What indeed. We couldn’t just walk away from the car and pretend nothing had happened. The cops would have us in custody by morning, and there’d be no getting out of it. And if we turned ourselves in and tried to explain what we’d learned about Theo and the money without supporting evidence of our claims, we would only implicate ourselves in his disappearance. There was no way around it. We needed proof that Ava and Jackson had stolen the backpack from the sorority house. But more than that, we needed proof Jackson had murdered Theo and dumped his car in the Anacostia River.
And we needed it tonight.
I turned on the headlights and put the police car in reverse. “We’re going to the print shop to have a look around.”
CHAPTER 29
Vero and I contemplated ditching the unmarked police car and taking an Uber to the print shop, but Vero’s handcuffs would have made her look too suspicious, and we agreed that driving to Norma’s house to pick up the minivan was a foolish idea. Officer Oates was probably already staked out there. It was only a matter of time before every cop in the county was out looking for us. Time was of the essence, and we had zero to waste.
We drove the unmarked car straight to the print shop. According to Google, it had closed several hours ago. The parking lot of the industrial complex was situated close to the road, empty except for a handful of cars. We’d be too conspicuous if we parked up front, so I circled around to a small gravel lot at the back of the building. A sign said it was reserved for employee parking.
Only one other car was there. The vehicle was draped in a gray canvas car cover, the dusting of yellow pollen suggesting it had been there a few days.
I checked the roofline of the building for cameras. I could make out two, mounted behind the auto repair center at the far end of the building, but they weren’t angled in our direction, and we were far enough away to avoid being caught in their frame.
It seemed safe enough to take a look around.
“Stay here,” I said to Vero as I put the sedan in park and opened the door.
Vero wrinkled her nose. “Do you smell that?”
I sniffed. “Smells like skunk.”
“Smells like marijuana,” she corrected me.
I reached above my head and turned off the dome light. I peered around the parking lot, then scanned the back of the print shop. There were no windows on this side of the building. Just a solid steel fire door set in a wall of brick. The sign beside it readEMPLOYEES ONLY—KEEP OUT. A sliver of light spilled out from it, as if someone had left it open a crack.
“Get down,” Vero whispered.
We ducked low in our seats, peeking through the windows of the darkened sedan as a plume of white smoke blew through the open back door of the shop. An arm stretched out of it to tap the ash off the end of a joint.
“Can you see who it is?” I whispered.
“Can’t see his face,” she said.
“Did Jackson smoke weed?”
“Everyone smoked weed. Or maybe you’re too old to remember being in college,” she teased.
But I did remember. There always seemed to be a smashed beer can propped in the dormitory door so the smokers wouldn’t accidentally lock themselves out of the building. The smell from outside always managed to leach in, wafting down the halls, setting off the occasional smoke alarm. The RAs would pitch a fit over all the propped doors, complaining they caused a security breach…
“Wait here,” I whispered.
“You keep saying that as if I have any other choice.”
I slipped out of the car as quietly as I could and crept aroundthe back of it. I ducked behind the trunk as another foul-smelling cloud blew through the open door. I tiptoed closer and stood behind it, pressing my back flat against the bricks as the hand reached out again and stubbed out the joint.
The hinge hissed quietly as it began to close. I looked around frantically for something to wedge inside it. In a panic, I pulled off my jacket and shoved the sleeve inside the hinge. The door shut another inch, stopping just shy of the strike plate.
I waited, breath held, hoping whoever was inside hadn’t been waiting for the sound of a latch. When I didn’t hear anything, I peeked through the gap.
The dimly lit back room of the print shop looked like the inside of a small warehouse. The walls were lined with metal shelves and stacks of boxes littered the floor. I nearly jumped out of my skin as a figure crossed the room. The man’s back was to me. He was wearing a sweatshirt. His hood was drawn up over his head, and a set of keys jangled in his hand. He disappeared through a swinging door into a brightly lit room full of copiers and printers. The door swung closed behind him, muffling the drone of the machines.
A moment later, a door chimed, as if he’d left the building through another exit. I listened, my suspicion confirmed when I heard a car door slam somewhere in the front parking lot.
I hurried back to Officer Oates’s sedan and opened Vero’s door. She swung her legs out and wriggled to the edge of the seat, her cuffs clanking awkwardly behind her.
“Come on,” I said, helping her out of the car. “I propped the back door to the print shop. Whoever was in there left through the front.”
