An Eye for an Eye

by Caroline Fardig

  “No, he’s not one of my students. He interviewed me for the Ashmore Voice. He said it was an audition of sorts to get a position. That he wasn’t part of the staff yet but if he did a good job, he was in.”

  Baxter’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “When was this?”

  “Monday afternoon. Right before… Oh, no. No, no—” My breath caught, and I covered my face with my hands.

  “Right before you found Jenna’s phone.”

  I looked over at him, dread filling me. “Yes.”

  Baxter started rapid-firing questions at me. “What did he ask you about? Did he say anything about Jenna Walsh or Amy Donovan? What did he want to know?”

  “He, um…he didn’t want to talk about the last case we worked on, which is what I’ve been interviewed about ad nauseam for months. He wanted to know what it was like when I worked as a criminalist for the county. He wanted to know why I made the switch to teaching and whether or not I missed fieldwork. He made no mention of any specific cases. There was no actual story. It was almost more of a biographical puff piece on me.”

  He said quietly, “He was profiling you.”

  I closed my eyes. I was clearly not smart enough to take this guy on. “Damn it.”

  “There was no way you could have known.”

  “Why me, though? I was in high school and college while Jayne and Frank were partners. I had no possible way of being involved in any of their cases.”

  He thought for a moment. “But did you talk about the Sheriff being like a second mom to you and all the mentoring she’s done for you?”

  I nodded slowly. “I did. Do you think he was planning to use me to be another way to get to Jayne?”

  “I’d say it’s a good possibility. Think about it—you’ve been surrounded by law enforcement ever since you spoke to him. What if he was planning to nab you instead of Michaela Richards, but he couldn’t get to you so he had to go with his plan B?”

  Ice washed through my veins. “I don’t think I want to think about that.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Me either. Until we catch this guy, you’re not leaving my sight. Got it?”

  I nodded. I wasn’t going to give him any lip about that.

  “Are your sister and nephew at home?”

  “No. Rachel is staying on campus with Jenna’s roommate, and Nate is with my stepdad.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way. For the time being, I think that setup will be safer for both of them.”

  With shaking fingers, I texted Rachel and David and relayed Baxter’s orders as well as I could. There was no way I could speak to either of them without breaking down, so I took the easy way out. By the time I was finished, we were screeching into the parking lot near the Ashmore Student Center, where there were already several other law enforcement vehicles waiting.

  Baxter hopped out of his vehicle and went to confer with a group of deputies standing on the sidewalk. I felt sick. I had sat and chatted with a murderer, completely oblivious to the fact that he was in my office trying to glean information about me. I’d been out of the game too long, and my radar for danger was rusty.

  I got a text from Baxter: We need you over here.

  Willing myself to keep it together and focus on the case rather than the pity party I was throwing for myself, I got out of the SUV and joined Baxter and the deputies.

  Baxter had taken charge and had already given out assigned tasks. He asked me, “How do we find out where Hunter Parsons lives?”

  “The Residence Life office should have that information. They’re located in the administration building on the third floor.”

  “What about his class schedule?”

  “Registrar. Administration building, first floor.”

  Baxter turned to address the deputies. “You heard her. Fan out across campus and find this son of a bitch. I want updates every fifteen minutes.”

  The deputies scattered, leaving the two of us alone.

  “What do we do?” I asked.

  A slight smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “I figured we’d talk to the Voice staff since we know them so well. See what they know about Hunter Parsons.”

  I couldn’t help but smile a little. During our last investigation, Baxter and I had had an interesting afternoon interviewing the quirky staff members of the campus newspaper.

  “Since Hunter wasn’t on staff yet, I doubt many of them know him too well. I take it he talked to Al Nishimura, though. We could start with him. Any idea where he lives?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. In addition to his duties at the Voice, he’s the president of the Betas, so he lives at the Beta house.”

  “Al’s a frat boy? How did I not sense that last time, brah?” When I didn’t react to his joke, Baxter threw his arm around my shoulder and steered me north toward Fraternity Row. “Come on, old Al’s always good for a laugh. You and I could both use one.”

  ***

  “What the hell? Zane, that better not be your dumb ass pounding on my freakin’ door this early!”

  Baxter and I exchanged an amused glance as we waited outside Al Nishimura’s room in the Beta house. The hallway reeked of a blend of beer, puke, weed, sweat, and cheap cologne, the signature stench of frat houses everywhere. I preferred the scent of a death scene to this one.

  Finally, the door opened, and a shirtless Al Nishimura blinked at us through bleary eyes. Once recognition dawned on him, he exclaimed, “Hey! If it isn’t my favorite detective and the lovely Professor Matthews.” He held out his hand to Baxter. “Long time no see. How’s it hangin’, brah?”

  Baxter’s mouth twitched as he shook Al’s hand. “I’m good, thanks. We have a few questions for you.”

  Al crossed his arms over his scrawny chest and leaned against the doorframe. “Shoot.”

  I said, “Yesterday I was interviewed—again—for the Voice. This time it was by a student named Hunter Parsons. He said you’d told him that if his story was good, you’d give him a staff position.”

  Al stared at me. “Who?”

  “Hunter Parsons. He said specifically that ‘Al Nishimura said’ I’d be cool with him interviewing me.”

  He still seemed flummoxed. “You made it super clear that you were done with interviews when you came into the Voice office last week and yelled at me. I’m not stupid enough to send any more of my crew to bother you of all people.”

