Page 25 of Alex Cross Must Die

“Me neither,” said the redhead, looking down at the sidewalk.

“We have History together,” said the braid, “but she wasn’t in class this morning.”

“What about yesterday?” asked Marple.

“We were all off yesterday,” said the braid. “Teacher conference.”

“But none of you have heard from her?” asked Marple. “What about her social media?”

The braid tapped her phone. “She hasn’t put anything on her Insta story for a couple of days,” she said. Another few taps. “And nothing new on TikTok.”

“That’s not weird for Zozi,” said the redhead. “She’s into social, but she’s not obsessed.”

“Bogey. Three o’clock,” the braid muttered. She jerked her head toward the main building. In the distance, a stout woman in a business suit and a short black veil was heading their way with a purposeful stride.

“It’s Sister Monaghan from the office,” said the redhead. “She’s very suspicious of strangers on campus.”

“No problem,” said Marple. “I’ll wait for Zozi at home. I’m sure she’ll turn up.”

“Should we tell her that her aunt was here?” asked the girl with bangs.

“Please don’t,” said Marple. “I’d like to surprise her.”

She walked back to the Uber and hopped into the back seat just as the administrator closed in.

“Back to Bushwick, please,” Marple told the driver. She looked over her shoulder as the car pulled away. The girls had already scattered in three different directions. Marple studied their body language from a distance—the length of their strides, the direction of their glances. Her hobby was human nature, and her conversationhad already told her a few things for certain. The girl with bangs and the girl with the braid had been honest and direct—at least as direct as teenage girls ever are.

But not the other one.

The redhead was nervous about something.

CHAPTER 24

“LET’S GO THROUGHit again,” said Holmes, taking immense pleasure in Huntley Bain’s discomfort.

The billionaire was clearly out of patience. “I thought you assholes were coming with new information! What the hell is this? Where’s your list of suspects? And where’s your better half?”

“Betterthird,” said Poe.

“Ms. Marple is engaged in another matter this morning,” said Holmes. “We didn’t want to delay the investigation.”

“Delay forwhat?” asked Bain. “Who did it? Where’s my stuff? That’s all I need to know.”

Holmes leaned across the elegant coffee table in Bain’s impeccably designed living room. “Mr. Bain, I have to be honest with you. Based on all the information we’ve gathered so far, the most likely suspect in this case … isyou.”

Bain brought his fist down on the glass table, jostling a thick stack of art books. “What the hell are you talking about? Is this what I’m paying you for? Why in Christ’s name would I steal my own art?”

“I can think of a few reasons,” said Holmes. “Insurance, for one.Where were you the night before last?” He enjoyed getting under the skin of guys like Bain. No. Helovedit.

“I was upstairs with my girlfriend. In bed. All night.”

“Been dating her long?” asked Poe.

Bain stretched his arms back over his lush leather sofa and stuck his chin in the air. “Let’s just say we’ve been seeing each other regularly for a while.”

“Do you mind if we talk to her?” asked Poe. “Your girlfriend?”

“Yes, Idomind,” said Bain. “Leave her out of it.”

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