The man himself, a TA, a couple other department heads. And security, of course.
“Should... should I get a lawyer?” Dr.McGill squeaked.
“Maybe.” Darnell loved playing the bad guy. Happy, funny. Mean. It was all the same to him. Seamless transition. Father, husband... widower, childless. “If you say anything to anyone about us coming here today? Then I’d definitely recommend it.”
They left. On the way out, they heard Dr.McGill rattle energy drink cans in search of a final slurp.
“How the fuck does that happen?” Darnell mumbled, shaking his head.
“No idea. You know where the security head office is?”
“Lemme check—200 Elm. Fifteen-minute walk from here.” The sun was starting to set now, but it was still warm out. Darnell was sweating. Maybe from the heat, maybe from withdrawal. “Don’t even think about it. I’m not walking.”
They drove. Pulled up in front of a beautiful building. Small, multicolored brick exterior. Curved, thirty-foot entryway, matching windows down the side.
Flashing their badges was enough to get them through the door. A stern conversation with a guard gained them access to the room that housed the security footage.
“Right—so you want to see the footage from outside Sherrerd Hall, ‘round back. What time?”
What day?
“Dr.McGill said that the cans were still there last Tuesday.”
“Cans?” The guard questioned. Neither Darnell nor Vaughn entertained this. “Okay. Last Tuesday. Day, night, what?”
Vaughn wasn’t sure. Took a different approach.
“Do you know an Aaron Treadman?”
“He a security guard?”
“Was.”
“Aaron... ?”
“Treadman,” Vaughn confirmed.
“No—don’t think so. Only started working here a couple of weeks ago. Haven’t met everyone yet. They got me locked up in here most of the time.”
Darnell appeared about to say something disparaging, Vaughn could see it in his face. His eyes. The way his mouth twitched.
He didn’t give his partner a chance.
There were three tanks of hydrogen sulfide gas still out there. They didn’t have time to chastise and condemn.
“Do campus security guards have access cards to all areas of the university?”
“Almost all, I think. There are some—”
“The swipe cards, are they individually coded?”
The guard raised an eyebrow. He was young, maybe late twenties. Ratty little goatee he probably thought was trendy.
“Coded?”
“What I mean is, if a security guard scans their card, does it register as campus security, or can you link it to an individual?”
“Ah, I get it—individual.”
