Chapter11
1537 Words
2:30 PM, February 27th, Wolfdale City University, Biology Building
George and I found ourselves climbing the familiar staircase to the professors’ offices. It feels odd not having to stop at Patrick Bryant’s former office. Dealing with him was always a fun trip and a half…NOT. Anyhow, we’re not here to visit old memories. We’re here to speak with Ms. Smith about a specific advertisement in the university’s newspaper.
Walking down the long hallway, we get to our destination. We can see the posted office hours on the wall next to the slightly opened door. Sounds of student activity reach us from the hallway. We made it just in time. Yay, us. George and I enter the small reception-type area. Ms. Smith is busy handling the grad students as they each wait their turn to meet with Dr. Frederickson. But we’re not here to see him,
“Um, excuse me, Ms. Smith,” George began, “may we ask you a few questions?”
“Sure, detective. One moment, please,” she replied, holding up her pointing finger while juggling student files.
George and I took a step back so that she could get organized. It took her less than two minutes. She placed the files in a file holder outside Dr. Frederickson’s door and walked toward us.
“So, what can I help you with, gentlemen?”
“What information can you give us about this ad in the uni paper?” I asked, showing her the paper through the clear evidence bag. “Were you the one or do you know who placed it?”
“Oh, heaven’s no! That ad has put the entire science department on edge. No one knows who placed it. I assume you would think it was me, but Smith is a common name. However… You could try asking someone at the paper,” she quickly explained. Although it was too quick for my liking. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to work.”
“Of course, thank you, Ms. Smith,” George politely stated.
We headed back out through the hallway and back down the flights of stairs.
“Should we try the campus newspaper next?” George asked me after we reached the SUV.
“Why are you asking me? You’re the lead detective on this case,” I sarcastically reminded him, giving him my best smirk. “But it wouldn’t hurt to check…”
3:37 PM, Wolfdale City University, the Edward J. Vanguard Communication Building
Thankfully, George and I didn’t have to walk too far after parking the SUV. The campus newspaper office was located on the first floor. Student reporters were dashing in and out of the building. As we entered the media hub of the school, large lettering in the Wolfdale City University’s colors spelled out The Howler pointed us in the proper direction. Large glass windows allowed viewers to watch the action inside the newsroom. Getting closer to the double glass doors, a wall filled with flyers of missing students nearly took up the wall. And thanks to Jabberwocky’s fancy budgeting, the police department has had little to no extra officers to have completed a decent search and rescue. Yeah, looking for Rocky was a rarity for us. I’m still amazed by how many cruisers came to help. But let’s get back to the story…
George quickly scoped out The Howler’s Editor-in-Chief, Ryan Mitchell, at his desk. He was looking over some articles and didn’t notice us approaching. The thought of him resembling a young Clark Kent entered my mind, but I shook it away. Ryan was in his mid-twenties. He wore glasses, but I suspect that they were for show and not prescriptions. He neatly kept his dark hair in place with styling gel, while also sporting a styled five o’clock shadow.
“Amanda, is Amber Preston still here?” He called out without looking up.
“Sorry, chief. She went to class,” Amanda replied.
“Okay… Thank you,” he said in a huff.
“Ahem,” George coughed, getting Mister Mitchell’s attention.
“And who are you? How did you get past campus security?” Ryan Mitchell rattled off, showing off his appointed authority. I guess there’s a girl colleague he’s trying to impress.
“Wolfdale City PD,” George and I uttered in unison, showing him our badges.
“Oh,” he said, defeated, leaning into his chair. “What can I help you with then?”
“We’re interested in one ad in your paper—” George explained.
“All contact information must be given within each ad as per requirement,” Ryan mumbled by rote while interrupting my new partner.
“If you would let Detective Officer Harper finish, he will further explain our visit,” I grumbled. A slight, quiet growl rumbled from my chest.
“Right, sorry. Please continue,” Ryan humbly replied.
“Would you know who placed it and when?” George continued, showing the Editor-in-Chief the circled ad.
“If it’s the ad that I’m thinking of, the answer is no. I don’t know who placed it or when,” he confessed. “I can tell you how we receive most of our student or faculty-supplied content, though.”
“Go ahead… We’re listening.” I encouraged him to continue.
“Most ads or letters to the Editor," he explained, "arrive through email using a special form. A verified email address must accompany each ad.”
“Do you have a record of the recent address used?” George asked.
“That’s just it, detective. It only stays around long enough for the address to get verified and then disappears once the ad gets placed,” Ryan grumbled and then let out a frustrated sigh.
“Our campus IT personnel can’t figure it out either… It’s weird,” he continued.
“Uh-huh,” I uttered, nodding my head.
“Is there anything else we should know about?” George pressed him for more information.
“I’m not sure how to word it, detectives,” he admitted.
“Are you referring to the story Petey was working on, Ryan?” I can only assume it was Amanda butting in with her question.
“Yes, Amanda. I’m referring to the story that Pete was working on,” Ryan groaned in his response.
“And what story would that be?” I questioned, both a little snarkier than intended.
“It was an exclusive investigative report on The Roundhouse,” Amanda unhesitatingly blurted out.
“Yeah, Wolfdale City lost its best investigative reporter on the night that Pete died. He was amazing at finding things out quickly and having them back by proof and citations, etcetera,” Ryan lamented about his former classmate.
“What else can you tell us about Peter Bryant?” I continued to press them for more details. George and I were diligent in keeping pace and taking notes.
“What details would you have about the fight between Professor Bryant and him?” George added his question.
Ryan Mitchell let out a long breath.
“Pete was certain his brother gave Ellie Kingston, Pete’s girlfriend, the idea of going to The Roundhouse to snoop around,” he replied. “You know Ellie was the Grimm Reaper’s first vic, right?”
“We’re aware…”
“Right,” Ryan sighed.
“So… do you have access to any of his findings regarding The Roundhouse?” George asked.
“I wish we did,” Ryan grumbled. “I’d gladly print it posthumously for him. Damn, he’s still missed.”
“Thank you for your cooperation and time, Mr. Mitchell,” George politely stated, reaching out for a handshake. “It’s been appreciated.”
Turning to head out the glass double doors, Ryan hollered out, “Detectives, when you break the case, will you come back and give The Howler an exclusive? Heck, we’ll dedicate the article to Pete! Whadda ya say?”
“Talk to Chief Fenton Edwards about it first,” I instructed over my shoulder.
Minutes later, we were sitting in the SUV. George let out a hard sigh, reaching to start the vehicle, but didn’t proceed with the task. He leaned back in the seat, looking defeated.
“Why the glum face?” I nonchalantly asked my partner.
“Why didn’t we check with the school paper last go around, Mike?” He answered me with a question.
“Because someone cough, me> was hyper-focused on the wrong suspect,” I confessed.
“Should we hunt down Patrick Bryant or visit forensics?”
“It’s your call, George. Whichever lead you choose to follow, I’ll back ya. Which one has the nudge in your gut screaming to follow?”
“My gut? It wants a Code 7,” he cheerfully confessed, laughing as he reached for the mic to radio dispatch. “But seriously, alpha, where should we go after we eat?”
“Alpha?” I gave him a side glare with one eyebrow raised. “Sergeant. I’m a sergeant, not an alpha,” I grumbled, reminding him of my proper rank.
“Yeah, but you could be…”
Not you too.
- Writer
