Page 143 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

Grinning, I trot through and dive into my Daddy’s embrace.

forty

LOGAN

I’ve always thoughtof Max as an unassuming guy. In any group, he drops into the background. If he made any effort, he’d stand out. He’s good-looking, scary-smart, and can find out anything about anyone in less time than it takes me to make a cup of tea. But he’d rather be wallpaper.

He’s not unassuming today. He’s angry. It crackles off him as he sets up at the dining table, unfolding keyboards and screens.

“You hacked Presbyterian, didn’t you?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says curtly.

“And?”

“And Theo’s password was laughably easy to crack. Mother’s maiden name and date of birth. Seriously? Someone should slap his IT department. I got into his investigation file. He barely has enough to hold the five he’s brought in for questioning. The only one he’s got enough to charge is Emmett. Unless someone rolls over, these assholes are going to walk. His file on Drew is three pages long. Background and bullshit. Nothing to hang the fucker with. He’s too slippery.”

I glance at our girls, who are in front of the television, watching a movie and playing Chutes and Ladders with True. They may be little but their ears are big. I appreciate that Max hasn’t detailed Fleur’s injuries in front of them.

“Okay.” I acknowledge his anger with a pat on the shoulder. “What are we doing?”

“We’re getting leverage. Two possibilities. That Hans asshole is in the middle of an ugly custody battle. If I can tie him to anything, we threaten to turn it over to his wife’s divorce lawyer. She’s a shark; if he’s not careful, he’ll never see his kids again. The other one is a long-shot. There are five years between Drew graduating from Mary Mann Academy and graduating from Cornell. He might have taken a gap year but that doesn’t seem like his family’s style. They’re all fucking overachievers. I’m hoping he had an involuntary sabbatical during his time at Cornell. If there’s an allegation of sexual assault that can’t be substantiated, that’s the way a lot of these colleges deal with the offender.”

“Jack went to Cornell,” I remember.

“I know. I’m hacking into their student records through his alumni email.”

I shake my head. Max is fucking scary; I’m glad he’s on my side.

I make a pot of coffee and let him work.

Myles doesn’t emerge from Emily’s little room until the onions Emily’s frying for dinner waft upstairs. The shower goes on briefly. He stumbles downstairs looking like he still needs another eight hours of sleep.

Max clears enough of the table for Emily to serve dinner. The mood around the table’s subdued. Max has spent most of the afternoon grunting in frustration. Twice, he texted phone numbers and a brief list of questions to me. I holed up in my office to do the interviews. I thought we were getting closer when the second call was to a woman named Mary Roberts who confirmed that she knew Drew at Cornell. As soon as I began asking about his year off, she hung up and blocked my number.

We don’t have time for dead-ends.

After dinner, I sit at the end of the table among Max’s electronics with Myles, Max, Mac, and Jiro. Max gives us a low-voiced update of what he’s been able to find today, although it’s not much more than he told me this morning.

“Drew’s year off definitely wasn’t voluntary,” Max says, tapping a white stylus against his palm. “But the disciplinary file attached to his student records isn’t digital. There’s just a reference number. It’s got to be to a paper file. Short of going to Cornell and getting that file, I don’t know how much I’m going to be able to find out. We need a witness.”

“What if we turn Mary Roberts over to Theo? See if he can get her to talk?” I suggest.

“Burns me unless you can figure out another credible way we found her,” Max says.

“Drew and Jack are how many years apart?”

“Three. They overlapped at Cornell by a year.”

“Friend of a friend?” I suggest. “Jack remembers something about Drew when he overhears us talking about him?”

“Plausible,” Myles says, turning his coffee cup around in his hands. That’s his third cup since he woke up. I don’t think he intends to sleep tonight.

“I’ll run it by Jack,” I offer.

Myles nods. “I think it’s time to discuss Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B?” I ask.

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