Chapter 11 #3
“If you’ll excuse me,” Annette said with a slight nod, but only toward Hadley.
Roland's snub was pointed enough that Hadley caught the distaste flicker across his features. There and gone, the expression of one who was used to being ignored. Annette rested a hand on Knox’s arm, easy and familiar.
“I’ll forward you those faculty meeting notes we spoke about earlier. ”
“Thanks, Annette,” Knox murmured, remaining just outside the doorframe, waiting until she’d disappeared down the hall before he turned back. “Do you need me for anything else, Chief Dawkins?”
“No,” Roland cut in, waving a hand before Hadley could so much as part her lips.
He did that a lot when he didn’t want to be contradicted.
He then circled back to his desk, collected his briefcase, and stepped out of the office so briskly that he forced Knox back a couple of steps.
“We all have a class to teach, after all. Is there anything else you need from me, Chief Dawkins?”
“Not at this moment.” Hadley followed at her own pace and stopped just shy of the threshold. “You’ll take my advice, Mr. Mercer.”
She intentionally didn’t phrase her words as a question.
“Yes.”
Roland’s response had been reluctant. He spared Knox one last glare, as though his colleague had done something more offensive than call him on a Friday night, and then he was gone. His footsteps clipped away down the hallway.
Knox didn’t seem to know quite what to do, so he slowly followed suit.
Hadley took advantage of the empty office and pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans.
She quickly opened her camera app, zoomed in on the county map, and snapped a picture.
Keeping her phone in hand, she made her way out of the office to find that Knox hadn’t made it to the staircase.
“Mr. Hudson?”
“Yes?” Knox faced her, though not before he glanced down the staircase. He reluctantly came to a stop. “Listen, Roland’s a good teacher. Strange, but good. If he’s committed some kind of crime, I don’t know a thing about—”
“Has Mr. Mercer ever mentioned the Threshing Man to you?”
“Only once or twice a week.” Knox let out a short breath through his nose, not quite a laugh, but it carried his whole opinion. “We all know about his hobby. Obsession, really. But it’s harmless. Is that what this is about? His so-called book?”
“You don’t believe Mr. Mercer is writing a book?
” Hadley took the opening. She’d used the elevator in the other hallway, but she was close enough to Knox to have full sight of the staircase.
A section of the railing on the upper landing had been roped off, two orange cones set in front of a stretch of clear plastic tarp that had been zip-tied across a gap where the balusters should have been.
There was no sight of Roland, so she figured he must have already reached a lower level. “Why is that?”
“Roland has been claiming for years that he’s been writing a book, but no one has ever seen one page of it.
” Knox glanced toward the staircase in something close to pity.
“I think he just likes the attention. I tune out most of his ramblings. He’s good with the students, and that’s all that counts.
And for what it’s worth, I don’t believe some supernatural entity has been stalking Cane County’s cornfields since the eighteen hundreds. ”
“Did Mr. Mercer ever mention what he’s searching for when he’s out in the fields?”
“When he’s…” Knox repeated her as if he wasn’t sure he understood her question. His eyes widened once he comprehended her meaning. “Did he destroy someone’s property? Is that why you’re here?”
“No,” Hadley replied, wanting to suppress any rumors to the contrary. “Someone trespassed on private property, and I was merely covering all my bases.”
“Well, Roland was telling you the truth about Friday. I did call him at home, and he answered.” Knox checked his watch, the kind that synced to a phone. “I’m sorry, but I’m late for class. Is there anything else that I can help you with?”
“No,” Hadley replied, but only after noticing two individuals ascending the open staircase. They were too absorbed in their own conversation to notice an officer of the law. “I appreciate your time, Mr. Hudson.”
Hadley had parked on the opposite side of the building, so she retraced her steps down the hallway.
She considered reentering Roland’s office to take another look around, but she didn’t have a warrant, and she wouldn’t risk the case being thrown out if she discovered that he did have something to do with Reed’s death.
When she reached the elevator and chose the ground floor, she pulled up the map photo on her phone.
She’d gotten a clean shot. Clear enough that the small, black lettering resolved when she zoomed in.
The pushpins appeared scattered at first. Random.
Earl Vinton’s east field had one. So did the large stretch of woods belonging to Mr. Cox behind the festival, along with a string of other cornfields running down the eastern edge of town.
None of the locations surprised her, except one.
A lone, red pushpin marked a thin dirt road at the back of the county. One that didn’t show on most maps, and one that was only known to people born and raised in Whistlerun.
It was the dirt road where they’d found Reed’s truck.
What was left of it.
What was left of him.