The Last Good Girl (34 page)

T
hey set up an impromptu command center down the street at the Tower University police station. Sam called a guy she knew in subpoena compliance at Apple and faxed him the waiver that Emily's parents had signed. As Sam spoke to her friend, Jack arrived. He wended his way through the officers and came over to Anna. “What's going on?” he asked.

She briefed him on what they'd found today.

He said, “You think whoever killed Emily also stole Heide's laptop from her?”

“Maybe,” Anna said. “I don't want to speculate too wildly till we know more.”

Sam hung up the phone triumphantly. She printed whatever the Apple agent had just e-mailed to her and thumped it on the table. “Heide Herrmann bought two Macs over the last four years: one four years ago and one two weeks ago. Apple was able to use their Find My Mac function to locate the two computers.”

The company had sent over two screenshots on maps showing where the computers were running. The newer model was operating from Heide's apartment, as they'd seen. The older one was powered on and operating, too, although at first Anna didn't understand where it was. The bright yellow dot on the map was in the middle of a swath of parklike green on the Tower University campus. No dorms or classrooms were located around it.

“Someone's running the computer from a park?” Anna said. “Like sitting on a bench or something?”

Sam traced a circle around the little yellow dot. “I think that's the university's clock tower.”

A commotion made Anna look up from the maps. Dozens of state troopers in tan uniforms were pouring into the university police station. They were led by District Attorney Bill Xanten, who was waving around papers.

“My office is shutting you down,” Xanten said.

“The hell you are,” Jack replied.

“I have an order from the governor.”

“And I have one from the Attorney General of the United States.”

“This is a local case,” Xanten said, “which local prosecutors have jurisdiction over. I'm ordering you to turn your files over to me and go home. We'll take it from here.”

“Have you gone off your meds, Xanten?”

“Turn off that computer,” Xanten barked at an FBI agent.

“Now look here.” Jack stepped forward and blocked Xanten from coming in any farther. They were both tall, broad men. They stood toe to toe, giving the impression of two boxers about to face off. “Have you heard of the Supremacy Clause?”

As the men argued, Anna slowly backed away, until she was at the edge of the fray. She put a hand on Sam's wrist and tugged her toward the back door. The men's voices were getting louder. They were in full-blown alpha-male confrontation mode. It was a good show. Anna and Sam slipped out the back door without anyone noticing.

“Wanna go check out the clock tower?” Anna said.

“Let's do it,” Sam said.

• • •

The two women pushed out the door, leaving behind the bright lights and loud voices of the police station for a dark and drizzly night. The clock tower was only a few blocks away. Anna and Sam walked.

Pulling her suit jacket tight around her chest, Anna angled her head into the wet air. They strode past a dormitory, where they could hear the sounds of muffled laughter, and the library, where large windows allowed Anna a glimpse of studying students. The drizzle was melting the last patches of dirty snow.

They entered the long stretch of park that surrounded the clock tower and the president's house. The park had to be ten acres wide. The clock tower was the focal point, in the middle.

The park was treed and quiet. The only sound was their footsteps and their breath, coming quickly, as they hurried down the path. Anna scanned the park for any signs of life. The benches were vacant. The trees were bare, their naked branches clawing at the night sky.

The clock tower shone in front of them, lit from below by spotlights. It was a six-story redbrick structure with a sloping slate roof. On each side of the fifth story was a giant clock with roman numerals. Above each clock was a large arched window. At the very top was a bell carillon. The hands on the illuminated round face read 8:47
P.M.

A concrete apron encircled the tower, with benches on the perimeter facing in. Dozens of mattresses were stacked up against the benches. All of them had been inscribed with thick black marker so they looked like giant checks made out to the university in the amount of $250, the price the university had been assessing students who took their mattresses out of their rooms.

The women walked a circle around the tower, checking for anyone hiding in the bushes. There was no one. Anna looked up at the tower. There was no sign of life in the dark windows. A thick wooden door was the only way in. It was solid, hinged with strong metal, and locked.

