“Yes.”
He sagged. “I grabbed her arm. For a second. I let go.”
“Did she ever say she felt watched?” Tucker asked.
Keller hesitated.
“Yes.”
“By who?”
“I told her to talk to Sinclair.”
Scout’s head tilted slightly. “Why Sinclair?”
Keller rubbed his face. “He… had a way with students. He always said?—”
Denton leaned in. “Said what?”
Keller exhaled, defeated.
“‘Writing is freedom.’ He said it all the time.”
Silence settled hard.
Scout didn’t move.
Not a muscle.
Burke’s gaze shifted to Tucker.
Tucker didn’t look away.
The phrase hung in the room like a fingerprint.t.
Keller blinked, too late realizing what he’d given them. “I don’t know what he meant by it—he just said it?—”
Burke stepped closer.
“Professor Keller… Lauren Pierce is deceased.”
Keller’s face drained.
“Dead?”
The word cracked in his throat.
“No. That’s not—she was just—she was angry—she was dramatic?—”
Then again. Softer.
“Dead?”
“Positive ID,” Burke said.
Keller sagged. “I didn’t kill her. I swear. I panicked. I deleted emails. Burned notes. That’s all.”
“Destroyed evidence,” Denton said.
