Private (Private 1)

“The medium is the message,” Justine said. “It’s a dummy, get it? The implication is that we’re being played.”

Cronin said, “Why, thank you, Justine. That’s very astute. It’s a frickin’ waste of time, that’s what it is. And it definitely isn’t Serena Moses.”

Justine reeled from a wave of relief that was immediately followed by sadness. Serena Moses was still missing, wasn’t she? They still didn’t know where she was, or whether she was alive or dead.

She glared back at Cronin. “So where is Serena, Lieutenant? I guess you’re going to have to keep looking. I hope you’re as good as you think you are.”

Chapter 27

JUSTINE THANKED PRINCIPAL Barbara Hatfield for her introduction and then she took the stage of the auditorium.

The newly refurbished Roybal High School had five thousand students, but only the junior and senior girls were permitted to attend her talk that afternoon. The principal had told Justine that her presentation was just too graphic and scary for the younger girls.

Justine thought she understood, but frightening the girls was a necessary by-product of informing them. And most of the girls who’d been killed were in the lower grades. The principal hadn’t budged, though.

“I’m a psychologist,” Justine told the students in the auditorium. “But I’m also investigating the murders of the high school girls that you’ve all read about on the Internet and seen on TV.”

Someone sneezed up front. There was nervous laughter, and Justine waited it out.

“First, I want you to know that Serena Moses is safe. She was hit by a car and taken to a hospital. When she woke up this morning, she told the doctors her name. Serena has a broken arm, but she’s fine and she’ll be back at school soon.”

The kids broke out into applause. Justine smiled. But Serena’s being safe had raised a question for her: How did the killer know to fake an e-mail about her? Had he been watching the girl? Had they been watching her?

“It’s a big relief,” she said, feeling her eyes get moist. “But we have to talk about the girls in this area who weren’t so lucky.”

Justine nodded to the teacher’s assistant who was running her PowerPoint presentation.

The lights went down, and the sweet, smiling face of a teenage girl came onto the screen.

“This is Kayla Brooks. She was a junior at John Marshall. She wanted to be a doctor, but before she even graduated from high school, she was shot four times for no reason at all.

“Her life, her future, the children she might have had, the doctor she might have become—all of that is over.”

The pictures of Kayla’s body came up on the screen, and the sound of girls crying out almost tore Justine apart. She had to keep going. Bethany’s picture was next, then Jenny, a student at this school, and then the rest of the names and pictures and stories, including that of Connie Yu, who had died only five days ago.

“We know that whoever killed these girls had information about them that he used to gain their trust.”

Justine explained about Connie’s recovered cell phone and the text message from an unlisted phone.

“Girls, Connie’s friend did not text her. This was a fake message, a trick—and it worked. So how can you know if someone is trying to fake you out?

“If anyone, anyone at all, asks you to go somewhere alone, don’t go. Tell the girls in the lower grades, don’t go anywhere alone. Do you understand?”

There was a sibilant chorus of girls’ voices saying yes.

“I want everyone to stand up,” Justine said. “And I want you to repeat something after me.”

There was the shuffling sound of a thousand kids getting to their feet, seats slapping against the chair backs, books ringing as they hit the floor.

The voices sang out in ragged unison, following Justine’s words. “I promise. I won’t go anywhere. Alone.”

Justine hoped that she’d reached the girls. But she was still afraid. That one of these girls was thinking she was special, that she knew better than Justine, that she was the one who would never die.

Chapter 28

JUSTINE STEPPED OUT of the high school and onto West Second Street. She had just opened her phone when a black car swept up to the curb. The window buzzed down.

“Need a lift, lady?”