“I’ve seen police trace a suspect using a cell phone, but I don’t think regular people can access those kinds of records.”

“You never know,” she said. “A good picture of you would be worth a lot of money right now. Everyone’s wondering how the accident affected you. It’s all anyone can talk about.”

“I just don’t see how anyone could figure it out. I haven’t been here long enough.”

“I remember reading about a private detective who bribed police and telephone-company employees to be able to gain private information on a vast network of movie stars,” Barbie said. “Sylvester Stallone was one of them.”

“Why was a PI doing that?”

“The right information could be worth a lot of money in LA. Maybe that’s why, but who knows? The point is weird shit happens.”

Barbie was much more of a conspiracy theorist than Tia was, but Tia, too, remembered hearing something about the PI involved in the scandal. He went to prison. “It’s hard to believe anything that nefarious is going on.”

“If money’s involved, you can’t count it out.”

The buzz of the intercom made Tia jump. “Barbie, I’ll have to call you later,” she said.

“Okay. But if you won’t come here for Christmas, at least stay in touch so I know you’re okay.”

“I’ll be better about that. I promise.”

Keeping her phone handy, in case she needed to dial Seth or even 9-1-1, she hurried to the intercom. Seth had told her not to answer if someone came, but whoever it was wouldn’t lay off the buzzer. Certainly there had to be a good reason.

She pressed the button. “Can I help you?”

“Ms. Beckett? This is Officer Crocker. Is Mr. Turner there?”

“I’m afraid not,” she replied. “Is...is something wrong?” She could tell there was; she was just afraid to find out what it could be.

He didn’t answer the question. “Can you tell me where he is?”

She was hesitant to reveal anything until she knew what Crocker wanted. “I can’t,” she lied. “What’s going on?”

“I have a warrant for his arrest.”

The student Seth suspected of having the most talent would hardly say a word. Aiyana had told him that this particular boy—Jaden Kaplan—was new to the school as of three months ago and came from a mother who wouldn’t or couldn’t protect him from an abusive boyfriend, which was why the state had stepped in and removed him from the home. He had long brown hair he hadn’t bothered to comb today, was wearing a ragged heavy-metal T-shirt with jeans and could stand to gain about fifty pounds. But the most noticeable thing about him was the distrust in his dark eyes.