Nighttime Is My Time

87

Jake Perkins had immediately regretted not acknowledging Sam Deegan when their eyes met. It was one thing not to give the detective any information he might come across, but it was another thing to cut off all contact with him. No good reporter, no matter how insulted he'd been, would ever do that.

He would have loved to ask Deegan for a statement about Robby Brent's murder, but he knew better than to do that. He knew what the official line would be-that Brent was the victim of a homicide by person or persons unknown. They hadn't released the cause of death, but it was a cinch it wasn't suicide. Nobody climbs into the trunk of a car while it's rolling into the river.

Maybe Deegan knows where Dr. Sheridan is, Jake thought. He had tried to phone Jean, but there was no answer in her room. He did want to get confirmation from her that Laura Wilcox had slept in the murder bedroom on Mountain Road.

Struggling with the heavy camera, Jake worked his way through the crowd of photographers and reporters and caught up with Sam at his car. "Mr. Deegan, I've been trying to get in touch with Dr. Sheridan. Do you by any chance know where I could reach her? She doesn't answer her phone."

Sam was about to get into his car. "What time did you try her?" he asked sharply.

"About nine-thirty."

That was the same time I tried her, Sam thought. "I don't know where she is," he snapped as he got in his car. He slammed the door closed and turned on the siren.

Something's up, Jake thought. He's worried about Dr. Sheridan, but he's not making the turn back to the hotel. He's going too fast for me to follow him. I might as well go back to school and clean up the darkroom. Then I'll head over to the Glen-Ridge and see what's going on.