The Nokia sat beside Trudeau’s lifeless hand.
Fogel picked up the cell phone, scrolled to the last incoming number, and called it back.
Someone picked up on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Who is this?” Fogel asked.
“Who isthis?”
“Detective Fogel, with Pittsburgh PD Homicide. Identify yourself.”
A male voice. A familiar voice. “Fogel? How…how did you get this number?”
“Who is this?”
Then she knew.
She recognized the voice. “Jack?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I…I don’t either.”
“Where are you? How did you find me?”
“Charter Pharmaceuticals. I hit redial on his phone, and it called you. Holy shit, he’s dead.”
“Slow down, Detective. Who’s dead?”
“The man in the white suit.”
Jack went silent for a second. “Detective, are you okay? You sound like you’re in shock.”
“He killed himself.”
“Who?”
“I…I don’t know where you are, Jack. But you need to leave. He said they’re coming for you. You and the Nettleton girl, and the adults. Holy Christ, he killed himself. Somebody there, where you are, called here, called this Charter place. He said they’re coming for you. Where…where are…”
Fogel wasn’t one to cry. She couldn’t remember the last time she shed a tear, but the flood works opened up then, and her vision went cloudy with it. Sobs poured from her throat. The emotional buildup of what just happened erupted from her in an explosion.
The Nokia beeped.
Low battery alert.
The call dropped.
13
Preacher came through the door as I hung up the receiver. His face turned red. “Who’d you call?”
“I didn’t call anyone, did you?”
He crossed the shed, went to the phone, and tore it off the wall. “Who were you talking to?”
I shook my head and knelt back down to my father. “We don’t have time for this. They’re coming. Help me untie him.”
