making sure nobody else got in. We’ve got her to thank that the crime scene isn’t hopelessly contaminated.”
Officer Steele backed away, looking resentful.
The woman shouted to the onlookers, “I want everybody to stay exactly where you are. Nobody moves, d’you hear? And keep talking to a minimum.”
There were nods and murmurs of assent from the group.
Then the woman grabbed Riley by the arm and started to escort her away from the others.
“Come with me,” she whispered sharply to Riley. “You and I are going to have a little talk.”
Riley gulped anxiously as Officer Frisbie led her away.
Am I really in trouble? she wondered.
CHAPTER THREE
Officer Frisbie kept a firm grip on Riley’s arm the whole way down the hall. They went through a pair of double doors and wound up standing at the base of the stairs. At last the woman released her.
Riley rubbed her arm where it hurt a little.
Officer Frisbie said, “Sorry to get rough there. We’re in kind of a hurry. First of all, what’s your name?”
“Riley Sweeney.”
“I’ve seen you around town. What year are you in college?”
“A senior.”
The woman’s stern expression softened a little.
“Well, first of all, I want to apologize for how Officer Steele talked to you just now. Poor guy, he really can’t help it. It’s just that he’s … what’s the word my daughter would use? Oh, yeah. A dick.”
Riley was too startled too laugh. Anyway, Officer Frisbie wasn’t smiling.
She said, “I pride myself on having pretty reliable gut instincts—better than the ‘good old boys’ I’m stuck working with, anyway. And right now my gut is saying that you’re the one person around here who might be able to tell me exactly what I need to know.”
Riley felt another wave of panic as the unsmiling woman took out a notepad and got ready to write.
She said, “Officer Frisbie, I really have no idea—”
The woman interrupted her.
“You might be surprised. Just go ahead—tell me about what your night’s been like.”
Riley was puzzled.
What my night’s been like?
What did that have to do with anything?
“From the beginning,” Frisbie said.
Riley replied slowly, “Well, I was sitting in my room trying to study, because I’ve got a class tomorrow morning, but my roommate, Trudy, and my friend Rhea …”
Riley suddenly fell silent.
My friend Rhea.
She remembered sitting on her bed while Trudy and Rhea had been across the room doing their nails and playing Gloria Estefan too loud and generally making nuisances of themselves, trying to get Riley to go out with them. Rhea had been so lively—laughing and mischievous.
No more.
She’d never hear Rhea’s laugh or see her smile again.
For the first time since this horrible thing had happened, Riley felt close to tears. She sagged against the wall.
Not now, she told herself sternly.
She straightened up and took a deep breath and continued.
“Trudy and Rhea talked me into going to the Centaur’s Den.”
Officer Frisbie gave Riley an encouraging nod and said, “About what time was this?”
“Around nine-thirty, I think.”
“And was it just the three of you who went out?”
“No,” Riley said. “Trudy and Rhea got some other girls to come. There were six of us all together.”
Officer Frisbie was jotting down notes quickly now.
“Tell me their names,” she said.
Riley didn’t have to stop to think.
“There was me—and Trudy Lanier and Rhea, of course. And Cassie DeBord, and Gina Formaro, and Rhea’s roommate, Heather Glover.”
She stood there silently for a moment.
There must be more, she thought. Surely she could remember something more to tell the police. But her brain seemed stuck on her immediate group—and on the image of her friend dead in that room.
Riley was about to explain that she hadn’t spent much time with the others at the Centaur’s Den. But before she could say anything else, Officer Frisbie abruptly put her pencil and notebook back in her pocket.
“Well done,” she said, sounding very businesslike. “That’s exactly what I needed to know. Come on.”
As Officer Frisbie led her back into the hallway, Riley wondered …
“Well done”?
What did I even do?
The situation in the hall was the same as before, with a small mob of stunned and horrified students standing around while Officer White looked on. But there were two new arrivals.
One was Dean Angus Trusler, a finicky and easily agitated man who was mingling among the students, getting some of them to tell him what was going on despite their orders not to talk.
The other newcomer was a tall, vigorous-looking older man wearing a uniform. Riley recognized him at once. He was Lanton’s police chief, Allan Hintz. Riley noticed that Officer Frisbie didn’t look surprised to see him—but she didn’t look at all pleased, either.
Standing arms akimbo, he said to Frisbie, “Mind telling us why you’re keeping us waiting, Frisbie?”
Officer Frisbie tossed him a look of barely disguised disdain. It was obvious to Riley that their working relationship was strained at best.
“I’m glad to see someone got you out of bed, sir,” Officer Frisbie said.
Chief Hintz frowned.
Trying his best to look as authoritative as the police chief, Dean Trusler stepped forward and spoke to Hintz sharply.
“Allan, I don’t like the way you and your people are handling this. These poor kids are terrorized enough without being bossed around. What’s this all about—telling them to stay put and stay quiet, with no explanations? Some of them just want to go back to their rooms and try to get some sleep. Some want to get out of Lanton altogether and go home to their families for a while—and who can blame them?
