Promise You Won't Tell? Read online

  “Where do you keep your phones during class? In your lockers?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Dillon says, “Even if she gives us the locker numbers I’d never be able to cut the locks. I’d need a giant set of bolt cutters. There’s no way I can smuggle them into the hallway of a private school.”

  Riley says, “We don’t use locks.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We’re not allowed to have locks in upper school. It’s part of the honor code we sign each year.”

  I say, “Wait. Are you telling me you could open Ethan’s locker any time you feel like it? You could just walk up and steal his cell phone?”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “If they caught me I’d lose my scholarship. I’d never be able to get into a decent college. Even if I got the evidence you need, it wouldn’t be worth getting expelled.”

  “Dillon and I can do it,” I say. “If you can give us the locker numbers.”

  “All ten?”

  “Just Ethan and Ronnie’s.”

  “I can tell you right now. Mine is sixty-one. Ethan’s is four past mine, number sixty-five. Ronnie’s is the next one, sixty-six.”

  Dillon says, “Can you draw me a map of the hallways so I can get in and out quickly?”

  “Sure.”

  I give her a pen and paper. While she sketches the layout, I ask, “Are there cameras in the hall where the lockers are?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Are the schoolroom doors closed during classes?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “This is almost too easy,” Dillon says.

  “If Dillon walks through the hall while classes are underway, is he likely to run into anyone?”

  “Probably not. Unless it’s the headmaster or one of the secretaries. But their offices are on the other side of the building.”

  “There must be a lot of theft taking place,” Dillon says.

  She shakes her head, no. “We take our honor code very seriously.”

  “Except at slumber parties,” I say.

  “Except then,” Riley says.

  I look at Dillon. “What do you think?”

  “I like it. If you’ve got my back.”

  “We’ll go in together. Sophie and I will be your lookouts. If someone comes down the hall, we’ll intercept them and strike up a conversation.”

  “Where are we likely to find the cell phones?” Dillon asks.

  “In their backpacks at the bottom of the lockers,” Riley says.

  Dillon frowns. “I’d have to dig through their backpacks? That could take time.”

  “Our backpacks have a cell phone pocket on the right side. It’ll take you five seconds, max.”

  “What’s the best time tomorrow?” I ask.

  She thinks a minute. “Eight-thirty.”

  “Why?”

  “School starts at eight. Anyone who’s late for school will be there by eight-ten, or they won’t come till nine.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re not allowed to enter a classroom more than ten minutes late. It’s disruptive.”

  “I like this more and more,” I say.

  Riley says, “Also, at eight-thirty all the teachers will be busy with classes. The teachers don’t start taking breaks till ten.”

  “Eight-thirty it is!” I say.

  I notice Riley staring at my computer screen.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No ma’am. But…could you go all the way back to the first four pictures? You sort of skipped over those.”

  “That’s because they didn’t turn out,” I say.

  “Sure they did,” Dillon says. “It’s just that I took them before turning on the lights.”

  “Why?”

  “To test the flash.”

  I scroll back to the beginning.

  She takes a long, hard look at two of the photos.

  “Do you see something?” I say.

  She looks a few more seconds, then says, “I guess not. They just look different, is all. I’d best head back to the mall.”

  We stand. “Thanks for coming, Riley. Maybe we’ll get lucky tomorrow morning with the cell phones.”

  She studies my face a minute. “I can’t believe someone punched you like that.”

  “I know, right? For the first time in years, guys are actually staring at my face.”

  Friday.

  Dillon, Sophie, and I are in the hallway of Carson Collegiate, where, as promised, the upper school lockers are completely devoid of locks.

  “The bell rings at eight-fifty-five,” I remind Dillon. “When that happens, the halls will be crowded.”

  “Which means I’ve got twenty minutes,” he says. “Don’t worry, I set the alarm on my cell phone.”

  “You’ve got it on vibrate, I hope.”

  “Of course!” he says.

  “Check it,” I say.

  He accesses his screen, frowns, and presses a button.

  “Good to go,” he says.

  Sophie says, “That little exchange didn’t inspire much confidence.”

  She and I split up and take our positions at opposite ends of the hall so we can warn Dillon if anyone approaches.

  Riley was right.

  Eight-thirty’s a perfect time for the crime.

  It takes Dillon less than three minutes to find both phones and walk fifteen steps to the boys’ bathroom, where he plans to lock himself in one of the stalls while searching through Ethan and Ronnie’s stored photographs.

  I’m positive both boys took pictures of Riley. If so, they probably shared them, which means both phones are likely to contain the same photos. But Dillon will be able to tell which photos were taken from each phone, which will help us build a case against both boys when all this goes before a judge.

  When Dillon finds the photos of Riley, he’ll forward them to his phone, and we’ll have our evidence. Then he’ll wipe his fingerprints off the phones and put them back where he found them.

  As the minutes pass, Sophie and I get increasingly nervous. We’re both well-known in Nashville, and even though we’re wearing wigs and ball caps, we feel as conspicuous as rats in a birdcage.

