The Blackbird Papers by Ian Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

today.”
    Stangle nodded. “Good point.”
    “Captain! Captain!” McGran was yelling from the cruiser. The trees swallowed his voice as if he were calling from inside a cave. He had the radio transmitter in his hand, but his fingers were so big, the only thing visible was the black cord dangling from his closed fist. Stangle and Sterling turned toward McGran. “They found the car!” he yelled.
    “What?” Stangle grumbled. He and Sterling quickly walked back to McGran.
    “Dispatch just called it in,” McGran said. “The Hanover boys found the car about ten minutes ago.”
    “Where the hell is it?”
    “Over behind Kellogg Auditorium in the medical school parking lot.”
    “Is Wilson in the car?” Sterling asked. He tightened his stomach for the blow.
    “Negative. The car was locked and the windows rolled up. The keys are still in the ignition.”
    Sterling turned to Stangle. “Ready to go?”
    Stangle looked at McGran. “Tell them we'll be there in five, six minutes tops,” Stangle said. He took one last volley with the cigar then spit it to the ground with a determined grunt. “Follow me.”

7
    S terling closely trailed Stangle's flashing cruiser through the narrow streets of Dartmouth's campus. They slowed down when they reached the expansive green in the middle of town, then took a series of turns before speeding past stately Baker Library. It was now eleven o'clock in the morning and the campus was waking up with a big yawn from the previous night's parties. The studious lugged heavy backpacks through the library's revolving doors, while others had squeezed into their spandex leggings and oversized sweatshirts to jog in small packs along the quiet roads.
    Sterling took in the old buildings, their bricks recently washed, the wood boasting a fresh coat of white paint. As much as he preferred the jagged New York skyline and its imposing towers, he couldn't help but admire Hanover's rustic beauty and wholesome charm. While he had never visited the campus before, he had seen its picturesque vistas many times on the postcards that Wilson had sent home. Their mother had displayed them prominently. What Sterling found astonishing was that the campus was actually more pristine and majestic than the postcards had indicated.
    Captain Stangle turned his sirens off, but kept the lights flashing as he made several turns down the sandy roads and approached a cluster of understated buildings. The modest sign on the lawn announced DARTMOUTH MEDICAL SCHOOL , 1786. Like most research buildings, these had been built for efficiency and practicality rather than for design—slabs of pale concrete piled carelessly on crumbling brick and large rusted beams.
    They drove down a small incline to the back of the buildings and entered a deserted parking lot. A hundred yards or so into the lot, Sterling counted eight green-and-white cruisers. They were parked in front of an abandoned lime green parking structure that looked like it was begging for the wrecking ball.
    Sterling stopped near the auditorium and surveyed the moss-ravaged brick and the two entrances, one on each side of the building. A walking bridge connected the auditorium to the bigger maze of ugly buildings.
    He eased the Mustang toward the flashing lights and pocketed his small black-leather book before joining Stangle and the other officers. The cruisers belonged to both the Hanover Police Department and Dartmouth Security.
    “Morning, Cap'n,” one of the Hanover officers called out to Stangle as he approached the group. He was the shortest of the eight men, but had the cocky swagger of a man in charge.
    “Well, Serge, it looks like the sun might be kind enough to keep us warmer today,” Stangle said. Talking about the weather was the way most people began their conversations in these cold mountains, even when there was a serious matter at hand. “This is Agent Sterling Bledsoe. FBI. He'll be leading the investigation from their end. He's also the Professor's