Once Darlene finished cataloging the purse and its contents, she carried everything to her minivan. I turned to Reich.

  “Do you know which classes the high school kids are taking?”

  Reich paused to think.

  “I have their names and addresses, but I’d have to check if I can access their class schedules,” he said, focusing on the computer. He typed for a moment. “Apparently, I can look them up. Who are you looking for?”

  “Girls in the English program whose names start with L.”

  He typed and clicked his tongue a few times.

  “I have a Laura and a Leticia. Both are eighteen and from Missouri. Their parents are alumni.”

  “Let’s talk to Laura.”

  Reich typed again before nodding.

  “She’s staying in Founders Hall, but many kids go home for the weekend.”

  “I’m pretty sure she’s here,” I said. “My partner has her underwear.”

  He paused before smiling in understanding.

  “Okay,” he said, stepping around the counter. “It’s about a block from here. We can walk or drive. Up to you.”

  “Let’s walk.”

  Reich agreed, and we set off across campus. Founders Hall, like every building at Waterford, had a red brick exterior with modern sash windows, a front portico, and dormers protruding from the rooftop. At four stories, it pushed the architectural design to the limit without looking top-heavy. Dogwood trees planted in symmetrical rows lined the exterior, covering most of the first-floor windows.

  Reich and I entered the well-appointed lobby and took the stairs to the third floor. Many residents left their doors open, so young women in comfortable, loose-fitting attire ambled about. We walked halfway down the hall before reaching an open door. Two young women used laptops at the room’s two built-in desks. A muted television in the background played a movie. I knocked on the doorframe. The ladies looked up.

  “Laura?” I asked. A girl with black, straight hair, olive-colored skin, and brown eyes nodded. Though she didn’t wear makeup, she didn’t need it. I reached for my badge on my belt. “I’m Detective Joe Court with the St. Augustine County Sheriff’s Department. Can we talk for a minute?”

  Laura said nothing. Her roommate asked if she could go. I smiled and nodded, so she slipped out and went across the hall.

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Just some girl talk,” I said, looking toward Reich. “Give us a minute.”

  He hesitated before stepping away, a scowl on his face. As much as I appreciated his help, I appreciated more that we didn’t work together often. A modern police department formed a team. Every officer had a job, and every job mattered. During a homicide investigation, my uniformed colleagues played ancillary roles. They assisted me and ensured I could do my job. During traffic investigations or domestic violence arrests, they took over and told me what to do. Specializations allowed us to work efficiently and safely.

  Laura was a young woman. I was a twenty-eight-year-old female detective. We weren’t peers, but I understood her world because. I had lived in it. Reich could have had kids her age. She wouldn’t talk to him, but she might talk to me. If he got pissy, that was his problem.

  Once Reich disappeared, I focused on Laura.

  “A woman was murdered in the Armstrong Educational Building.”

  She looked down at her desk and nodded.

  “I heard. That was messed up. My mom already called. She wants me to come home.”

  “Moms and dads worry about their kids. It’s part of parenthood. Do you feel safe?”

  She hesitated before nodding.

  “I think so,” she said. “It was a one-time thing, wasn’t it?”

  “Probably,” I said. “We haven’t figured it out. Sounds like you’re informed about my case.”

  She tilted her head to the side.

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “I hear you were in the Armstrong building last night.”

  She went quiet.

  “Did you visit the Armstrong building last night?”

  She blinked and shook her head.

  “No.”

  “You left your underwear,” I said.

  Her shoulders fell, and she closed her eyes but still said nothing.

  “You’re not in trouble for fooling around with your boyfriend. I’m looking for information.”

  “Devin’s not my boyfriend,” she said. “My boyfriend’s at home. You can’t tell him. Or my parents. They’ll make me go home.”

  I nodded and focused on her.

  “Okay,” I said. “You are eighteen years old. Your sex life is your business. I’m a detective, and I’m investigating a murder. That’s my business. Devin said you heard a fight. It involved a man and a woman. I think that woman was my murder victim. I need to find the man. Do you remember what they argued about?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “But you could ask Mr. Price.”

  The surname was familiar, so I flipped through my notes.

  “Andrew Price?”

  “He and my dad are friends, so I recognized his voice,” said Laura. “They were in the same fraternity. Dad didn’t come this year, but he loves Waterford. That’s why I’m going here.”

  I had interviewed Andrew Price in the Campus Center earlier, but he hadn’t mentioned knowing Gwen.

  “Are you sure it was him?”

  She looked away, appearing hesitant.

  “He and Dad can get loud when they drink too much,” she said. “Usually, he’s happy, but he wasn’t last night. Devin and I were…you know. I didn’t want to get caught, so I dressed and ran.”

  “I understand,” I said, nodding. “Thank you for talking to me.”

  As I left, she stood up.

  “You won’t tell my parents, will you? If they think I’m, you know…active, they’ll ground me until I’m married.”

  I smiled and raised my eyebrows.

  “You’re eighteen. You’re an adult. It’s your secret to keep. Your name will be in my report, but my report is private.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded, though she hardly looked relieved. I thanked her and headed out. Reich was waiting for me in the lobby.

