Page 25 of Silencing Stolen Whispers
They passed a bulletin board plastered with flyers that included internship opportunities, study groups, and at the center, the notice for Hannah's candlelight vigil that evening. Bigsby's eyes flickered toward the flyer, but she offered no comment.
“Did you notice any changes in Hannah’s behavior toward the end of the semester?” Alex pressed, closing the cover of his notebook. Despite the lingering effects of last night's whiskey, his handwriting was neat and precise. “Anything that might suggest she was under unusual stress?”
Bigsby hesitated, adjusting her papers.
“Law students are always under stress, Detective Lanen. It's the nature of the profession they're entering.”
Another non-answer.
Alex suppressed a frustrated sigh. His interview with Bigsby was beginning to feel like trying to extract water from stone. She had been the third professor on the list that the dean had provided, but so far, she had managed to say absolutely nothing of substance about Hannah Scriven.
“Did Hannah ever discuss her plans after graduation? Her concerns about the bar exam, perhaps?” Alex tried again.
“Hannah was certainly focused on her future, if that’s what you mean.” Bigsby's heels continued their staccato rhythm on the floor. Maybe his headache wasn’t getting any better. “She understood the importance of thorough preparation.”
The hallway grew increasingly congested as they approached an intersection where students were streaming from a recently dismissed class. Sweat was collecting under his collar despite the building's air conditioning, and this time, he didn’t hesitate to loosen his tie and unfasten the top button. His mouth was dry, too. He wished like hell he had grabbed a bottle of water before leaving his house.
“Professor, I understand you might be hesitant to speak ill of the dead,” Alex said quietly, lowering his voice as they navigated around a group of students wanting to be anywhere but here, "but anything you can tell me about Hannah—her relationships, her struggles, even minor disciplinary issues—could help us understand what happened to her.”
Bigsby finally slowed, turning slightly to meet his gaze.
For a moment, it seemed she might actually provide something useful.
“Detective, I had seventy-eight students last semester alone. While I remember Hannah as bright and capable, I simply cannot provide the detailed personal insights you're seeking.” Professor Bigsby glanced at her watch again. “I have office hours in ten minutes, and I still need to review these papers. Do you have any other questions?”
They were standing near an intersection where the hallway branched into three directions. A door to their right was open, with the last of the students exiting the classroom.
Bigsby seemed to seize on the distraction.
“Oh,” Professor Bigsby exclaimed, pointing toward the emptying room with one manicured finger. “Victor Reeves was one of Hannah's professors last semester. His Criminal Law seminar, I believe.”
Alex followed her gesture to see a tall, lean man at the front near a podium, though he was facing the other direction, methodically organizing materials on a desk.
“Looks like this saves you from tracking him down in the faculty building.”
“Yes, it does,” Alex agreed, recognizing the dismissal for what it was. He extended his hand. “Thank you for your time, Professor Bigsby.”
The classroom was empty by the time Alex stepped through the doorway. Unlike Bigsby, who seemed perpetually in motion, Reeves moved with deliberate care, suggesting he believed his time to be extremely valuable.
Alex rolled his shoulders back, steeling himself for another potentially fruitless conversation. The air was noticeably cooler and more stagnant than that of the hallway. The professor didn't seem to notice Alex’s approach.
"Professor Reeves? I’m Detective Lanen, Fallbrook Police,” Alex announced, making his way down the far-right aisle. “I’m investigating the death of Hannah Scriven. It’s my understanding that she was a student of yours.”
The professor didn’t turn his attention to Alex until his briefcase was closed and secured by the gold square fasteners. His black hair was so precisely styled that it appeared almost artificial, and his tailored suit suggested a salary well beyond typical academic compensation.
“It's Dr. Reeves, actually,” the professor corrected, his tone suggesting this was a frequent and tiresome clarification. “And yes, Miss Scriven was a student of mine.”
Alex's jaw tightened slightly at the man's tone, but he kept his expression neutral. The remnants of his hangover were manageable enough that he could focus on reading Reeves' body language. The professor—doctor—shifted his briefcase upright, but he let it remain on the table with his hand resting on the handle.
“Hannah was in your Criminal Law seminar last semester, is that correct?” Alex asked, coming to a stop when he reached the podium.
“That is correct. Miss Scriven was attentive, thorough, and never missed a lecture. While she lacked the ability to think outside established paradigms, I do believe she had a bright future ahead.”
Alex raised an eyebrow, noting the contrast between Dr. Reeves’ assessment and what he had heard from the other professors.
“That's interesting, Dr. Reeves. Dean Chambliss, Professor Bigsby, and the two other professors I interviewed earlier spoke quite highly of Hannah’s academic performance.”
“Well, if Patty Bigsby put more focus on her students instead of curving her grades to appear like a stellar professor, she might have noticed that Hannah didn't really want to be a lawyer. She pursued a career in law due to the pressure from her parents. It was evident in every case analysis she submitted.”
