Page 54 of Her Only Hero

“The one and the same,” Patrick said.

“Whoa. What could all this mean?” I thought hard about these pieces of information. Did they even belong to the same puzzle? “Is it a coincidence Dr. Fulthorpe disappears after a body is found in his house?” I asked.

“I would say it’s no coincidence,” he said. “But we need a motive. I think the key is with the guy who assaulted you. I checked with all the neighboring houses and none of them had any video surveillance that could help the case.”

“Feels like a dead end.”

“We have to keep digging. And we must remain vigilant.”

I nodded. “Right.”

The telephone rang. “Officer Verbeek.” He grabbed a pen and wrote on a pad of paper. “Thank you.” He put down the phone. “We have a trace on the call you received in the lab, at 4:48 p.m. It originated from Jackson Variety Store—2449 Jackson Road.”

My eyes widened. “Just across the street?”

“Are you up for a quick jaunt?”

“Absolutely.” My heart pounded.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable coming?”

“With you? Always!”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Patrick and I burst out of the front doors of the police station. The wind blew a chill, and I turned up my jacket collar. We waited for cars to pass before we crossed the road and headed to the strip mall. Patrick’s eyes never stopped scanning the sidewalk, parking lot, and I took a cue from him. I hustled along at his side and searched for anything out of the ordinary, a familiar face, or a sudden movement.

The shopping center had a dozen or so businesses including a computer repair shop, Dairy Delish Ice Cream, a diner, and, on the very end, Jackson Variety—the convenience store, where someone had dialed my number.

Patrick held the door open, and we entered the shop. A man with a receding hairline slid a pack of cigarettes into his lumberjack shirt pocket on his way out. The tall wiry clerk with a wet mop haircut stood behind the counter and watched us as we approached.

“Can I help you?” he said. “Coffee? I can make some fresh.”

“No, thank you. I’m Officer Verbeek, and this is Ms. Harber. We work across the street. My colleague here received a call from this phone number at 4:48 p.m., and we’re trying to acquire the caller’s identity. Was it you who had made that call?”

“No, not me. I just started work at five,” he said.

“Could you give me the contact information of the employee working earlier? I’d like to speak with him, or her.”

“That would be, Shaan. He’s a dude, and I believe he is still here in the back. I’ll go check.”

“We’d appreciate that,” Patrick said, and the clerk trotted off.

I looked at Patrick and raised my eyebrows. “Colleague?”

He stifled a smile.

A slim guy wearing a jersey and baggy pants approached.

“Are you Shaan?”

“Yeah.”

“Hi, Shaan, how are you?”

The youth plunged his hands into his pockets. “I’m good.”

“Good to hear. Shaan, we’d like to know if you made a call from the store landline at 4:48 p.m. today?”

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