Particles of Murder (A Shadow of Death Romantic Suspense Series Book 1) (3 page)

“If they don’t want to deal with it, they shouldn’t bring it on themselves.” He spins around and walks away from me.

I admire his passion and his heart is in the right place, but sometimes I just want to talk about new music or how dolphins are secretly assholes. Instead, I get told about human trafficking and how 75% of prisoners who are released from prison are rearrested within five years. Sometimes I want to ask him why he’s so focused on the bad things that happen in life, but I know it’s because of Sarah and he has simply chosen the hard truth over happiness.

Or, at least, what he suspects is the truth.

I continue walking to the English building, Kasparian Hall. When I reach the crime scene, everything looks exactly the same except Victoria Glassman’s body is gone and there’s an eerie feeling without anyone else around. I crouch down near the site where she fell. In all likelihood, her death was caused by some part of her body malfunctioning, but I can’t quite accept that yet. I’ll need to find evidence that something more was involved or the case will be pushed to the back of our detectives’ minds and forgotten.

I look over the nearby bookcase. I brought some luminol that makes blood glow, but I doubt I’ll use it. There was absolutely no sign at all that Victoria struggled before she died. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m looking for a needle in a haystack when there’s no reason for the needle to be there.

“Hey.”

I spin around. John is standing in the doorway, his hands in his jean pockets. I can remember exactly what he looks like underneath his clothes, but I’ll be damned if I let that distract me.

“I didn’t expect anybody to be back here so soon,” he says. “Are you here because you’re searching for evidence that you know will be here, or because you’re fresh out of ideas?”

“I’m…just double checking,” I say. “There really isn’t anything to find here, though. We’re pretty sure that she died from natural causes.”

“You’re ‘pretty sure’ that she died from natural causes. That’s not very assuring,” he says. “She was in her early twenties. She should have been perfectly healthy.”

“There have been people younger who die from cardiac problems,” I say, standing up. “I’m sorry for…all of this. Her death, the investigation…but the investigation should be over soon. There’s no reason for us to think foul play.”

He shakes his head. “You’re really going to give up that easily?”

“I’m not giving up,” I say. “We just have other murder cases—”

“Senator Holden?” he guesses.

I grimace. Of course he would already know. It has to be all over the news by now.

He says, “I understand that he’s a priority because he’s well-known and a government official, but—wait. You said you have
other
murder cases, which means you think this is a murder case.”

I flush. “I just meant…it could be, but the medical examiner doesn’t think so, and neither do the detectives.”

“But you do,” he says.

I shrug. “It’s a possibility.”

He takes a step forward and grabs my hand. His hand encompasses mine, keeping it in a pocket of warmth. I jerk my hand out of his grasp. He flushes, but doesn’t step back.

“Please understand,” he says. “I taught Victoria in five classes and then she was my teaching assistant. She was one of my favorite students. I can’t accept that she died from natural causes until you’re certain.”

“We may never be certain,” I say. “And I’m really supposed to do what the detectives tell me to do—”

“What if I find more information on my own?” he asks. “I could ask around…see if she was hanging out with anyone dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t advise that,” I say. “If somebody killed her, they are dangerous. Besides, you wouldn’t even know what to look for.”

“Which is why you could help me.”

“John, look…I shouldn’t have slept with you. The only reason I did was because I thought this case was going to be closed.”

“The only reason?” he asks.

I don’t answer.

“We can keep thing platonic. Please, Mira. My gut is screaming that she didn’t die from natural causes. She deserves justice.”

The question bubbles out of my throat like it had been trapped since this morning. “Were you sleeping with her?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “No. No way. I would never sleep with a student. Besides the fact that it would be enormously unethical and create an unfair power balance, it would just become too complicated. My students come here and they leave. Sometimes they leave suddenly. And she was in her early twenties. It’s not an age I would want to date. They’re still discovering who they are, and that can cause them to lean on everyone in their lives. I don’t need someone that dependent.”

I keep my eyes on him. He seems overly invested in his student, but I don’t see a single indication that he’s lying. He’s certainly more devout to his students than any of my professors ever were, but maybe that’s the difference between English programs and chemistry programs.

“I’ll help if I can,” I say.

He grins, his happiness so infectious that I feel like there’s a sunrise in my chest.

“Thank you so, so much,” he says. He reaches forward as if to hug me, but then lets his arm fall back to his side. “I promise, I won’t get you in trouble. We can just ask her friends some questions, and if you see anything that might look like evidence, you can check it out. Does that sound good?”

“It sounds easy enough,” I say.

He continues to smile at me. This is either the best decision I’ve ever made or the worst one. Considering my history with making choices, it’s likely the latter.

* * *

S
ome people think
that when a person is stabbed several times, the body comes to the morgue as a mangled replica of who the person used to be. But once the blood is wiped off, it’s just a few slits in the body. The red inner flesh, revealed by the wounds, almost looks like red rose petals scattered over the body.

