Twisted (Burbank and Parker 1)

An icy silence. “The Deanna Frost leads. The ones that surfaced when you interviewed her the other day. Like what Penny was wearing—her bright red pant suit with the red-and-black-print scoop-neck shell. And the fact that she walked past Alton Auditorium, and was heading for Lake Fred for her stroll. Not to mention her upbeat frame of mind, and excitement over the upcoming seminar, both of which scream abduction, not suicide or vanishing act. Those leads. Did the Newark field office turn up anything?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

Again, Sloane got quiet, and Derek could actually feel her reining in her temper. “Has anyone done a friggin’ thing since our last conversation?” she blurted out at last. “Did the Atlantic City RA send agents over to the Stockton campus or not?”

“Yes and yes. I followed up with Anderson, and the AC office sent Tom McGraw and one other agent over to Richard Stockton—”

“Good,” Sloane interrupted. “Did anyone at Richard Stockton recognize Penny’s photo yet? Did the Bureau turn up any witnesses who might have spotted her around Lake Fred the day she disappeared?”

“It’s been just two working days since we gave them Deanna Frost’s information. Expecting something solid to have materialized by now is unrealistic, even for you.”

“You think? They could have worked over the weekend.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Give it up, Sloane. It’s seven-thirty Monday morning. Most agents aren’t even at their desks yet.”

“You are.”

“I’m me. Not everyone keeps my insane hours. Besides, even if I pressured the agents who are assigned to this to go straight over to the campus, the administration offices don’t open till eight-thirty or nine. And the students don’t wake up until noon. So there aren’t a lot of people to talk to yet.”

“There’s the campus police. Last I heard they were open twenty-four/seven. They have incident records from last April. Maybe some of those dovetail with Penny’s disappearance. There also might be video surveillance from the security cameras—”

“I’ve considered every one of those possibilities. So has McGraw. The situation’s being handled. Give it time.”

“Time? Penny’s parents have been without her for a year. They’re not sure what horrible acts of violence she’s endured, or if she’s alive or dead. They have no body, no answers, and no closure. I think that constitutes special circumstances.” A pause. “Or am I barking up the wrong tree? Is this more about your ego than about this being low priority? Is this your petty way of shutting me out of the process? Because if it is, it’s not going to fly.”

“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“That’s not an answer.” Sloane sucked in an impatient breath. “Never mind. I’m heading into the city now. One of my stops is Mount Sinai. As you know, Penny’s father’s a cardiologist there, I’m meeting with both him and Penny’s mother to bring them up to speed. Unfortunately, the rest of my day’s spoken for. But tomorrow I’ll be driving back down to Richard Stockton and doing my thing—which includes lighting fires under the right asses.”

“Sloane—”

“See you around, Derek.”

John Jay College of Criminal Justice

Office of Professor Elliot Lyman

8:45 A.M.

Elliot tried for the third time to concentrate on the data he was inputting into his “loaner” computer, but to no avail. The machine was archaic, it was inferior, and it wasn’t his.

With a sound of disgust, he pushed his chair away from his desk and slumped back in it, raking both hands through his hair.

He hadn’t expected everything to snowball like this.

The co

ps had been in here and confiscated everything. His entire professional life had been carried out the door as nonchalantly as if they were carrying out the trash.

And they just kept asking him questions.

He practiced his answers every night, anticipating what else they could question him about. But they always seemed to find something unanticipated to throw at him. Which made him so nervous that he fell all over himself when he spoke, and he could barely meet the gazes of whichever cops were asking the questions. He knew he came across as if he were hiding something. Charm and easy verbal expression had never been his strengths.

Meanwhile, things just kept getting worse and worse. Since Cynthia’s parents had reported her missing, it was like he was caught in the middle of a bad crime drama. The latest rumor was that Cynthia’s bloody hair band had been found by the NYPD in a wooded area behind the building that housed the swimming pool. It had been sent off to the DNA lab for confirmation.

The press was everywhere. He couldn’t even go out for a sandwich without being attacked like a piece of steak in a lion’s cage.

He couldn’t breathe. He was about to implode.