Page 17 of Girl, Empty
‘They miss plenty, but you can’t miss physics.’
‘What about Rankin himself?What do we know?’
Ripley rifled through her papers and found the sheet she needed.‘Michael Rankin, 38, married to Sarah Rankin, had a nine-year-old daughter named Emma.’
‘Ugh,’ Ella said.‘Poor kid.That’s the worst age.’
‘You think?’
‘Yeah.Toddlers are too young to understand, teenagers understand perfectly.But a nine-year-old will just ask questions for the rest of their life and never get answers.’
‘Well Rankin was a good dad, at least on paper.His daughter was in a private school, so he must have been pulling in the big bucks.’
‘Put that in the possible motivation column,’ Ella said.
‘Speaking of motivations, we might be missing the obvious thing here.Rankin investigated criminals, and if you hang out with criminals, you get hurt.We need to see if he helped with any major arrests recently.’
Ella closed her file.‘We need to see the scene.And speak to someone who knows these security measures inside out.’
‘We need a nerd.’
‘Agreed.We’ll need to buddy up to the tech department at state PD.’
Ella glanced out the window at the passing clouds and again saw nothing but white balls.Part of her felt like crap for leaving D.C.right now, leaving Luca, but at least he could handle himself.Plus the police were still watching everyone on her list of thirty-six potential targets.The math said everyone would be safe.
The math had said Ben would be safe too.
Ella touched her jacket pocket where the affidavit sat.
First the impossible murder.Then the impossible choice.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was just after 2 PM by the time Ella and Ripley reached downtown Indianapolis, and Ella had to crane her neck to take in the Morrison & Associates building in front of her.Apparently, the media had decided that Michael Rankin's death wasn't sexy enough for the evening news, because even though the streets were heaving, nothing here suggested a crime had taken place.No press vultures, not even any crime scene tape.
‘The Crossroads of America,’ Ripley said.
‘What?’
‘That’s what they call Indiana.I read it on the way here.’
Ripley never researched their destinations, and that fact alone was enough for Ella to conclude that something weird was going on with her.‘Have you been here before?’
‘Once, but I never liked the Midwest.Too much corn.’
Ella looked up and down the street.She could barely hear herself think over the traffic.‘Where are the police cars and news vans?Are we in the right spot?’
‘Looks like a corporate headquarters to me.’
Morrison & Associates occupied a sleek forty-story tower that reflected the overcast sky in its tinted windows, and given its grandeur, no one could have guessed someone had been stabbed to death on the top floor twelve hours ago.‘Let’s see what’s going on.’
Ella led the way to the glass doors.She tried the handle to no avail, and then a uniformed cop on the other side opened up.
‘Sorry, ma’am.Building is locked down.’
She flashed her badge.‘FBI.We’re expected.’
‘Oh, sorry.Step inside and I’ll fetch the chief.’
