House of Steel (18 page)

She had seen Holston Parker for a fleeting
moment, leaning up against the wall with his hat in his hands. It
wouldn’t be long before he found her. He had a way of persuading
people. She looked up to the brick walls of the attic.

The old loft on the third floor had been
vacant for three years, obscured from anyone’s focus despite that
it was downtown. She had slipped in a quick meeting with the owners
three months ago after she had seen Holston Parker in the barn
buying the women. Waving a thick wad of cash had kept the eager,
older couple quiet, telling no one that she had rented out the
space above their apothecary shop. Her late-night visits had
increased over the last month as the necessary arrangements to
transform the loft had become apparent. A small refrigerator,
medical equipment, a week long stash of food, and working plumbing
was all she needed.

Still dressed in her black cargo pants, she
stepped over to the window, pulling the tarp an inch to see the
Union several blocks away. A car pulled up one block down. The door
opened as a woman’s heel stepped on the curb. She saw the brown
ponytail bobbing up and down, moving toward the entrance, as the
car pulled away.

“Take your hair down,” V whispered. Delaney
paused, pulling at her hair until the waves cascaded down her back.
Delaney knew she was more beautiful that way.

“Good girl,” V whispered as she closed the
tarp. 2:29 p.m. It wouldn’t be long.

23

DAY 4:Sunday, December 21 – 2:29 p.m.

“You can stop here.” Delaney looked ahead
from the passenger seat to see the building a block away. The
sidewalks were scattered with groups of students flowing in and out
of the Union. Bundled in winter gear, they huddled together,
talking close.

“You sure?” James asked as he pulled the car
to the right.

“Yeah, I’ll give you a call when I’m done.
Thanks for the ride,” she turned, giving him a reassuring look
before opening the door into the cold wind.

“No problem. Just be safe, Delaney,” James
called as she shut the door and waved him off. Delaney’s heels
moved her forward to the old, brick building located in the middle
of campus known as the Union - the hub of the university that
housed the bookstore and the main dining areas. Small trees poked
through the blanket of snow surrounding the building. She
remembered walking into the Union for the first time with June,
where they had lunch among the students, during the previous spring
semester. The Union had been filled with students, white ear buds
stuck in their ears and large bags strung on their backs. The
college scene was familiar to her, the environment easy to
transition to in her first job, but she hadn’t quite mastered being
on the other side of the classroom. She had taken her job entirely
too lightly she now realized.

She stepped up, reaching out to open the
glass door to the Union entrance. A man dressed in a police uniform
was waiting for her on the other side.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Jones,” he said as he
stepped to the side, letting her walk through.

“Nice to meet you, Police Chief Sanchez.”
She met his extended hand and forced a smile. He was shorter and
stockier than she’d anticipated, but his presence was nothing short
of complete intimidation. Military. He had to be in the service
with his stoic body and unrelenting eyes that drilled into her as
she walked further into the hallway.
Theron’s tags.
He
followed her body down to her pink heels before moving back up to
study her face.
You have to do this.

“I’m sorry to meet you under such dire
circumstances. Thank you for coming in so quickly. Follow me.” She
suspected that he often didn’t thank people and wondered why he had
chosen to use the words with her. He ushered her into the hallway
and through the doors on the right to a conference room with one
table and two chairs.

“The command center is down through the main
area, buzzing with staff taking calls and students pouring in early
from break. For such a small community, we have great support. It
seems like Mr. Olson had quite a few friends.” He paused on the
word
friends
before he added, “We’ll be able to talk more
privately here. Take a seat.” He pulled out one of the chairs from
the table before moving around to the other side, sitting down in
front of an open laptop.

Hesitating, she stood next to the chair and
removed her jacket - glancing down subconsciously to the area she
had just scrubbed cleaned of blood - placing it on the back of her
chair. She looked down to make sure the blazer was buttoned tight
to cover some of her breasts before she slid into the seat.
Be
casual, yet concerned. Anything other than suspicious. Start with
the truth.

