed the real version of him sinking into his chair, tapping his finger on the rim of his glass with impatience as he waited on me.
Back on the video, Mel threw herself at Lippincott, and I had to swallow back my repulsion when she kissed him.
Strange, given the way he’d flocked to his son’s side sometime after Jenny’s disappearance, when Mel had accused Spencer of assaulting her.
To save face, of course. It wasn’t as if he gave a shit about Spencer.
She spun around for the door, and the moment she was out of the frame, Lippincott knelt to the floor and rifled through Jenny’s bookbag.
He pulled what appeared to be a manila envelope and flipped through the pages.
Paused, seeming to read, he rubbed a hand down his face.
After scrambling to his feet, he darted for one of the incinerators, pressing the button to fire it up, and continued to flip through the folder.
Another brief perusal, and he tossed the entire file into the incinerator and ran a hand through his hair, looking back at Jenny.
“This is taking quite some time, Devryck. Let’s hurry it along,” he said in a bored tone across from me.
“You’re asking for two decades of data, Edward. Relax.”
In the video, Lippincott dragged Jenny’s limp body toward the incinerator.
Teeth grinding, I watched as he opened the door of it.
He laid her out on the steel bed.
No. Fuck.
One hard shove sent her body into the awaiting flames. When he slammed the door shut on her, I had to bite my fucking cheek to keep from making a sound. Fire flickered through the window of the incinerator door.
A hand appeared on the other side.
In the video, Lippincott jumped back at the same time I did. I ran a hand through my hair to calm the alarm beating through me.
He killed her.
Burned her.
Alive.
All captured on a video he’d somehow suppressed. I didn’t know how the hell Spencer had managed to get his hands on the footage, but he’d just cleared my name in a sixteen-minute-and-thirty-seven-second clip.
“What’s the problem?” Lippincott asked, holding the gun loosely in his hand.
“Program crashed. I need to reboot. It’s going to take a minute.”
“I don’t have a fucking minute.”
“Then, I guess you should’ve approved the fucking request from finance to boost the internet.”
“Fine.” Groaning, he rubbed his gun-toting hand across his brow. “But hurry. This gun is getting heavier by the minute.”
As I pretended to wait for my computer to restart, I crossed my arms, staring back at him. “Do you remember that weird glitch we had a while back? Shut everything down for an hour?”
“How could I forget? Everyone blamed me for it. They blame me for everything. Lack of internet, lack of department supplies, tidal waves and full moons,” he said in a mocking voice.
“I hate this goddamn job. When President Whiting leaves, I will bulldoze my way to his position and be done with this menial shit.”
Ignoring his comment, I asked, “That was the glitch that affected the Harrick feed, wasn’t it?”
“Why are you asking this? Are we really going to revisit Jenny Harrick right now? Are you feeling so kicked down, you need me to shove your nose in shit all over again?”
I looked him square in the eye. “What was the file you threw into the incinerator?”
Sharp amusement carved his expression, and he ran his tongue over his teeth. “Careful, Devryck. You’re walking the same fine thread that your father walked.”
“What does it matter? If you don’t kill me, Winthrop plans to do the job. You might as well tell me what it was that branded me a fucking monster.”
“That file she stole held incriminating evidence against your father.”
“Since when did you give a shit about his reputation? You’ve smeared his name through the dirt throughout all of my academic career.”
He let out a mirthless laugh. “You’re an ungrateful shit. I was protecting you! You, Devryck! It was your reputation on the line. Not his. And I cleaned up, didn’t I? Did you spend so much as a fucking hour in prison?”
“On my father’s death bed, he told me you sabotaged the experiment. You’re the reason it was shut down. At the time, I just thought he was desperate and pathetic, looking to blame someone else. But now I’m wondering if maybe those files spoke a different truth.”
His jaw shifted with obvious anger. “That study was supposed to have been mine. Mine! I should’ve been the primary investigator.”
“You got Lilia’s mother pregnant. My father kicked you out, so you got pissed off and swapped the injections. You infected those women. You sent them to their deaths, and our family took the blame!”
“Someone needed to knock him off his throne, didn’t they?
Imagine the power he would’ve amassed had that study been a success!
” Snarling back at me, he sat forward in his chair.
“Enough of this fucking history! Give me the files, Devryck. Now!” He shot up from his seat and rounded my desk.
The barrel of his gun bit into my flank.
“I want to see them copied onto the chip. And I want you to delete them from your computer afterwards.” A pause followed, and I felt a slight nudge of the barrel at my ribs.
“It just occurred to me … you didn’t bother to pour yourself a drink this time. ”
“It was the bottle you bought me for Christmas. I don’t care for inferior quality.”
“Pour yourself a drink.”
“Do you want these files tonight, or …”
“Pour. Yourself. A drink.”
From the cabinet, I grabbed another glass and poured the liquor into it. At the press of his gun, I lifted the glass as if to drink it.
Before it got to my lips, I pivoted around and flung the liquor into his face.
“Fuck!” Squinting, he stumbled backward, and I cracked the glass over his head. He fell against my desk, the flail of his arm knocking the decanter onto the floor, where it shattered.
The gun went off, and although a thudding pressure hit my shoulder, there was no immediate pain. Just a sickening numbness.
I knew I’d been hit, though.
“Motherfucker!” I barreled forward, taking him to the floor, and slammed his gun-toting hand into the sharp corner of my desk, until the weapon tumbled from his palm.
“Ah, fuck! Fuck!” he cried out, cradling what was undoubtedly two broken fingers, given the way they bent at an unnatural angle.
Swiping up the gun, I jumped to my feet and pointed at his skull with a steady hand, as I held my wounded arm limp against my body. A quick sideways glance showed a blossom of blood, confirming that I’d been hit. “You had my brother kidnapped. It was you. Say it.”
“That research was mine. Your father stole it from me.”
Bullshit. If that were true, he’d have found the funding for his own lab, the moment the grant had become null. He hadn’t known where to begin with the research, which was why he’d recruited me to carry on my father’s work.
Teeth clenched, I dared myself to pull the trigger. “You had my brother kidnapped. Fucking say it.”
When he didn’t answer, I knelt down and propped the gun beneath his chin.
A look of fear claimed him as he tipped his head back, staring up at me. “Yes. I took Caedmon. I didn’t plan to kill him, though. Who knew your father was such a greedy prick?”
A numb chill slid through my veins, my muscles burning with the urge to pull the trigger and end him. “All these years, I believed your bullshit. Your lies . You handed him off to Angelo. And what happened then?”
“He was just going to keep him for a while. See if your old man had a change of heart.”
I nudged the gun firmly beneath his skull, visualizing the beauty of watching his brains shoot out the top of his head. “And when he didn’t?”
He hesitated, the gun bobbing with his harsh swallow. “I told Angelo to get rid of him.”