Her knees trembled against the rough stone wall as she fumbled to unzip her pocket to exchange the mint box for her cell phone.
The broken figure below was a woman. Her upper body rested on the muddy river bank amid a collection of woodland and river debris. Her lower body swayed in the murky water; her legs bobbed up and down, performing a grotesque jig. Emma took a deep breath and looked beyond the fleshy slash that split her matted blond hair and studied the woman’s maimed, blue face. One eye stared vacantly and contorted lips formed a bizarre smile.
I know her.
The thumb-sized birthmark marking her lower jawline could only belong to one person.
Emma stabbed the numbers 9-1-1 on her cell. Her fingertips pressed into the metal while she clutched the phone to her ear. She focused on the tree tops, trying to regain some composure. But the moment the line connected, her poise slipped.
“You’ve reached the Bedford Summit Emergency Dispatch. What is your emergency and location?”
“Denise,” she choked on a ragged breath filled with tears. It can’t be. “Denise is dead.”
After the crisis operator received all the necessary information, it seemed like hours passed before a member of the campus security staff arrived—but in reality it’d been less than two minutes.
Wearing a tight expression conveying fear and eagerness, and with his right hand poised over his Taser gun, the responding officer raced across the lawn from the parking lot and onto the bridge. His wild eyes connected with hers for a second. In a flash, he moved in the direction she pointed and then he tentatively peered over the stone ledge.
“Oh, shit.” He backed away and faced Emma. “What happened?”
A fresh coffee stain marked his olive-green jacket above Tony Packard’s, campus security name tag. His ashen skin paled. He appeared as unfamiliar with death as she.
“I don’t know.” She blinked, a little confused by his question. “I didn’t see her fall.”
Sirens approaching the parking lot caught their attention. Two local cop cars and a state police cruiser veered in through the entrance. The three black and whites slid to a stop just short of plowing into the student cars parked in the front row. Within seconds, five officers raced toward them.
Leading them, was the young security officer who jogged to the bridge’s edge, pointing in the direction of Denise’s body and then at her.
Three of the men scurried down the grassy embankment while the others remained at the top, with Tony.
Emma crossed the bridge and watched the officers from above.
The older state officer immediately took charge of the scene. He checked Denise for a pulse by placing his fingers against her carotid artery.
Emma had already figured out Denise wasn’t alive, but the conclusiveness of the officer’s downcast eyes and the shaking of his head to the man standing by his side made her heart clench with sorrow again.
Rising, the lead officer quickly instructed the other men to secure the area. He then called to one of the officers to contact the campus security office concerning the footage from the security cameras located on nearby buildings.
The sirens had roused a number of students from their beds and as it became known someone had died a growing crowd of bedheads flooded out from nearby dorms. She didn’t notice any from her small circle of friends and wished Nanette, her roommate, would show.
The officer in charge unclipped his mic from his shoulder and his tenor voice drifted up to Emma as he contacted his station. After a few minutes, he stalked up the embankment toward Tony who guarded the bridge’s entrance.
“Who called it in?”
“She did.” Tony pointed Emma’s way.
As the obvious senior officer stalked toward her, Emma felt the need to be prepared—but for what, she didn’t know.
“I understand you found the girl.”
“Yes.” Her throat suddenly felt dry. “I did.” Her incredibly calm tone surprised her.
The man towered over her. His steely eyes seemed to take in all of her at once and yet a detail at a time. She understood the ability and the importance the detective placed on not missing a single fact. But why did he study her so hard?
Realizing she still clutched her phone, she slipped it into her pocket and folded her arms across her waist, trying to calm the quake inside of her.
“If you don’t mind, I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course.” She nodded, wanting to do anything to help find out what happened to Denise.
He latched onto her elbow and directed her to the other side of the bridge where he positioned himself between her and the active investigation scene behind him.
“Your name?” Without taking his eyes from her face, he dug a small pad and a stub of a pencil from the breast pocket of his uniform. His name tag read Officer Banko.
“Emma Lewis.”
“Are you a student here?”
“Yes. A grad student.”
“Do you live on campus?”
“Yes.” She pointed in the direction of the building which housed upperclassmen and women. Again she wished her roommate were here with her for emotional support. But knowing Nanette, she’d probably offer her photography services to shoot the scene instead of standing by Emma’s side. “Building 140. Apartment 2D.”
“You live there alone?”
“No. I have a roommate.”
He peered through dark lashes. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so, with that accent.” He continued to scribble. “Where are you from?”
“Kentucky.”
“Full home address?”
She gave him her family’s home address, along with her cell number and the landline number in her apartment.
“What were you doing out this early?” He cocked his head and his eyes traced over her face. “Most students sleep until noon on a Sunday.”
“I’m an early raiser. I do a five-mile run three or four times a week. I run both days on the weekend unless the path is too precarious because of weather conditions.”
“After the downpour we had last night, the running trail was Ok?”
