“What?”
“Both of them.”
The news sent my thoughts back to Basque’s trial.
Last autumn Professor Lebreau and her Michigan State University law students were the ones who’d found the discrepancies in the eyewitness testimony and DNA evidence from Basque’s trial thirteen years ago. Their findings had played a pivotal role in the Seventh District Court’s decision to give Richard Devin Basque a retrial and had also been influential in swaying the jury to acquit him.
“When was she last seen?”
“She failed to show up for her legal ethics class about twenty-nine hours ago. Her SUV’s still in the parking lot. She hasn’t been seen since.”
“And Basque?”
“We’re not sure, but he dropped off the radar screen a couple days ago. Chicago PD is looking for him, but as you know…”
“He’s a free man.”
“Not just free.” Ralph said the words with a dark tone that showed he didn’t agree with the verdict either. “Innocent.”
“According to the courts.”
“Yeah. And an innocent man doesn’t have to check in with the police when he goes on a road trip.” His words were grated with anger.
I thought again of Grant Sikora’s dying wish: “Promise me you won’t let him do it again.”
“I promise,” I’d said.
A stretch of silence, then I asked Ralph who was working Professor Lebreau’s disappearance.
“Director Rodale sent Kreger to head it up.”
“I don’t think I know him.”
“Good man. Smart. Cool under pressure. He’s working with the East Lansing Police.”
Basque was one of the most elusive killers I’d ever encountered, and if he was involved in Professor Lebreau’s disappearance, even with Kreger’s help, I wondered if a city the size of East Lansing had the resources to find him.
You promised Grant Sikora you wouldn’t let Basque kill again… you promised…
“Send me up there,” I said.
Ralph shook his head. “You know I can’t do that. You have your classes, this Fischer case, the whole custody thing with Tessa that you need to straighten out-not to mention that scratch on your arm.”
“My gunshot wound is a scratch?”
“No bones sticking out. Can’t be that serious.”
“Nice criterion. Listen, find a way for me to help search for Basque. I know more about him than anyone-”
“Except for…?”
At last I realized what this conversation was really about-the FBI agent who’d helped me track Basque thirteen years ago.
“You,” I said.
He nodded. “My flight leaves in an hour.”
We were on Massachusetts Avenue NW. The hospital was two blocks away.
“We need to be careful about this, though,” he said. “Not jump to conclusions. For all we know, the professor went on an unscheduled vacation and Basque went fishing for the week.”
But I could tell he didn’t buy any of that.
I knew Ralph would have already thought of this, but I felt like it needed to be said: “If it’s been twenty-nine hours, there’s a good chance-”
“Yeah, that she’s dead,” he said. “Or worse.”
A harsh stillness filled the air as we both thought of the things Basque had done to his victims before he killed them.
“Ralph,” I said slowly, “what do you think of preemptive justice?”
“I was an Army Ranger, man. Most of the missions we went on were preemptive. Identify a threat and eliminate it before it eliminates you.”
“Or someone else,” I said.
“Yes.”
And I had a feeling we were thinking the same thing.
We arrived at the hospital and parked in front of the emergency room doors.
“Both Basque and Lebreau go missing in the same week?” I said. “It’s too much of a coincidence. Basque is involved.”
“I know.”
We climbed out of the car, and Ralph offered me one of his Herculean arms for support, but I turned him down. “Here’s the thing that just doesn’t fit,” I said. “Dr. Lebreau is the one who ended up providing information that helped exonerate Basque. Why would he go after her?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing. I have no idea.” His voice grew dark. “But, trust me. I’m gonna find him. And if he hurt her.. . Let’s just say the justice would be fast.”
“And clean.”
“Yeah.”
We entered the lobby.
When a law enforcement officer is brought into a hospital with a gunshot wound, the doctors are primed and ready, so I wasn’t surprised to see a trauma team waiting for us: half a dozen surgeons and nurses in gowns, booties, gloves standing poised around a gurney.
But apparently they must have been expecting something a little more exciting, because the doctors looked at each other uncertainly, and one of them asked, “You’re the GSW?” He sounded disappointed.
“Sorry it’s not more life-threatening,” Ralph said. “Next time we’ll try to make sure he gets shot in the chest.”
“Hey, thanks, Ralph.”
They didn’t seem to appreciate our comments, and one by one they dispersed. Ralph excused himself so he could get to the airport, and a severe-looking nurse carrying a stack of paperwork appeared and gestured toward a nearby exam room.