Free Fair Game by Josh Lanyon Page B

son.”
    “Interesting leap.”
    “I think there’s a fair bit of guilt there. I get the impression the Baker kid was much more into the relationship than Feder, and that Feder would prefer to believe almost anything to the idea Terry got depressed and capped himself.”
    “You’re not looking at him as a potential suspect?”
    “Too soon to say. Out of curiosity, what kind of alibi does Tom Baker have for the evening of his son’s disappearance?”
    “He doesn’t. His story is he was working late, alone, at his office.”
    Elliot started to reply, but he noticed the clock in the dashboard read a quarter after seven. He needed to get over to Steilacoom fast or he’d be spending the night at his dad’s. He said reluctantly, “Noted. I’m about to miss my ferry. I’ll talk to you later.”
    “Later,” Tucker replied instantly.
    Elliot clicked off and turned the key in the ignition. The 350Z purred into life.
    It had been harder to disconnect than it should have been. Why? Maybe just the relief that they were actually talking. Elliot was not antagonistic by nature. He didn’t usually hold grudges. Anyway, it wasn’t like Tucker was the only person in the world he could discuss the case with. He could talk it over with his dad, seeing that Roland was the one who’d lured Elliot into this in the first place. Except…realizing his dad had feelings for Pauline Baker made it hard to discuss the grim possibilities objectively.
    Besides, Elliot decided as he pulled out of the parking lot, he didn’t want company. He wanted to go home to his quiet, comfortable cabin and spend a peaceful night reading plagiarized essays—
    Essays.
    “Shit!” He’d left Leslie’s essay and the reviews Kyle had been reading over in his office at Hanby Hall. He needed them for Monday. Ah. But it was Friday, and that meant the final ferry to Goose Island didn’t depart until five after ten. He had more time than he’d thought. He spared another glance for the dashboard clock. Plenty of time, in fact. And the university was on his way.
    Elliot merged onto the WA-99, busy and moving sluggishly at that hour. Once he reached the I-5 South he punched the accelerator and made excellent time. It took him only slightly over forty minutes to reach the campus. He parked in his usual place in the back lot near the chapel.
    The brick buildings were dark, the grounds deserted as Elliot cut through the arboretum. On Fridays the campus emptied out early and there seemed to be no one around. The stands of tall Douglas firs and dawn redwoods gave the illusion of walking in a forest, far from civilization. The sweet scent of damp earth and pungent wood filled the cold night. Elliot’s breath clouded the moist air as he trudged through the museum of trees.
    Hanby Hall had that eerie after-hours feeling. Elliot let himself into his office, grabbed the papers from his desk, shoved them in his briefcase. He glanced around, made sure he hadn’t forgotten anything else and turned off the overhead light. Locking his office door, he started for the front entrance. The emergency lights cast a thin glare over the walls and utilitarian carpet as he walked.
    A phantom noise down the hall stopped him in his tracks. He turned and listened closely. A cleaning cart sat at the end of the corridor, but there was no sight or sound of any maintenance staff. There were the usual mysterious ticking noises and creaks of any large, institutional building, nothing to account for his sudden unease.
    Elliot waited, ears attuned to the silence of the empty hallway.
    No sound reached his ears.
    Still he waited. He wasn’t, by nature, jumpy. Far from it, but one thing he’d learned during his months of training at Quantico was to pay attention to his instinct.
    At last, though, he began to feel foolish. University buildings were secured by key control and electronic card access. The chances of an unauthorized person gaining admittance were slim. Campus security was