Page 53 of The House of Cross

“Like a vehicle?” she asked, trying to see it in her head.

“Now you’re thinking,” Boyt said. “Like a vehicle parked sideways.”

CHAPTER 38

Athens, Georgia

AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK THATmorning, Ned Mahoney and I were getting ready to search the office of the late Professor Nathan Carver; we were joined by the dean of the law school, the chief of campus police, three FBI agents from Atlanta, and two local homicide detectives.

“We’re going in there first,” said one of the detectives, a young, short powerlifter named Donny Forbes. His partner, Keely Warren, towered over him.

“Fat chance,” Mahoney said. “This is a federal investigation into the deaths of multiple people across multiple state lines. Have you gone house to house in the neighborhood?”

“Yesterday,” Detective Warren said defensively. “No one saw or heard anything. People across the street weren’t even home. We spoke with a friend Carver had dinner with the night he was killed. Elaine Holmes. From DC. She’s devastated.”

“You get any security video?”

Forbes flushed and clenched his hands. “Not yet. Like Detective Warren said, the people across the street weren’t home, and they won’t be back until this afternoon.”

“But they have a camera?”

“I think so. One of those doorbell things.”

“What about after Carver left the restaurant? Anyone follow him?”

Warren said, “That was top of our list for this morning.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Mahoney said. “We’ll handle the search here.”

Forbes looked like he wanted to argue, but Warren walked off and he followed her. Mahoney asked the dean to open the door.

Professor Carver’s personal workspace was spare and neatly arranged. A single file sat on one side of his desktop computer, a slender leather folio on the other side.

The file contained drafts of a paper he was writing. The folio held a copy of the first public printing of the U.S. Constitution and the Bill of Rights inside a plastic sleeve.

“He loved that,” said Anne Banks, the dean of the law school, misting up when she saw the document. “That folio copy was Nathan’s most prized possession. He called it his ‘certificate of freedom’ and he argued endlessly over the meaning of every word the Founders wrote.”

As they searched, Dean Banks described the late law professor as a tireless writer and teacher who received excellent reviews from the students. Time and again, Carver had been offered positions of power in the judiciary. “He always declined,” Banks said.

“Did you know he was being vetted as a possible U.S. Supreme Court candidate?”

The dean nodded. “I was told by someone working for anadvisory panel to Winter. I have her name somewhere. I was supposed to be quiet and discreet in my responses.”

Mahoney raised his eyebrows. “What did you say about Carver?”

“That Nathan’s understanding of constitutional law was unparalleled and that he would make a fine centrist justice, an asset to the court.”

I said, “And did Carver know he was being considered?”

“Not until last month. After the election, someone on the advisory panel called him.”

“Who?”

“I can’t remember. I’m horrible at names. She owns a big soap company.”

An out-of-sync gear suddenly snapped into place. “Theresa May Alcott?”

“That’s her,” Dean Banks said. “Nathan said she was very nice. Very gracious.”

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