Miranda turned onto University Avenue. “Tasty.”
“We’d dated three weeks. All that craziness for a guy she’d known three weeks.”
“How’d it end?”
“She was arrested, charged, and found guilty. Turned out I wasn’t the first guy she’d done that to.” He fell silent a moment. “So all that fury doesn’t have to be bigger than one woman with a psychological disorder.”
Miranda nodded. “You’re right, it could be our lovely and very normal-seeming Professor Peale. By the way, what did your girlfriend get?”
“Three months, time served. Court-ordered psychiatric evaluation and treatment. And I got a restraining order.”
“Smart move, Billings.” She turned onto President’s Drive. “Let’s do some background work on Peale, see if any boyfriend issues pop up. And a database search might turn up some possibles as well.”
Miranda pulled to a stop in front of the university president’s residence, a large, southern-style home, incongruous with the university’s original Art Deco buildings. Miranda and Jake climbed out of the car and headed up the azalea-lined walk.
Ian Stark opened the door before they rang the bell. Miranda had expected some outward sign of grief; instead, he looked furious. Wordlessly, he moved aside so they could enter.
Miranda stepped into the large foyer. Directly ahead stood an ornate table decorated with a spray of fresh flowers. The arrangement included lilies, she noted. She couldn’t stand the smell of them. A chandelier hung over the table; to the right a curved staircase led up to what was, no doubt, an equally over-the-top second level.
“President Stark,” Jake said, “we’re so very sorry for your loss.”
“We are, too,” he said gruffly and motioned they should follow him.
He led them to a sunny parlor where Catherine Stark waited. She sat erect, hair perfectly coiffed, pearls in place, ankles neatly crossed. Like a figure from a wax museum, frozen in time. Even so, despair emanated from her in waves. She was a woman whose world had crumbled out from under her.
“Mrs. Stark,” Miranda said, “our deepest condolences. I can’t even imagine how difficult this must be for you.”
“No,” she whispered, “you can’t.”
“We promise we’ll do our best to find your son’s killer.”
The woman opened her mouth to respond, but her husband cut her off. “I’m sure you will,” he said. “But what I want is your promise of an arrest.”
She held his gaze. “I can’t promise that. However, I can promise we will move heaven and earth to find your son’s killer.”
That seemed to mollify him. “Let’s sit. I want to hear what you have so far.”
Miranda took a seat on the couch. She noted several framed photographs on the side table to her left. An adorable little boy was pictured in each; no doubt a very young Richard Stark. She wondered why there were no photos of him as a teen or young man.
Instead of sitting himself, Ian Stark went to stand behind his wife, hands on her shoulders. He looked at Jake. “We’ve met before. You’re Theo and Sarah’s youngest, yes?”
“I am.”
“The university lost two talented academicians when they retired. How are they?”
“Very well. Enjoying retirement more than I thought they would.”
“I’m glad to know you’re on our team. I understand you have a suspect. Tell me about her.”
“Excuse me, President Stark,” Miranda said. “How did you know we had a suspect?”
He glanced at her almost dismissively. “Buddy called. Is she in custody?”
Miranda worked to hide her shock. Buddy called and shared information of an ongoing investigation? With the victim’s family? What the hell?
“Buddy told us Rich was murdered … in the act. We can’t allow those details to get out. How would that look? It’d be all anyone could talk about.”
Catherine Stark whimpered. Miranda saw Stark squeeze her shoulders, but whether in reassurance or warning, she didn’t know. Either way, Miranda was having a hard time feeling sympathetic for the man. So she kept her gaze on Mrs. Stark.
“We’re not here to discuss our investigation with you, President Stark. I’m sorry if you got that idea. We’re here to see if you might know something that would lead us to your son’s killer.
“The woman we questioned communicated with your son via social media shortly before his death. At this time, we have nothing else to link her to the crime, but that may change.”
“What’s her name?”
“I’m sorry, we can’t divulge that information. However, if an arrest becomes imminent, you won’t be taken by surprise.”
Color flooded his face. “You know who I am, obviously?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “I know who you are and how important you are. But I also know homicide investigations, and the less you know, the better. Sharing too much about the investigation jeopardizes it.”
He frowned slightly, as if wanting to argue, then shook his head. “How can I help you?”
“Did your son do a lot of dating?”
“He was handsome, single, and successful. He liked women and they liked him.”
“Which doesn’t really answer my question, President Stark.”
“Define a lot.”
Jake jumped in. “Was there anyone he was serious with?”
“Not that we knew of.”
“Ever? A bitter breakup? A past engagement?”
“No.” Catherine lifted her head. “I longed for a grandchild but he … wasn’t ready. Now I’ll never—” She choked the rest back, eyes flooding with fresh tears. “Forgive me … I just … I can’t—”
“You shouldn’t have to,” Miranda said softly. “This is an awful situation, one no mother should have to face.”
Jake stepped in. “Tell us about your son.”
She looked helplessly up at her husband. He nodded and began, “We were very proud of him.” He paused, as if collecting his thoughts. “Richard could have gone anywhere—he had offers from other schools, but he came back to Harmony. He was beloved by the students, absolutely adored.” Stark looked at Jake. “And the fellow faculty respected him. You know that’s true.”
Jake inclined his head. “My parents spoke highly of him, that I do know.”
Stark looked back at her in challenge. “Everyone liked him, Detective. Everyone.”
“Obviously not everyone, President Stark. His murder was an act of hatred and rage.”
“A freak did this. Buddy told me—” his voice shook “—what she did. How she … disfigured him. She’d have to be some sort of … aberration.”
“We’re working that angle,” Jake said. “It’s extremely viable.”
Miranda shot Jake a warning glance and took over. “We certainly understand your feelings, President Stark. But you have to know, this wasn’t a random crime. And it was personal.”
“Of course it was personal!” He stared her down. “But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t a psychopath!”
“Ian—” Catherine reached up and covered his hands with hers.
At her touch, he seemed to deflate. As if all the bluster that had held him up just … evaporated.
He suddenly looked old. And defeated.