Particles of Murder (A Shadow of Death Romantic Suspense Series Book 1) (15 page)

"I've already told you what my relationship was like with Victoria," he says. "You can ask however many times you want. The answer is not going to change. I'm not going to confess to having any romantic relationship with her because I'm not going to lie."

"Really?" I ask. "Because I have an eyewitness that said he saw you with your hand on Victoria's shoulder. You don't think that's crossing a line with your student?"

Surprise flickers on his face before it's replaced by disdain and anger again.

"I was not inappropriately involved with Victoria," he states. "Quite honestly, I find it repugnant that you keep bringing it up. You are allowing a killer to run loose because you're so focused on making me the witch you want to burn at the stake."

"Dr. Pierce, I can tell when someone is lying to me and I can tell that Victoria meant more to you than some average student," I say. "So, what? Were you interested in her and she just didn't want a relationship? Or was it the opposite? Did you sleep with her before you found out she was your student?"

His face goes bright red. "Fine. Fine. You want to know the truth?"

I raise my eyebrows and make a show of listening.

"I was absolutely not sleeping with her,” he says. “You want to know why? She's my daughter."

I stare at him, my jaw going slack.

"Uh...I'm sorry. What? I don't...I don't believe that," I say. "I talked to another professor about you and he never mentioned that. The two of you don't have the same last name."

"My girlfriend and I gave up a little girl for adoption twenty-two years ago," he says. "Victoria was that little girl. She's my daughter. I knew it the moment I saw her, but we had her DNA tested just in case. I have the results right here."

He opens the top desk drawer and pulls out a manila envelope. He hands it to me. I pull out a packet of paper. The child being tested is Victoria Glassman and the father being tested is Cameron Pierce. My eyes skip to the bottom.

Probability of Paternity: 99.9998%

He is the father.

I put the papers back and hand the envelope back to him.

"Why didn't you just tell me this to begin with?"

"Because nobody else knows," he says. "And, when I met her, she was taking one of my classes. I didn't want her to be forced to change classes over some perceived idea that I may favor her because she's my flesh and blood and, quite honestly, I enjoyed teaching her and I intended to continue to do so."

I nod. "I'm sorry. I had to make sure you weren't the one who killed her."

"I understand," he says. "Trust me. I'm her biological father. I want you to find her killer too. But it's not me."

"Do you know anything about her that could lead us to her killer?" I ask. "Anything at all. Like--maybe someone freaked her out--"

"There was her R.A...."

I shake my head. "We talked to him. I don't think he's part of this. He's just a normal, freaky guy. Anything else?"

"I don't know," he says. "She really loved being Dr. Zimmer's student, but I'm certain he wasn't sleeping with her, so don't jump to that conclusion. The day she died, she visited me here in this office. She told me she felt a little weird, but she figured it was just nerves about heading back home for winter break and having to tell her adoptive parents that she found me. I suppose she could have been lying about why she felt weird, but I've figured out her body language by now and I don't think she was lying."

"Well, you haven't known her that long," I say. He frowns, but I ignore it. "Anyway...anything else?"

He shakes his head. "Sorry. We discussed everything, but her death was a complete shock to me. When I first heard about it, I assumed she had some kind of health problem she never told me about or didn't know about. I didn't even think of murder until the rest of campus began talking about it."

I nod, standing up. "Dr. Pierce, thank you for your time. I'm sorry about the, uh, accusations about sleeping with Victoria."

He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "It's fine. You were doing your job."

I nod again before turning around and leaving his office.

Right. My job. I need to find one of those.

* * *

W
hen I'm
ready to fall asleep, my thoughts filled with my family and if I could be risking their lives by pursuing this case, I hear a knock on the door. I get up, still fully dressed because I simply didn't have the energy to change, and answer it. John is on the other side with a bottle of vodka.

"I heard about your brother," he says. "Since I got you involved with this--including getting your fired--I thought the least I could do is get you some alcohol to cope with it all."

As I take it from him, I can't help but have my thumb brush against the seal. It's there. At least if he's the murderer, he's not trying to murder me. And if he is the murderer? It's better to keep him close and unaware that I don't trust him.

"Come in," I say. "Let's break this open and drink until this all makes sense."

"I like that plan," he says.

I lead him into my apartment and get two glasses from my cupboard. I pour us two glasses. He takes one and we raise our glasses.

"What should we toast to?" I ask.

"Mortality?" he asks.

"I don't think that's something we would be cheerful about."

"But everything means so much more when you know you could die within the next second." He pauses as if expecting to suddenly fall down dead. He smiles at me. "It's a terrible thing for Victoria, Everett, and Iris to die so young, but their lives were so full, I think they should be envied. They loved with their whole hearts, which is a lot more than most of us can say."

I clink my glass against his. "I can drink to that."

We both swallow the vodka in one gulp. I pour us both another shot.

"So we're planning on this not ending up like it did last time we were drinking, right?" he asks.

"You mean where we end up having sex?" I ask. He flushes. "Oh, come on. We actually did it and you're embarrassed by the word sex?"

"I just didn't think you would put it that blatantly." He drinks his shot. "I don't know. It just seemed like you really regretted it and obviously, it ruined your professional life."

