Particles of Murder (A Shadow of Death Romantic Suspense Series Book 1) (8 page)

“You don’t care about their lives?”

“It’s more of a job to me,” he says.

“You seemed extremely prepared to say that Victoria wasn’t in a relationship with you.”

“Because Dr. Zimmer has already insinuated it,” he says. “Besides, it’s not a crazy assumption. Regardless, I was not sleeping with her and I didn’t hurt her.”

There’s something off about his behavior. Every time he talks about Victoria, he seems to be holding his breath until he’s done speaking. It makes his last few words about her sound like the words of a dying man.

“What classes did you have with Victoria and how long ago did you have these classes with her?”

“The classes weren’t just with her,” he says. “Like I said, one of them had nearly thirty students. That was last semester and it was
Living Fiction Writers
. There were about twenty other students in the class she had with me this semester—the class was
Creative Nonfiction.
”

Exhale.

I’m listening to some creative nonfiction right now.

“What aren’t you telling me, Dr. Pierce?”

“
Nothing
.”

Andre suddenly rushes in like a bull. He grabs Dr. Pierce by the collar of his shirt and rams him against the desk.

“Why don’t you tell the lady what she needs to know?” Andre spits out. “We don’t have all day to listen to you dance around the truth. Maybe if I cut your Achilles’ tendon—”

“No,” I snarl, pulling Andre away from Dr. Pierce.

He releases Dr. Pierce’s collar and takes a few steps back.

I turn and face Andre. “I told you you’re only here for protection. It was an easy job. How have you already messed it up?”

“You two are crazy,” Dr. Pierce mutters, rubbing his chest. “I should call the mayor and tell him the police are harassing me.”

“Dr. Pierce, I’m sorry,” I say. “He’s not with the police. We won’t bother you again. I promise.”

I grab Andre’s arm and pull him out of the room. I keep my grip on him until we’re both out of the building.

“I can’t believe you,” I hiss. “I could get fired over this. The two detectives in charge have already threatened to go to my bosses if I continue to investigate this. How could you grab him like that?”

“Easily,” he says. “He was pissing me off.”

“We’re done,” I snap. “I knew this was a mistake. He’ll never talk to me again now. I’ll never figure out if he’s the killer.”

“Oh, come on,” he says. “Let’s go investigate that other professor he was talking about. Zimmer. He seems pretty suspicious. I’d never trust any professor that was beloved by all of his students.”

“Being nice isn’t a crime.”

He narrows his eyes. “Do you have a thing for this guy? You’re usually the first to criticize.”

“He’s the one who wanted my help to investigate.”

“Ah,” he says. “So, you do have a thing for him.”

“No.”

“Then, let’s question him. Tell him to meet us at my apartment. I prefer to be on my own turf. College campuses freak me out. I’ve seen ten people in pajamas, a guy on a unicycle, and a school mascot of a shark since we’ve been here. I’m pretty sure Tuskmirth’s mascot isn’t a shark. This whole place is fucked up.”

“Is it the truth and knowledge that freaks you out, Andre?” I ask. “It doesn’t matter. We’re not going to question him.”

“I thought you always wanted the truth.”

“When has that mattered to you?” I snap.

He smirks. “You know…there’s always a different way we can get information without confronting him,” he says. “I mean, if there was something weird going on between him and his students, there’s one obvious place for them to meet. How easy do you think it is to break into his office?”

“Apparently, very easy,” I say. “But we can’t just break in. I’m part of law enforcement.”

He grins. “I’m not.”

* * *

“
I
’m not doing
this with you,” I say, standing right outside of John’s office as I hear Andre moving the rolling office chair. “If anybody comes around, I’m going to pretend I found you here and I’m going to arrest your ass for getting me in trouble again.”

“You just love talking about my ass, don’t you?” he teases. “Don’t lie, Mira. You know you wouldn’t turn me in. That would be a quick way to piss off your Captain and Lieutenant…and you know you’d never be able to handle the idea of me being locked up again.”

“You’re full of yourself.”

“I hope so. I’d hate to be full of anyone else,” he says. “Did you know this guy wrote a book? It’s called
Insomniac Rites.
That sounds like the book of a crazy person. It sounds interesting.”

“Is it about insomnia or religion?” I ask.

“Uh, from what I can tell…neither,” he says. “The back of the book says:
Sarah Condran is a young student at a prestigious university, working day and night to become a dancer. She needs to remain one of the top dancers to keep a scholarship that pays for her tuition. Though she has a boyfriend—a fraternity brother with a love for the superficial things in life—who has proposed to her, Sarah finds herself drawn to one of her dance professors. As she’s on the edge of gaining everything she has ever dreamed and losing everything she needs, she finds that even when the body is pushed to exhaustion and the habits—
oh, that’s what it has to do with insomnia. That makes more sense.”

