Particles of Murder (A Shadow of Death Romantic Suspense Series Book 1) (16 page)

* * *

T
he chemistry lab
is one of the cleanest rooms I've ever seen. Everything is steel, glass, or rubber, and it's all spotless.

"So, what does this poison look like?" John asks.

"Aconite comes from the flower Aconitum. It can be several different colors--purple, blue, yellow, white...I think I saw a photo of a pink one once. The two upper petals are large, but there are some smaller ones--"

"You know what? I'll just tell you if I find a plant," he says. "And I'll avoid touching anything that doesn't need to be touched."

"Well, it doesn't have to be in flower form," I say. "It could be crushed up, it could be dried out and put in a jar...I don't know. I don't think a smart killer would leave it in here, but maybe that's what he or she wants us to think. But that's not the only thing we should look for. This person had to use different tools to change aconite from its original form. I remember reading that in traditional Chinese medicine, the roots are soaked and boiled, which eventually make them less poisonous."

"You really need to find more interesting things to read."

"So, anyway," I say, ignoring him, "there could be residue of the poison in some of this equipment. I'm sure the killer was very careful, but he or she could have easily missed something."

"Can't you just have the body autopsied again?" John asks.

"I texted Tim," I say. "He's going to check Everett's body first, then Iris. Victoria was already cremated."

"Pleasant," he mutters. "So, why are we doing this?"

"You don't have to be here if you don't want to be."

"I want to be here," he says. "I just want to know why I'm here."

"Because if the killer made it here, then we know they're a Tuskmirth student or professor," I say. "Because, for all we know, they could have been at Iris's college this whole time. And if this poison was made here, then the killer is likely connected to the chemistry department. Do you know if any of your students were double majoring or had a minor in chemistry?"

"I may have had a few with a major in chemistry who took my Intro to Creative Writing class to fulfill a general ed requirement, but I can't be certain. I can check my current roster, but Victoria and Iris were both old students. I could have taught the killer years ago.”

“What are you doing here?” a man’s voice asks.

Both of us spin around to see Dominic, Alex, and Brian. Dominic’s usual stoic face is tainted with anger, his top lip curled up and his nostrils flared. I have no idea what I did that could have incited that much rage.

“Dr. Zimmer was just giving me a tour of the school,” I lie. “You guys have a really nice campus.”

“Fuck off,” he says to me. He turns to John. “I was talking to you. I’ve been hearing all about you lately. First from Victoria and now everyone is talking about how all the victims are connected to you. Don’t you find that…intriguing?”

“I’m not the killer, Dominic,” John says. He takes a step back. I don’t blame him. Dominic’s fists are both balled up and he seems like a second away from losing all self-control.

“What kind of professor gives a student a key to their office?” he hisses. “Who spends so much one-on-one time with their students? Or, should I say, their female students?”

“I gave her the key to my office because I trust her,” John says. “And I spend as much time with my students as I think they need to become better writers. It’s a simple matter of—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps, taking a step forward. As it seems like he’s about to hit John and I’m preparing to tackle him, Alex rushes forward. His fist comes first, slamming against John’s head. In a moment of confusion, I watch them scramble on the floor.

“You killed them all, didn’t you?” Alex accuses, grabbing the front of John’s shirt. “Then you tried to blame it on us.”

I try to grab Alex, but he’s too large to be pushed off John. As he spins around to face me, he swings his arm toward my face. I grab his arm. He tries to wrench it out of my grasp, but his large sweater sleeve allows me to keep a grip. I yank him to the left, but he still barely moves. As he stands up, his hands are balled up, so I know I need to move before he’s stable on his feet. But before I can react, John grabs Alex’s ankle, jerking it backward. Alex stumbles back, tripping over John’s body and falling to the floor. He lands on his arm with a pain-filled grunt.

John scrambles to his feet, backing up against a wall. He touches a growing lump on his cheek.

“Are you okay?” I ask him.

He nods.

Alex gets onto his feet, cradling his arm.

“All of you know that I’m connected to the police,” I say. “Unless you want to get into trouble—and being involved in the attack of a professor would certainly get you expelled—I’d suggest you get out of here and not bother Dr. Zimmer again. The police are dealing with the investigation. None of you needs to.”

Alex and Brian scurry away. Dominic glares at John with as much disgust and hatred as I’ve seen parents show when their child’s killer is on trial. His girlfriend’s murder will affect him for the rest of his life, but the way he’s going, it will lead him to a much darker place.

After he walks away, I walk over to John.

“So that’s what college is like these days?” I ask.

“Only on the good days.” He smiles before wincing from the movement. “What was that even about? Do you think Alex had feelings for Victoria?”

I shrug. “He indicated that he didn’t, but he could have been lying. Maybe he’s just Dominic’s henchman and did the attacking for him.”