“Search warrant?” Anna said, hating the time it would take.

“Nah.” Sam smiled and pulled from her vest pocket a janitor's key ring loop. Dozens of keys jangled on the ring. “A master set of keys. We still have consent from the university to look anywhere we want, per the original search for Emily.”

“You keep a kitchen sink in there too?” Anna nodded toward Sam's vest.

“It's like a mom's purse,” Sam said. “Surprising room.”

Sam tried key after key, unsuccessfully. Anna wondered if the clock tower was on the set of master keys. Then she heard the satisfying
thunk
of a dead bolt turning. Sam pushed the door open. It creaked on rusty hinges.

The night was dark, but inside the tower was darker still, the complete black that comes only in closets and nightmares. It smelled musty and ancient. Anna froze on the threshold. Every instinct told her not to go in.

Sam pulled out her Maglite and shone it through the open door. The interior was a cement floor surrounded by brick walls covered in moss and streaked with stains. A big stone staircase spiraled up, hugging the walls. Looking up, the stairs created a receding circle, which disappeared into the darkness at the top. Did Anna hear something up there? Soft voices echoing against the walls? She strained against the silence. It might have been her imagination, or the breeze outside.

“Call for backup?” Anna whispered.

Sam shook her head. “Let's do this before Xanten realizes we're gone.”

They stepped into the tower. Sam went up the steps first, shining the flashlight in front of them. Anna followed closely behind. The shush of their footsteps echoed off the walls. The darkness closed in behind them, like a tangible thing.

They went up three flights of steps, then paused at a landing with a small leaded window. Anna peered out at the dark park surrounding the tower. It was empty and still. From above, she could see the light shining from the clock.

Now that their footsteps paused, she could hear murmurs coming from above. There were definitely voices. Two men were having a conversation, low and gravelly. She strained to hear what they were talking about. She couldn't make it out.

Sam turned off her flashlight. Anna could hear the slide of metal against leather, the sound of Sam's gun coming out of its holster. “I'm going up,” Sam whispered. “You stay here.”

“The hell I am,” Anna whispered back. She pulled out her cell phone and punched in the numbers 911, but didn't press send. She'd keep her finger poised, ready to press it.

“Turn that off,” Sam hissed. “I don't want them to see us coming.”

Reluctantly, Anna slipped the phone back in her pocket. They crept quietly up the stairs. Near the top, the voices resolved. Anna could hear the conversation between the two men.

“Red, if you ever get out of here, do me a favor.”

“Sure, Andy. Anything.”

“There's a big hayfield up near Buxton. You know where Buxton is?”

Anna recognized the men's voices. She'd heard them before, but they were so out of context here, she struggled to place them—police officers? Frat boys? The voices grew louder as they reached the top of the stairs.

“At the base of that wall, you'll find a rock that has no earthly business in a Maine hayfield.”

They reached the upper landing and an open door frame, from which a faint light glowed. Sam put her back against the wall, pointed her gun ahead of her, then swung around the corner.

“FBI, police,” Samantha shouted. “Let me see your hands.”

Anna heard Sam take a big, strangled gasp of air. She'd never heard Sam make a noise quite like that before. Anna strode around the corner.

Sitting against the stone wall, with hands up in the air and a computer on her lap, was Emily Shapiro.

T
hey gaped at her. She gaped at them. On Emily's laptop,
The Shawshank Redemption
continued to play. Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman continued to talk about that hayfield in Maine. The laptop threw gray light on Emily's face, giving her a ghostly glow. Anna blinked hard and looked again. The girl was still there.

“Emily?” said Anna.

“Yes,” Emily whispered. She cleared her throat and spoke a little louder. She sounded like a frightened girl who hadn't used her voice in a long time. “You're the FBI?”

“I'm Anna Curtis, a federal prosecutor. This is Samantha Randazzo; she's with the FBI. Is anyone else up here?”

