CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Jessie was on pins and needles.
By the time she and Ryan got close to Camarillo, northwest of Los Angeles, it was late morning.
On the drive up, they’d gotten updates on the current whereabouts of almost all the remaining Thornfield friends that they’d tasked Jamil and Beth with reaching out to. They had successfully reached out to Alannah Murray and Riley Sinclair.
“Murray is a fashion executive,” Beth said. “She got pretty frantic when I filled her in and said she planned to move into a luxury hotel with professional security until this was resolved.”
“Unfortunately,” Jamil added, “When I got hold of Sinclair and made the same suggestion, she told me that as a librarian, she couldn’t afford to do that.
She also said she’s barely been in touch with any of the others in the group since graduating and doubts it will affect her.
Still, I convinced her to at least stay with a friend for the next few days. ”
“What about the other two?” Ryan pressed.
“We haven’t been able to get hold of Kylie Stoner yet,” Beth admitted.
“I keep getting her voicemail. As to Tess Singleton, she moved to the Bay Area two years ago. Obviously, that doesn’t make her completely safe, but since all the murders have occurred down here in L.A.
, I wasn’t as adamant about her taking precautions.
But she said she would anyway. She married a big-time tech executive last year and said their home is in a gated community and that their house has advanced security measures. She didn’t sound that worried.”
“Okay,” Ryan said. “Let’s check back in with the other three in a few hours to see what progress they’ve made on their personal security front.
As to Kylie Stoner, let’s have squad cars go to her home and workplace.
The fact that she hasn’t answered your calls could mean nothing.
Maybe she’s in a meeting or on a plane. But I want officers to keep an eye on her just to be safe. ”
“Will do,” Beth assured him.
They hung up just as they arrived at the school where Marcus Carroway worked. Camarillo Prep was located on a secluded, tree-lined street on the edge of town. It comprised about a dozen Spanish Colonial-style buildings with eggshell-colored stucco walls and red-tiled roofs.
They parked and got out, taking the cobblestone path to the exterior entrance.
There was a large stone wall that surrounded the entire school complex.
It had an opening with a wrought iron gate.
Ryan pushed the buzzer off to the side and waited for a response.
Jessie took note of the security camera affixed to the wall, looming down at them.
“Camarillo Prep,” a pleasant female voice said over the speaker. “How may I help?”
“LAPD,” Ryan said, holding up his ID and badge to the camera. “I’m Detective Hernandez, and this is Ms. Hunt. We’re here to speak to one of your teachers.”
“Which teacher?” the woman asked.
“We’re not at liberty to say until we’re on the premises.”
There was a brief pause from the woman.
“Are you armed, Detective?” she asked.
“Yes. We both are,” he said.
“Very well,” the woman said. “I’m going to buzz you in. Our head of security will meet you at the front door to review procedures.”
Jessie wasn’t sure what procedures they had in mind, but didn’t say anything. In the current environment, she wasn’t opposed to schools taking extra precautions on campus, even if it caused them a bit of a hassle. The buzzer sounded, and Ryan pushed open the heavy gate.
As they walked toward the administration building, Jessie noted the phrase listed under the monument sign with the school’s name.
It read: preparing young men to make a better future for all.
She couldn’t help but wonder if the single-gender nature of the place had played a role in Carroway getting the job.
She already knew it wasn’t based on his recent personal history.
According to what Jamil had uncovered, Carroway might have gotten the job because a member of the board of trustees was a college classmate of his.
Apparently, they were still tight. It seemed that the friend had made a $200,000 donation to the school’s general fund right around the time that Carroway was hired three years ago. That was quite a coincidence.
Prior to that, Carroway had bounced around Southern California's private high schools, never lasting more than a couple of years. In fact, since his forced resignation from Thornfield a decade ago, he had taught at five different schools. Camarillo Prep was his longest stint so far.
It looked like his personal life was no longer stable.
Fifty-nine years old, he’d been divorced for six years now.
His wife had sole custody of their fifteen-year-old son.
He’s also been arrested for two DUIs in the last few years, the second of which was eventually reduced to reckless driving because of a botched field sobriety test. Basically, since leaving Thornfield, his life had been a mess.
As they approached the school's main entrance, an armed guard —a burly, thirty-something man —stepped outside to greet them. His expression was severe.
“Welcome to Prep,” he said. “I’m Glen Tinker.
We have a security vestibule just inside the building.
I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to need you both to leave your weapons in the secure lockbox until I verify your identities with the department.
Once that’s complete, you’ll get them back, and a security officer will escort you to meet with the teacher in question. May I ask who you’re here to see?”
“Marcus Carroway,” Ryan told him.
Tinker didn’t seem shocked but said nothing. Instead, he held the door open for them and motioned to the lockbox next to the metal detector. They put their weapons inside, went through the detector, and waited while the guard confirmed their identities. Once that was done, he returned their guns.
“Sorry,” he said. “But these procedures are required.”
“No worries,” Jessie told him. “Better safe than sorry.”
Tinker nodded and spoke into his walkie-talkie. A few seconds later, a second armed guard appeared.
“This is Perry,” Tinker said. “He’ll escort you to Mr. Carroway’s office. I assume you don’t want me to call ahead to let him know you’re coming?”
“We’d prefer not,” Ryan said.
Perry, lanky with straw-colored hair, gave them a thin smile and waved them over. They walked down a long hallway with elaborate decorative tiles adorning the floor. Jessie almost felt bad for stepping on them. Photos of the town of Camarillo, dating back to the 1910s, lined the walls.
“You’re lucky,” Perry said, glancing at his watch. “It’s 11:10. Mr. Carroway’s morning classes ended about ten minutes ago. He has his office hours now. Otherwise, you’d have had to wait around.”
Since it was moot, Jessie didn’t say that if they’d arrived earlier, they would have had no compunction about pulling Carroway out of his classroom for questioning. She could tell from Ryan’s scowl that he felt the same way.
“What do you think of Mr. Carroway?” Jessie asked, hoping to get some off-the-record dirt.
Perry gave her a sidelong shrug. “He’s okay, I guess. Why? Did he do something bad?”
“We’re just hoping he can help us out with a case we’re working on,” Jessie said as blandly as possible. “What makes you think he might have done something bad?”
“I don’t,” Perry said quickly. “I mean, I could see him getting into trouble for like, starting an argument with someone that could spin out of control. He’s a little impatient, short-tempered even.
But as far as something serious that would bring the LAPD all the way out here, that seems like a lot, even for him. ”
The guard stopped at a wooden door with a frosted-glass window that they couldn’t see through and knocked.
“Office hours appointments need to be scheduled in advance!” came the barked reply from inside.
“Dr. Carroway, it’s Perry from security. I have visitors who would like to speak with you.”
“Have them make an appointment,” Carroway shouted dismissively.
“They’re not those kinds of visitors,” Perry replied. “They’re with the police.”
Jessie heard a loud thud, then the sound of scrambling. She glanced over at Ryan, wondering if he was thinking what she was: that it would be a wild move for the man to try to sneak out. But if he was their guy, he might get desperate. Ryan had the same look of apprehension that she felt.
“Step back, Perry,” he whispered as he unholstered his gun.