Particles of Obsession (A Shadow of Death Romantic Suspense Book 2) (2 page)

* * *

A
s I wake up
, I can feel the brisk chill on my face contrasted by the soft threads of the quilt. It’s vastly different from my apartment bed, which is less of a place of comfort than a flat surface that doesn’t have food prepared on it.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I still have my shoes on. Guilt sets in—his sheets are white and the mud on my shoes is certain to stain it—until I remember everything that led up this. Andre is dead. Alex is dead. Detectives will find evidence and motive to indicate that I’m the one who killed Alex. And with all that, Alex’s killer is still out there.

And I tried to have sex with John again. I’m not sure which is worse—that I tried, or that he rejected my advances.

I place my feet on the floor as quietly as I can. There’s no clock in this room, but the sun is barely above the horizon. I could sneak out and explain later to John that I was drunk last night and embarrassed this morning, so I fled. I don’t think I can summon the courage to explain anything to him and he seems gullible enough to believe that my behavior was caused by vodka.

I leave the room and walk down the hall. His house reminds me of those old prairie houses except he has modern art on the walls and displayed on the stairway. As I get to the bottom of the stairs, I hear the television playing along with the stern, unmistakable voice of Detective Stolz.

“We don’t know much right now,” her voice says. “Mr. Alex Shirokov was killed in his room at the Rho Sigma Alpha fraternity house. Based on forensic evidence, we have a suspect, but we aren’t going to release the name to the public until we have more information.”

I peek into the living room. John is watching the TV, which shows Stolz talking to a reporter. Stolz as always has her blond hair pulled into a ponytail and wears minimal make-up. She looks pissed, and I don’t blame her if she truly believes I killed Alex.

On a happier note, from what I can see, John looks good in just his cotton pajama pants and bedhead hair. I remind myself again that he wasn’t interested in me last night, not past that kiss. He’ll be even less interested in me when he learns of my involvement with Alex’s death.

“Detective Stolz, this is the third student death at Tuskmirth. There’s ten days until these students go off on winter break—should these students or their parents be concerned? Shouldn’t they return home until the murderer is apprehended?” the reporter asks.

“No,” she says. “I don’t believe there’s a reason for panic. We believe that Mr. Shirokov’s murder may have been a killing out of revenge. I truly cannot tell you any more until forensics is processed, but I don’t want anyone to be alarmed. If we believe there is a threat to students, we’ll inform the public immediately.”

“Some sources say this murder was done with a gun—does that mean it’s a different killer than the person who killed Victoria Glassman and Everett Pine?”

The reporters must not know about Iris Knight, though I suppose it would be hard for them to connect deaths that don’t have a known cause of death.

“We can’t be certain at this time,” she says. “I have to continue our investigation. We will inform the public when we have more information. Thank you.”

As her speech ends, John turns around, looking straight at me.

“Did you hear me?” I ask.

“No,” he says. “I just had this feeling that someone was watching me.”

“I wasn’t watching you. I was watching the TV.”

“She said Alex is dead.”

“Yes.”

“And your ex-boyfriend…”

“He’s also dead,” I say, the word
dead
feeling heavy on the tip of my tongue.

“You don’t seem upset.”

“You said yourself that people mourn in different ways,” I say. “I’m mourning in my own way.”

“Does your own way include killing a man?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?” I demand.

“Did I sound like I was joking?”

“I didn’t kill him,” I say. “But…they’re going to be saying I did.”

“Why would they say that if you didn’t kill him?”

“Because I’m certain it’s my fingerprints they found in his room,” I say. “The killer would have been too smart to leave their own fingerprints.”

“Okay…when were you in his room?” he asks.

“I was there right after he died,” I say. “I…I just wanted to confront him, but I…I didn’t kill him, okay? Can’t you trust me on that one fact?”

“I’ve trusted you this whole time,” he says. “But the police are saying they have evidence and you think this evidence is against you. This is why you didn’t want to go back to your apartment last night? You think they would find you there? What makes you think they won’t come here?”

“They could come here,” I say. “But I would hope that you would cover for me.”

“That depends on whether or not you killed him,” he says. He rubs his temple. “Why were you going to go confront him?”

“I didn’t kill him. I went to his room because he killed three of your students and my ex-boyfriend,” I say. “Or, at least, I think he did. He was involved in some way. He admitted it to me. But he said something that makes me think someone else was involved and it doesn’t make sense for him to be the killer. Do you know anyone he associates with that would connect back to you?”

“I don’t know him at all!” he says. “He’s a chemistry student! I’d never seen him until we went to the fraternity house for the first time.”

I shake my head, turning away from him, and slide my fingers in my hair. I grip the strands, my thoughts rushing so fast that I’m amazed they don’t knock me down.

I turn back to John, but I don’t look him in the eye. I focus on his knees.

“Do you want me to leave?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

A few seconds of silence pass. I look up at his face, but it’s inscrutable.

“I’ll go,” I say.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “You can stay…unless more evidence comes up. I trust you, I do…but I trust facts more.”

I nod. “That’s fair.”

He rubs his temple again, making his forehead red. “So…you think someone I know was an accomplice to Alex?”

