The Blue Nowhere

techs, a woman whose jacket was adorned with a stethoscope and hemostat clamps. She said, “He’ll be fine. Looks like the perp squirted him in the eyes with water that had a little ammonia and Tabasco mixed in. Just enough to sting, not enough to do any damage.”
    “Why?” Bishop asked.
    She shrugged. “You got me.”
    Bishop pulled up a chair and sat down. “I’m sorry this happened, Jamie. I know you’re upset. But it’s real important you tell us what you know.”
    The boy calmed and explained that he’d broken out of the school to go to a concert with his brother. But as soon as he’d gotten the door open this man in a uniform like a janitor’s grabbed him and squirted this stuff in his eyes. He’d told Jamie it was acid and that if the boy led him to where Mr. Boethe was he’d give him an antidote. But if he didn’t the acid’d eat his eyes away.
    The boy’s hands shook and he started to cry.
    “It’s his big fear,” Mark said angrily, “going blind. The bastard found that out somehow.”
    Bishop nodded and said to Gillette, “The principal was his target. It’s a big school—Phate needed Jamie to find the victim fast.”
    “And it hurt so much! It really, really did. . . . I told him I wasn’t going to help him. I didn’t want to, I tried not to but I couldn’t help it. I . . .” He fell silent.
    Gillette felt there was something more that Jamie wanted to say but couldn’t bring himself to.
    Bishop touched the boy’s shoulder. “You did exactly the right thing. You did just what I would’ve done, son. Don’t you worry about it. Tell me, Jamie, did you e-mail anybody about what you were going to do tonight? It’s important that we know.”
    The boy swallowed and looked down.
    “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Jamie. Don’t worry. We just want to find this guy.”
    “My brother, I guess. And then . . .”
    “Go ahead.”
    “What it was, I kind of went online to find some passcodes and stuff. Passcodes to the front gate. He must’ve hacked my machine and seen them and that’s how he got into the courtyard.”
    “How about you being afraid of going blind?” Bishop asked. “Could he have read about that online?”
    Jamie nodded again.
    Gillette said, “So Phate made Jamie himself a trapdoor—to get inside.”
    “You’ve been real brave, young man,” Bishop said kindly.
    But the boy was beyond consoling.
    The medical examiner’s technicians took the principal’s body away and the cops conferred in the corridor, Gillette and Nolan with them. Shelton reported what he’d learned from the forensic techs. “Crime scene doesn’t have dick. A few dozen obvious fingerprints—they’ll run those but, hell, we already know it’s Holloway. He was wearing shoes without distinctive treads. There’re a million fibers in the room. Enough to keep the bureau’s lab techs busy for a year. Oh, they found this. It’s the Turner kid’s.”
    He handed a sheet of paper to Bishop, who read it and passed it on to Gillette. It appeared to be the boy’s notes about cracking the passcode and deactivating the door alarm.
    Huerto Ramirez told them, “Nobody was exactly sure where the Jaguar was parked. In any case, the rain’s washed away any tread marks. We got a ton of trash by the roadside but whether our perp dropped any of it or not, who knows?”
    Nolan said, “He’s a cracker. That means he’s an organized offender. He’s not going to be pitching out junk mailers with his address on them while he’s staking out a victim.”
    Ramirez continued, “Tim’s still pounding the pavement with some troopers from HQ but nobody’s seen anything at all.”
    Bishop glanced at Nolan, Sanchez and Gillette. “Okay, secure the boy’s machine and check it out.”
    Linda Sanchez asked, “Where is it?”
    The assistant principal said he’d lead them to the school’s computer department. Gillette returned to the room where Jamie was sitting and asked him which machine he’d used.
    “Number three,” the boy sullenly replied and continued pressing the cloth into his eyes.
    The team started down the dim corridor. As they walked, Linda Sanchez made a call on her cell phone. She learned—Gillette deduced from the conversation—that her daughter still hadn’t started labor. She hung up, saying, “Dios.”
    In the basement computer room, a chill and depressing place,Gillette, Nolan and Sanchez walked up to the machine marked NO. 3. Gillette told Sanchez not to run any