“Nothing as far as I know,” Agent Shirley said. “When will you check out this school?”
Cork looked at Dross, who gave a nod.
“No time like the present,” he said.
They left the situation at Irene Boyle’s house to the Cloquet police. On the way to Sizemore, Cork used his cell phone to look up the school online. It had been in operation for over a decade. Its central building housed the administrative offices and the educational rooms. There was also a dormitory and a gymnasium. The curriculum was designed to educate and rehabilitate. Residents came from both the private sector and the court system. As far as he could tell, there were no complaints or issues regarding the school’s oversight of its charges.
It was full dark by the time they reached the campus. The large administrative building was unlit, but there were lots of lights on in the dormitory building. Dross pulled into the empty parking lot, and they walked to the dormitory. As they neared the entrance, a security light came on. The door was locked, but a sign on the wall advised that they should ring the bell for admittance, which they did.
“Yes?” a voice said through a wall-mounted speaker.
There was security camera high in a corner of the entrance alcove, and Dross lifted her badge toward it. “Sheriff Marsha Dross. I’d like to come in and speak with someone in charge.”
At the sound of the buzzer, they opened the door and entered. To the right of the entrance was a reception desk, behind which sat a young man whom Cork figured to be in his late twenties, with a scruffy beard and a ponytail. He wore a blue T-shirt that bore an image of a bicycle and under it the word CYCOLOGIST. He stood up when Dross and Cork approached the desk.
“I’m Tim Foley,” he said. “One of the resident counselors. What can I do for you?”
“We’re trying to locate Irene Boyle.”
“She’s not on the campus at the moment. What’s this about? One of our kids?”
“We need to speak to Ms. Boyle on another matter.”
“You might try her home. She lives in Cloquet.”
“We’ve just come from her home. She’s not there.”
“I’m not sure I can help you then.”
“How well do you know Irene?” Dross asked.
“We’re kind of a close-knit family here.”
From somewhere out of sight arose the swell of bombastic music. Foley smiled. “Movie night in our lounge. It was girls’ choice this time. They’re watching The Hunger Games.”
“How long have you been here?”
“You mean today?”
“Employed as a counselor?”
“A little less than a year.”
“Familiar with a former resident named Fawn Blacksmith?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“You say you’re like a close-knit family,” Cork said. “Any idea if Irene was seeing anybody?”
“Seeing?”
“In a relationship,” Cork clarified.
“I couldn’t say. Guess we’re not that close-knit. But…”
“But what?” Cork said.
“We had a staff meeting scheduled late today. She got a phone call in the middle of it. Took the call out in the hallway. When she returned, she said she had to leave, no explanation.”
“Did she seem worried?”
He thought a moment. “I’d say eager. Look, there are others on staff who’ve been here longer and probably know her better. Maybe Candyce Osterkamp. She and Irene are good friends. She’ll be back in the morning. You could check with her then.”
“Do you have her phone number?”
“I don’t. I’m sorry.”
Dross asked him to spell the name, wrote it down, then handed him her business card. “If you think of anything that might be helpful, give me a call.”
Before heading to Aurora, they swung back by Irene Boyle’s house. The Cloquet PD cruiser was gone. Dross called the department.
“Apparently, they canvassed the neighbors and came up with nothing,” she told Cork when she’d ended the call. “They said there’s no reason to suspect foul play at the moment. They’ll check the residence again in the morning to see if she’s returned. If not, they’ll make a decision about how to proceed.”
“Try her cell phone again?” Cork suggested.
Dross did and again got no answer.
“Tim Foley said she got a call that made her leave the meeting this afternoon,” Cork said. “Maybe we can get her phone records, find out who that was.”