"I regretted it because I shouldn't have done it," I say. "The case was still open. I was arrogant to think it was going to be closed soon after that night."

"Plus, I was cute that night, right?" he teases. "I mean, usually I'm decent looking, but that night...that night I was very cute."

"You were male and I was drunk," I say. "That was it. That was the whole reason I took you to my apartment. Why did we go to my apartment? Wouldn’t it have been more gentlemanly to ask me to your apartment?"

"Uh, no," he says. "Because I remember you insisting to go to your apartment since it was closer. If you remember, we were in the city and my house was forty minutes away."

"I don't remember that." I drink my shot. "I guess alcohol and I aren't as close as we used to be."

"You were quite chatty that night," he says.

I tilt my head. "I do remember some of our conversation," I say. "But I don't remember you telling me that much about yourself. I remember you said that you used to be overweight."

He nods. "I was."

"And that you've been teaching for...a decade?" I guess. "And you didn't like fantasy or science fiction...something like that. But that really doesn't tell me that much about you."

"Oh?" he asks. "You're judging me because I didn't spill all my secrets? Your big secret was that you didn't like your hair."

"Hey--I'm very self-conscious about it," I say. "That is a secret."

He smirks. "Fine. You think I owe you a secret, then?"

"I think...I want to know why you're so attached to your students," I say. "It's weird. It's really weird to me."

"Why do you find it so weird?" he asks.

"Because you treat them like best friends or a close family member," I say. "You're pouring all this love out and most people would have run out of love eventually. You can only give so many pieces of yourself away until there's nothing left. So, why?"

He runs his finger over the top of his glass.

"Do you want to know a personal story about myself that I've never told anyone?" he asks.

"That depends. Is it a story that will answer my question, or is it a story meant to distract me from said question?"

"Both," he says. "Neither. I don't know. I just think it's pertinent."

"It's not like I can stop you from telling it."

"Okay, so, very few people know this, but..." He looks away from me, taking an unprecedented amount of interest in my refrigerator. "My father got in trouble with the law when I was six, and my mother wasn't really fit to be a mother, so I ended up in foster care. I ended up bouncing from foster parent to foster parent until I aged out. I was luckier than the other kids because I met a teacher who encouraged me and generally believed in me, which is how I ended up being a professor today. So, not only do I want to be that kind of teacher to my students, I also...I guess I don't really have a concept of a permanent family or a family related by blood. It's easy for me to care deeply for a student that I've only seen for a few months because sometimes that's what it was like with my foster parents and my foster siblings. I can't psychoanalyze myself, but I believe that's why you find my actions so peculiar. I grew up with different concepts of love and family, so I react differently to situations. I never had my own family, so I constantly remake my own every year—just like it used to be when I was a child.”

"I'm sorry," I say, crossing my arms over my chest—not as a gesture of defense, but as a wish for closeness that I won’t allow myself to have. I'm not used to being exposed to someone's vulnerability like this.

He shakes his head. "I appreciate your empathy, but I didn't tell you that because I wanted any pity. You wanted to know and I told you because I trust you."

"Are you sure you really know what trust is, or did you invent a new concept for that as well?"

He smiles. "I implicitly trust everyone until they give me a reason not to."

I get ready to pour myself another shot before I think better of it. I put the bottle back down. I become too affectionate when I drink, and the last thing I need is to make the same mistake twice.

"So, have you heard anything about the case?" I ask. "Did they tell you anything about Iris?"

"They told me that she seemed to have died the same way," he says. "And her room had been broken into the morning she had died. She lived on the first floor in her apartment and the window was broken."

"I find it hard to believe nobody saw or heard anything if the window was broken," I say.

He shrugs. "Her window faced a parking lot, but there are large bushes between it and the building. It was also early in the morning, so some of the other residents heard the sound, but they didn't think much of it. People hear weird sounds all of the time. I'm not excusing their behavior because at least one of them should have checked it out, but I also understand why none of them reacted."

"Well, the killer broke into your office to get the recommendation letters," I say. "Why would they break into her apartment?"

"I have no idea," he says. "Maybe he did something in there that would later kill her?"

"Like a booby trap?"

"Okay, I wouldn't use that term, but something like that," he says. My phone vibrates.

M
om
: Your brother came into contact with some variant of aconite. His skin absorbed it or something. It turns out he'll be here for likely a week getting cardio-pulminary (pulmonary? I don’t know. Heart things) support. Liam is very aggravated, but the doctor says it's lucky the poison was so diluted. Love you. Talk to you soon.

I
set
my phone down and turn to John. "Aconite."

"Excuse me?"

"Aconite," I repeat. "It's a botanical compound. It's known to leave only one major symptom and that's asphyxia. It doesn't show up on autopsies unless the medical examiner is looking for it, but I know Tim. He would have looked for it. My mother says my brother came into contact with a variant of it, which means that whoever created it had to have changed it, which means they may have changed it enough that it wouldn't show up on the autopsy."

"That would be complicated," John says. "It's not like everyone has a chemistry set in their basement."

I turn to him. "But they do at the college."