Max Collins - Girl Most Likely

The attorney’s face was blank now. “Not for long.”

“No. And if your wife comes, maybe you can take in those boutiques before you head back to Naperville. But I want to know right now who your client is.”

“Daniel Rule,” he said.

“The construction contractor.”

Alex nodded.

“How many schools and hospitals has his company built, in the greater Chicago area, do you suppose?”

“Many.”

“Isn’t he contemplating a run for mayor this year?”

“He is.”

“How do you think that will go?”

“Very well, I hope.”

“Still interested in politics, Alex?”

“Yes. And still a Democrat.”

“So is Krista. I haven’t voted for a while. Call me an independent, because next time it’s going to be for the man.”

A nasty little smile. “Or the woman, Mr. Larson. Stay with the times.”

“Good advice. But some old-fashioned things never change.”

“Such as?”

“Such as people in the construction business in Chicago sometimes being known to have disreputable ties. Would you mind answering a few questions about the reunion? There’s also another date I need to clarify.”

“All right.”

Keith reached into his pocket for his phone. “Do you mind if I record this?”

“Yes.”

“Yes I may record this...?”

“Yes I mind, and no you can’t. But I’ll answer your questions as I did the earlier ones — informally.”

The attorney did. He and his wife had gone right to their room after the Saturday event, knowing they’d be leaving early. And in the second week of August, they were vacationing in Cancún.

Then Alex stood. Smiled that same barely polite smile he’d given Keith before disappearing into the banquet hall last night. “Thank you for dropping by, Mr. Larson. I’m sure my wife enjoyed meeting you. Safe journey home.”

Keith stood. “Thank you.”

On his way out there was no sign of Mrs. Cannon. And the pearl-colored Lexus was gone. As he got into his daughter’s Toyota, he was glad he’d taken the time to stop by the house to pack that small bag.

Because he was definitely not heading back to Galena.

Not just yet.

By nightfall, the reunion attendees — whether viewed as witnesses or suspects — had been considerably narrowed.

Krista had brought in her two lieutenants and two patrol officers to help out. No one was needed at the Lund house now, so Officers Cortez and Clemson, after an unproductive canvass of the North High Street neighborhood, took over for two officers who had been at Lake View Lodge all afternoon, dealing with the out-of-town attendees.

The other two officers from the now processed crime scene, Reynolds and Deitch, relieved two others who had been doggedly going through the security-cam footage in the resort’s modest security center, matching license plate numbers and models or makes of vehicles belonging to the attendees. Those officers now had the unenviable duty of going on patrol. Yet another was scouring Facebook and Instagram.

But with only twelve on her staff, including herself, Krista knew her people were getting stretched to the limit. Maybe overtime would take out the sting.

The nonlocals were sent back to their rooms and interviewed there. In every instance, these were couples, though not every significant other was a classmate. For efficiency’s sake, and because this was after all preliminary, Krista had the couples interviewed jointly, instructing the officers to watch for inconsistencies as well as any stumbling or undue coaching from one to the other.

Krista and all of her officers were using their cell phones with a mobile field interview app. She instructed her officers to inform the subjects they were being recorded. But as these were informal interviews, they did not need to read Miranda rights prior to questioning.

She had her own notions about who were the best potential suspects among the sixty-two attendees, all of whom — excluding Alex Cannon, who Pop was off to track down in Chicagoland — were local. As a classmate and friend of Astrid’s, the chief of the Galena PD knew at once who she wanted to personally interview.

The Galena attendees — forty-one of the fifty-six present (last night’s teacher’s table being truant) — were corralled in the banquet hall, but toward the back, down at the end where the band and portable dance floor had been. The out-of-towners were now in their rooms, which left a number of empty tables. Three of these were commandeered for Sergeant Jackson and her lieutenants, Lauren Cole and Dylan Mitchell. Krista took the table where she, Booker, and her father had eaten breakfast.

Lauren, Dylan, and Booker had then gone around with clipboards gathering names, so they could summon interviewees. When they’d completed the task, Krista took their clipboards and circled the names of the handful she wanted to make sure she interviewed personally.

She was just settling in when Jerry Ward came up. But for a white dress shirt, he was all in black — jacket, jeans, and running shoes. Not a good ensemble for somebody who hoped not to be singled out as the villain.

He leaned in. “Do you mind taking me first?”

“Well,” she said, pleasantly, “since we’re old friends, why not?”

She had intended to start with him, anyway. She set the phone on the table and said she’d be recording.

He sat next to her, handing her a slip of paper. “That’s the info about my car. Actually, it’s my folks’ car. I don’t have one right now. But then you know that.”

“I do. But thanks for this.” One of the two officers working the security center would be in to collect more of these slips when needed.

“I could use a favor,” he said, his smile uneasy.

“I thought I just gave you one,” she said, hating that she still found him attractive.

He scratched his fashionably scruffy chin. “I want to talk to you about, you know... media coverage.”

“Hasn’t been any yet.”

“I didn’t think so. How about cutting me a break so I can get a story over to the Telegraph Herald ? And after that, keeping me in the loop?”

Did he know when he tilted his head forward like that and looked up with those big brown eyes, it made her want to reach over and fiddle with his curly dark hair? And then slap him? The trendy beard would cushion it.

She said, “Let’s start with a few questions.”

“Sure. No problem.”

Why should it be a problem?

“I obviously don’t need your name and address and phone number.”

“No. Obviously.”

“State them anyway.”

“Oh.” He did.

“Now I need to know about last night, Jerry — what time you left here. And what’s the name of that young girl you were with?”

“Okay. The young woman’s name is Jasmine Peterson.”

“You were here at the resort, in the lounge, after the reunion?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

He shrugged. “Till last call. Two. Talking old times.”

Not with Jasmine, surely.

“Can you tell me exactly who you talked old times with?”

“Sure.” He rattled off half a dozen names, then thought awhile, and rattled off four more. “She drove us home, by the way. Jasmine. Designated driver. Do you want her contact information? She works at Vinny Vanucchi’s.”

“If you know her phone number and address that would be helpful.”

“You’re going to talk to her?”

“Yes.”

He gave Krista the info.

She asked, “Did you talk to Astrid at all?”

He frowned, shook his head. “Awful. So awful. Such a talented young woman.”

Was he trying too hard?

“Did you talk to her last night?”