“Anything to help find Theron and get
whoever did this away from campus,” she said as she folded her
hands on the table, looking across to Sanchez’s dark brown eyes set
deep in his bronzed face. His skin shone like a worn leather bag
oiled several times over underneath his black crew cut. The smell
of Old Spice filled her nostrils, reminding her of the first
memories of her father. She watched him clasp his weathered hands
together on the table, locking his eyes on her. He had done this
before.

“Absolutely, time is of the essence and we
need as much information as possible. We examined Mr. Olson’s phone
records and your number is listed as one of the last numbers
receiving and sending a text message.” He looked down at his
laptop. “It looks like just over seventy-two hours before Mr. Olson
went missing. When was your last contact with Mr. Olson?”

“Thursday, December 18th. Sometime in the
morning, around ten or so. We exchanged text messages.” She
breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, trying to
calm her body.

“In regards to?” he pressed.

“He asked me to write a letter of
recommendation for him.”
That sounds so weak.

“Did you see him on Thursday?”

“No.”

“When is the last time you saw Mr. Olson?”
His eyes stared straight, unblinking.

“A day or two after classes ended. Theron
came to see me during my office hours to discuss his grade and to
ask me if I would provide a recommendation for him.” He
did
come to see her during her office hours, but it wasn’t for a
recommendation. She crossed her legs.

“The exact date?”

“I believe it was December 18th or somewhere
around there,” she stammered, trying to recall the last day of the
semester, as she moved her hands into her lap.

“Can you tell me about your relationship
with Mr. Olson?” He was unimpressed, looking for something
more.

“Theron was a student in my drawing class
this past fall semester. I first met him at the start of class in
September.”
Leaning back in his chair, watching me the entire
class.

“So you have a strictly platonic
student/teacher relationship, is that correct?”

“Yes.” She nodded her head, squeezing her
hands together beneath the table.

“Tell me a little bit about your impression
of Theron. What was he like?” His voice was straight-forward as he
continued through the questions, just short of interrogation.

“Well…” She cleared her throat and adjusted
her legs in the chair. “He was a good student. He had an eagerness
to learn and came to my office hours several times throughout the
semester to get additional help. ”

“Did he seem to have any friends or enemies
in the class?”

“He seemed to get along with everyone fine.
No close friends, from what I could tell, that were in the class,
but I wouldn’t know for sure. I don’t think any other football
players were in the class. He told me he was on the team,” she
added before shifting her legs again.
It’s hot.

“What else do you know about Mr. Olson?” He
finally broke his posture, leaning back in his chair. Delaney
sighed silently, feeling her shoulders lighten with his
movement.

“Um, that’s about it. Other than he was
looking for references to complete his application for a job.”

“A job while he’s on a full ride, still in
school?” His eyebrows burrowed down, puzzled at the thought.

“Um, I don’t know,” she stumbled, looking
down at her hands. Red blotches patched her hands as she rubbed
them back and forth. She pulled her eyes upward, catching the shiny
name badge on his left side of his chest.
Police Chief
Sanchez
.

“Is it customary for faculty to give
students their personal cell phone numbers?” He stared straight.
The muscles in his face remained static, immovable, as his eyes
refused to blink. Delaney cleared her throat and took a deep
breath. She envisioned herself standing in front of her bedroom
mirror, wrapping her pink mask over her eyes and tying it tight.
The reflection smiled back at her. She
would
do this.

“No, Police Chief Sanchez, it is not
customary for faculty to give students personal cell phone
numbers,” she started, placing her hands on the table in front of
her and staring her translucent eyes back at him.

“But you did,” he interrupted. His face
still unflinching.

“Yes, I did. I am in a unique profession at
the university that requires its faculty members to foster
relationships with their students. The faculty here are dedicated
to the students, helping them grow to become successful leaders in
our society. I will do what is necessary to help my students
achieve what they intend to achieve. Since I was not regularly
checking university email, I am not legally contracted to do so
during the holiday break, I gave Theron my personal cell phone
number so that he was able to contact me to complete the reference
within the short deadline,” she finished, feeling an inkling of
control possess her, a feeling so long forgotten. Her hand reached
up to the ring around her neck
. I will do this.

