Page 26 of Girl, Accused

Summers’ page was clearly crafted for maximum self-promotion. It was an endless barrage of professional photos and constant updates, so much so that Ella wondered where she found time to fit in her day job. Her posts contained just enough self-deprecating humor to mask the obvious grandiosity.Just finished another marathon writing session on the new book! Coffee is my co-author at this point. #WriterLife #Psychology #SelfHelp. Ella thought it would be in bad taste to cringe at a dead woman's Facebook posts, butimpulse won over sensitivity.

Ella scrolled through Summers' friends list and scanned for any connection to Chester Grant but the professor's name didn't appear. She tried a direct search for Grant on Facebook but came up empty. Either he didn't have an account, or it was under a different name.

Next, she tried every other social media platform she could think of. Dr. Summers had a presence on all of them. Chester Grant didn’t.

She moved to the police database. A search for Evelyn Summers came up empty. Then she threw in Chester Grant’s name.

One match.

No criminal record. No restraining orders. No court appearances.

Except – a divorce filing from eighteen months ago.

Ella clicked in. The addendum loaded.

Petitioner (Claudia Grant) contends that Respondent (Chester Grant) did knowingly and willfully engage in an extramarital affair with a student at his place of employment (Denison University). Said affair was conducted without discretion and became a matter of public knowledge, causing Petitioner significant emotional distress and social embarrassment.

Ella's pulse picked up. She typed ‘Chester Grant affair scandal’ into the search bar and waited for the algorithms to work their magic.

The results spilled across her screen in a torrent of schadenfreude and moralizing. The story had made its way across state lines given that places like NBC and CNN had briefly covered it. Ella read the first article on the list, and it claimed that Chester Grant, tenured professor of Medieval Literature, had engaged in aromantic and sexual relationshipwith a 24 graduate student in his department.

A sudden connection sparked in her brain, and she was about to call Ripley when her partner materialized in the doorway, arms laden with boxes.

‘Jesus, Mia. How much stuff did you buy?’

‘This isn’t my new clothes, you gimp. It’s evidence from Evelyn Summers’ office. Forensics have finished with it.’

Ella noticed Ripley had changed clothes. The cream sweater was gone, replaced by a charcoal turtleneck and dark jeans that made her look like the agent she'd been five months ago. The civilian disguise was slipping away by the hour.

‘I miss the Grandma Ripley getup,’ Ella said, nodding at the outfit. ‘The evidence clean?’

‘As a whistle, but that doesn’t mean we can’t use it.’ Ripley planted the boxes on the desk and slowly removed the contents. There were pens, Dr. Summers’ book and endless pieces of paper, each one individually wrapped in plastic.

‘Summers’ therapy notes?’ Ella asked.

‘Yup.’

‘Hmm. And reading them would violate multiple privacy laws, I guess?’

‘No. Not unless things have changed since I’ve been gone.’

‘They haven’t.’

'Well, in this case, we wouldn't be reading a victim's therapy notes. We'd be perusing evidence that was in plain sight during a homicide.'

Ella caught on to Ripley's implication. These therapy notes had evolved from private records to evidence in the wake of Summers’ death, and if that evidence happened to shed light on Summers' client list, including anyone who might have had motive to kill her, well, that was just good police work. If it led to a capture, then the ends would justify the means.

Ripley continued, ‘We could obtain this paperwork legally, but it would take days.’

‘Good thinking.’ There was something beautiful about Ripley’s elegant dance between legality and necessity. Ella had missed this particular brand of moral gymnastics. ‘By the way, I figured something out while you were gone.’

‘Don’t keep me in suspense.’

Ella tapped her screen. ‘Chester Grant had an affair with one of his students. It was pretty bignews.’

‘Guess we were too busy with serial killers to hear about that.’

‘Yeah, so think about that. What did the killer brand on Grant’s forehead?’

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