Jake caught snippets of their conversations—you have to be kidding me, Tom, you didn’t file it yet?—or with their wives—I don’t have time to call the roofer, can you?—or their kids—so how was school, buddy? None of them sounded or seemed like a killer, which made Jake suspect all of them, everyone around him. Then he realized he wouldn’t have to play guessing games anymore. He could leave the memorial service, stake-out the BMW, and see whoever came to claim the car.
Jake’s heartbeat picked up, and he thought of a new plan. He would confront the killer and warn him to stay away from Ryan and Pam—or risk exposure to the police. It would be piling one corrupt bargain on top of another, but it would keep Pam and Ryan safe. He reached the entrance doors, went through, and crossed the threshold into a large, tiled entrance area leading to the administrative offices and the auditorium.
CHASER PRIDE, read a poster-painted banner, and the crowd flowed in two messy lines to the auditorium doors, which had been propped open. Suddenly it struck him that Pam and Ryan were here, unprotected. The killer would know who they were, but they wouldn’t know who he was. The killer could be following Ryan or taking a seat next to Pam, this very minute.
Jake pressed forward, looking for Pam or Ryan, but he didn’t see them anywhere. He didn’t know if they’d gone inside, but assumed they had, knowing that Pam was in a hurry and she’d seen that parking space. He shifted to the right, went around a large family, and joined the other line into the auditorium, which was moving faster. Still, no Pam or Ryan.
Jake finally got inside the auditorium, which was standing room only in back, and wedged his way through the standees to find Pam and Ryan, but they weren’t there. He scanned the audience for Pam and Ryan, but there were so many people it was impossible to see them. Faculty, staff, parents, and younger kids filled the seats, walked down rows, tilted their heads together in conversation, checked smartphones, opened programs, or hoisted toddlers onto their laps. Many of the female students were crying, their arms around each other. Mothers wiped tears from their eyes, and fathers craned their necks toward the front, where the program was beginning.
Jake defaulted to looking for Ryan because he was so tall and would be sitting with a very tall group, the basketball team. He began methodically, noticing that two aisles ran the length of the auditorium, dividing the seats into three sections. He checked the leftmost section for the basketball team, but no luck. He checked the middle section, but didn’t see them there. He shifted to the rightmost section and finally spotted a tall bunch of scruffy boys on the far right section, at the middle.
He edged forward and looked for Ryan, but he wasn’t sitting with the team and there was an empty seat at the end of the row. Jake swallowed hard, beginning to be afraid. What if Ryan and Pam were still outside? What if the killer had intercepted them on the way in? He didn’t want to leave and go see until he was sure they weren’t in the auditorium.
The crowd quieted, and Jake sensed the program was about to start. He glanced at the stage, a sleek maple curve framed by maroon curtains, and a middle-aged woman tapped a microphone on the lectern. Next to her were the flags of the United States and the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, then a row of brown folding chairs with some students and school-administration types, and finally, an easel that held an enlarged photograph of Kathleen, framed in black.
Jake’s throat caught, but he looked away. Then it struck him that the speakers were supposed to be seated on the stage and that Sabrina was slated to be a speaker. He looked again at the folding chairs, but Sabrina wasn’t there. And one folding chair remained empty.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, faculty, students and family. I am Pamela Coleridge, principal of Concord Chase High School, and I thank you for coming this evening to celebrate the life of Kathleen Lindstrom, a lovely young woman who was taken from us cruelly, and too soon…”
Jake tuned the speaker out, his heart thudding in his chest. The empty chair on stage was proof that Ryan and Pam must still be in the parking lot, unless Sabrina was sitting with her team.
“… this program will be brief, and time won’t permit us to acknowledge all of the special people here tonight, except that I would like to take a moment to acknowledge Kathleen’s mother Grace and her father William, both of whom are with us, at this impossibly difficult time. They’re seated in the front row…”
Heads turned this way and that as everybody tried to see Kathleen’s parents, and murmurs and sniffles rippled through the crowd. Jake tried to find the girls track team, but there was nothing to distinguish them from any other female students.
“… our first speaker will be Ms. Talia Kelso, who teaches computer science and runs our computer lab, which, as you may know, was Kathleen’s home away from home. Ms. Kelso, please come up…”
Jake noticed on the stage that one of the teachers, a petite African-American woman with a thick braid, was getting up from the folding chair and crossing to the lectern. He had to find Ryan and Pam, or Sabrina, so he kept scanning the crowd. He surveyed the rows for them, getting more worried by the minute, as the speaker continued her speech.
“… Kathleen had a remarkable aptitude with computers, but it was her happy, upbeat way that all of us loved. I will never forget Kathleen and neither will any of my teaching assistants in the computer lab. Thank you, and now I would like to introduce our next speaker, Janine Mae Lamb, a junior who was a very good friend of Kathleen. Janine Mae?”
Jake paused, recognizing the name of the girl that Ryan had wanted to date before the accident. He watched as a pretty, petite girl in a black dress rose uncertainly on stage and walked to the lectern with her head downcast, her long blonde hair obscuring her face. Ms. Kelso hovered behind the lectern as Janine Mae reached it and grasped its edges for support. When the young girl raised her eyes to the audience, Jake could tell, even from a distance, that she was crestfallen and already teary.
“Hi, everyone,” Janine Mae said, her voice shaking, her drawl pained. “Kathleen’s mom and dad, Mr. and Mrs. Lindstrom … I know how much you loved Kathleen … and I’m so sorry about your loss … and I wanted to, uh, speak about her tonight … I don’t know if I can, but … I’ll try … for her.”
Jake swallowed hard, and the audience fell into an anguished silence, holding its collective breath at the rawness of the girl’s grief.
“I’m up here because I just really want everyone to know Kathleen … the way I did.” Janine Mae wiped her eyes with a small hand. “We met, uh, the first day of track, and since we were both new to Concord Chase … and, uh, neither of us knew anybody … we bonded, like, uh, instantly.” Janine Mae sniffled, and her shoulders began to shake. “You never would have known that Kathleen was new … she was so friendly and open-hearted … and she trusted everyone. We only knew each other for a few months … but we really got super close … and … we told each other … everything.” Janine burst into a sob, making a heartrending hiccup into the microphone. “Kathleen was my best friend … and now she’s … she’s gone … and I can’t believe it…” Janine Mae broke down, and Ms. Kelso stepped forward, cradled the girl, and walked her offstage while the crowd murmured and sniffled anew.
Principal Coleridge hurried to the lectern, adjusting the microphone. “Thank you, Janine Mae, for your very heartfelt words. You said all that you needed to, and I know we all agree. Our next speaker is Christopher Slater, who is president of the Concord Chase Chamber of Commerce…”
A tall man in a suit rose and strode to the lectern, but Jake resumed looking for Pam, Ryan, or Sabrina. He migrated to the left to change his angle on the audience and get a view of the rightmost section, in front.