“I watched my step.”
“What time were you out?”
“I left my apartment at six,” she answered.
His dark pupils expanded.
“Your call came into the operator at six forty-five. Five miles in forty-five minutes is a pretty good time.”
“I’ve been training for a while.”
“So you ran around…” He waggled the pencil in the air indicating he wanted her to continue.
“I ran from my apartment down the back trail to the equestrian center.” He’d already questioned her time, so she didn’t tell him she took a breather to give her favorite horse a sugar cube. “Then I came around the backside of the science complex and down this path. Denise’s blue skirt caught my attention.”
He looked up from his pad. “You knew the woman?”
“Yes. She is…” Emma swallowed her sorrow and continued on, “Denise Davidson. She’s a second year chemistry student and in a study group I lead.”
He made notes before continuing his questions. “Did you see anyone else while on your run? Someone who can verify your statement?”
“What do you mean verify?” Her voice pitched higher. “You don’t think I’d hurt Denise? Do you?”
He straightened. “Did you?”
She blinked. “No!”
Beads of sweat popped out on the nape of Emma’s neck and unconsciously, every muscle in her body froze in place. Why would he think she had anything to do with Denise’s death?
He was a cop. He had to look at every facet. And she had found Denise.
Her lungs felt tight. She couldn’t breath. Did he think Denise had been murdered?
“I’m just following a line of questioning. I don’t know what happened here. Ms. Davidson could’ve jumped from the bridge, for all I k
now.”
Emma inhaled, calming her nerves. “I understand. Denise was a happy person. I don’t think she would have committed suicide.”
“Maybe she was pushed.”
Being an accident had been Emma’s mind-set until he suggested otherwise; but murder? Murder hadn’t even crossed her mind. Could someone have actually killed Denise?
Her eyes drifted over the faces in the crowd. If so, did the murderer perhaps watch the scene now? She’d read somewhere a good percentage of murderers do watch the onset of the investigation proceedings for an additional adrenaline rush.
“Until I know exactly what happened, I need to collect all the evidence I can and find and exonerate all potential witnesses and suspects.” The officer’s words drew her attention.
Suspects? She had liked Denise and certainly had no reason to hurt her.
“Again, did you see anyone while on your run?”
His gaze locked onto hers, indicating an intense awareness. Unable to help herself, Emma shuffled back a step and mentally commanded the fear poking at her to cease. She knew better than to jump to conclusions. Officer Banko had a job to do.
“No,” she responded calmly. “But there could’ve been someone inside the barns who might’ve seen me. The veterinary students usually feed the livestock early.”
“How about when you approached this area? Or after you noticed her?”
“No. No one.” She ran her tongue across her parched lips. “My first instinct was to help Denise while someone else went for help. I scanned the area, but there was no one. Then I called 9-1-1.”
“Did you try to help her?”
“No. She was dead.”
His eyes narrowed. “You could tell from here there wasn’t a chance that she was still alive?”
“Her lips were blue, her skin washed of any color. She smiled. Someone in pain would not smile.”
He crossed the bridge and peered down before turning back to her. “You noticed her smile?”
“Yes.”
He flipped the pad closed and pocketed it while walking toward her. “The investigating officer in charge is going to want to take a full statement from you.”
“I told you everything I saw. Aren’t you in charge?”
“First on scene. Detective Johnson is the officer in charge of this case. He’s on his way here.” Banko extended his hand, indicating he wanted her to walk toward the end of the bridge where Tony waited. “So, if you don’t mind waiting…”
“No. Of course not,” she said, trying to ignore the weight of the crowd’s stares and the increasing number of fingers pointing in her direction. “Anything to help. Can I wait in my apartment?”
“Actually, he requested we not let you out of our sight until he’s spoken to you. You’re going to have to come with us.”
Gooseflesh snaked up her back and prickled the hair on her scalp. “I don’t have to go to the police station in town, do I?”
“No. I’ve been instructed by Detective Johnson to take you to the admin building. He’ll meet you there shortly.”
Turning, the state officer stuck his thumb and index finger into his mouth and whistled. He then waved to one of the local cops. The man jogged over to them.
“The two of you,” he said to Tony and his man, “take Ms. Lewis to the dean’s office.”
“It’s Sunday; the admin building is locked down,” Tony replied.
“You’re security, open it up. The dean and your head of security have been notified of the situation by my people. I’m sure they’re on their way already.”
“I’m off duty at eight and have plans.”
“Your plans have changed.”
Banko made his point and Tony’s spine snapped to attention, like a solider called to arms. His hyperactive gaze flickered toward her. She silently told him she didn’t want to be here either, but she had a civic duty to fulfill.
“Detective Johnson, from our office, is also on his way. He will meet you there,” Banko said and then hooked a thumb in her direction. “She’s not to speak to anyone. Understand?”
The local cop nodded once. The campus cop’s head bobbled again.
