Page 20 of The Killer She Knew

“According to administration records, Professor, you’ve been here for twenty-three years,” Ford said.

Morrow flinched back as if he’d been physically struck. His attention sharpened on Ford, trying to recall everything he’d added to the profile. “I don’t see how that has any bearing on your current investigation.”

“Unless you’re the connection.” Ford’s voice held a hint of amusement. A cat toying with the mouse he’d cornered. “Teshia Elborne was a psychology major, wasn’t she? Didn’t you teach a couple psych classes back in the day?”

“Psychology and criminology both deal with human behavior, so yes, I’ve taught my fair share. Though my expertise lies in preventing crime. Not trying to get it into therapy.” Helplessness filtered across the professor’s face. He looked to Leigh for help, but she was happy to enjoy the show. “You can’t be serious, Leigh. You can’t seriously believe I had anything to do with these girls’ murders. You know me.”

That was true. She did know him. And he wasn’t a killer, but she’d thought the same of Ava’s mother. “According to her roommates, Alice Dietz has been acting suspiciously. Leaving the dorm in the middle of the night, becoming paranoid about anyone reading her phone. Simply put, Pierce, we believe she was having an affair with someone who could be ruined if the relationship went public. Maybe even get her expelled. Someone like a professor.”

Morrow tried to keep himself from shifting in his seat, but it was the little ways his shoulder tensed and the grind of his back teeth that told her he knew exactly where this was going. All those hours he’d spent drilling her on policing procedures, environmental crime, and research methods were being used against him. Was that the definition of ironic?

Leigh slid Alice Dietz’s work back across the table, flipped open to one page from the third paper. “You were a good mentor.Probably better than most. The problem is I remember what it’s like to be one of your students. In a way, you’re right. I wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for you, but I know exactly what you expect of your mentees.”

She pointed out a section of the paper, and the color washed from Morrow’s face.

Ford leaned forward, hands interlaced on the surface of the table in front of him. Confident, letting her take the lead with this one.

“This section in Alice’s paper is almost word-for-word from one of your previous projects. One of the projects I helped you research as your assistant my junior year. I know for a fact your paper was rejected from three journals before you stuffed it in the back of your filing cabinets.” She had him. There was no way he could deny it. “There isn’t a single person alive you would let read one of your rejected papers unless they were helping you revise and research a new project. Which means, you lied to me, Pierce. Yours and Alice’s relationship was more than student and professor.”

“You were having an affair with our victim, and you lied about it,” Ford said. “What do they call that, Agent Brody? Oh, right. Obstruction of justice. You’re familiar with the term, aren’t you, Professor? It’s enough for an arrest.”

“Now, wait a minute. You have it all wrong.” This was the part when Morrow would panic, try to come up with any plausible reason Alice Dietz would’ve gotten her hands on his work. Plagiarism, theft, academic dishonesty. He’d built a career in criminology and criminal justice, but he’d still revert to his survival instincts when pressed. “Please. Just give me a chance to explain.”

Bingo.

“When was the last time you saw Alice Dietz alive?” She and Ford had yet to build a solid timeline of the victim’s movementsleading up to her death, but the picture was getting a little clearer.

“Saturday night, early Sunday morning. We argued. I regret not telling you sooner, but I didn’t want to look… guilty.” The air leeched out of him, leaving nothing but a husk of the man she’d once looked up to. “Alice was my assistant this semester. She was helping me with a paper on crime mapping and predicting criminal patterns in certain areas to better utilize policing efforts and focus. She was bright and driven and, of course, I took notice of her.”

He motioned to the stack of papers on the desk between them. “We’d meet after classes. I’d help her with her assignments. Nothing big, just extra resources she could look into. Then we started meeting outside the office. Within a few weeks, she was coming to my home, and things … happened. It wasn’t planned, and I certainly never expected her to be murdered.” Morrow’s voice broke at that last word. “We knew if anyone discovered what we were doing, she would be expelled, and I would lose my job. All my work would’ve been for nothing. I’ve invested decades into my career as Marshal Ford has kindly pointed out, and I couldn’t risk our relationship going public. That’s what we argued about that night. She was tired of sneaking around. I told her…” He swallowed, before continuing in a miserable voice, “I would ruin her if she said a single word.”

They’d gotten what they’d wanted, and Leigh let it sit between them. The disgrace, the embarrassment, the grief. Morrow and his ego deserved it all. Though he’d probably take this experience and turn it into some kind of benefit. She collected the papers from the desk and pushed to stand. “I don’t believe you killed Alice Dietz, Pierce.”

“Why wouldn’t you consider me a suspect after I confessed I argued with the victim?” It was a good question, but they didn’thave the time to try to fit him into all the boxes. There was an actual killer on the loose.

“Because,” Leigh said, “I think you were the killer’s intended target.”

THIRTEEN

Durham, New Hampshire

September 8, 2006

7:23 a.m.

Pounding from the door jarred her nerves.

Leigh peeled her face off the pillow, hand automatically stretching to the other side of the bed.

Cold. Empty.

Dean had managed to sneak out without waking her again. Probably a couple hours ago. Another early morning at the biomedical lab. She didn’t mind. She had her own schedule to keep, and she kind of loved this new routine of theirs. Living their own lives during the day but unable to keep their hands off each other at night. Dean didn’t want to own her or dictate her schedule. He never asked for her to change her plans for him or choose him over her friends. He didn’t want a girlfriend. He wanted an equal. More than happy to take any free time he could get with her but aware he couldn’t be her whole world.

Choice. Every day he gave her the gift of making her own choice. It was one of the things she loved about him the most.

Leigh grabbed for her phone on the nightstand. Damn it. Her brother would be waking up soon, and she preferred not to have to explain to a thirteen-year-old where she’d been and what she’d been doing all night when she got back to their dorm.

Another round of knocks thudded through the room.

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