Senator Holden’s body doesn’t have a few slits—it has over a dozen. I don’t have to be the medical examiner to see whoever stabbed him wasn’t very experienced with their weapon. At the opening of several of his wounds, the skin folds back like the killer struggled to pull the weapon back out and needed to wiggle it to yank it out.

“The killer must have been stupid, but strong,” Tim says, flipping through his notes. “Which, honestly, I prefer over intelligent, but weak. Why are you down here?”

“Since I wasn’t at the crime scene, I thought I’d come down to see if there’re any particulates in the wounds,” I say. “Any pieces of steel to prove it was a combat knife? Or silver to prove it was tableware?”

“I’m thinking it was likely a combat knife,” he says. “The wounds are too big to consider anything else right now. Interesting enough, Senator Holden was in the Marines for four years, so this will either lead the detectives to a smaller suspect pool, considering the killer could be a Marine, or a much larger suspect pool because the killer could have taken one of his old knives.”

I nod. “What about Victoria Glassman?”

He glances up at me and I can feel the sharp disapproval in his gaze. “Her death is being ruled as undetermined.”

“There wasn’t any sign that she died from cardiac arrest?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Her heart was fine. At least as far as I could tell. There was no sign of coronary thrombosis, no hypertrophy, or myocarditis.”

“You’re just saying it’s undetermined?”

“Stolz and Macmillan want it wrapped up as soon as possible,” he says. “They want me to focus on the senator’s case.”

“You’re not bothered by that?”

“I would be if there were any sign that there had been foul play for Glassman,” he says. “But there’s not.”

“So you didn’t find
anything
?” I ask.

“Of course I found some things,” he says. “There are signs that she died by asphyxia—such as the cyanosis—blue skin—but there’s no petechial hemorrhage that would show an outside force caused it. It’s perfectly possible that she was smothered and the killer just happened to not leave any bruises on her, but—assuming the killer had enough mindset to clean up the crime scene after she was dead—I’d still find it hard to believe that someone could smother her without having to restrain her with enough force to cause bruising. Why am I even telling you all of this? The case is over. She likely choked on something or tried some drug that isn’t showing up in a toxicology screen. Now, for Senator Holden, we know how he died and his murderer is on the loose.”

“So Glassman could have been killed with a pillow or some plastic wrap and that’s why there aren’t any clues?” I ask.

“It’s possible,” he says. “But there would still be the question of why she didn’t struggle. And I would hope somebody would notice a person carrying around a pillow or a box of plastic wrap on campus.”

“Great.” I drum my fingers against one of his tables. “So, what’s up with our Senator?”

“He was stabbed. Twenty-one times,” he says. “The only thing I could tell you other than the fact that the killer was inexperienced is that the killer was shorter than him. The stab wounds near the top of his groin are straight forward.”

“How tall was the senator?”

“Five eleven.”

“So most men and women are still in your victim pool?”

“Did you just come down here to be an asshole?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, smirking. “I can check it off my to-do list now.”

He throws his pen at me. I swat it out of the air and it falls down beside Senator Holden. I look over his body again. It’s a hell of a way to go. With that many stab wounds, it’s as if his killer was trying to get his body to leak secrets, and those are wounds that don’t heal either.

* * *

T
he sun is starting
to set by the time I stop at John’s apartment, although it’s barely past 4:40. When he opens his door, he’s holding a beer.

“Are you always drinking?” I ask.

“Well, I wouldn’t be a writer if I didn’t have some kind of addiction,” he says, taking a sip from the bottle. “Did you find something out?”

“Nothing significant. But if somebody killed Victoria, it would be somebody she knew. Did she have a boyfriend?”

He nods. “His name is Dominic. He’s part of the Rho Sigma Alpha fraternity. Victoria wrote about him a few times and she mentioned him once in a while, but she just talked about the normal, young relationship kind of things. You know, how much she loves him, how good-looking he is, how they understand each other so well. I don’t know much about him.”

“Does he live at the fraternity house?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Do you know which house it is?” I ask.

“I do.”

“Are you going to tell me where it is?”

“I will if I’m allowed to go with you.”

“Uh, no,” I say. “You’re a professor. At least one of those frat boys would recognize you. If I go alone, I can blend in. Besides, for all we know, this fraternity isn’t involved at all and you don’t want the college to find out that you’re accusing students of murder.”

“They had a party two nights ago,” he says. “It makes sense if she stayed there overnight and someone followed her to my office.”

“It would be easier if I did it alone,” I say. “There’s no point to you being there.”

“Knowledge is power,” he says. “It’s better if you’re with someone who knows this college and the people in it. I can be helpful and it’s easier for me to be helpful if I’m right there with you.”

I glare at him.

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” I ask.

“No.”

“Okay, fine,” I say. “You can come along, but we’re going to act like Victoria was my friend and you’re just helping me find closure. If they know I’m associated with the police, they’ll block me out. Got it?”

“I’m an English professor. I can understand the English words coming out of your mouth just fine.”

The thought of smacking him crosses my mind, but I let it go. When I’ve got Tuskmirth detectives up my ass, it’s not the time to be making enemies.