  At the eighteen-minute mark I’m in full panic mode. I send Dillon a warning text. Seconds later, he exits the bathroom, puts the phones back in the lockers, and starts walking down the hall, toward Sophie, who’s standing on the end closest to the exit. I start walking the same way, when the bell rings.

  Within seconds the hallway fills, as kids spill out of classrooms like dice in a Yahtzee game.

  I turn abruptly, and walk briskly, just short of a jog, toward the far side of the building. The faster I walk, the faster the blood pumps through my body, which makes the area around my eye ache from the blow I took yesterday.

  I pass the upper school office and hear a lady say, “May I help you?”

  I pretend I don’t hear, and keep going.

  As I approach the headmaster’s office, the door opens, and two men come out. They shake hands, then turn to see me flying toward them. They both look me up and down, as if I’ve spilled gravy all over the front of my dress.

  “Gentlemen,” I say as I approach.

  “Dani Ripper!” one of them says as I pass by.

  I don’t turn, don’t slow down. Just head out the door and start walking around the building till I see Dillon’s car coming toward me.

  “Close call!” Sophie says.

  I climb in the back seat. She opens the glove compartment and says, “You want your gun now?”

  “Hell no! I hate that thing. It gives me the creeps.”

  “Would you rather have another black eye?”

  Dillon says, “You can’t keep it in my car. I don’t have a permit.”

  “Fine,” I say. “Give me the gun.”

  She does, and I slip it in my handbag. Then say, “Someone just made me.”

  “Even with the wig? Who?” Dillon says.

/>   “I don’t know. Distinguished guy coming out of the headmaster’s office.”

  “So much for the disguise,” Sophie says.

  “Well, there wasn’t much I could do with half my face swollen like this. Give me some good news, Dillon, my face hurts like hell.”

  They look at each other.

  I say, “Good news, guys, nothing else.”

  No one speaks.

  “Guys?” I say. “Quit kidding around. What did you get, Dillon?”

  “Nothing,” Dillon says.

  “What?”

  “Nothing yet,” Sophie amends. “But there’s still a chance.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dillon says, “I started with Ethan’s phone. Searched for ten minutes, couldn’t find any photos of Riley. I was running out of time, so I downloaded all the photos and videos on his phone to mine. Then did the same with Ronnie’s phone.”

  “Okay, so you’ve got all their photos on your phone?”

  “Yes. And their videos.”

  “Then it’s just a matter of searching.”

  “Yeah, but I searched pretty well the first time. I started with the most recent and went back about four months. I didn’t see any photos of Riley.”

  “Could they be stored in a hidden area?”

  “I downloaded an app to their phones that pulls up every photo ever taken. Even photos they’ve taken in the past and erased.”

  “But you didn’t have time to go through the entire file.”

  “No.”

  “And you haven’t searched Ronnie’s yet.”

  “No.”

  “Just to be clear, their entire photo files are on your phone.”

  “Yes. And videos.”

  “Find a place to pull over. We’ll go through every picture, every video, one by one.”

  “Okay. But—”

  “But what?”

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  After reviewing the photos, I now know the man I saw at school talking to the headmaster was Gavin Clark, Ethan’s father.

  That’s not particularly good news, but it beats the hell out of the bad news. The bad news is there were no photos of Riley on either phone.

  Not one.

  Nada.

  Zip.

  Zilch.

  I can’t tell you how devastated I am. Can’t bear the thought of telling her.

  We go through that whole process where Sophie and I ask the same questions a dozen different ways. “Are you absolutely certain you downloaded every photo from both phones?” (Yes). “Could there have been some sort of password-protected storage area within the phone you couldn’t find?” (No). “Could they have sent the photos to some other location, such as a porn site they could access whenever they wanted?” (Yes, but because of the app Dillon installed, the photos would still show up as having been taken by the cell phone cameras).

  Sophie says, “Why was Ethan’s father talking to the headmaster?”

  “My guess? He’s probably reminding him how much he and the other nine sets of parents donate to the school.”

  “In case it goes to court?”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “But if he knows there are no photos, why bother?”

  “If Riley’s mom goes to the police, they’ll probably question everyone who was in Kelli’s house that night. They might want to interview them at school. They may want character references from the headmaster and teachers, or at the very least, cooperation. Gavin Clark’s a pro. He’s probably hedging his bet.”

  My phone rings.

  “It’s Riley,” I say. “Would either of you care to take the call?”

  “No way!” Dillon says.

  “Sophie?” I say.

  “She doesn’t even know me!”

  “True.”

  I answer the phone saying, “Wish I had better news, honey.”

  Riley says, “You couldn’t find the phones?”

  “We did find them.”

  “Dillon checked the photo files?”

  “He did. But found nothing.”

  She pauses a moment. “By nothing, you mean what, no nude photos?”

  “No photos of any kind.”

  “There were no photos of me on either phone?”

