Stalked - By Allison Brennan Page 0,87
partner did.”
Noah leaned back in his chair. “If I find out, how are you going to use it?”
“I don’t know. But his attitude is only going to get worse until he confronts why he has this animosity.”
“What did he do to you?”
She looked back at Reva’s file. “Nothing.”
“Lucy.”
Noah didn’t have to ask. But Lucy didn’t want to complain, especially now that she was beginning to understand the source of Laughlin’s struggle.
“He’s been watching me closely—closer than my peers. I think because I’m managing under the scrutiny, he’s challenging me. That’s why he told me that Hans got me in, for example.”
“But that’s not the only thing he’s said.”
She shook her head. “It’s not important what; it’s important why.”
“I’ll find out.” He went back to his files. “Chief O’Neal hasn’t been able to clear Laughlin. He has insomnia and walks around campus at all hours of the night. He used his card key to access the dorms at three oh five Sunday morning. But this isn’t unusual for him.”
“Motive?” Lucy pondered the situation. “I don’t see Laughlin as sabotaging the scaffolding and then when Hans is down hitting him over the head with a rock.”
“Until we know for certain, be careful with him.”
Noah’s phone rang. “It’s Suzanne,” he told Lucy. “Suzanne, I have you on speaker. Lucy’s here.”
“Hey, Luce, I gotta make this quick. I know what Agent Presidio did with the notebook he took from Weber’s place. He mailed it from the airport to the analyst who is transcribing all of Weber’s shorthand. With a note.”
“Read it,” Lucy said.
“‘Ms. North’—that’s the analyst,” Suzanne explained. “‘Please transcribe this notebook as soon as possible. Weber wrote about another missing girl, but I don’t understand her shorthand. Call me when you get this.’”
“That’s it?” Lucy asked.
“That’s it. North is working on it right now. I’ll e-mail you the file when she’s done.”
“Would Weber’s assistant know about that case?” Noah asked.
“I’ll ask. But why would Presidio care about a completely different case?”
“Maybe he saw a connection. Or,” Lucy said, “he was in Newark at the time. He said something was lurking on the edge of his memory.”
“I hate when that happens,” Suzanne said. “Noah, did you get my report on Theissen’s case being reopened as a homicide investigation?”
“I did. Thanks for copying me into it.”
“It’s part of the bigger picture here. I just wish I could see it, because nothing makes sense.”
Lucy glanced at her watch. “Noah, if you don’t leave now, you’re going to be late for your first class.”
He sighed. “This is the part I’m not looking forward to at all.” He said to Suzanne, “I have to go. Keep me in the loop.” He hung up and his phone immediately vibrated. With an odd expression, he answered, “Hello, Rogan.”
Sean was calling Noah? Had he found Peter McMahon?
Noah did a lot of listening, then said, “Call me if you learn anything.” He hung up. “Sean has a lead on Peter McMahon in Syracuse. He’s already there.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Syracuse, New York
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
Syracuse police detective Charlie Mead had agreed to meet Sean at a Starbucks near the police station. Mead looked younger than Sean thought he’d be considering his distinguished record. He’d been a rookie six years ago when Peter Gray filed a police report for vandalism. Now, Mead was a detective on the sex crimes squad, two years younger than Sean but with a seasoned air that made Sean think more of Noah Armstrong.
“It’s not everyone who’s willing to fly a couple hours for a copy of a police report.”
“Faster than mail, and no one would fax it to me. Apparently, you are the gatekeeper of all things about Peter Gray.” He handed Mead his business card.
The cop looked at it critically, then put it on the table in front of him. He sipped his coffee. “Why is Peter Gray’s file so important to you?”
Sean had a suspicion that Mead knew exactly why it was important, but decided being as honest as he could be would yield him the answers he needed. Mead was a cop, through and through, one of the guys who had an internal lie detector and uncanny instincts.
“Mr. Gray seems to have disappeared off the planet. I need to find him.”
“Why?”
“You know that Peter Gray was born Peter McMahon, correct? That his sister was killed when they were kids?”
Mead nodded once.
“Two federal agents and one detective, all involved in the investigation into his sister’s death, were killed within the last two months.” That was