Chapter 65
Ivy was nervous. Would have been even more nervous if exhaustion didn’t have a near monopoly on her emotions.
It didn’t help that she felt like a suspect.
For starters, Vaughn, who was waiting for both her and Abby at the station, led them through some back way.
Explained that they were trying to keep them away from Devon Godfrey and his lawyer goons.
And now she found herself in a dingy room that reeked of cigarettes and coffee. No offer of either.
Two big men—Darnell and Daniels—were seated across from her. They read her her rights and Ivy declined legal representation. She got the impression that the captain wanted this over with as quickly as possible. Suited Ivy just fine.
At least they were aligned on that.
“Dr. Reeves, tell us about Zeke Godfrey.”
Ivy did. Ran through everything. The cheating, the bar, the threats in the hallway.
Rebecca Quinn.
Zeke breaking into her home and admitting to killing . . . someone.
It was painful, especially recounting the bit about Rebecca. The poor woman. Ivy fought back tears and Daniels gave her a few seconds to collect herself.
Then, “So the first time that Zeke was aggressive toward you was at the bar, correct?”
“Yes. And like I told the detectives last time, there was this guy there. Blake something. He—he knows math. We were playing this coin flipping game and—”
Her mind kept coming back to Blake. The way he’d pretended not to know Penney’s game. How smooth he’d been. How close Ivy had been to going back to his hotel with him.
“We’ll look into it.”
“He said that he was staying at the Marriott at Forrestal. Said he was only staying three days—”
“I said we’d look into it,” Darnell repeated.
Ivy was reminded of what Vaughn had told her, which the captain had reiterated, “Keep it short.”
But . . . three days?
This also triggered something in Ivy.
What?
She was just so damn tired, her thoughts a jumbled mess. An algebraic equation with so many variables that it was unsolvable.
“Tell us what happened when you went back to Dr. Moorehead’s office. Start with why you went there.”
“I . . .” She took a deep breath. Told the truth. “I was going to confront him. If he’d just gone to the cops like I told him to, Rebecca would still be alive.”
“Let’s keep this to things you did, Dr. Reeves. No need to speculate.”
You asked me why and I told you, Ivy thought bitterly.
“So you found the note. Any idea why it was addressed to you?”
“No.”
“And then you called Detective Ryan?”
“Yes.”
Daniels pulled out the letter that he must have obtained from Vaughn. Read it out loud, likely for the benefit of the cameras.
“Did you understand the letter?”
“Not at first. I was too frazzled after seeing Rebecca. I didn’t know what it meant.”
“But then you did, right? You told Detective Ryan not to head to the Basin and instead to go to Princeton Battlefield?”
“Yes.”
“How many dead bodies have you seen in your life, Dr. Reeves?” Darnell asked. Captain Daniels’s expression soured.
“Three.”
“Three . . . right. And two of those were today?”
“Correct.”
“So you just saw two dead bodies, and you still managed to, ” Darnell flicked the sheet of paper absently, “figure out this complex riddle?”
“One.”
“Pardon?”
“You said I’d just seen two dead bodies. I’d only seen one up to that point—Dr. Moorehead was the second, which I didn’t see until after.”
Darnell didn’t appreciate being corrected.
“Sure—fine. One, then. But you were also attacked by a man with a knife. And despite all of this, you still managed to figure out the note? The correct location?”
Ivy didn’t care for the insinuation.
“It’s math. My brain went into math mode. It isn’t that complicated once you understand what it’s actually asking.”
Darnell made a ridiculous face.
“Looks pretty damn complicated to me.”
But you’re not a math professor, a Clark Fellow, blah, blah, blah.
Not hearing a question, Ivy elected to remain silent.
“Why twenty-seven minutes?” Darnell asked abruptly. “Seems strange, doesn’t it?”
“It’s a prime number. Just like—” Ivy froze.
She realized why these—twenty-seven minutes and three days—had seemed familiar to her.
The email! That stupid spam email she received right before this all started. It had a rhyming scheme, just like the one that she’d found in Dr. Moorehead’s office.
How did it go?
Ivy closed her eyes and it came to her.
1092 —three days to the date.
Twenty-seven minutes, why were you late?
Thirteen will fall, if their problem is unsolved,
Reduced to a constant, your death is involved.
