Read Online Idyll Threats by Stephanie Gayle - Free Book Online Page A

couldn't believe we'd find anything to help us. “She lacks imagination,” Finnegan said, as we examined Cecilia's desktop.
    â€œAnd a heart,” I said.
    There was an aloe plant on the file cabinet. Pictures of friends and family on her desk. A greeting card urged her to “Practice random acts of kindness and senseless beauty.” Finnegan tossed her daily calendar into a bag. I looked through her folders.
    â€œAre those the confidential, do-not-touch folders?” he asked.
    â€œAre they?” I held one up. “Gary Clark.” There was a picture. He was handsome in a preppy way. Blond hair, brown eyes, conservative shirt and tie. Mid to late thirties. Was this the man from the cabin? Maybe. It had been dark.
    â€œIs that the face of a killer?” Finnegan asked. “God, I hope so. I swear, the more clean-cut killers you get, the better guys like me look.”
    â€œLet's see if we can find the real article.” Maybe in person I'd know if it was him. And maybe he'd recognize me. I bit my cheek. Ouch. Istill had a sore. “I need to go to the gents. Find him, will you? Ask some basic questions, get a feel for him.”
    â€œYou okay?” he asked.
    â€œIt's nothing. Sometimes after I have coffee I—”
    â€œSay no more,” he said. “I'll meet you back here.”
    I used the toilet. Washed my hands. Imagined what Finnegan was doing. I should've gone with him. If Clark was the guy, I'd know. But then he'd see me. He'd ask questions. I crumpled my paper towel into a tight ball. “Fuck!” I tossed it at the garbage can. Missed. Instead of doing my job, I was hiding in the men's room. And how long could I hide? I slapped my hands against the sink. The exposed pipes juddered.
    A man entered the bathroom. I pushed off from the sink and left to pace the hall.
    Two minutes later, Finnegan returned and said Gary Clark was at an insurance seminar until Thursday. “But, get this, his colleague asked if he'd had another car accident.” We walked to the elevators. “Why would police show up about a car accident?”
    â€œLook into it. You learn anything else? Is he married? What's he drive?”
    â€œDidn't ask, and a Honda Accord. Why?”
    â€œCurious. Any pictures on his desk?”
    â€œDidn't see.” He was giving me side-eye, so I stopped with the questions.
    We talked about small things on the return trip: graffiti tags near the middle school, and the burglaries that had occurred in the mayor's neighborhood. I'd heard a lot about those, mostly from the mayor. But my mind was back at the insurance company. I'd have to send Finnegan again, or ask Clark to come to the station. Where he would see me. No, Finnegan would have to go back. My cheek throbbed.
    1530 HOURS
    At the station there was a spike in the chatter. Wright found us. His face was calm, but his eyes weren't. “You need to see this,” he said.
    â€œSee what?” We followed him. I noticed his shoes were worn at the heels. He walked heavy for a slim guy.
    â€œRevere found it.” He sounded annoyed.
    Wedged onto a rolling cart was a bulky television attached to an ancient VCR. Revere held a remote control. When we'd gathered around, he hit play. A bodega appeared on screen, the frame focused on the cash-register counter. The store was empty. Someone walked into sight. She looked up, right at the camera. Cecilia North. “When was this taken?” I asked. She looked down, at the cashier. Only the back of his baseball cap was visible.
    â€œAugust ninth,” Revere said. She smiled and handed the cashier a soda can. He hit a register key. “At Cumberland Farms.”
    She looked at something in the rows below her waist. Grabbed a packet and gave it to the cashier. She spoke, and then laughed.
    â€œWho's the cashier?” Finnegan asked.
    â€œDonny Browning. Lives in Willington.”
    She smiled, waved, and left. Another person entered, an