  “She talked to you?”

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding. “I’ve got a suspect. We need to find Andrew Price.”

  9

  I had interviewed Andrew Price in the Campus Center’s lobby, so I headed in that direction first. As expected, he wasn’t there, but an alumnus who knew him was lounging in the lobby and suggested I try the History Department’s lecture on the Mississippi River and illegal alcohol smuggling. That led me to the auditorium in the Wilson Center for Performing Arts.

  The room held about 200 seats, each occupied by an alumnus. Around a dozen people stood at the back while a historian shared stories about moonshiners and smugglers who hid their illicit goods in the limestone caves that dotted the landscape around St. Augustine. The stories were funny, entertaining, and engrossing. The lecturer connected events on land owned by Waterford College to national struggles and even to Al Capone and the St. Valentine’s Day massacre in Chicago.

  Fifteen minutes after my arrival, the historian, a tenured faculty member at the college, finished his lecture and “dismissed” the class to scattered chuckles and a standing ovation. I slipped out into the hallway before anyone else could leave and watched for Andrew as the crowd exited. Even as the last alumni left, I still hadn’t seen him, so I peeked inside. He and several lecture-goers were on the stage, talking to the professor.

  I walked down the main aisle. Someone had turned on the room lights. When Andrew saw me, he furrowed his brow. I maintained direct eye contact, smiled, and motioned for him to come to me. He excused himself from the group and stepped off the stage.

  “Detective,” he said, nodding. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  “Me, either, but here I am,” I said.

  His eyes scanned me up and down, his feet shuffled, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. His smile seemed forced.

  “Yes, here you are,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “How well did you know Gwen Adams?”

  His smile faltered, and he cleared his throat as he shuffled backward. Then he furrowed his brow and shook his head.

  “The name isn’t familiar. Sorry.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He frowned and took a deep breath.

  “Yeah. I think so. I’m not familiar with the name.”

  “Oh, really?” I asked, pretending to be surprised. “She was a petite young woman with brown hair, green eyes, and skin slightly darker than mine. She was pretty. You may have met her at the party at the Campus Center last night. If you don’t remember her, maybe your spouse does. Is she around?”

  He placed a hand on my elbow and stepped closer to me. I pulled back.

  “Don’t do that,” I said, smiling but injecting sharpness into my voice. He held up his hands defensively.

  “I didn’t mean any offense,” he said. “I just thought we could talk.”

  “We can. I’ll even have someone pick you up and take you to my station.”

  He sighed and closed his eyes.

  “Is that necessary?”

  “Was it necessary to lie to me about your relationship with Gwen Adams?”

  He glanced around before shaking his head.

  “We didn’t have a relationship,” he said, smiling toward a couple on our right. “Can we talk somewhere more private?”

  “Where?” I asked. “I offered my station.”

  “There are classrooms all over the building. I’ll meet you in the lobby, and we can find one. Just let me tell my wife first so she doesn’t worry.”

  I considered his request.

  “Do you have your ID with you?”

  Again, he furrowed his brow.

  “I do, but why?”

  “Let me see it.”

  He hesitated before reaching into his wallet. Once he pulled out his driver’s license, I took it from his hand.

  “Thank you,” I said, looking at the address. “Ballwin’s a nice area. Their police department offered me a job a few years back. I’ll return this when we meet.”

  “I’m sure you would have been an asset to the force.”

  I snickered.

  “You withheld information you knew to be relevant to my investigation and lied to me about knowing Gwen Adams,” I said. “Flattery now won’t get you very far. If you lie to me again, you’ll have a very bad day. And if you run, your day will become even worse. Clear?”

  He nodded.

  “Great. Go talk to your wife. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  He thanked me and then rejoined the crowd on stage. A woman Andrew’s age glanced at me but then refocused on the conversation. I slipped into the lobby and found a seat. The college had events planned throughout the afternoon, murder or not, so the crowd departed. I waited and watched the auditorium door, growing increasingly annoyed the longer Andrew took. As the crowd dwindled to almost nothing, I went back inside. The auditorium was empty.

  I clenched my jaw, swore to myself, and scanned the room, looking for a stage exit for performers. I jogged across the room, climbed onto the stage, and hurried toward the backstage area. The space resembled a warehouse with racks full of sound equipment, lights, wooden sets, ropes, harnesses, and boxes full of electrical equipment. Ignoring the surroundings, I ran toward an open door on the right side.

  It led to a windowless hallway. There was only one way to go, so I ran, passing multiple dressing rooms and equipment rooms along the way. Then I arrived at a solid wooden door. I pushed it open and emerged into a back hallway with windows overlooking a parking lot. A pair of doors to the left presumably led outside, while the hallway continued past closed classroom doors to the right. Andrew and the woman sprinted away.

  They both stopped when they saw me. I waved at them. They didn’t move, so I started walking toward them.

  “We must have had some miscommunication,” I said, smiling. “I thought we agreed to meet in the lobby after you told your wife you had to go. I guess I said back hallway.”