By her count, there were thirteen dead: ten original victims, one in the second game, Rebecca, and Dr. Moorehead. Did that mean that this was finally over?
“Dr. Reeves?” Darnell probed.
Ivy’s eyes snapped open.
Should I say something?
She would have, but Darnell was being such a dick, and Vaughn had told her to keep it simple.
“Sorry. I’m just tired.”
Darnell grunted, but before he could speak, Daniels took over again.
“Dr. Reeves, I think that’s enough for—”
Now, Darnell cut in.
“Tell us about your father, Ivy. Earlier you said that anyone in the math department could have set up these games or challenges or whatever they are. Your father could have done them, right?”
Captain Daniels tensed, but he didn’t interrupt.
“No.”
“No? But he’s a professor, isn’t he? Like you?”
“My father can’t speak.” Ivy’s lips were so tight that she could barely get the words out.
“But he was a prof, right?”
Captain Daniels finally spoke up.
“That’s enough, Detective Sacker.”
“What? I’m just trying to figure out if—”
“I said that’s enough.”
Darnell clammed up.
“Dr. Reeves, thank you for coming in. We’re going to need to do a follow-up interview with you at some point. Please don’t leave the state.”
Ivy stood, walked out of the room.
Vaughn was waiting, looked apologetic.
“Ivy—”
“No. Not now.”
She walked right by him, tried to find her way out of the dungeon.
Why the fuck were they asking about Eugene? They think he did this? Impossible.
“Ivy?”
It was Abs.
She saw the look on Ivy’s face. Hugged her again.
“How did yours go?” Ivy asked, only so that Abs didn’t pose the same question to her.
“Fine. Some cute cop. Young. Delaney? Think he said his name was Delaney.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. C’mon, let’s get that wine.”
They drove in silence back to Fine Hall. Stopped right next to Ivy’s car.
“Ivy, you should give that therapist a call. Set something up. All those bodies . . . Jesus.” Abs shuddered.
A suggestion veiled as a question.
After the fire, after her mom had left, Abby had put Ivy in touch with her therapist. Ivy wasn’t a fan of therapy in general, but she had humored her friend.
Actually didn’t mind speaking to the dark-haired woman.
Liked the fact that the therapist was bound by law never to repeat what she’d said. And Ivy had spilled everything.
Almost everything.
“Yeah, I think I should.”
Abby nodded.
Things played out at Abby’s apartment the way that her best friend said they would. Wine then bath. Ivy had even fallen asleep in the tub for a few minutes. When she got out, Abs was waiting for her. Refilled her glass.
“I need to go back to work for half an hour, okay? Still have Mrs. Brighton there waiting to get her lips done. Boss is pissed that I keep leaving during the middle of the workday. Then I’m coming straight home—took tomorrow off, too. We can just hang out. Take it easy.”
Abby was rambling, clearly felt bad about everything that Ivy had been through. Ivy felt worse for getting her friend embroiled in another hot mess.
“It’s okay—go.”
Abby nodded.
“Lock the door behind me.”
“I will.”
“No, Ivy. Come with me. If that kid has a partner like the cops said . . .”
“Just go, Abs.”
Abby’s eyes drifted to the towel Ivy had wrapped herself in.
“Borrow something of mine to wear,” Abby said. She opened the front door. Paused. “No going anywhere, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“Pinky.”
Abby hugged her. Ivy’s towel slipped; she adjusted it.
“Love you, bitch.”
“Love you, too.”
Ivy locked the door and immediately went to her friend’s computer to search for the spam email with the cryptic poem.
“What the fuck?”
It was gone.
Not in her trash folder, not anywhere. Ivy spent a good twenty minutes Googling how to recover deleted emails, but to no avail.
Her eyes blurred and she nearly fell asleep.
Decided that if she stayed in front of her computer any longer, she would pass out.
Almost convinced herself that she’d just made the whole thing up.
She desperately needed to rest. Planned to crawl into Abby’s bed and wake up in a week to the news that Vaughn had caught the man who had torn her life apart.
Then she would see the therapist and start the long road to piecing her life back together, to going back to how things were before all this death and mayhem began.
But that never happened.
Ivy had promised not to leave the house and never intended to lie to her friend. But when she heard that familiar ring from her cell—beep, beep . . . beep—Ivy knew she’d done just that.