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Pendleton clears his throat. “The video doesn’t show anyone other than the O’Leary boy. And this doesn’t appear to be on school grounds.”
Michael shakes his head, pulls up the video on his own phone, finds the section. “Watch it again. At thirty-seven seconds in. Look at the reflection in the mirror.”
In the last nanosecond of the clip the camera catches a mirror hung on the bedroom wall. Four kids’ faces are shown, three with mouths open, laughing. Among them, the governor’s daughter, the attorney general’s son, a billionaire’s daughter… and Taylor.
There’s noise on the other end like Pendleton is finding the clip. There’s a heavy sigh in the receiver now. “I knew I should’ve never admitted someone from that family to this school.”
“That’s your takeaway?” Michael says.
“This is a sensitive matter. It has to be handled discreetly.”
On this much, they agree.
“There’s something else you should know,” Michael says.
Another long silence. Michael imagines Pendleton standing in his nightclothes, looking like the portraits of Academy Men that fill the halls of the school.
“Shane O’Leary came to me because his son has been upset. It’s only a matter of time until he finds out or gets hold of this video and—”
Pendleton cuts him off: “That’s why I said we need to be discreet.”
19
LEAVENWORTH, KANSAS
“Deputy Sheriff McGee.”
Poppy looks up from her Chipotle burrito. There are few things sadder than eating alone at Chipotle at closing time. But after leaving Fatheads, she couldn’t ignore her growling stomach any longer, so she stopped at her go-to for indigestion.
It’s the FBI agent. The one from the press conference. The one the sheriff warned her about.
The agent slinks her slender frame on the plastic seat next to Poppy and smiles. “How’s the investigation going?”
Poppy shrugs. Takes a bite of her burrito.
“Identify the men in the car yet?”
Poppy takes a sip from her straw. Makes a loud slurping sound.
“Ah, you’ve been told not to speak with me. But we’re all on the same team, aren’t we?”
Poppy again doesn’t answer.
The agent sits there appraising Poppy, watches her eat. Eventually, she says, “Are you familiar with Russian folklore, Deputy Sheriff McGee?”
This is too much. Poppy gives the agent a lazy-eyed stare. “Do I look like I’m familiar with Russian folklore?”
Agent Fincher allows herself a smile. “In Russian folklore there’s someone called the Holy Fool.”
The woman is an oddball or genius, Poppy can’t tell which. It’s possible her schtick is just a tactic to get Poppy to talk.
“The Holy Fool is an outsider—sometimes an eccentric, sometimes crazy, sometimes just a child. But it’s their outsider status that makes them a truth teller.”
“I’m not sure where this is—”
“You heard of the story ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’?”
What the hell, Poppy decides to bite. “The story about the emperor who’s told he has a magical outfit and everyone plays along even though he’s naked?”