“I don’t know, he seemed pretty determined to hit me as hard as possible,” he says. “I think I heard his finger crack. Who does that?”

“Frat boys with big egos,” I say. “Come on. You need to ice that.”

* * *

J
ohn’s house
is only about ten minutes away from the school. It’s a spacious house with white walls and dark blue carpet in the entryway. He leads me the kitchen, which is small compared to the rest of the house. We can barely move around in it without bumping into each other.

“You haven’t decorated much,” I say. “How long have you lived here?”

“Four years,” he says. “But I never make any place my home. I’m always looking forward to moving up to a better college—I’m hoping to teach at one of the Ivy League colleges—so I treat it like a hotel room.”

“Still, I would think a person in the arts would find this boring.”

“My art is in my head,” he says. “I can create whole worlds that are too big to fit in my apartment.”

“I thought you hated science-fiction.”

He smiles. “It’s not just science fiction where we create new worlds. We create new worlds based on reality—a world where we don’t worry about terrorism, war, taxes….”

I check out his cheek. “You said you had an ice bag in here.”

He grabs the bag out of one of the drawers and fills it with ice. He places it against his cheek.

“What about the rest of you?” I ask, indicating his whole body. “You fell pretty hard when he tackled you.”

“I’m fine,” he says. “Unless you want to check yourself? I do seem to have a pain in my ass.”

“Cute,” I drawl.

“We didn’t exactly find anything in the chemistry room,” he says.

“Yeah, it would have been a miracle if we did, though,” I say. “What about how Iris’s room had been broken into? The killer must have been putting the poison in something she touched or ate.”

“I know she took antidepressants,” he says. “Or she did when I taught her. Maybe the killer put it in one of her capsules. It would give her enough time to be at her class before the poison took effect.”

“Right,” I say. “We can’t be sure about Victoria, but it seems that all of the poisonings happened in a public place, so it must have taken time to take effect.”

“Not to mention an extremely gifted chemist,” he says. “The person would have to be either an excellent student or maybe a professor, but that wouldn’t make sense if they’re attached to—”

“Wait,” I say. “Alex.”

“Yeah, I remember Alex. He punched me,” John says.

“Alex once mentioned luminol to me,” I say. “Forensic scientists use it to test for trace amounts of blood. But he didn’t just know it existed. He knew how it worked. He knew that it caused unstable organic peroxide. He has to be involved with chemicals. The average person wouldn’t know that. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

“But why would he hit me?” John asks. “Doesn’t that draw attention to him?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “He saw us in the chemistry room. Maybe he thought we were getting too close. Hell, maybe all his frat buddies are involved. I doubt it, though.”

“Could he have been the one who attacked you before?”

I shake my head. “I can’t be sure. And was he ever your student?”

“No,” he says. “This doesn’t add up. I don’t even know him. My closest connection to him would have been Victoria.”

“Maybe there’s something more going on,” I say. “Somebody doesn’t just go to another college to break into a woman’s room to….wait. He broke into her room. Through the window, right?”

He nods. “Yeah. The window was made up of two window panes. The bottom one was broken.”

“Which would have cut up the person’s arm,” I say. “If Alex had hurt his arm and, say, needed a cast, it would cover up any other injury to his arm. Dammit, he’s smart.”

“His choice of victims still doesn’t make sense to me,” John says.

“Then let’s go ask him,” I say.

* * *

W
hen we reach
the frat house, I'm five steps ahead of John. I knock on the door. Over a minute passes. I'm about to knock again when the door opens.

"Hello?" a young woman answers, rubbing her right eye. She's wearing a man's shirt that barely covers her ass. "Whattaya want? If somebody had a noise complaint, they can shove it up their ass because this is a college campus and--"

"I don't have a noise complaint," I say. "I need to talk to Alex."

"Alex? I don't know where he is," she says.

"He's usually here," I say. "Why wouldn't he be here?"

"I don't know," she mumbles. "But everyone else was looking for him, too. I don't know. Why are you asking so many questions? It's still early."

“It’s nearly lunch time. If you see him, can you—”

As I pull out my old business card, I hear an engine roaring to life. I spin around to see Alex in a black convertible. His gaze locks with mine, before I see that realization that he knows that I know he’s involved. His car jerks back and drives straight into the road. He spins his car around and heads west.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter, running toward my car, half-forgetting about John. He runs with me, getting into the passenger seat, just as I pull out of the frat house’s driveway. I speed after Alex, but I already know it’s a lost cause. Chasing after him will only make him drive faster, which could cause an accident, and if I’m caught, I’m certain to hear a mouthful from Detective Stolz. She’ll probably ensure that I’ll get the toughest penalty possible out of pure spite.

I don’t need to follow him, though. I know somebody who can find him.