  “No. I’m so sorry, Riley. I feel terrible. I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

  “Confused,” she says. Then says something that stuns me. Something that reminds me that beyond the little girl innocence, the yes, ma’am, no ma’am Southern drawl politeness, there’s a reason she’s an honor student with a full academic scholarship.

  She’s brilliant.

  So she makes the stunning comment, which is actually a question, and I say, “Shit! I can’t believe we missed that! I’ll pass it on to Dillon, and we’ll talk to you after school.”

  “Want me to come to your office?”

  “Can you?”

  “I think so. Around four?”

  “Perfect. See you then. And Riley?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “If you ever want a summer job or need to do an internship, I get first dibs, okay?”

  “Wow, thanks Ms. Ripper! That would be great!”

  We hang up and Dillon says, “What was that all about?”

  “Riley just asked me a hell of a question.”

  “Which is?”

  “Pull over.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to see the look on your face when I ask it.”

  “It won’t be anything important,” he says.

  Sophie says, “Come on, Dillon, pull over! Dani’s not always right, but she’s always entertaining.”

  Dillon pulls over, puts the car in park, then turns to face me.

  “Go ahead,” he says, clearly annoyed.

  As if he’s the only genius in the world.

  “Ask me her brilliant, amazing question.”

  “The app you installed can access every photo ever taken from Ethan’s cell phone, right? Even if it’s been erased?”

  “I’ve told you that a hundred times.”

  “Yes, you have.”

  “So?”

  “So—brace yourself—where’s the picture of Riley passed out on the bed? The one we know he sent to Nathan Cain?”

  My kickboxing coach says Teofilo Stevenson’s punches had a concussive effect. Teo would catch you with a clean shot, but you’d keep fighting, as if nothing happened. Several seconds later, you’d stagger and crumple to the canvass. You’d been knocked out instantly, but it took a few seconds for your body to get the message. Riley’s question caused that type of delayed reaction before showing up on Dillon’s face, but those seconds have passed now, and his face is turning a dark shade of purple.

  He closes his eyes, starts muttering.

  Checks his phone.

  When he’s finally able to speak, he says, “Ethan’s dad must know someone high up in government security.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Someone permanently erased all pictures of Riley. It’s as if they were never taken in the first place.”

  “Why didn’t you consider that possibility before now?”

  “Because it’s impossible.”

  Sophie says, “Obviously not. I bet they erased Riley’s photos from all ten phones.”

  “All ten?” I say.

  I think about it. “Well, why not? That’s a lot of witnesses to keep up with. Gavin could have gotten all the guys together, rounded up all the cell phones, removed Riley’s photos.”

  Sophie says, “They probably had a meeting, where all ten brought their cell phones. While someone erased them, Gavin rehearsed the boys on what to say to the cops.”

  “And me.”

  “And you.”

  Dillon says, “The technology you’re talking about doesn’t exist. How could they permanently remove selected photos and not all the others? This type of technology would have to be at the highest government security level.”

 
Sophie says, “Would Ethan’s dad have that type of pull?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But according to Riley, he’s a bigwig.”

  Dillon says, “I’d like to know if that sort of technology is even possible.”

  “It has to be,” I say. “Otherwise, you’d have found the photo of Riley we already saw.”

  He looks at me. “Can you call your boyfriend?”

  Sophie arches an eyebrow.

  I wink at her, whip out my cell phone, call Donovan Creed.

  Creed says, “Dani, I pride myself on always being available for you, but I’m kind of busy right now, unless your life’s in danger.”

  “Has something terrible happened?”

  “I’ll know more when we get there.”

  “Where?”

  “Willow Lake, Arkansas. An entire neighborhood has just been blown off the map.”

  “Oh, my God, Donovan! Terrorists?”

  “We don’t know. Are you in danger?”

  “No. I—look, please. I wish I hadn’t called. I’m so sorry to bother you!”

  “Just a sec,” he says, covering the mouthpiece. I hear muffled conversation, then he says, “I’m on the tarmac, waiting to taxi. The pilot says I’ve got ninety seconds. What’s up?”

  “It seems so silly compared to—”

  “Dani?”

  “Yes?”

  “Just tell me what you need.”

  I take a quick breath and say, “I’ve been told it’s impossible to wipe selected photographs from a cell phone. In other words, to remove all traces of certain photos without affecting the others.”

  “That’s bullshit. We’ve been doing it for years.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Homeland Security. CIA. FBI. The Pentagon. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “Could the average civilian do it?”

  “No. These are classified programs.”

  “Quick question. If they’ve been wiped clean, is there any way to restore them?”

  “Not if we erased them.”

  I pause a moment. He says, “Is that it?”

  “Yes. I’m so sorry to bother you.”

  “No problem.”

  “Good luck, Donovan.”

  “You too.”

  I tell Dillon what Creed said.

  “That is so unfair!” Dillon says. “Why should the government have all the cool stuff?”

  “Don’t get me started,” I say.

  “You always say that.”