The Perfectionists

Chapter 20

THAT AFTERNOON, UMA SAT ON the edge of the paper-lined bed at her orthopedic clinic, pushing her foot into her physical therapist's palm for her weekly appointment. "Okay, now flex," the therapist, a tall, strapping Russian whose name was Igor, said, watching her face as she moved her ankle around.

"It feels pretty good," Uma said. "Good." Igor kept rolling her foot in different directions, his hands cool and careful.

In the corner, a local news station played, muted but with closed captions. A breaking-news alert rolled across the bottom of the screen.

LOCAL BOY KILLED WITH CYANIDE.

She flinched. Igor looked at her sharply. "Did that hurt?"

"No." She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Igor gently let go of her foot. "Um, could you turn that up?" she asked. Igor looked confused for a second, then grabbed the remote from a nearby table and handed it to Uma. The sound came on instantly.

"Let's talk a little more about cyanide," the reporter was saying, her voice strangely chipper. "And for that, I'd like to introduce Dr. John Newlin, forensics expert. Dr. Newlin?"

The doctor cleared his throat. "Cyanide poisoning is a classic method of both murder and suicide, mostly because the drug acts so quickly and looks like a cardiac event. The poison impedes the victim's ability to use oxygen, making the victim feel as though he is suffocating."

"And cyanide isn't a common substance, right?" the reporter interrupted. "In the Florian case, how could a murderer have gotten hold of it?"

"Well," said the doctor, "there are several professions that would allow access to cyanide in one form or another: chemists, photographers, pest control, mineral refining, dyeing, printing . . . The investigators are likely looking at people who have connections to those industries."

Uma stiffened. She assumed cyanide would be hard to come by, but it sounded like there were a million ways to get it. What if she or the other girls had it in their garage or basement, without even knowing it? What then?

"What about the chem lab at school?" the reporter asked.

John Newlin paused. "A chemistry professor would know how to obtain potassium cyanide—old chemistry sets used to include it, in fact. But it's difficult to imagine a teacher introducing such a dangerous chemical into the classroom."

"Thank you for joining us, John. There continue to be no new leads in the Florian investigation. Now, at the top of the next hour—"

Uma turned off the TV and leaned back on the table. Her heart was racing.

"Were you friends with him?" Igor asked, a sympathetic look in his eyes. Uma chewed on the corner of her lip. "I didn't really know him that well."

Igor nodded. "Well, a crime like this affects everyone in the community, whether or not you were friends with him. It's terrible. I hope whoever did it rots in jail."

Rots in jail. Her heart thudded in time with the words. That might be her future. Uma thought back to the police interrogation and the detective's face grinning when he said she clearly had motive. She shuddered at the idea that the cops were sitting around, talking about her.

About them.

She glanced at her phone. Audrey had sent a message last night: Just looked thru Bogie's shit at the lighthouse. Nada. It was a code: Bogie was their name for Jay, after Humphrey Bogart, whom he was always talking about, and the lighthouse was Auradon Prep. Where could they go from here? How could they pin this on Jay? Did he have access to cyanide? The reporter had said photographers used it, and Jay ran a photography club.