“You were hurt,” Decker said.

“I was very hurt. She blew me off and I didn’t know why. And the worst part was, she wouldn’t talk about it.” She looked down. “How long has she been missing?”

“We’re trying to figure that out. Can you tell me when you last spoke to her?”

“I guess it was the last time I saw her.” She looked up. “After she broke up with Lance, she changed . . . we didn’t see that much of each other.”

“Who else should we talk to about Angeline?”

“Maybe Emily Hall although I was closer to her than Emily was . . . I don’t mean it to sound jealous, just the way it was. When she complained to me about Angeline’s disappearance act, I was the one defending her. I suppose you could talk to Lance if they’re still in contact.” She thought a moment. “Maybe she’ll just show up.”

“Did she often take long weekends away?”

“Sometimes. Was she in class today?”

“No, she wasn’t,” Decker said. “Did she have class today?”

“I don’t know her schedule anymore.” She shook her head. “I mean, who reported her missing? Musta been her parents. Have you spoken to her parents?”

“We have.”

“This is just terrible! Do you think she ran away or . . .”

Decker said, “Do you have a water bottle?”

“Sure, in my minifridge. Help yourself. ”

Decker found a bottle, opened it up, and handed it to her. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, Julia.” He sat down next to her. “Angeline was found dead in her apartment.”

“Oh! My! God!” The tears were instant. “Oh God! I feel sick . . . oh, God, oh, God!”

McAdams sprung up. “Drink, Julia.”

“I can’t . . . I feel funny . . . real dizzy.”

“Put your head between your knees,” Decker said. “Slow your breathing down.”

But it was too late. Her eyes fluttered and rolled back into her head. She fell backward onto the mattress, dropping the bottle down McAdams’s leg, water spilling inside his boot. The kid jumped up. “Shit!”

Drolly, Decker said, “Well, kid, it looks like you finally got your feet wet.”

“Aren’t you witty.”

“You asked good questions by the way, Harvard. Keep it up.” Decker moistened a tissue with the remaining water in the bottle and ran it over her forehead. Julia stirred and started breathing out loud. “You’re okay, Julia. You’re okay.”

She tried to get up but fell back down.

“Slowly.” He helped her sit back up. “Are you still dizzy?” She shrugged. He said, “Take a few minutes to catch your breath.”

“Why didn’t . . .” She was crying. “You shoulda told me right away.”

“I apologize but I needed to talk to you first. Do you need some water?”

She nodded, downing the water bottle and then wiping her forehead, her face pale and pasty, her lips trying to talk but her throat not getting the words out.

“Her parents know,” Decker said. “They’re coming in from Florida.”

“Oh my God!” The tears wouldn’t stop. “Poor people!”

“Other than her parents and police, you’re the first person we’ve told. We need to talk to Emily and Lance before they find out from someone else. Do they live in Maple Hall as well?”

“Emily is upstairs . . . 8C.”

“What about Lance?”

“Elm Hall. I don’t know his room number.”

“I’ll find it. Julia, I’ll need you to keep this quiet until we’ve had a chance to complete our interviews.”

“Does . . . the school know?”

“Yes. Before we go, we’d like to look around the room.”

“Her stuff? Sure . . . I guess. Is it legal?”

“She’s dead, Julia. These first few hours are crucial.”

“Sure, look around.”

The two detectives began to search: Angeline’s desk, her closet, her bed, her personal life. Within the first few minutes, it was clear to Decker that the young woman had basically moved out of her dorm room. Nothing of interest, not even schoolwork. He smiled at Julia who had regained some of her color but was still in a state of suspended animation. McAdams was checking out the pockets of her clothing.

“Anything?” Decker asked.

“A comb, old lipstick, pens, pencils, squashed candy, loose change.”

“Paper?”

“Store receipts, credit card receipts, and a few scraps of paper with notes written on them . . . mostly to-do lists. I’ll bag them all up.”

Decker turned his attention back to Julia. “Anything else that she might have wanted to hide from prying eyes? What about a diary?”

“I don’t know.”

Decker handed her his card and McAdams did likewise. “If you think of anything else, call anytime.”

She nodded. “Are you going to talk to Emily now?”

“Yes, if she’s in.”

She said, “Once you tell her, can you have her text me or call me? I don’t know if I want to be alone tonight.”

“Lonely, sad, or are you worried about your personal safety?”

She looked down. “Is this something that I need to worry about?”

Decker said, “Honestly, I don’t know. Is there a specific person who you’re worried about, Julia? Someone out there who is giving you the creeps?”

“Not really.” Stated without a lot of conviction.

“What’s on your mind?” Decker asked. “Who are you worried about?”

“No one specific . . . really.”

McAdams said, “But guys do get drunk and behave badly, right?”

“Exactly.”

“Do you think that’s what might have happened to Angeline?” She shrugged helplessly. Decker said, “In the next few hours, we’ll be talking to a lot of people. Like I said, if anyone makes you feel uneasy, give me a call.”

She let out a gush of air. “I’ll call you, I promise.”

“After I’m done with Emily, I’ll come back to check on you,” Decker said. “In the meantime, it’s always a good idea to lock your doors.”

CHAPTER 11

THE INTERVIEW WITH friend Emily didn’t provide any new insights, just a fresh batch of tears from another vulnerable young woman. Maybe a guy’s perspective would be more enlightening. As they made their way over to Elm Hall, Lance Terry’s dorm, McAdams said, “Looks like Angeline had lost interest in college. Typical for seniors.”

Decker didn’t answer, churning around his own thoughts. The men walked in silence for a few moments.

“Did I piss you off or something?”

“No, I’m not pissed at anyone. Why would you think that?”

“You’re not answering me and I piss people off all the time.”

“Just thinking.” A pause. “Even brain-dead cops do that from time to time.”

“Are we really having this conversation—again?” When Decker didn’t answer, the kid exhaled. “Look. I know I’m an arrogant ass . . . with a weak stomach. But I’m not stupid. I told you I’m in this all the way. So if you deign to share your thoughts, I might deign to add an insight or two.”

“You do have insight. So you tell me what you’re thinking and I can shoot you down.”

McAdams smiled. “Like everyone else.”

“In the biz, we call it a discussion. You go first . . . please.”

“Since you said please.” McAdams collected his ideas. “I don’t think the crime had anything to do with the college per se. Angeline was psychologically gone . . . all but graduated. And when you add the designer purses and shoes, I’m thinking that someone had to be giving her money, right?”

“Makes sense.”

The kid grew animated. “I’m thinking she was making a lot of money on the side and probably doing it illegally. Since both Emily and Julia didn’t like our hooker/pusher theory, and since Angeline was an art history major, and since stained glass is taught at Littleton, it is not inconceivable that Angeline might have had something to do with the forgeries and the thefts in the cemetery. And that may have something to do with the reason behind her excess money and her murder.”

“Go on.”

“So I suppose the next step is to find out if she took a stained-glass course.”

“And if she didn’t?”

“Well, it still doesn’t rule out that she knew how to do stained glass.”