Chapter 5 - TWENTY-FOUR MISSING MINUTES
The university wanted the attack to become a scheduling problem.
That was the first thing I understood when I entered the administration building.
The second was that expensive schools use softer words for ugly things.
An assault became an incident.
A cover-up became a systems failure.
A donor became a stakeholder.
President Malcolm Reeves met Park and me in a conference room with a river view.
His lawyer sat beside him.
So did the university's director of communications.
No one had invited me.
Park had.
"Mr. Salgado is the victim's father," she said before Reeves could object.
The communications director gave me a careful smile.
"Of course. We're deeply concerned for Renata."
"What's her major?" I asked.
The smile broke.
"Excuse me?"
"You're deeply concerned. What's her major?"
Reeves cleared his throat.
"This isn't productive."
"Chemistry," Park said.
She did not look at me.
I shut up.
Park placed a printed access log on the table.
"Deputy Security Director Paul Kessler's credentials triggered a manual camera shutdown at 8:41 p.m."
Reeves folded his hands.
"We've been advised that credentials can be compromised."
"Yes."
"Then we shouldn't assume Mr. Kessler did anything improper."
"I didn't."
"Good."
"I said he disappeared."
The lawyer spoke.
"He is on personal leave."
Park looked at him.
"His wife filed a missing person report."
No one moved.
The communications director slowly put down her pen.
Reeves said, "We were not informed of that."
"You were informed at 7:12 this morning."
Park slid another page across the table.
An email receipt.
Reeves looked at his lawyer.
The lawyer looked at the communications director.
I watched the information travel around the table without anyone accepting ownership.
Old habit.
I had seen men do the same thing with missing containers and dead money.
Park continued.
"The cameras were disabled for twenty-four minutes."
"The assault could have occurred elsewhere," the lawyer said.
"It didn't."
"How do you know?"
"Blood transfer on a service stairwell."
Reeves went pale.
Park had not told me that.
I kept my face still.
"Why wasn't the stairwell sealed?" I asked.
The lawyer glared at me.
Park answered.
"Because campus security cleaned it before NYPD crime scene arrived."
I looked at Reeves.
"They cleaned blood?"
"Routine custodial response," he said too quickly.
"At nine-thirty at night?"
"We have twenty-four-hour staff."
"Before police processed it?"
He looked away.
The door opened.
A young man with an employee badge stepped in carrying a laptop.
He looked about twenty-five and terrified of his own shoes.
"Sorry," he said.
The communications director stood.
"Owen, this meeting is restricted."
"I know."
"Then leave."
"I can't."
He looked at Park.
"Detective?"
"Who are you?"
"Owen Pike. Network operations."
He held up the laptop.
"I copied something before they wiped the secondary log."
Reeves stood so fast his chair rolled backward.
"You are not authorized to disclose university systems."
Owen flinched.
Then he looked at me.
Maybe it was the fact that my daughter was in a hospital.
Maybe he simply hated being told what courage cost.
"They told us to delete the redundancy," he said.
Park stood.
"Who told you?"
"Mr. Kessler's office."
"Kessler personally?"
"No. Email from his account."
"When?"
"Ten minutes after the cameras came back."
Park took the laptop.
"Did you alter anything?"
"No. I made an image of the log partition."
"Why?"
Owen swallowed.
"Because it felt wrong."
Reeves said his name sharply.
"Owen."
The young man turned.
"My scholarship is employee-dependent, sir. I know."
"Then you understand there are procedures."
"A girl got her jaw broken."
Reeves looked as if Owen had used profanity.
Park asked everyone except Owen to leave.
The lawyer refused.
Park threatened a subpoena.
The lawyer changed his mind.
Ten minutes later, Owen showed us the hidden log.
Kessler's credential had not only disabled cameras.
It had unlocked two service doors.
One to the science stairwell.
One to the records archive.
"What's in the archive?" I asked.
Owen shook his head.
"Old administrative files. Donor records. Disciplinary cases. Stuff before everything went digital."
Park leaned closer.
"Did Renata have access?"
"No student does."
"Did the three boys?"
"Not normally."
"Normally?"
Owen clicked another tab.
"A temporary card was issued to Emmett Varela two weeks ago for a donor-history project."
I stared at the name.
"Who approved it?"
"President's office."
Park swore softly.
Owen kept scrolling.
"There's something else."
A list of remote logins appeared.
One IP address connected to the security system while the cameras were down.
Park photographed it.
"Can you trace that?"
"Not precisely without a warrant."
"Approximate?"
Owen hesitated.
"Midtown."
"That's half Manhattan."
"I know."
He zoomed in on a provider record.
"But the subscriber is a law office."
I already knew before he said it.
"Vale Crisis Management."
Park and I looked at each other.
Marcus.
Again.
Owen closed the laptop.
"I should go."
"You're a witness now," Park said. "I'll arrange protection."
He gave a nervous laugh.
"Protection from who? A senator's kid?"
"From whoever made a security director disappear."
The laugh died.
Park called another detective.
Owen waited in the hall.
I went to the restroom and stared at myself in the mirror.
The man looking back was older than The Ghost had ever been.
He had gray at the temples.
He had a cheap burn on one cuff from fixing a toaster that morning.
He had no business solving this with the tools he once trusted.
When I returned, Owen was gone.
"Where is he?" I asked.
Park looked up from her phone.
"Bathroom."
"No."
"What?"
"Men who are afraid don't leave their laptop."
His laptop was still on the chair.
Park ran into the hallway.
The elevator doors were closing.
We reached them too late.
Security footage showed Owen stepping into the elevator with a man wearing a university facilities jacket.
He did not appear forced.
He did appear terrified.
Park called the lobby.
No answer.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph filled the screen.
Owen sitting in the back of a car.
Alive.
Hands visible.
Eyes wide.
Underneath it were six words.
STOP LOOKING FOR ELENA'S CAR.
---
(To be continued)
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