The Fifth to Die: A gripping, page-turner of a crime thriller. J.D. Barker

here,” Clair said, rubbing her hands together.

      “I never understood that expression,” Sophie replied, eyeing the vans.

      “Witches get no love.”

      “Oh, I know that feeling.”

      Clair glanced over at her. “What happened to that guy you were dating, James, John, Joe —”

      “Jessie. Jessie Grabber.”

      Clair chuckled. “Really, that’s his name? Grabber?”

      Sophie rolled her eyes.

      “I’m sorry. It’s a bit high school to make fun of a name, but come on, Grabber? No sneak attack down at Lover’s Lane with a name like Grabber.”

      “Well, he was anything but. I think that was part of the problem. I was hoping for a little something, but he was nothing but a gentleman. All the way on through date number four I got nothing but a peck on the cheek. A girl’s got needs.”

      “Like witches.”

      Sophie nodded. “Like witches.”

      “I’m still not warm.” Clair frowned.

      “Me either.”

      “Witch tit.”

      “Witch tit.” Sophie shivered.

      Clair shuffled in her seat, looking up and down the street, then pointed at the graystone beside them. “That’s Lili Davies’s house, right?”

      “Yes, 748.”

      “And her school is where?”

      Sophie pointed out her window. “Four blocks east of here. You can nearly see it.”

      The snow shifted from tiny flakes to something a little larger than Clair’s favorite breakfast cereal, and her body gave an involuntary quiver. She zipped her jacket all the way up, wrapped a heavy-knit purple scarf around her neck, and donned a fluffy pink cap. When she turned back to Sophie, the woman had done the same. “You look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.”

      Sophie smirked. “You look like Willy Wonka’s long-lost sister.”

      “Perfect. Let’s do this.” Clair tugged at the door handle and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The snow was about two inches deep and still coming down, flying at her at an angle. She jogged in place for a second as Sophie rounded the car, her breath leaving a white plume in the air. The two women started walking east on Sixty-Ninth Street, hunched against the snow.

      They crossed Vernon Avenue, and Clair stopped, staring ahead. “If I wanted to grab a girl, that seems like a good spot.”

      She stared at the dark tunnels one block up where the Skyway crossed over Sixty-Ninth Street, three lanes of traffic running in each direction. At approximately fifteen feet per lane, that meant she was looking at a space about one hundred feet wide with only a small break at the median in the middle. Although three lights burned under each section, they offered little to break up the gloom.

      Clair looked up at the sky, searching for the sun. “What time is sunrise?”

      Sophie tilted her head, a line appearing between her brows. “About seven or so.”

      “So our girl made this walk about two hours earlier in the day, a little after the sun poked out. If it came out at all. This stretch is fairly deserted now, but that may be different closer to school time. Still, though, someone could easily park around here, maybe feign a breakdown, then grab her when she walked by. The tunnel would be my bet; everything else is fairly wide open.”

      They had reached the start of the underpass. Sophie pressed a hand to the concrete. “This is a good neighborhood. There’s not a bit of graffiti on these walls and no sign of homeless activity. I can’t imagine someone could stand around very long without getting noticed.”

      They followed the sidewalk under the Skyway, their footfalls echoing off the walls. When they came out the other side, Sophie pointed. “There’s her school.”

      Wilcox Academy was a private school housed in what appeared to be a repurposed factory or warehouse building. The red brick façade was immaculate. It could have been built a year ago. The parking lot beside it was posted FACULTY ONLY and was full. A public lot sat across the street, most likely utilized by the students.

      Clair pulled open the large glass door, and both women stepped inside, a wave of heat wafting out. “This makes me want to hop back in the car and drive straight to Florida.”

      “Can I help you?”

      Clair turned to find an elderly security guard sitting at a table to their left. She took a step forward, and a buzzer went off.

      The guard pointed toward the entrance. “Metal detector built into the door frame.”

      Clair showed the man her badge. “I’m Detective Norton with Chicago Metro, and this is Sophie Rodriguez with Missing Children. We’re investigating the disappearance of one of your students, Lili Davies.”

      The security guard’s smile fell away. “Heard about that on the way in. I’m so sorry for her family. She’s a good girl.”

      Sophie’s head tilted slightly. “You know her?”

      He nodded. “This is a small school, only about two hundred kids total. I see each of them every day, hard not to get to know them. I’m former Pittsburgh PD, retired about six years ago. If there is anything I can do to help, I’m here for you.”

      “What can you tell us about her?” Clair asked.

      “Like I said, never gave me any trouble. Usually got here around seven thirty or so. Many of the students hang out across the street there in the lot until first bell, but not her. She’d try to beat the crowd and get up to class. Not too many friends.” He waved a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, she was well liked, just a bit of an introvert. Could always tell there were big plans cooking behind her eyes. Always thinking, that one.”

      Sophie glanced out the window at the cars across the street. “Did she ever ride in with anyone?”

      He shook his head. “If she did, I never noticed. If I saw her outside, she was usually coming up the walk the same way you did.”

      Clair pulled off her hat and scarf. “What about Gabrielle Deegan? Do you know her?”

      The corner of his mouth turned up, and he brushed at his chin. “Gabby can be a bit rough around the edges, but she’s a good girl too. The two of them are together a lot, a bit of yin and yang thing there.”

      “What do you mean?”

      He looked down the hallway, then turned back to them, lowering his voice. “I have to be a bit hard on her, you know? Being the law here. But I see her for what she is: just a girl looking for some attention. She’s not fooling me none. She’d never admit it — in fact, I bet she’d outright deny it — but I think she may be one of the smartest students here. I think she acts out because she’s bored, not because she’s a troublemaker. She’ll come into her own one day. Until then, it’s my job to steer her away from big trouble and let her get away with a bit of little trouble, find that balance. Every class has at least one.”

      “Do you know where we can find her?”

      “I’ll call upstairs, see if I can get someone to bring her down for you,” he replied, reaching for the phone on his table. “Watch your wallets and jewelry.” He winked.

       13

       Porter

       Day 2 • 9:14 a.m.

      Porter and Nash stood at the Reynoldses’