Page 72 of Every Last One
“He didn’t want to betray his nephew.”
“Yep. Well, I’ll get right over to Shane’s house. Address?”
Neal provided it to him and an overview of what they knew about Shane, which wasn’t much. Twenty-five and a graduate of MIT.
“Consider me there already.” Eric ended the call and got on the road.
Soon after, he was parking in the lot for Perkins’s apartment building. After clearing his presence with the building manager and getting the key, he let himself into unit 215.
The place smelled strongly of lemon cleaner, making Eric draw another breath in the hallway before stepping inside. After shutting the door, he turned around and got his first look at the unit. The rather open-concept layout allowed Eric to see the living room, past it to the kitchen and a small dining area all from the door. All that was out of view was where the hallway led to off on the right.
Eric set out, and nothing flagged. Unless one counted the orderliness. Though maybe Eric was influenced by the fact as a young man, he was never this meticulous.
He found a few photographs of Perkins with his late brother. The two had looked like they were close.
Eric returned to the living room, eyeing a bookshelf that was organized alphabetically by author. A chair next to it with anoverhanging floor lamp and a side table completed the picture of a perfect reading nook.
A hardcover textbook on tax law sat on the table. A strange reading choice for a tech major. Eric picked it up with gloved hands. There was no bookmark slipped between the pages, so had Perkins yet to start reading? Or had he finished? And did it even matter to the ongoing incident? Eric wasn’t sure it did and went to return it to the table. As he did, he caught the edge of the book and lost his grip on it. The textbook fell to the floor and splayed open, facing down.
Eric picked it up and noticed a checkout envelope at the back. This was taken from a library outside of Perkins’s neighborhood. Maybe it was closer to where Perkins worked. But the fall had knocked out something else. A piece of paper was poking out from the front top corner.
What the…
He opened the cover and discovered it was tucked between the inner lining and the hardshell of the book. Someone had deliberately separated them. He pulled the piece of paper out and read the handwriting.
This is the last communication. We’ll be doing it Monday, May 5th.—Alaya Princess
Good to go.—Broken Bridge
Ready to do this.—Drained Dry
May fifth was today, and these names struck him as usernames. Possibly the same ones used on that website forum that Neal had mentioned. Time to call this in.
FORTY
4:50 PM
Sandra was at her workstation as Brice, Monica, and Gibson were at theirs. Luis was with Neal and Kreiger at the table. They had just watched Nurse Torres fetch two doctors. One went into the nurse break room, while the other tended to Maddox. Torres was still at his side when Sandra left the table. She called the nurses’ station.
“She’s going to answer,” Luis said from the table, still watching the live feed.
“Hello,” Torres answered.
“It’s Sandra,” she told the nurse.
In the background, someone spoke to Torres. “One minute,” she replied.
“Tell me what’s going on, Maria.”
“It’s…” Sniffles traveled the line. “He’s my everything. We can’t move him to surgery right now, but he can’t die.”
Sandra’s past loomed on the horizon like a hurricane. She needed to buckle down before its gale-force winds reached her. This situation was about Maria and Jordon, not Sandra and her brother. “We can see that he’s getting care from you and a doctor.”
“Yes. Dr. Bell, but Jordon has lost a lot of blood. Dr. Bell has staunched the flow and believes he can keep him stable for a while longer.”
“Not guaranteed,” a man called out, presumably Dr. Bell.
“What happened with the gunman?” Sandra asked Torres.
