Gavin, meanwhile, has followed me down from the second floor and is glaring at me.Jamie, he mouths, and nods meaningfully at the elevators.

Hold on, I mouth back, and nod at Sarah. Clearly he can see I can only deal with one crisis at a time. I’m not Super Assistant Dorm Director, after all. I mean, Residence Hall Director.

Pete and Magda get Sarah into the cafeteria and propped up in one of the blue vinyl chairs with a glass of water that she drinks only after much urging. The café is closed for cleanup between the lunch and dinner shifts, so we don’t have to worry about anyone observing us… which is good for Sarah, since she doesn’t exactly look her best. Her skin is flushed and clammy. Tendrils of her curly black hair are sticking to her forehead and temples.

“It was so awful,” she murmurs. “We were sitting in the storage room. Just sitting there, minding our own business, because they were still doing all that forensic stuff in our office, Heather. And then suddenly Detective Canavan comes in, and says he wants to talk to Sebastian. And Sebastian was like, Okay. Because he has nothing to hide. Why shouldn’t he have said yes? And the next thing I know, they’re leading him away in handcuffs. Heather—they arrested him! What are we going to do? I have to call his parents. Someone has to call his parents—”

“We’ll call his parents,” I say, in what I hope is a soothing voice. I try to push some of the tendrils back from her forehead, but it’s no use. She’s so sweaty, they’re stuck there, like glue. “I’m sure he’ll call them himself, though.”

“Right,” Magda says. “Don’t prisoners get one phone call?”

This question starts a fresh wave of weeping. I give Magda a dirty look over the top of Sarah’s head.

“What?” Magda demands, defensively. “They do. When my cousin Tito—”

“No one wants to hear about your cousin Tito right now, Magda,” Pete says. From his tone, I kind of get the feeling Magda might be right: Pete doesn’t like her—not that way. On the other hand, maybe he has other things on his mind. He’s looking down at Sarah, clearly concerned for her. “The question is, why did they arrest him? What kind of proof do they have?”

“No proof,” Sarah wails, into her arms, which are folded on the tabletop. “They don’t have any proof, because he didn’t do it! Sebastian is a pacifist! He wouldn’t hurt a fly! He’s getting his master’s in religious studies… he keeps kosher, for Christ’s sake!”

Pete and I look at each over her shaking shoulders. “They have to have something,” he says quietly. “Something good, too. Or they wouldn’t have arrested him. A case like this, so much publicity… They’d never have made a move like this without something solid. They wouldn’t want to make a mistake, risk any bad press.”

I pull out the chair beside Sarah’s and slide into it. “Sarah,” I say to her. I’m trying to ignore her tears. Now is not the time for weeping. Not if she wants to spare her friend life in prison. Or worse. New York’s got the death penalty. “Think. What could they have on Sebastian that would make them think he did it? Does he own a gun?”

“God, no,” Sarah says, with a shudder. “I told you, he’s a pacifist.”

She’d also told me he was very adversarial. But I let that one slide. Besides, anyone can get a gun. This is New York City, after all.

“Well, where was he this morning when Dr. Veatch died? Do you know? Does he have an alibi?”

Sarah raises her head. Her face glistens with tears. “H-how should I know?” she asks. “I’m not exactly his girlfriend. How would I know where he was at eight this morning?”

It is obvious this admission pains her more than she wants us to know.

Pete licks his lips. Then he says, “This is bad.”

Sarah wails, “But he didn’t do it! I know he didn’t!”

“Yeah,” Pete says. “Funny how juries and judges usually want something called proof, and you saying you know he didn’t do it? That is not considered proof. I gotta get back to my desk. You girls be all right?”

We nod, and Pete leaves… shaking his head as he goes. Sarah watches him until the cafeteria doors ease shut behind him, then looks at Magda and me with wide, tear-filled eyes. “Okay. So what are we going to do?”

Magda glances at her genuine zirconium-encrusted watch. “I don’t know about you, but I have an appointment for an important eyebrow waxing after work.”

Sarah sighs. “That’s not what I meant. I meant about Sebastian.”

“I don’t see what we can do, Sarah,” I say. “I mean, the police—”

“—have arrested the wrong man.” Sarah’s stopped crying, but her eyes haven’t lost the feverish glitter they seem to have taken on from the moment the cops slipped the cuffs over Sebastian’s wrists… and her scream ripped through the corridors of Fischer Hall. I’m surprised she didn’t burst any blood vessels, that shriek was so loud. “Obviously, they’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“Sarah.” I hesitate. Still, it has to be said. “I know you really, um, like this guy. But how can you be so sure that he didn’t do it?”

Sarah just stares at me.

“I mean, the GSC does stand to gain from having Dr. Veatch out of the way—”

Sarah continues to stare.

“Look, I know,” I go on. “I was there this morning. And, yeah, he seemed as surprised as anyone to hear that Owen was dead. But we both know that sociopaths are good actors. Maybe… ”

Sarah blinks. I sigh.

“Okay,” I say. “Fine. He didn’t do it.”

“Finally,” she grumbles. “You know, sometimes you seem to have difficulty processing information. You might look into a temporal lobe disturbance. Just a slight one. Did you ever suffer a concussion as a child? Because that might explain it. Anyway. I guess what we need to do is concentrate on finding the person who really did shoot Dr. Veatch.”

I swallow. “Uh, Sarah? Cooper and I already had this conversation earlier. And he seemed to think that would be a really bad idea.”

“Yeah?” Sarah sounds completely disinterested. “Well, things are a little bit different now, aren’t they? An innocent man has been wrongly jailed for a crime he did not commit. Now, who else can you think of who might have had motive to do this? Anyone? Magda? Any ideas?”

Magda looks at her watch again. “I’ve got to go.”

Sarah’s face crumples. “Really, Magda. Is it too much to ask that just this once you think of something besides your personal grooming? Like the life of a young man who is so forward thinking and self-sacrificing, he could conceivably one day be president of the United States?”

Magda looks dubious. “I don’t know,” she says. “I got some pretty funky stuff starting to grow where no hairs should be… ”

The cafeteria doors open, and Gavin comes striding in.

“Hey,” Magda yells at him. “We’re closed till five—”

“Duh,” Gavin says. “Heather, we’re too late. I just called up to Jamie’s room. Her roommate says she just left for home—”

I swear beneath my breath, and Sarah glances at me sharply. “Jamie who?” she wants to know.

“Jamie Price,” I say. “She had a meeting—”

“With Owen this morning,” Sarah finishes for me. “I remember, I scheduled it for her. She wouldn’t tell me what it was about. Why does Gavin know about it, though? And what does it matter that she’s gone home? What’s this about?”

“Nothing,” I say. I don’t want to give her false hope. “Just something she said—”

Gavin’s already approached our table. “We should go after ’er. Rent a car, or whatever. Go to her place and find out what’s going on.”

“Wait a minute,” I say, flattening my hands against the slightly sticky tabletop. “What?No.”

“We could take the train, I guess,” Gavin goes on. “But, like, how are we going to get from the train station to her house? It’s quicker to rent a car.”

“Not at rush hour, it isn’t,” Sarah says. “And it’s almost four. Why, exactly, are you doing this?”

“’Cause she knows why Dr. Veatch got iced,” Gavin explains, with a shrug.