Page 143 of Speak

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The windows in my classroom show an angry sky, one promising either a brutal rainstorm that will slicken into ice in the morning, or a wintry mix of rain, snow and sleet, which will also make the roads dangerous. I’m packing up my bag to go so I can beat the storm home.

There’s thudding of boots that stop and a knock on my office door.

My hackles rise, a chill shoots down my spine, vibrating like a low hum.

“Professor Harrington?” The man is of average height as he stands next to the door, tattooed on his tan hand still a fist he used to knock. Dark eyes, dark hair slicked back, clean shaven, and a tablet in his other hand. He’s dressed in a black overcoat, dark slacks and leather boots with a grip, clearly dressed for the storm gathering outside. He lowers his hand and just barely crosses the threshold.

“Yes?” I ask, adjusting my glasses on my nose, pushing them up so they settle properly.

“Detective Arlo Martinez. I don’t mean to hold you up; it’s getting ugly out there. I just… I’m a fan, really. I was appointed this case this morning and when I heard you were teaching here, I was wondered if you could possibly look at something for me?”

I check my watch. It’s six o’clock already. Damon will have dinner cooking by now.

I lift a shoulder and let it drop while shaking my head, “I have a few minutes.”

I should’ve stayed home.

“It’ll be quick. Just a piece of surveillance video. It’s a little grainy but I was hoping maybe you’d have a little more expertise. Apparently the owners of the home, the victims, were supposed to have their system upgraded this weekend, but they were murdered.”

“Ah.” I say, grabbing the tablet as he extends his arms out to hand it to me.

“It’s only two or three minutes long. It’s been fast forwarded already to the important times. Like I said, I don’t want to waste your time.”

“Sure.” I say as I click on the triangle icon to play the video.

A single person shadow surges, long over the lawn, the corner of the nightgown and… something on the feet. A minute or two passes by and this time it’s two shadows coming back. The one wearing the nightdress slightly limps across the lawn, and my stomach swoops and drops.

Completely schooling my features, not letting him see I recognize that fucking limp, Detective Martinez’s phone rings and I rewind the video. I look up at him, to see he’s a holding a finger up to me, motioning that he needs to take a call to which I nod, giving him the go-ahead.

“Martinez.”

I replay the video, watching the limping shadow. I let my eyes scope the rest of it, seeing blonde hair at the shoulders and I exhale slowly, letting my eyes go up to see Martinez with one hand on his hip as he watches me watch the video.

“I see. Alright. I’ll be there momentarily.”

“Looks like a blonde woman.” I say when he hangs up.

His brows furrow. “Yeah. My team did notice that. Except, the only woman at the scene was the victim. Time stamp shows ten-oh-one PM. Coroner has reported time of death somewhere about fifteen minutes prior to that.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

I want to vomit, but I keep my expression neutral.

“Who were the victims?” I ask because I have to know.

“Uhhh, full confidentiality?” he asks, brown eyes grazing over me as I hand him back the tablet.

“Of course.”

“Thaddeus Whitmore II and his wife, Ashleigh.”

A whooshing in my head, blood rushing to my ears. Black dots appear at the sides of my vision. “I see. Any other witnesses or surveillance?” I ask, swallowing down bile.

“The only other person that had access to their home was his father, the Dean here, if I’m right?”

I nod. “Yeah, I heard he had a cardiac arrest. Currently in the ICU being treated.”

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