She looked at her watch. If they decided to go, they should go immediately.

She printed the email, carried it to the kitchen, sat down, and slid it in front of Jake. “What do you make of that?” she asked.

Jake set his coffee down, picked up the paper, and leaned back. He read the message, a frown growing on his face. When he was finished he looked up. “Could be something,” he said, laying the email on the table and looking at Annie. “We should check it out.”

“Millfield Elementary School is close to the Thorburns’,” Annie said. “It’s the school Adam would have attended before high school.”

Jake gulped the last of his coffee, stood, and put the cup in the sink. “Grab your bag of tricks,” he said. “We might as well go right away.”

Annie got her handbag, folded the email in two, and tucked it inside. She followed Jake out the front door and they got in the Firebird. Jake started the car and pulled onto the street, then turned to Annie, nodding toward her bag. “You have your recorder in there?”

“Always.”

Fifteen minutes later, he turned the vehicle onto Mill Street and drove past the Thorburn house.

“It looks like the police have stopped watching for Adam to return,” Annie said. “Their car’s gone.”

“I guess they can’t sit there forever,” Jake said. “Besides, it’s doubtful Adam would come home. At least, not with a strange car sitting out front.”

“They have a citywide lookout for him, anyway,” Annie said, then pointed through the windshield. “The school’s on the next street. Turn there.”

Jake took a left turn, drove half a block, and turned into the school property. He drove through the parking lot toward the east side of the building and pulled into a slot beside a Volkswagen Beetle parked in front of the service entrance.

They got out, went around the Beetle, and approached the door. Jake pulled it open and peered into the dark corridor. Annie stepped around him and fumbled on the wall for a light switch. She found it and flicked it on, and the hallway flooded with light.

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. Someone lay on the floor, halfway down the corridor, and he wasn’t moving.

She moved forward cautiously a few steps, her breath quickening. Something crunched under her feet. There was glass on the floor—glass from a fluorescent bulb—and a ladder stood to one side. She looked up. It appeared someone had been changing a light bulb, and it had slipped and shattered on the floor.

Jake followed Annie as she skirted around the broken glass, stepped over a push broom lying on the floor, and stopped a few feet away from the unmoving body.

It was a man, an older man, and he lay on his back. There was a dark red patch of blood on his shirt and more on the floor. There was no doubt about it, the man was dead.

The eight-inch screwdriver protruding from his chest was the dead giveaway.

She turned back to Jake. He stood with his arms crossed, a deep frown on his face, staring down at the body.

“What did this guy do to deserve this?” he asked, giving a deep sigh.

“Nobody deserves this,” Annie said.

“We’d better not go any closer. We don’t want to disturb the evidence.”

Annie turned her eyes back to the body. Was this the man who’d sent her an email claiming knowledge of Adam Thorburn? Or was the email sent by Adam, boasting to them about his latest victim?

She took a short step forward, crouched down, and peered. Something stuck out of the victim’s mouth. It seemed to be a stem of a flower. Was it a rose? Was Adam taunting the police? Was he taunting them?

“I think there’s a rose in his mouth,” she said to Jake.

Jake’s face was grim as he leaned forward and squinted. “It sure looks like it.” He clenched his lips, his nostrils flared, and he shook his head slowly.

Annie looked at her watch. It was already past nine o’clock. School had begun, and yet no one had discovered the body. Perhaps none of the staff came to this area. But who was the man?

The email had been sent the previous evening, and by the look of the victim’s clothes, this could be the janitor. He would’ve been here to do the cleaning, and the Beetle outside the door might be his car.

“I’ll call the police,” Jake said, pulling out his cell phone and moving toward the exit.

Annie followed him outside as Jake dialed 9-1-1.

Chapter 19

Wednesday, 9:18 a.m.

HANK PULLED into the parking lot at Millfield Elementary School, drove to the east side of the building, and stopped behind a police cruiser. The forensic van was parked nearby, investigators busy documenting the scene. An area outside the service entrance was taped off by the first responders, allowing CSI to do their work undisturbed.

Jake’s Firebird was parked inside the secured area next to a Volkswagen Beetle. The Lincolns stood next to the vehicle, watching the proceedings. Uniformed officers held back the few onlookers who had discovered the situation and approached curiously.

Detective King pulled up in his vehicle, parked beside Hank, and strolled over. Hank got out of his car and greeted King with a nod, and together they walked past a waiting ambulance, ducking under the tape. Jake glanced over as they approached the Firebird.

“How on earth did you discover this one?” Hank asked, looking back and forth between Jake and Annie, a perplexed look on his face.

Annie rummaged in her bag and handed a folded paper to Hank. “I got this in my email box this morning,” she said.

Hank read the message, gave it to King, then turned to Annie. “What did you guys make of the email?”

“I’m not sure if the victim sent it or the killer,” Annie said. “If it was the victim, the killer must’ve known about the rendezvous. But if it was the killer, I assume he was taunting us.”

King folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket.

“We’ll figure it out,” Hank said, and turned to King. “We’d better take a look inside.” He reached into his jacket, pulled out two pairs of booties, and handed a pair to King. The detectives went to the entrance, stepped inside, and put the shoe coverings on.

Hank glanced down the long, narrow hallway, now a hub of activity. A CSI photographer was crouched beside the body, halfway down the corridor, his camera flashing. Beyond him, a doorway at the end of the hall was open.

Doorknobs and walls had been brushed for fingerprints, the floor tested for footprints.

Hank moved toward the body, carefully avoiding glass shards littering an area a few feet inside the entrance. He stepped past an aluminum ladder that was pushed against the wall and approached lead investigator Rod Jameson.

“Morning, Rod,” Hank said. “Do we know who the victim is yet?”

“Hey, Hank,” Rod said, glancing at his clipboard. “The vic’s name is Raymond Ronson, according to his driver’s license. Sixty-eight years old.” He cocked a thumb toward the exit door. “That’s his Beetle outside. Registered in his name. According to one of the staff, he’s the janitor here.”

“Anything else you can tell us?” King asked.

“Not yet. A few prints. We’re still trying to figure out exactly what went on here.”

“Anything inside the main school area?”

“Not sure yet,” Rod said. “But we’ve secured the entire building. Evacuated all the staff and students.”

“Thanks, Rod,” Hank said. He moved further down the hall, stopped in front of a broom laying haphazardly in the middle of the corridor, and pointed it out to King. “Looks like he was about to sweep up the glass.”

Hank stepped over the broom and approached the body. He crouched down and gazed at the victim a moment. His blood boiled and he sighed deeply, remembering the victim had a name. It was Raymond Ronson, and he didn’t deserve this.