the body. Perhaps none of the staff came to this area. But who was the man?
The email had been sent the previous evening, and by the look of the victim’s clothes, this could be the janitor. He would’ve been here to do the cleaning, and the Beetle outside the door might be his car.
“I’ll call the police,” Jake said, pulling out his cell phone and moving toward the exit.
Annie followed him outside as Jake dialed 9-1-1.
Chapter 19
Wednesday, 9:18 a.m.
HANK PULLED into the parking lot at Millfield Elementary School, drove to the east side of the building, and stopped behind a police cruiser. The forensic van was parked nearby, investigators busy documenting the scene. An area outside the service entrance was taped off by the first responders, allowing CSI to do their work undisturbed.
Jake’s Firebird was parked inside the secured area next to a Volkswagen Beetle. The Lincolns stood next to the vehicle, watching the proceedings. Uniformed officers held back the few onlookers who had discovered the situation and approached curiously.
Detective King pulled up in his vehicle, parked beside Hank, and strolled over. Hank got out of his car and greeted King with a nod, and together they walked past a waiting ambulance, ducking under the tape. Jake glanced over as they approached the Firebird.
“How on earth did you discover this one?” Hank asked, looking back and forth between Jake and Annie, a perplexed look on his face.
Annie rummaged in her bag and handed a folded paper to Hank. “I got this in my email box this morning,” she said.
Hank read the message, gave it to King, then turned to Annie. “What did you guys make of the email?”
“I’m not sure if the victim sent it or the killer,” Annie said. “If it was the victim, the killer must’ve known about the rendezvous. But if it was the killer, I assume he was taunting us.”
King folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket.
“We’ll figure it out,” Hank said, and turned to King. “We’d better take a look inside.” He reached into his jacket, pulled out two pairs of booties, and handed a pair to King. The detectives went to the entrance, stepped inside, and put the shoe coverings on.
Hank glanced down the long, narrow hallway, now a hub of activity. A CSI photographer was crouched beside the body, halfway down the corridor, his camera flashing. Beyond him, a doorway at the end of the hall was open.
Doorknobs and walls had been brushed for fingerprints, the floor tested for footprints.
Hank moved toward the body, carefully avoiding glass shards littering an area a few feet inside the entrance. He stepped past an aluminum ladder that was pushed against the wall and approached lead investigator Rod Jameson.
“Morning, Rod,” Hank said. “Do we know who the victim is yet?”
“Hey, Hank,” Rod said, glancing at his clipboard. “The vic’s name is Raymond Ronson, according to his driver’s license. Sixty-eight years old.” He cocked a thumb toward the exit door. “That’s his Beetle outside. Registered in his name. According to one of the staff, he’s the janitor here.”
“Anything else you can tell us?” King asked.
“Not yet. A few prints. We’re still trying to figure out exactly what went on here.”
“Anything inside the main school area?”
“Not sure yet,” Rod said. “But we’ve secured the entire building. Evacuated all the staff and students.”
“Thanks, Rod,” Hank said. He moved further down the hall, stopped in front of a broom laying haphazardly in the middle of the corridor, and pointed it out to King. “Looks like he was about to sweep up the glass.”
Hank stepped over the broom and approached the body. He crouched down and gazed at the victim a moment. His blood boiled and he sighed deeply, remembering the victim had a name. It was Raymond Ronson, and he didn’t deserve this.
He took a deep breath, pushed his feelings aside, and leaned in, peering
The email had been sent the previous evening, and by the look of the victim’s clothes, this could be the janitor. He would’ve been here to do the cleaning, and the Beetle outside the door might be his car.
“I’ll call the police,” Jake said, pulling out his cell phone and moving toward the exit.
Annie followed him outside as Jake dialed 9-1-1.
Chapter 19
Wednesday, 9:18 a.m.
HANK PULLED into the parking lot at Millfield Elementary School, drove to the east side of the building, and stopped behind a police cruiser. The forensic van was parked nearby, investigators busy documenting the scene. An area outside the service entrance was taped off by the first responders, allowing CSI to do their work undisturbed.
Jake’s Firebird was parked inside the secured area next to a Volkswagen Beetle. The Lincolns stood next to the vehicle, watching the proceedings. Uniformed officers held back the few onlookers who had discovered the situation and approached curiously.
Detective King pulled up in his vehicle, parked beside Hank, and strolled over. Hank got out of his car and greeted King with a nod, and together they walked past a waiting ambulance, ducking under the tape. Jake glanced over as they approached the Firebird.
“How on earth did you discover this one?” Hank asked, looking back and forth between Jake and Annie, a perplexed look on his face.
Annie rummaged in her bag and handed a folded paper to Hank. “I got this in my email box this morning,” she said.
Hank read the message, gave it to King, then turned to Annie. “What did you guys make of the email?”
“I’m not sure if the victim sent it or the killer,” Annie said. “If it was the victim, the killer must’ve known about the rendezvous. But if it was the killer, I assume he was taunting us.”
King folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket.
“We’ll figure it out,” Hank said, and turned to King. “We’d better take a look inside.” He reached into his jacket, pulled out two pairs of booties, and handed a pair to King. The detectives went to the entrance, stepped inside, and put the shoe coverings on.
Hank glanced down the long, narrow hallway, now a hub of activity. A CSI photographer was crouched beside the body, halfway down the corridor, his camera flashing. Beyond him, a doorway at the end of the hall was open.
Doorknobs and walls had been brushed for fingerprints, the floor tested for footprints.
Hank moved toward the body, carefully avoiding glass shards littering an area a few feet inside the entrance. He stepped past an aluminum ladder that was pushed against the wall and approached lead investigator Rod Jameson.
“Morning, Rod,” Hank said. “Do we know who the victim is yet?”
“Hey, Hank,” Rod said, glancing at his clipboard. “The vic’s name is Raymond Ronson, according to his driver’s license. Sixty-eight years old.” He cocked a thumb toward the exit door. “That’s his Beetle outside. Registered in his name. According to one of the staff, he’s the janitor here.”
“Anything else you can tell us?” King asked.
“Not yet. A few prints. We’re still trying to figure out exactly what went on here.”
“Anything inside the main school area?”
“Not sure yet,” Rod said. “But we’ve secured the entire building. Evacuated all the staff and students.”
“Thanks, Rod,” Hank said. He moved further down the hall, stopped in front of a broom laying haphazardly in the middle of the corridor, and pointed it out to King. “Looks like he was about to sweep up the glass.”
Hank stepped over the broom and approached the body. He crouched down and gazed at the victim a moment. His blood boiled and he sighed deeply, remembering the victim had a name. It was Raymond Ronson, and he didn’t deserve this.
He took a deep breath, pushed his feelings aside, and leaned in, peering
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