“Ask anyone,” he said, voice raspy. “Go over to campus. Go to city hall. Everyone will say the same thing. He was a great guy and an outstanding man.”
“I’m sure he was,” Jake said softly and stood, sending her a warning glance. He handed Stark his card. “If you think of anything … anyone we should question, call me.”
Stark stared at the card and moment, then looked back up at Jake. “There’s a vigil tonight. Ask anyone. He was … beloved.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
4:20 P.M.
The young woman sitting across from her had a broad, earnest-looking face. Her blue eyes were bloodshot from crying, and she clenched a sodden tissue in her right hand.
She’d been one of Richard Stark’s creative writing students. The head of the English department had given Miranda and Jake a list of Stark’s students’ names. The list was long, so they’d decided to divide it, with her questioning the females and he the males. Luckily, the department head had also arranged with the students to meet them here in the humanities building, and had provided an empty classroom for them each to conduct interviews.
“Ashley,” Miranda said softly, coaxing, “tell me about Professor Stark.”
“Tell you about him?”
“Yes.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “He was … awesome.”
Miranda made a note of her response. “How so?”
“He cared about his students … in a way most of the instructors don’t.”
“Could you give me an example, Ashley?”
She nodded. “He recognized something in my writing and encouraged me. He—” She paused a moment as if to compile her thoughts. “—offered real guidance. Like he was able to put his finger on just what my work needed to make it better.”
“You’re a senior, right?” She nodded. “Did Professor Stark ever act inappropriately toward you?”
“What? No!” She shook her head and her curly hair bounced against her shoulders. “Never.”
“To any other female student?”
Her cheeks flooded with color. “No. Why are you asking me this? He’s dead and you’re what—suggesting he was to blame?”
“Not at all,” Miranda said, keeping her voice low and soothing. “My job is to find who murdered Professor Stark. To do that I have to look at this case from every possible angle. That’s all.”
Her tears spilled over and Miranda held out a box of tissues. Ashley grabbed one and blew her nose. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Would you say you had a special relationship with Professor Stark? Because of your writing?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
“Were there any of the other seniors who knew him well or interacted with him a lot?”
“We all did. He’d come hang out with us sometimes.”
“Where?”
“P.J.’s Coffee, State Street Station, even The Metro.”
“The Metro? The dance club?”
“A couple times. No big deal.”
No big deal? It seemed to Miranda that a single male professor hanging out in clubs with his female students was, at the very least, borderline inappropriate.
Miranda shut her notebook, stood, and held out her hand. “Thanks, Ashley. I really appreciate your help.”
She took it. “Sure. I’d do anything to help.”
She started to walk away.
“Hey, Ashley?” The girl stopped, looked back. “Did you know Professor Stark was writing a novel?”
“Sure. Everybody did.”
“Did you know what it was about?”
She shook her head. “Only that it was a character-ensemble story. Why?”
“No reason. Why wouldn’t he talk about it?”
“Sometimes if you talk too much about your stories you don’t write them.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Writing is a creative impulse. If you talk about it too much, it’s like you’ve already told the story and the impulse goes away. He taught me that.”
“Makes sense, sort of.”
Ashley started off, then stopped and looked back. “He might have talked more in depth about his novel to Jessie and Belinda.”
Miranda glanced at the list. Neither a Jessie nor Belinda was on it. “Why might he have talked to them?”
“They’re his graduate assistants. They help him with grading papers, teaching, research, and stuff.”
“Gotcha. Thanks again, Ashley.” She handed her a card. “My number’s on it. If you think of anything else, call me.”
The next student said almost the same things about Stark, as did the three after that.
Miranda and Jake had arranged to meet in the student union and grab a sandwich before the candlelight vigil began. They took their food and headed for a table in the corner.
“Well?” Jake asked, unwrapping his sandwich. “Anything interesting?”
“When President Stark said his son was beloved by his students, he was right. At least that’s the way it’s playing out for me so far. What about you?”
“Ditto.” While he chewed, he checked his notes. “Heck of a guy,” he read. “Fair. Liked to party.”
She stopped him on the last. “Apparently he’d hang out with his students. Not all the time, but more than just occasionally.”
“Yup.” He dipped a fry in catsup. “One of the guys mentioned, ‘the girls liked him too much.’ It irritated the crap out of him sometimes, because they were always, ‘Professor Stark this, Professor Stark that.’”
“Interesting.” She snagged one of his fries. “I asked the girls if he ever acted inappropriately with them, they all denied that he had. I don’t know, to my thinking going out partying with them is borderline.”
Jake arched his eyebrows. “These aren’t high-schoolers, they’re adults. I don’t think it’s a big deal.”
She took a bite of her burger and opened her notebook. “All but two of the women I interviewed knew Stark was writing a novel. None knew what it was about.”
“Same here. Said he talked about the process a lot. About his progress. But no content details.”
She snitched another fry. “Did any of them mention Jessie or Belinda?”
He skimmed his notes, then shook his head. “Nope. And neither’s on the list.”
“They’re both graduate students. Research assistants, among other duties. The first person I interviewed suggested they might know more about the book.”
“And the research.”
“Exactly.” Miranda finished her burger and washed it down with the last of her drink. “Let’s see if we can locate them before the vigil begins.”
CHAPTER NINE
7:45 P.M.
The sun had begun to set. Small clutches of student stood huddled together, talking in hushed tones. Some softly sobbed. Violence had touched them, some for the very first time in their young lives.
One group sat in a circle around votive candles arranged in the shape of a heart. Another group had brought books and were taking turns reading passages. Miranda moved her gaze around that circle and beyond, pausing on each face. Was Stark’s killer here? Secretly gloating. Proud of herself. Probably. Unless she was long gone.
They ran into Ashley, who pointed out Belinda. The dark-haired girl sat at the center fountain handing out candles. A guy with bleached blond, short, spiky hair sat with her.
“Hi, Belinda,” Miranda said, and held up her shield. “I’m Detective Rader and this is Detective Billings. Could we have a few moments of your time?”