“For a job,” he pressed.

“Yes, for a job. I do not know the details
on the position. I was simply asked to provide detailed information
on his character and ability to perform in the classroom. That was
not information I needed to know in order to complete the
reference, and I didn’t think it was necessary to ask,” she added,
shrugging her shoulders.
She was beginning to believe it
herself.

Sanchez broke eye contact and leaned further
back into his chair, folding his arms across his chest. He sighed
and looked back at his laptop, scrolling through more information.
She sensed his leads were going nowhere and for that, she truly
felt sorry, but she couldn’t risk Theron’s life.
Ben,
Mark…

“Is there anything else you want to add, Ms.
Jones?” He had already written her off.
I’m in the
clear.

“No, I just wish I was more help. I just
can’t believe this is happening on our campus,” she laid it on,
trying to shove any seed of doubt, if there was any, out of his
mind.

“Between you and me, Ms. Jones, this is
going to be a tough one. We’ve got an All-American athlete, popular
guy on campus, with no known enemies or track record. God damn
squeaky clean. But, he’s gotten himself into a steaming pile of
shit at the moment.”

“How do you know it’s Theron’s blood?”

“The tags. The chain of the tags was
severed, the blood indicative of a struggle with a knife or blade
that severed the tags and flesh below it. According to a blood
spatter specialist in Milwaukee, we called him up right away. Our
guys don’t see stuff like this, not here.”

She yearned to unfold all the terrifying
details of the past two days to Sanchez. He was rough around the
edges, but a man determined to do his job. He would dutifully
listen. Gunnar. Mr. Rowan. The mysterious man in the fedora. The
bloody jacket. The book of matches. The painting in her bedroom.
The text.
They have Theron. He’s alive!

Instead, she said, “Do you have any
leads?”

“Well, now that you haven’t provided any
information that may have given us a straw, we’re about at the end
of our rope.” He looked up at her across from him, huddled in the
chair. Her face fell. “Sorry, Ms. Jones. I was just hoping that you
had something. I thought it was unique that he texted one of his
professors,” he said as he stood up, pushing the chair back behind
him.

“Please let me know if there is anything I
can do to help,” she said, lifting her body off the chair to wrap
her jacket around herself. She had passed his interrogation.
But
what’s next? The next instruction?

“Feel free to head to the command center.
There are a few staff and plenty of students offering their help. A
search party is going out in about thirty minutes.” He looked down
at his watch. “Back through the doors and into the main hallway
will bring you there, which I assume you know.”

“Thank you. I will.” She held out her
hand.

“Ms. Jones.” He took her hand in his own,
shaking it briefly before casting his eyes down on her red, blotchy
hands. “Be safe.”

You have no idea.
“I will,” she said
before turning toward the door, looking out the glass to see the
tail-end of a man walking by. She craned her neck, shifting her
eyes down the hall. Black hair with silver speckles flashed through
her eyes.

“Ms. Jones,” Sanchez interrupted, pulling
Delaney’s head back into the room.

“Yeah.”

“
Do me a
favor.
Don’t wear those high heels in the winter like this.”
He pointed to the heels with five inch spikes. “You’re asking for
trouble.”

“Oh, sure.” She forced a half-smile before
turning back to the door, pulling it open and stepping out into the
hall leaving Sanchez alone with his laptop. The hall was empty.

Vanished into thin air.
It was
Sanchez’s job to notice the details. She wondered if she had really
passed his close inspection; she felt naïve to think she did.
Delaney shivered before turning to the right, moving along the
hallway filled with colorful posters for campus activities and
clubs. The sound of voices ahead echoed through the hallway as she
neared the opening to the main commons area. She looked down at her
phone.
2:43 p.m.
She had only been with Sanchez for ten
minutes. Despite the nagging feeling that she should leave, she was
drawn to the noise, wanting to know more about where they were
looking. She floated to the entrance and pushed into the main area
filled with moving bodies and lights.