Tentatively, Emma accepted the officer’s indication she should leave with the men.
Emma tipped her chin up and stared straight ahead as the two of them led her toward the campus security car.
She hated being in the limelight and there certainly wasn’t any way to escape the stares from her fellow students. She could imagine the speculation that would fly across campus by early morning church services. Most of the gossip would be totally ludicrous, but it would be believed.
Why did she worry? She had nothing to feel guilty about.
Chapter Two
Emma stared through her lashes at the police officer seated across from her. A stroke of her hand across the soft leather sofa left behind a moist trail. Her angst increased.
Trapping her bottom lip between her teeth, she recalled the CSI-type shows she’d seen. Interrogation by the police could be harrowing. Though the shows were entertainment they provided her only frame of reference for this experience. She’d never been connected to an incident of this nature, or anything as horrifying.
She glanced at the clock on the wall above the officer’s left shoulder. An hour had passed since they’d asked her to wait there for a Detective Johnson. He was probably at the site where she’d found Denise.
Tears burned her eyes as she recalled the way she noticed Denise always made others laugh. Emma swiped away a tear and redirected her thoughts away from the morning events by examining the artifacts decorating the dean’s old-world office.
Her assigned policeman, a local cop named Riggs, thumbed through a golf magazine he’d lifted from the table centered between the two wingback chairs. The repeated swooshing sound of the pages he flipped bit at her nerves, as did the silent seconds in between.
Shifting on the couch, Emma earned a stern stare from the officer. “It’s been over an hour. Do you know how much longer I will be here?”
“No.”
“Can you at least call and ask someone who might know?”
“Do you have someplace to go?” He flipped another page.
Emma arched a brow at his curt attitude. “I’ve work to do.” No work was as important as finding out what happened to Denise, but she wanted to get her interview over with and go home. Nanette had probably heard the news already and she’d be worried.
“It’s Sunday,” he responded.
“Yes. I know. I work every day.”
Flip.
“I’m sure it won’t be too much longer.”
Suddenly they heard the slap of precision footsteps drawing near outside. Riggs dropped the magazine and jumped to his feet as the oak door swung open and the void it left filled with a tall, broad-shouldered man. Frank Knepper.
Frank Knepper was head of campus security. Emma had chatted with him many times over the years, usually late at night when she left the chemistry lab. She always considered him a gentle giant and his appearance there now had a calming effect on her nerve-racked psyche.
Frank’s sharp stare jumped from the officer to her.
“Mr. Knepper—”
“Ms. Lewis…” He cut her short, holding out a hand, indicting she should stay seated.
A voice behind Frank caused him to step aside and two men dressed in overcoats, dark suits and all the professional accessories—including highly polished leather wingtips—entered the room.
“Ms. Lewis. My name is Detective Trent Johnson,” the older man said. “I’m with the Pennsylvania State Police and this is my partner, Detective John Stauffer.”
The older officer’s brown hair was a tad grayer at the temples on the right side than on the left. He held up a badge for her to examine as he crossed the area rug that covered the hardwood floor.
The younger man was much leaner, taller and lighter in coloring. He also flashed his credentials quickly and slipped them back into his coat pocket. As
he surveyed the room, she noticed a mark above his shirt collar on the right side of his neck. She figured it was a scar from a wound healed over, just below his right ear. Had he been wounded in the line of duty?
“We’d like to thank you for waiting.” Detective Johnson pocketed his badge before extending his hand to her. He had a firm, quick handshake.
She immediately sensed they were men who didn’t waste time. Johnson’s partner had already slipped off his overcoat and sat in the chair Riggs had vacated.
“I’m sorry it took us so long to get here. I hope you were comfortable,” Johnson said.
“Yes.” She shifted on the couch, feeling all of her senses and nerves shift to high alert. She placed the soles of her sneakers firmly on the floor and stole a peek at Frank, who dipped his head once. She deduced the action was his way to reassure her she had nothing to be worried about.
Johnson peered around the large office while removing his coat. “Would you like some coffee or tea?”
The officers made themselves comfortable which she assumed was a ploy to make her feel at ease too. “I’m fine. Thank you,” she answered.
“You sure? I understand you were out and about early. You probably didn’t have your morning coffee before your run.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“My son runs. He enters several marathons a year for benefit causes,” the older man said, while pulling the other wingback chair closer to her, leaving Detective Stauffer behind him, already poised with a note pad and pen he’d retrieved from somewhere. “He can’t drink coffee before running. Cramps. You know. Please. Join us. I’m ready for a second cup.”
The senior officer guessed correctly. She hadn’t had her morning caffeine and having a cup of tea would help stop the dull throb in her temples. “I’ll have tea. Two sugars, please.”
Johnson’s lips curled into a warm, genuine smile as he hung his coat over the back of the chair. “Officer Riggs, is it?”
Obsessed by Darkness Page 2