“More likely he was an accomplice or partner to them,” I say. “They also could have been part of the chemistry field or the fraternity house, but I think they’re in the English field, because they were angry at you and killing your favorite students. Can you think of anyone that fits that profile? I mean, at least one of those fraternity brothers has to be an English student.”

“I didn’t recognize any of them,” he says. “Other than those two—Brian and Daniel—but they’re not English majors. I barely know either of them. They’re average when it comes to talent. I’ve never talked to either of them outside of class.”

I shake my head. “It has to be someone that you knew pretty well. Think. You said students get attached to you. Did any of your more recent ones seem more attached than they should have been?”

“No,” he says. “If I could have thought of a crazy stalker, I would have told you.”

“Any pissed off ex-girlfriends?”

“My list of ex-girlfriends is two and one of those was when I was a sophomore in high school,” he says.

“And the other one?”

“Her name was Amelia. We dated on and off starting when I was twenty-eight, but neither of us was really ever committed,” he says. “She got married a year ago and she has a kid. She’s definitely not obsessed with me and she isn’t crazy.”

As I look away from him, back to the TV screen, I can feel his suspicion. He's watching every move I make. He doesn't trust me. It's a disconcerting feeling. There've certainly been people in my past who didn't trust me--Detective Stolz is a great example--but this is a distrust encased in fear. If he thinks I could be a murderer, he recognizes that he could become a victim. I try not to let it bother me, but I can’t help wishing for the comfort of his arms.

"I have to go talk to my old forensic partner," I tell him. "Can I come back later?"

Without hesitating, he nods. "There's a key under the lamp with the rock base...though, I cleared out the glass from the basement if you prefer to go through there again."

"A key works for me," I say. "John...thank you."

He nods again, polite but distant. It's the best I can ask for right now, and it’s probably more than I deserve.

* * *

I
unlock
the forensic lab with my keycard. I pull open the door as the high-pitched beep tells anyone inside that I'm approaching. From the parking lot, I could see that Ed Bunt is the only one who should be here and it appears that he is. He spins around to look at who has walked through the door. His face pales.

"Mira," he says. "I didn't expect...you to come here."

"Does that mean the detectives have already talked to you?" I ask.

He doesn't answer--sitting as still as possible--so, I can only assume that they have talked to him.

Sighing, I say, "I didn't kill Alex Shirokov."

"I checked the evidence myself, Mira,” he says, his words coming out so slowly it's as if they were dripping from his lips. "Your fingerprints were all over his room. They were on the opened window. They were on his wrist. Your gun was used--"

"My gun was used because he took my gun," I say. "My fingerprints were on his wrist because I was checking his pulse and I was there because I--look, haven't we worked together long enough that you can trust me? Is that so much to ask of you?"

"If someone killed my wife, I'd want to kill them too," he says. "It's understandable if you felt so much anger that you killed him. You could plead provocation--"

"I didn't kill him," I repeat. "I can't believe Stolz told you about Andre. That wasn't for her to tell you.”

"It's because I was defending you," he says. "I said that you didn't have enough motive, so she told me about his murder. It wasn't to...to hurt you, Mira. You don't always need to jump to that conclusion."

"Oh? You're going to accuse
me
of jumping to conclusions?"

"It's not jumping to conclusions when the evidence is there," he counters.

I scowl. He's not going to believe me and I don't blame him. He's a man of science--if all of his facts point to the conclusion that I'm guilty, he won't change his mind until there's different evidence.

"So, the detectives are trying to find me?"

"Yes," he says.

"Did you find anything else, Ed?" I ask. "I mean, anything. It could have seemed insignificant to you, but there had to be more."

"No," he says. "The victim had your fingerprints on his wrist, the window was open, your fingerprints were on that too, and the gun was gone. We searched all over his room and all over the fraternity house."

"The gun is gone..." I mutter. "The killer must have taken it."

"Mira--"

"No," I cut him off. "I know you already think it's me, but it's not. I'm going to find the real killer. Unlike you, I'm going to keep searching for evidence."

"You should just turn yourself in if you're innocent," he says. "You can explain everything to the police."

"They've already decided I'm guilty," I say. "You've worked with the police longer than I have. Once they've focused on a suspect, they just try to find more evidence against that suspect. If anything goes against their theory, they throw it out. Turning myself in is the same as throwing my ass into prison and I'm not going to prison for something I didn't do."

"Then, you should get going," he says. "The detectives left about twenty minutes ago and they were going to send an officer to keep watch of this building in case you returned. They're also going to be watching the hospital where your brother is at, your family's house, and your family's store. They're not messing around, Mira."

"Does the fact that you're telling me this mean that you believe me now?" I ask.

"It means that we've worked together long enough for me to give you the benefit of the doubt," he corrects. "And I'm just praying that this doesn't ruin my whole career."

"It won't," I promise. I open the door back up. "I know I promised to buy you several lunches and we're still going to do that."

"Sure," he says. "Let's just hope those lunches don't have to happen in prison."

"We're dreaming big now," I say under my breath.

I slip out of the room. As I sneak out of the building, I notice a red SUV parking across the street. I recognize it because the driver door has a big white scratch on it. I had searched through that SUV for evidence during a kidnapping case a couple months ago and it had belonged to the kidnapper, which means that vehicle belongs to the police now.

I have to be more careful. I can't get caught until I find the evidence that will point to the real killer.