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

by Charlotte Raine

  “That makes sense, but it doesn’t help us. He seems to like them all,” I say. “John is the kind of person that—wait. I never told you his name. How did you know his last name was Zimmer?”

  Andre’s face is completely stoic for a second. He points to the end of the letter.

  “He signed it, Mira,” he says. “Do you really trust me that little?”

  I flush. Of course.

  “I’m so stupid, I’m sorry,” I say. “I guess…just being at that college, I have this feeling that I can’t trust anybody and it’s driving me crazy. They’re all so secretive there.”

  “You can trust me,” he says. “I always have your best interests in mind.”

  My cell phone rings. I glance down. It’s my mother.

  “Answer it,” Andre says. “I need to get a drink anyway.”

  He stands up and walks toward my kitchen. I pick up my phone.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say.

  “Mira,” she says, her voice sounding more high-pitched than usual. “Mira…something happened.”

  “What?” I ask. “Is Dad okay?”

  Hearing my panic, Andre steps back out into the living room. His eyes examine my face, trying to figure out every possible emotion I could be feeling. I don’t even know what I’m feeling.

  “He’s fine. It’s Liam,” she says. “I don’t know what happened to your brother. The paramedics say he was throwing up in his dorms and then he passed out. I don’t know…I just…We’re all at Tuskmirth Hospital. I know you’re busy with work—”

  Not sure how much longer I can avoid the discussion about how I was fired.

  “—But, I thought you should know.”

  “I’ll be there in half an hour,” I say. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I promise. I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too,” she says. “Be careful.”

  I hang up.

  “What’s wrong?” Andre asks.

  “My brother was really sick and then he passed out, so he’s at the hospital. Tuskmirth Hospital,” I say.

  “And you said you’d be there in half an hour? It’s at least a forty minute drive,” he says.

  “I need to get there,” I say. “That’s all I know. I need to get there as fast as possible. My brother never gets sick.”

  “Well, luckily you have an expert at backroads and pushing a car as fast as it can go.” He strides over to me and grabs my hand. “Let’s go.”

  It's nearly midnight by the time I step into my brother's room. To my surprise, he's awake, typing on a laptop in his hospital bed. My parents are sitting beside the bed--my mother is just watching my brother like he might disappear if she blinks, while my father seems to be responding to emails on his phone.

  "Hey," I say. My parents both look at me, but my brother is too busy typing to hear me or care. "I guess he woke up?"

  "Yes," my mother says, standing up. She hugs me, her embrace a little tighter than usual and her voice lacking the chipper tone she usually has. "He woke up about--what do you think, Tom? Twenty minutes ago--I think it was twenty minutes ago. He immediately asked for a laptop because he said he needed to stay in contact with those other activists and he wouldn't take no for an answer, so...your father went back to the store where Liam had left his bag, and grabbed his laptop."

  I shake my head, sitting down near my brother's feet.

  "Hey, Liam?" I ask. "I'm pretty sure the world can wait to be saved. We need to figure out what's wrong with you."

  "There's plenty of things wrong with me," he says, not looking up and continuing to type. "It's part of being a human in a society where flaws are dressed up as desirable traits--aggressiveness, greed, ignorance, lustfulness. But I can't wait. If someone is trying to kill me, I need to get all my thoughts out."

  "What makes you think someone is trying to kill you?" I ask. "I mean, what happened to you is similar to the murder victims, but you're still alive and you aren't a student of Dr. Zimmer's."

  "Isn't it obvious?" he asks, looking up at me for the first time. His eyes are a slightly darker shade of green than mine, but the intensity is enough that I've seen full-grown police officers step back. "I'm trying to push the police into continuing these investigations until the killer is caught and you, my sister, are part of that investigation. This is a threat to me and to you. I wasn't meant to die this time--or at least, they didn't intend for me to die--but this person has no fear of committing murder and if they think it will get the police off their back, I'm sure they'll have no problem killing me."

  I rub my temple. Most of the time I find his theories a bit farfetched, but this one makes some sense. Except for one part.

  "Actually, uh, I'm not part of the investigation anymore," I say. "I'm not even working for the police anymore."

  "What?" my father blurts, setting down his phone. "What happened? Why would you leave such a good job?"

  "I...didn't," I say. "I was...well, there's a lot to it, but the lead detective decided that I shouldn't be part of the murder investigations, and that involved me no longer working for the police and being fired. I think it was better that I left though. They didn't care about solving murders for the sake of justice--"

  "Amen," Liam mutters.

  "They just wanted to solve murders that would make them look good," I say. "I couldn't stand around and watch that."

  "So...you were fired," my father says.

  I force a smile and turn to face Liam, trying to ignore the disappointment on my father's face.

  "So, you feel fine?" I ask. "How could the killer even know that you're my brother?"

  "Well, I think I have an idea who it is and I had heard that you had been at his office, so he could have figured out who you are and made the connection through our last name," he says. "Or he asked around."

  "Who are you talking about?"

  "Dr. Pierce."

  "Dr. Pierce?" I echo. "I talked to him and he seemed to be lying before, but I couldn't find anything that was concrete evidence."

  "Well, maybe you should have just asked your dear little brother and I could have given you an eyewitness statement that Dr. Pierce and Victoria were acting like they were closer than a student and professor should," he says. "He had his arm on her shoulder. They were definitely involved. Maybe Everett witnessed Victoria's murder--"

  "No," I interrupt. "There was a third victim that wasn't even from this college and they all connect back to a different professor. He has a solid alibi, though, so we're thinking the victim has a grudge against him or something."

  He stares at me. "My theory could still work. Maybe this other victim knew something."

  "I don't think so, Liam."

  "Mira, I nearly died," he says. "Or I could have died. That least you could do is ask him about his relationship with Victoria."

  "What did you think I was doing the last time I questioned him?"

  "Well, put more pressure on him," he says, his voice raising. "Tell him you have an eyewitness that saw him getting overly comfortable in Victoria's private space."

  I rub my temple harder. I wish I could push all the way through my skin and touch my brain to make it work better. Or actually, I’d rather shut off all of my thoughts so I no longer have to deal with them.

  "I can talk to him again," I say. "But I have to be careful. The police will be angry if they see me still involved with this case."

  He nods. "Good. Good. Mira--I'm really glad that you chose to do what's right over your job. I know I've always been critical of you, but I just want truth and justice to win out. I don't want the dead’s voices to be snuffed out because of bureaucrats."

  "I'll do my best," I say. "But you need to get better."

  "I'll get better when whoever tried to hurt me is caught," he says. "So, please, don't just sit here like Mom and Dad. Find the asshole and make sure he's arrested."

  "I'll do my best," I repeat.

  He turns back to his laptop, so I spin around to face my parents. They’re looking at me with a combina
tion of disappointment and sorrow that simultaneously makes me want to hide from them and burrow into their arms.

  "Look,” I say, “I know you think it's bad that I don't have a job right now, but I'm going to figure it out."

  "I know you will," my mother says, reaching forward and hugging me again.

  My father nods, but returns back to his phone. I have a feeling that he's getting in touch with all of his contacts, but I don't think anyone in the magic business can help me right now.

  However, I might be able to make a killer reveal his tricks.

  Dr. Pierce's office is distinctively different from John's. It's full of bright colors--including a painted red desk and sky blue bookcase. I get the sense that it's made to make Dr. Pierce feel happier rather than be an expression of his personality because I haven't seen a single hint of vibrancy in him. Then again, I don't think I would be too lively if I were being constantly accused of murder, either.

  "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.

  When 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.”