  Andrew grimaced while his wife scowled and stared at me.

  “We have nothing to say to you,” she said.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Mary,” she said. I smiled.

  “Nice to meet you, Mary. I’m sorry for the circumstances,” I said. “And it’s unfortunate that you have nothing to say because I might have to arrest your husband for murder.”

  She screwed up her face.

  “On what evidence?”

  I ignored her and focused on Andrew.

  “Where were you last night?”

  “At my fraternity’s fundraiser. I was in the Campus Center until 1:00 A.M.”

  “You didn’t leave?”

  He hesitated and looked at his wife but then shook his head.

  “Only to go to the restroom.”

  “Did you go to the restroom in the Armstrong Educational Building?”

  Mary looked down and crossed her arms, while Andrew shook his head.

  “What are you getting at?”

  “I have a witness who places you in the Armstrong Educational Building, shouting at Gwen Adams right before she died. Care to talk about that?”

  Mary shook her head.

  “That’s preposterous,” she said. “My husband was at a party. He’s been talking about it for weeks. Everybody at that party knows him. If he left, people would have noticed.”

  “Did you?”

  She started to say something, but then she shook her head.

  “I’m done answering questions. I want a lawyer.”

  I looked at Andrew, raised my eyebrows, and smiled.

  “You want to talk to me?” I asked.

  “I want a lawyer, too,” he said.

  “That’s fair,” I said, nodding. “You two are my primary suspects in this case. I’m going to dig into Gwen’s life, looking for connections to either of you. Once I find one, I’ll use that on a search warrant affidavit. I’ll investigate your finances, talk to your neighbors, interview your friends, visit your workplaces, and subpoena your cell carrier for your emails, text messages, and call records. I will know more about you than anyone you’ve ever met. Any secrets you have, I’m going to know. We can avoid that with a conversation.

  “Did you argue with Gwen the day she died?”

  Andrew shook his head.

  “I want a lawyer.”

  I gritted my teeth and smiled.

  “Of course,” I said, reaching for my purse. I pulled out a business card and his ID. “Have them call me.”

  He took my card and his ID, but I doubted I’d hear from him until I made an arrest. I didn’t know where the back door went, but I stepped through it and found myself on a single-lane road that led nowhere. Somehow, I had walked into a weird metaphor for my entire life. Fitting.

  I walked around the building until I found a familiar landmark. Then I headed toward the public safety office and my truck, which was parked outside. For a few minutes, I just sat in the front seat and let my frustration wash over me. Then I sucked it up and focused. My primary suspects and most important witnesses had all requested attorneys. I needed to find alternate sources of information.

  For a few minutes, I drummed my fingers on my steering wheel. Then I flipped through my notes. We had Gwen’s phone and purse now. Might as well use them. I grabbed my phone and dialed Gwen’s parents. Her mom answered immediately.

  “Ms. Adams, this is Detective Joe Court,” I said. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, her voice soft. “Gwen’s sister is here now. We’re going to come to St. Louis soon.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I’ve made some progress on the case. We’ve found Gwen’s cell phone and purse. I would love to examine the phone, but it’s protected by a passcode. Do you, by any chance, know it?”

  “No, but Emmie might,” she said. “Hold on.”

  I waited for a moment. A younger sounding woman answered.

  “Detective?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’m Joe Court,” I said. “Are you Gwen’s sister?”

  “Yeah.”

  “First, I’m very sorry for your loss. Gwen seems like a terrific person. People loved her,” I said. She thanked me. “As your mom might have told you, I’m investigating Gwen’s death, and we’ve found her purse and phone. It’s a longshot, but she might have talked to her killer prior to her death. Do you know her phone’s passcode?”

  She didn’t have to think.

  “It’s 1214. Our grandparents lived at 1214 Cook Street. Our grandma used to pick us up after school while mom and dad worked. Grandma thought we were skinny, so she gave us ice cream after school. Then we’d walk Grandpa’s dog, Scout. He was an old yellow lab. He outweighed us both combined, but he had arthritis.”

  “That’s a nice memory.”

  “Yeah,” she said, her voice on the verge of tears. “I have to go.”

  She handed the phone back to her mother, who was also crying. I expressed my condolences again and promised to do my best for Gwen. Then I hung up and felt myself sink into the seat. Every case I’ve investigated mattered, but some hurt more than others.

  I had a little sister. Her name was Audrey. I first met her when I was sixteen. She was in elementary school, but even then, her clothes mattered to her. She showed me her entire wardrobe and then asked if I could braid her hair. Before Audrey even knew me, she welcomed me into the family. Then, I didn’t have friends. I had been too hurt for friendship. Audrey—and my entire adoptive family—loved me anyway. I’d never forget that. I couldn’t imagine losing her.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to dwell on memories. Instead, I turned on my truck and headed to my station. Darlene had already secured Gwen’s cell phone in the evidence vault, so I asked Mark Bozwell, our evidence technician, to retrieve it for me. He dutifully complied, although he stared at my chest for several moments when he thought I wasn’t looking. At least he was consistent.

 

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