Emily shook her head. The room smelled dank and fetid. Anna remembered going camping one summer, when she hadn't been able to shower for a week. It was that smell, mixed with the scent of soup, mildew, and the faint whiff of human excrement.

“Are you hurt?” Anna asked.

Emily started to cry.

“Stand up,” Sam said. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Emily put the laptop to one side and stood. Her long hair was greasy and pulled into a messy bun. She wore no makeup, but looked clean and well nourished. She wore jeans, a T-shirt, and bunny slippers.

Anna looked around. The large room had four large arched windows, each as tall as Anna, in each of the four walls. She recognized them; they were above the clocks and below the bells.

Moonlight streamed through the glass. A single sleeping bag was laid out on a sleeping roll in one corner. Boxes full of granola bars, canned food, and water bottles were stacked nearby. An overturned milk crate held some books, pens, and magazines. Another held Wet Ones, deodorant, facial wipes, and other toiletries. Buckets with airtight lids lined a wall. Had Emily used them as toilets?

“What's going on?” Anna said, although she could pretty well guess.

“No one would take me seriously,” Emily said, through tears. “I tried, all year, to get someone to take me seriously.”

The world fully rearranged itself in Anna's head. The process was like looking at the sketch of a 3-D box and trying to see it coming
at
you when before you saw it angled away.

“You manufactured a confrontation with Dylan,” Anna murmured. “You made it happen where you knew video cameras would capture it. You knew he was going to Lucky's. And then you came back here and camped out.”

Emily nodded.

“You put your blood on his car. Before or after Lucky's?”

“Before.” Emily wiped another tear.

“Did Heide know?”

“No, don't blame her. It's, like, we tossed around some ideas, but I came up with this myself. I borrowed her Mac and asked her to watch Fenwick. But I only told her I was doing something big. She didn't know what.”

“Weren't you scared to be here all alone?”

“I grew up on this campus. I know every nook and cranny. This used to be my favorite spot. I'd come up here and read and pretend to be Rapunzel and stuff.”

“Did you know everyone was looking for you?”

Emily pointed to her computer, plugged into an outlet in the wall. “I could watch the news. It was—you guys were—like, amazing.” She smiled shyly at Anna.

“Your parents are beside themselves,” Sam said. “They think they lost their only daughter.”

Emily scratched her scalp through greasy hair. “My dad only cares about his university. My mom only cares about getting back at my dad.”

“Did you see them at the vigil?” Sam asked. “They could barely keep it together.”

“Whatever. They give a good impression of caring. But let me tell you, they only started caring after I was dead.”

“I don't think you understand what you did. Hundreds of volunteers have been looking for you. Police, prosecutors, dogs, divers, federal agents.”

“It's kind of cool, right?” Emily said. “If you think about it—seriously, just stop and think about it for a second—they got what they were fighting for. Even if they didn't totally know how they were doing it. Everyone's talking about campus rape. How to protect our girls. It's what I wanted to start.”

“You were pretty damn effective,” Sam said. She pulled her radio to her mouth. “Backup needed at the university clock tower. We have located Emily Shapiro. Repeat: we have located Emily Shapiro.”

“But what was your end game?” Anna said. “You couldn't stay hidden forever.”

Moonlight from the big arched window behind Emily lit her hair like a halo.
Everyone was going to hate her,
Anna thought.
Dead, she'd been canonized. Alive, she'd be demonized.

“I just wanted justice,” Emily said, “and I got it. I'm not worried about afterward.”

Emily turned, pushed open the big window behind her, and stepped through it.

E
mily moved fast, a young woman in the prime of her physical life who knew exactly what she was doing. She just pushed the window, swung it out into the cold night air, and stepped onto the ledge.

“Stop playing games and come back in here,” Sam said. She reached for her gun.

“Or what? You'll shoot me?” Emily laughed. “Go for it.”