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“Kind of, actually. Every Sunday, my parents would march us to church. There was this stained-glass window depicting Christ. One palm down, a refusal of the damned, and the other up to usher in those who were saved. Mercy and salvation. Damnation and sin.” She shook her head and tucked her hands into the pockets of her suit pants.
“The killer thinks they’re … what? Showing mercy to the people responsible for the deaths of the Frosts?” They approached the three-story brick building and climbed up the steps flanked by copper lamp posts, now green with age. Gus gripped the handle and pulled. The frigid blast of air conditioning slipped beneath his collared shirt, chilling the beads of sweat that trickled down his back.
“Maybe.” They strode directly to the elevators. “Class must be in session,” she said, voice lowered. The halls were barren, and the ping indicating the elevator’s arrival resonated through the open space. The doors opened and they rode soundlessly to the second floor before stepping out. Their steps slowed at the edge of each doorway, trying to spot Ted. “Could we be on the wrong floor?”
“Excuse me.” He turned to a student walking briskly past. “Can you point us in the direction of Professor Wilson’s class?”
“Sure. You’re almost there. I’ll show you.” Three pairs of shoes thudded down the hall. The student, who wore a maroon university sweatshirt and gym shorts, stopped at an open door. “This is it.”
“No class today?” he asked. Wright’s brow furrowed as she stepped inside the empty lecture room.
“Class was supposed to start a half an hour ago. Most people bailed after fifteen, but I can’t afford lower grades in this course, so I stuck it out for a bit longer.” The boy shrugged, planting both hands in his sweatshirt pocket. “Besides, his notes from last class are still on the board, so I got a head start.”
“What’s the class about?” His pulse began to thud harder, and the wary feeling ghosting him all morning intensified.
“Symbolism in Renaissance art.” The kid looked between the two of them. “Are you faculty?”
“We’re detectives with the Massachusetts State Police Department.” Wright flashed her badge, and the student’s eyes widened.
“Are you part of Professor Wilson’s study group?” He narrowed his eyes, and the young man shuffled his feet beneath his hard stare.
“No.” A depreciating laugh hissed from his lips. “That’s just for his elite students. I’m here on a sports scholarship. Anything else you need?” he asked, already turning his back to them.
“No. Thanks for your help.” Wright cast Gus an uncertain look. Turning into the room, they shut the door firmly behind them. “What do you make of it? He just doesn’t show?”
Wright’s voice was a static buzz in his ears, all his focus locked on the dry erase board below rows of theater-style seating.
What hands are here! Ha, they pluck out mine eyes.
Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red.
Shakespeare’s Macbeth
“Look.” His tone was low and deadly. “You were right. Judging gestures. Palm up, indicating the blood on the victims’ hands.”
Someone cleared their throat, and they both spun toward the door to the classroom. Neither of them had heard the door open and close. A young woman with pin-straight dark hair clutched a stack of books to her chest. “Y—you’re both detectives?”
Gus and Wright approached her, each showing their badges. “Can we help you?”
She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I made a poor judgment call.” When she looked up, her chin wobbled. “I’m part of Professor Wilson’s advanced study group. One of four students w—who gave an alibi recently for him.”
“What’s your name?” Wright took out her notepad and slid the pen from its sheath.
“Lisa Rice.” She blew out a long breath.
“Do you want a lawyer present?” His blood had gone cold, just like the ambulance ride to the hospital when he wasn’t sure the extent of Sasha’s injuries. She’s at the house, safe. He’d never been more thankful that he practically begged her to stay with him.
She shook her head, hair swaying from left to right. Then she slipped a card out of her wallet and passed it to Wright. “There was a study group. Not with Professor Wilson, though. He gave us the key to access the rooms we wanted to after hours, which was cool … until he started asking us to swipe it at the dining hall, the library, places all over campus. He called it our extra credit assignments. We thought he was showing his trust, but he wasn’t. We’re his scapegoats.”
“Call Sasha,” Wright said, eyes locked to the security badge in her hands. The one assigned to Professor Theodore Wilson. “I’ll contact the lieutenant.”
Not caring who was in the room, Gus pulled his cell phone from his pocket. And his stomach dropped. Two missed calls from Sasha and a voicemail. The tingling in his chest morphed into a weighted block, crushing against his sternum, splintering something inside. He held the phone to his ear and listened as his worst fears came to life. The worst part was, Ted had woven him into the lies he told to make Sasha believe. Her big heart would never allow her to ignore a friend’s plea to support them as they visited a gravely ill parent.
