Page 48 of Go Under

“Yep,” Marcus agreed, already doing so. “Thank God for invasion of privacy.”

Kate gave him a fishy look, but she was smiling, too. This was exactly what they needed. Just a little bit of luck.

“Okay,” Marcus said. “I have Carter Doyle listed as deceased in November of ’22, and… Got it! Iris Doyle, 3424 Hampton Court.”

“That’s in Queen Village,” Darnell said. “We’ll call Philadelphia PD on the way and get officers on scene.”

He checked his phone and cursed. How had time flown that fast? It was nearly eleven-thirty. “Let’s get moving ahead of them. I’m worried about the lateness of the hour.”

“Yeah, me too,” Kate agreed, “but let’s keep our heads up. We know where to go now. We can get ahead of Nora and stop her before she kills Iris.”

She delivered that in an upbeat voice, but Darnell could hear the anxiety in her voice. They’d walked through a maze to get the answer they needed, and answer that their killer might already have. They were counting on their hard work beating Nora’s belief that she was in control of the situation.

Nothing Nora had done so far suggested she was taking her time.

The drive to Queen Village was another exercise in frustration. The snowfall had left fresh powder on top of patch ice. Darnell’s SUV was equipped with snow tires and four-wheel-drive, but that only made the vehicle drivable. In these conditions, fast wasn’t an option. Three times, the truck slid, and Darnell had to feather the throttle and fight with the steering wheel to keep them on course.

Other drivers weren’t so lucky. Halfway to the village, they came to the scene of an accident. A semi-truck—on the road for God only knows what reason in this weather—had lost control and crashed into a streetlight. The light had fallen, and the short had taken out all of the streetlights on the block. A line of vehicles eight deep blocked all lanes of traffic.

Darnell cursed softly and turned down a side street. “We’ll loop up to Ravenscourt and then come around the backside of Tarant Street,” he said, knowing the out-of-towners would have no idea what he was talking about but needing to say it aloud to keep his energy level under control. “It’ll add two minutes to the drive. No big deal. Any luck reaching Iris?”

Marcus shook his head. His face was pasty white. “No. I’ve left two messages.”

“Leave another. She’s probably not answering a number she doesn’t recognize, but maybe repeated voicemails will get her to check.”

If she was even awake at this hour. According to Iris’s DOT records, she was seventy-four years old now. Darnell had never met a seventy-four-year-old in his life who stayed up past ten o’clock.

They turned north on Ravenscourt, and Darnell’s heart sank. Another accident, this one an overturned vehicle that had crashed into an embankment, bounced off, and taken out a panel truck. Fire and rescue had blocked traffic in all four directions while they tried to address the situation.

Why the goddamned hell were commercial vehicles out in this goddamned weather? Why was anyone out?

Recognizing the irrationality of his thoughts didn’t help him control them. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel and jumped out of the vehicle. “Stay here,” he told the other two.

The police officer responding to the scene frowned at Darnell. “Sir, this is an active crime scene.”

Darnell blinked. “What? Crime scene?”

The officer glanced at his FBI ID badge, clipped to the outside of his jacket. His expression softened. “DUI. Guy in the Hyundai’s at twice the legal limit, or I’m a rooster. He lost control and jumped a curb. Spun out, flipped over, and blue-shelled the panel truck.”

“What? Blue-shelled?”

“Oh,” the officer chuckled. “It’s a Mario Kart reference. The blue shell is the one that knocks you out. You’ll be in first place, a clear path to victory ahead of you, and the next thing you know, you’re spinning out of control, blinking, then respawning at the back of the pack. It’s shitty, but who wants an easy way to win, right?”

I do. I very much want an easy way to win. “Can you clear a path for me, please? I’m responding to a very urgent situation.” He frowned. “Did you not receive a call about Iris Doyle?”

“I did. I didn’t respond because I was already here.”

“I’m responding. So are several of your officers. Her life is in danger, and I need to get through.”

The officer hissed, baring his teeth in that godawful fake look of pain people used when they were trying to soften bad news. “Well… I don’t know what to tell you, man. This is the weakest storm I’ve ever seen, but it came at a bad time. That half-melt earlier in the day turned into a freeze the moment the cold front came in. We’ve got powder over ice all over the city. There are nine accidents in Queen Village alone. I know people are trying, but frankly a might-be death gets shuffled below actual death. This accident isn’t fatal, but four of the others are.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the cold front formed in Darnell’s spine. “No one can get through.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Can I get through? Please? You could just move the paramedic vans, and I’ll slip through.”

“Not my call, sir. I’m sorry.”