The moment Paige had that thought, she knew that it was absolutely true. She couldn’t be there in the FBI headquarters right then. She couldn’t just stand out there while Christopher took another run at Sanders.
She started walking, grabbing her laptop from Christopher’s office and heading down to the street. Paige caught a cab there, not quite knowing what to do next.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
Paige was about to give the address for her apartment, when she realized that if she went there feeling like this, she would just sit there, still not knowing what to do, not quite achieving anything.
She could go back to the academy, but what would it look like if she went there now? It would seem as though she’d been thrown off the case. It would seem as if she wasn’t up to the life of being an FBI agent.
Maybe she wasn’t. So far, Paige hadn’t been close to good enough at the physical aspects of the training, and if Christopher didn’t trust her judgement either, what did that say about her prospects as an agent? Nothing good.
“Where to, lady?” the driver asked again.
Paige knew then where she needed to go: to the place where she’d always gone when she’d been having trouble with her thesis. To the friend and mentor that she knew she could rely on.
She needed to go see Professor Thornton.
*
The Thorntons’ place was large and timber framed, old and well cared for, and even pulling up there felt as though it let Paige relax a little. She’d been there so many times, and always received a warm welcome. For a long time, when she and her mother hadn’t really been talking, the Thorntons had been like a family Paige had chosen.
Haley Thornton met her at the door, in her fifties, round faced and pleasantly plump, with a cheerful smile. She had spiked blonde hair and a large collection of piercings through both ears.
“Paige!” she said, stepping forward to give Paige a hug. That was simply the kind of welcome Paige got here. “We weren’t expecting you today. We thought you’d be training over at the academy. Wait, your face… what’s wrong?”
Paige knew better than to try to hide her unhappiness right then. “I was helping Agent Marriott with another case and things… they’re wrong. I don’t know what to do next.”
Haley held her out at arm’s length. “It sounds as if you need to talk to Francis. Come in, he’s in his study. You know the way by now. I’ll bring coffee through.”
Paige did know the way. She’d been to this house, and this study, more times than she could count. Paige went to it now, and although the door was open, she still knocked.
Professor Thornton was in his fifties, tall where his wife was short, with a short dark beard with more gray in it than he probably liked. He was sitting in a brown leather office chair. He was dressed in khaki slacks and a cream shirt, while glasses rested on his nose. The study around him seemed to fit like a glove, every inch of the walls given over to shelves holding a mixture of books, ornaments, and pictures. Paige was surprised but pleased to see a picture from her own graduation there among it all.
“Paige, it’s good to see you,” he said with a smile as he saw her. He gestured to a hardbacked chair set against the wall. “Please, come in, take a seat. I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“No… I… I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do next,” Paige said, as she took the seat.
“Are things not going well with your training?” Prof. Thornton said. “Or is it something else? Your mother, perhaps?”
“No, everything’s fine with mom,” Paige replied. “Have you… have you seen the murders that have been in the news the last few days?”
“It’s hard to avoid them,” Prof. Thornton said. He looked at Paige with a sudden note of concern. “Wait, are you involved with the investigation somehow? But you haven’t completed your training yet.”
“Agent Marriott asked me for my help,” Paige said. “Only now… I think we have the wrong suspect, and I can’t convince him.”
“Then maybe you need more evidence.”
That seemed easy to say, harder to put into practice.
“Where am I going to get more evidence?” Paige said. “Christopher’s right, I’m not an agent. I can’t just go out and start questioning witnesses or demanding that forensics give me whatever they have.”
“No,” Prof. Thornton said. “But that’s not why you’re on this case, is it, Paige?”
“What do you mean?” Paige asked.
“If you’re helping with a case, it’s because Agent Marriott believes that you can provide an insight into the killer, yes?”
“Well… yes,” Paige admitted.