“A college student having an affair with her professor?” I ask. “That seems a bit cliché for a college professor.”

“Oh, he wrote another book too,” he says. “It’s still in manuscript form. It’s called
Little Trials.
This one is also about a college student. I’ve heard that when you’re writing, you’re supposed to write about what you know…I guess this professor really does that.”

“Can you hurry up?” I ask. “He could come back to his office at any minute.”

“This one reminds me of that movie I told you about. It’s about this woodsman that’s miserable with his life until he decides to move into the city as a way to change his environment. He’s still unhappy until he meets a group of drug enthusiasts—”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “A woodsman?”

I slip into John’s office. Andre is facing away from me, reading from a large stack of paper.

“Why is the woodsman part important?” Andre asks, still skimming the first page of the manuscript. I lean against him to look closer at the manuscript. With his body heat so close to me, it reminds me of the dozens of times his toned body lingered right above mine and his dark eyes seemed to look into me until I was nothing but a soul.

But that was in the past and it's time to move forward.

“The first victim was Victoria, who had a fraternity boyfriend and we suspect she was sleeping with Dr. Pierce. The second guy wore plaid all of the time and, honestly, looked like a woodsman. He’s stealing his student’s lives for his stories…or warping them. He’s doing something with them.”

“And they both happen to be dead now,” he says. “That’s quite the coincidence.”

I grab the manuscript from him. “Where’s the other book?”

He points to the bookshelf. I grab it.

“We’re going to read these and see how similar they actually are to the students,” I say.

He groans. “You know I am doing very important things outside of this.”

I turn to face him. “Are you saying that you don’t want to do this with me?”

He shrugs, but he follows me out, never letting more than a few inches come between us.

* * *

“
S
arah’s hair
made people do a double-take—even people who had known her for years. It was the shade of almonds, but as she walked, it moved like silk with the volume of a model in a shampoo commercial. She had the strong legs of a dancer—muscle etched in every inch—but most people never looked past her hair. Over time, she learned she could dissuade people’s obsession with her hair by tying it up in a bun, but it still drew people in and she didn’t appreciate people being in her private space,
” I quote. I flip forward a few pages. “Later, it says that Sarah has a scar above the right side of her lips and acne bumps on her chin. This is…like an exact description of Victoria. Did you find a description about his other protagonist?”

“You mean Neil the woodsman, who enjoys plaid shirts and who is essentially described as a very tall, bald man?” Andre asks. “Yeah. I like this guy. He doesn’t give a shit about anything, but he’s still a decent guy. He reminds me of myself.”

“When have you been decent?”

“I still have all my clothes on while we’re alone in your apartment,” he mutters. “You should be impressed.”

I set John’s book down and rub my temple. “What does this mean? Did he use them to write his stories and then kill them when they figured it out? Victoria was killed in his office.”

“Seems like a pretty ridiculous reason to kill someone.”

“Most reasons people kill each other are ridiculous,” I say. “Money, angry outbursts, jealousy, religion, drugs, revenge for petty things…”

“Okay, you know what I mean,” he says. “It’s not like his students could claim that he had used their lives for his story and get anything out of it…neither of the students in the books are even English students. In fact, from what I’ve read of both books, most of it does come from a plot that couldn’t have happened in their own lives. He just used their physical appearance, maybe their personality, and a few parts of their lives. It may have angered them, but I don’t think they could have done anything about it, so there’s no reason to kill them.”

“Maybe he’s crazy,” I say.

“You said you had been hanging around with him a few times,” he says. “Do you think he’s crazy?”

I shrug. “I think he’s a little…off,” I confess. “Not in the criminally insane way, but he does seem to adore his students and he became quickly attached to me.”

“Do I need to kick his ass?”

“Look who’s talking about asses now,” I remark. “No. We’re not involved. I don’t need you to defend me.”

“I thought that’s why you came to me in the first place.” He tilts his head. “Is there something more going on between you and this professor? You seem oddly defensive of him.”

“I’m not defensive,” I say. “I just think…I will go question him by myself. For some reason, he trusts me, and he’s more likely to open up to me if we’re alone.”

“He’s also more likely to hurt you if you’re alone.”

“He won’t,” I say, though doubt sends tendrils of unease through my body.

* * *

T
he next morning
, I wait outside of John’s office. This will be the sixth day since Victoria was found dead, and the third day since Everett was killed. It’s been a long damn week.

The door is closed and nobody answered when I knock, so I’m just wondering if his office hours are accurate on his door because he was supposed to be here five minutes ago.

I look down at my leather work boots. My father used to hate that I wore these boots—not feminine enough for his ideas of gender roles. It’s strange how people’s impressions of us cause us to either let them control us or we rebel against them. It takes either a strong or stupid person to settle somewhere in between.