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Kaleidoscopic ies spun around me, and shrieks of terror ricocheted off the walls The situation went fro to pick out a stocky boy with long brown hair, square jaw, the eyes of a killer — but I didn’t see him

Where was Hans Vetter?

Where was he?

Chapter 115

THE LAB INSTRUCTOR stood transfixed at the front of the rooe He was in his thirties, balding, wearing a green cardigan and what looked like bedroom slippers under the cuffs of his trousers He shoved his hands out in front of himself as if to push us out of his classroom He announced his name — Dr Neal Weinstein — and demanded, “What the hell? What the hell is this?”

If it weren’t so da, it would’ve been al hands and his PhD, face down adrenaline-pumped federal law enforcement officers primed to blow the place apart

“I have a warrant for the arrest of Hans Vetter,” I said, holding both the warrant and un in front of me

Weinstein shouted, “Hans isn’t here”

A white fe in her lower lip, peeked out fro,” she said “He toldaway”

“You saw hi?” I asked

“I talked to him on his cell”

“Did he say where he was going?”

She shook her head “He only told me because I wanted to borrow his car”

I left marshals behind to interview Weinstein and his students, but as Conklin and I left the building, I felt terra firma shimmy beneath my feet

Hawk’s death last night had sent Pidge underground