I said.
She just looked at me. I felt the look in my toes. Oh, I was being played. I knew that. And yet this direct line, her lay-it-out-with-no-BS approach... I found it oddly endearing.
Or maybe it was the blinded-by-beauty thing again.
"I have to go," I said. "You have my number."
"Mr. Copeland?"
I waited.
"Why are you really here?"
"Excuse me?"
"What is your interest in Manolo's murder?"
"I thought I explained that. I'm the county prosecutor-"
"That's not why you're here."
I waited. She just stared at me. Finally I asked, "What makes you say that?" Her reply landed like a left hook. "Did you kill him?" "What?" "I said-" "I heard you. Of course not. Why would you ask that?" But Raya Singh shook it off. "Good-bye, Mr. Copeland." She gave me one more smile that made me feel like a fish dropped on a dock. "I hope you find what you're looking for."
Chapter 12
Lucy wanted to Google the name "Manolo Santiago"- he was probably a reporter doing a story on that son of a bitch, Wayne Steubens, the Summer Slasher but Lonnie was waiting for her in the office. He didn't look up when she entered. She stopped over him, aiming for mild intimidation.
"You know who sent the journals," she said.
"I can't be sure."
"But?"
Lonnie took a deep breath, readying himself, she hoped, to take the plunge. "Do you know much about tracing e-mail messages?"
"No," Lucy said, moving back to her desk.
"When you receive an e-mail, you know how there's all this gobble-dygook about paths and ESMTP and Message IDs?"
"Pretend I do."
"Basically it shows how the e-mail got to you. Where it went, where it came from, what route via what Internet mail service to get from point A to point B. Like a bunch of postmarks."
"Okay."
"Of course, there are ways of sending it out anonymously. But usually, even if you do that, there are some footprints." "Great, Lonnie, super." He was stalling. "So can I assume you found some of these footprints in the e-mail with that journal attached?" "Yes," Lonnie said. He looked up now and managed a smile. "I'm not going to ask you why you want the name anymore."
"Good."
"Because I know you, Lucy. Like most hot chicks, you're a major pain in the ass. But you're also frighteningly ethical. If you need to be tray the trust of your class-betray your students and me and everything you believe-there must be a good reason. A life-or-death reason, I'm betting."
Lucy said nothing.
"It is life or death, right?"
"Just tell me, Lonnie."
"The e-mail came from a bank of computers at the Frost Library."
"The library," she repeated. "There must be, what, fifty computers in there?" "About that." "So we'll never figure out who sent it." Lonnie made a yes-and-no gesture with a head tilt. "We know what time it was sent. Six forty-two p.m. the day before yesterday."
"And that helps us how?"
"The students who use the computer. They need to sign in. They don't have to sign in to a particular computer-the staff did away with that two years ago, but in order to get a computer, you reserve it for the hour. So I went to the library and got the time sheets. I compared a list of students in your class with students who had signed up for a computer during the hour between six and seven p.m. the day before yesterday."
He stopped.
"And?"
"There was only one hit with a student in this class."
"Who?"
Lonnie walked over to the window. He looked down at the quad. "I'll give you a hint," he said. "Lonnie, I'm not really in the mood-" "Her nose," he said, "is brown." Lucy froze. "Sylvia Potter?" His back was still to her. "Lonnie, are you telling me that Sylvia Potter wrote that journal entry?" "Yes," he said. "That's exactly what I'm telling you."
On the way back to the office, I called Loren Muse.
"I need another favor," I said.
"Shoot."
"I need you to find out all you can about a phone number. Who owned the phone. Who the guy called. Everything." "What's the number?" I gave her the number Raya Singh had told me. "Give me ten minutes." "That's it?" "Hey, I didn't become chief investigator because I have a hot ass." "Says who?" She laughed. "I like when you're a little fresh, Cope." "Don't get used to it." I hung up. My line had been inappropriate-or was it a justifiable comeback to her "hot ass" joke? It is simplistic to criticize political correctness. The extremes make it an easy target for ridicule. But I've