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Cassie stood. “I guess we know our next step, then.”
Mannis didn’t move. “I’m going to stay here and make some calls to Connor’s friends. Keep me informed, and I’ll relay the message to Davenport.”
Viotto narrowed his eyes. “You’re not usually one to sit behind a desk rather than do some fieldwork.”
“Davenport might not be trying to rush us back home, but he definitely wants us out of his hair. I want to stay here and keep an eye on him. If anything develops on his end, he’s not gonna go out of his way to tell us. It’ll be better if I’m here to find out for myself.”
“Good call.” Viotto turned to Cassie. “You ever interviewed a witness before?”
Cassie had to hold back her laugh.
“One or two.”
28
Long silences punctuated Cassie and Agent Viotto’s drive to the Queens University of Charlotte campus. They kept it casual, talking about where they’d lived over the years, what they liked to do in their spare time. Cassie realized that for all the experiences she’d had in life, much of them had kept her in the same place: Savannah.
There was nothing wrong with that. Savannah would always be her home. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, but when Viotto had talked about the year he’d lived in Australia, she could envision what it would be like to get away from all the complications that awaited her when she returned to her regular routine.
Not that it was regular compared to most. Viotto was an easy person to talk to, and he had a million questions about her time working with local detectives. There were one or two cases he’d come across in her file that he was particularly interested in, and she was happy to revisit them so many years later, knowing she’d helped the victims’ families find closure.
She wanted to ask about the cases he’d solved, but something stopped her. The more she got to know him, the more she realized she’d miss him when they parted ways. If Viotto were back in Savannah, they would’ve become fast friends. Maybe even something more.
And she couldn’t afford to think like that. Not right now. Maybe not ever.
There was a sense of relief when they arrived at the campus. Cassie had given her carefully controlled answers, and Viotto had been cautious not to push his questions into territory that would’ve made her uncomfortable. Just because she’d solved the case didn’t mean Cassie hadn’t held onto the terror she’d faced while investigating it, and Viotto seemed to understand that.
When he stepped out of the car and placed a pair of aviator sunglasses on his face, the congenial man she knew disappeared. The cool professionalism of an agent from the FBI was in his place. Unlike most men with authority, Viotto didn’t carry it like a badge of honor that allowed him to do whatever he wanted. He carried it like a promise.
Viotto knew where he was going, so Cassie followed in his wake. A few heads turned here and there, but mostly the students were busy rushing from one building to another. She never would’ve been able to afford to go to a university like this when she was applying to schools, so she figured she’d soak up the atmosphere while she could.
The hilarious part was that as soon as they entered the elevator that would lead them up to the girlfriend’s dorm room, the school mirrored every other ca
mpus Cassie had ever visited. There was a strange sticky substance on the walls, and it smelled of pasta and weed. Cassie took one deep breath and held it until they stopped on the right floor.
“Her name is Mara Young.” Viotto looked like he wasn’t trying to breathe too often either. “She was the same year as Connor, both working toward a computer science degree. She’s also minoring in French. She’s a straight-A student. No sports, but lots of clubs. History club, language club, food club, you name it.”
“Got it.”
The elevator dinged, and Cassie followed Viotto onto Mara’s floor. As they turned left and made their way down the hallway, Cassie let out her breath and took another one. The smell from earlier dissipated, and a fruity scent replaced it. She could only describe it as a dozen different body sprays combined.
Viotto knocked on the door to Room 717. There was shuffling as a shadow passed by a gap under the door. A sharp inhale of breath. And then the door handle twisted open.
“Mara Young?” Viotto asked. His voice had dropped an octave.
“Yeah.”
Mara Young was short and thin, with a severe bob that stopped bluntly at her chin. She wore heavy eyeliner and black lipstick. Her nose was pierced and there were several studs in each ear. The look was offset by the fact that she’d obviously been crying.
She wrapped her fluffy housecoat around her and looked between the two of them. “Who are you?”
Viotto removed his sunglasses and produced a card. His voice was gentler now. “My name is Agent Chris Viotto. This is Cassie Quinn. We’re here to talk to you about Connor Grayson. Can we come in?”
Mara sniffled as she stepped to the side to let them in. Her room was an explosion of color, with a bed pushed to one side and an immense desk against the other. Cassie’s knowledge of computers was basic, but Mara’s setup didn’t appear typical for a sophomore in college.
“Do you want to sit?” Mara asked. She brushed some clothes off her bed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”
“It’s okay.” Cassie knew how to talk to someone in mourning. She sat down. “Don’t worry about it. My room was a disaster in college. Yours is pretty cool.”
