“Hey, buddy. Can I borrow your phone?”

“Why?”

“I need to look up these coordinates.”

“I want it back,” Connie said, passing over an iPhone. “That’s new.”

“You’ll get it back. Geez, where’s the trust, Con?”

Connie mumbled something that sounded like ten different versions of dumbass.

Ignoring him, Somers plugged in the coordinates. The first matched the Sexten Motors factory building where he and Yarmark had found evidence of the Keeper’s preparation. The second matched the Chem building on Wroxall College’s North Quad. The same place where Somers and Hazard had found Rory, Phil, and Mitchell.

“That arrogant son of a bitch,” Somers said. “He’s doing it again.”

“Doing what again?”

Somers called Hazard, but the call went immediately to voicemail. He tried again with the same result. After a moment of deliberation, Somers decided not to leave a message in case Riggle or Park somehow got access to Hazard’s phone.

After hanging up, Somers said to Connie, “I’m going to give you a note for Emery. I need you to find a way to get it to him. But only him. Nobody else, no matter what. If the cops show up asking about me, you can tell them whatever you want—”

“I don’t know any dumbasses that match that description, Officer,” Connie said.

Somers grinned and finished, “—but only Emery gets this note. I’ll write his number here too, but you may have to track him down the old-fashioned way.”

Connie gave him a thumbs-up.

Grabbing the Pepsi and the remaining bottle of water, Somers said, “Thanks, Con.”

“You owe me.”

“I owe you.”

“Where are you going?”

“To stop this fucking maniac.” And Somers knew he had to hurry; every minute that passed carried Dulac’s victims a little closer to death.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

JULY 5

FRIDAY

2:16 PM

SOMERS FOUND THE U-HAUL truck parked on the edge of campus. He rolled up the back door, hand on his gun, but the truck was empty. He checked the cab—both doors unlocked—and found nothing there either.

He expected a few looks as he walked across Wroxall’s quad toward the Chem building, but he was surprised to find that campus was almost empty. It was summer term, sure, but Wroxall still had a decent enrollment in June and July. Then he remembered that it was a holiday weekend. It was probably for the better. He’d forgotten to wash out the hair dye, and whatever the color was called—Grandfather’s Saddle was what he thought he’d seen on the box—the few times he caught a glimpse of himself, he thought he looked like he was going through a particularly bad midlife crisis. Worse, his head was starting to itch. And he was still swimming inside the enormous panda t-shirt and the lady track pants with more pandas. So, yeah, he thought maybe he’d get a few looks as he made his way through the building.

But he’d also forgotten that he was going to a college. The few people that he did see on the quad barely noticed him. He passed a nonbinary person with so many piercings in their brows, nose, and lips, that Somers prayed they never got too close to a microwave—or anything with a magnet, for that matter. He traded glances with a huge guy wearing a muumuu, and the guy, who was probably twenty, eyeballed Somers’s shirt briefly and gave him double thumbs up. Somers passed a gaggle of girls in what he guessed was an anime-influenced take on Victorian apparel, complete with parasols. A guy with a bad dye job and a panda shirt? Hell, he was probably dressed more conservatively than the dean.