Uh-oh. Upstairs, the shower cut off. He had to get moving. This wouldn’t be a good time to be caught, not when the cops were still riding Conor’s butt. But how to get the video to the cops? He opened Heath’s e-mail and dug Detective Jackson’s card out of his wallet. Bingo. He clicked NEW MAIL, typed in the cop’s e-mail address, and attached the video. A nasty idea prodded the back of his mind. While the video uploaded, he searched for correspondence with Professor English. There it was, and the video was attached. Heath was blackmailing the professor. According to the e-mail, there were other videos. Who else had the professor slept with? Riki had been his student, so could inappropriate relations get him fired?

While he waited for the file to load, he browsed the rest of the files, stopping on one titled ID1. Knowing what he’d see, Conor opened the file. The bed was empty, but not for long. Professor English backed Isa Dumont to his bed and began taking off her clothes. The professor was two for three. If Conor kept looking, would he find a video of English with Zoe? He attached the second video file and hit UPLOAD.

Footsteps on the floorboards upstairs startled him. Come on. Come on. The upload bar turned green. He clicked SEND, closed the windows he’d opened, and lowered the laptop’s lid. Footsteps thudded above his head. Grabbing his backpack, he checked the peephole. The porch was empty. Once outside, he slung the mostly empty backpack over his shoulder and crossed the street to the bus stop. The morning was cool but clear. The scent of damp, molding leaves filled the air and discoveries filled Conor’s head.

A guy emerged from Heath’s place, locked the door, and set off down the walk toward campus. Close one.

A horn gave two short beeps next to him. A dark sedan parked at the curb. Damn. Cops.

For a day that had started out pretty damned good, it sure had gone to hell in a hurry.

“Hey, Sullivan,” Jackson said out the lowered window. “How about going for a little ride?”

“I’m kind of short on time,” Conor answered. “How about a rain check?”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed with impatience. “Get in the car.”

Conor sighed. The cops hadn’t immediately arrested him. Why not? Curious, he opened the rear door, tossed his backpack onto the seat, and climbed in after it. “So, what’s up?”

Behind the wheel, Ianelli pulled into the street. He made a right-hand turn and drove away from the residential blocks. One thing about Philadelphia, you didn’t have to drive far to go from a decent neighborhood to a rat hole. Six blocks away, the renovated row homes were replaced by boarded-up hovels. The decorating committee was big on spray cans, sledgehammers, and fire.