  Baxter covered up a snort as he got out his phone. He showed the screen to Al. “This is the guy she’s talking about.”

  Al squinted at the photo of Hunter and shook his head. “I’m really sorry, brah. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this guy before. And I definitely don’t know any dudes named Hunter Parsons. Honest.”

  I glanced up at Baxter, whose face had suddenly grown dark. Finding Hunter may have just gotten complicated.

  Baxter said to Al, “I know the photo’s not the best, but you’re sure you’ve never seen this guy around campus? Not once?”

  I chimed in, “Maybe using the name Derek?”

  Al looked at the screen again. “No, I’m sorry. He doesn’t look familiar to me. And I know practically everyone.”

  Baxter nodded, his jaw set. “Okay. Thanks for your time, Al.”

  “No probs. Hey, why are you looking for this Hunter Parsons kid anyway?” His face grew serious. “Does it have to do with Jenna Walsh’s death?”

  Baxter regarded him for a moment. “I tell you what—I’ll give you an exclusive interview with me tomorrow if you do me a favor today.”

  Al’s eyes bulged out. “Shit, yeah. Anything.”

  “I want this photo and Hunter Parsons’s name and description plastered over every Voice news vehicle you have at your discretion. Someone has to know him.”

  Al nodded. “Text me the deets. I’ll make it happen.”

  Baxter and Al exchanged contact information, and then we were on our way. Once we got outside the frat house, Baxter pulled me aside.

  “We are dealing with a slippery sociopath her
e.”

  “I know. Nick, I don’t like this.”

  He frowned. “I don’t either. I think we’ve been fooled. Again. What do you want to bet Hunter Parsons doesn’t even exist?” He shook his head and got out his phone. Walking a few steps away from me, he made a call.

  I didn’t know what to feel about this new turn of events besides despair. “Hunter” had done his homework. He knew all the right things to say and dropped the right name to get me to talk with him, and then he’d vanished like a ghost. For all we knew, he’d never even been on campus except to pick up Jenna on Saturday night and on Monday afternoon to interview me, which would have given him ample opportunity to discard Jenna’s phone near the library. With all the activity going on at any given time on campus, he could have slipped around virtually unnoticed.

  I heard Baxter let out a string of expletives before he turned back around with a hard expression on his face.

  I winced. “More bad news?”

  He stomped over to me. “Yeah, you could say that. The damn Feds have sent in an agent to oversee our investigation. That ought to guarantee Michaela Richards will never be heard from again.” He gave a swift kick to the nearest object, a metal trash can, knocking it over and sending the contents spilling out onto the ground. It wasn’t often that laid-back Nick Baxter lost his cool.

  I understood and agreed completely, though. The FBI had a way of taking over and bringing an investigation to a screeching halt. Not only was it an ego thing between the two departments (the lowly Sheriff’s department was seen as not “good” enough to solve the case), but it was also a red tape thing. With more people and agencies in the mix, the paperwork and meetings increased, which wasted precious time. If Baxter was this angry, Sterling was going to have an aneurism.

  “Let’s go back,” Baxter muttered, heading toward the center of campus. “Neither Residence Life nor the registrar has a record of Hunter Parsons. We’re wasting time here. Except… When ‘Hunter’ came to your office, did he touch anything?”

  Yesterday afternoon seemed like an age ago, but when I thought back, I remembered him picking up an award on my desk. “Yes…” I blew out a disgusted breath. “And now that I know what I know, I think he did it on purpose to leave his prints.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  I unlocked my office, thinking that when I’d done this only yesterday morning, I hadn’t had a care in the world. I hadn’t yet heard that Jenna was missing. I hadn’t seen Baxter and dredged up all those uncomfortable memories. I hadn’t seen sweet young Jenna dead at the hands of a mad man, and Jayne crumple in front of my eyes. When I walked in, my thoughts zeroed in on the fact that comfort was only feet away, hidden inside my desk. It might as well have been miles away with Baxter watching my every move.

  Baxter had retrieved a crime scene kit from one of the deputies and brought it along. His eyes fell on the award sitting on my desk. “That the one?”

  “Yes, that’s it. He purposely picked it up to look at it.”

  Baxter set the case down on the floor and stepped back. “I’ll let you do your thing. Restroom is which way?”

  Well, that was a stroke of luck in my otherwise shitty day. “Left and then another left.”

  “Lock the door behind me.”

  Gladly. I locked the door, and the first thing I did was to go for the vodka and take a long swig straight from the bottle. The burn in my throat was like a welcome friend, and I felt instant calm as it warmed my stomach. Now I could deal with anything. I swished and swallowed strong mouthwash and stuffed a handful of red-hot cinnamon candies in my mouth from an open bag in my desk.

  Sufficiently relaxed, I opened the kit and donned a pair of gloves, then got out the magnetic fingerprint powder and applicator. Regular fingerprint powder was best, but in this case, it would make a giant mess all over my desk, and I would have to be the one to clean it. I picked up my engraved award and set a piece of clean paper under it to catch any errant powder, then got out a magnifying glass and a flashlight to look for fingerprints. Luckily, the clear glass this thing was made of showed even the slightest smudge, and because of that, I was forever having to wipe it down when anyone happened to pick it up. Hunter was the last person to have touched it.

  I spotted a perfect latent thumbprint on the front of the award, almost as if he’d intended to put it there, which he probably had. It was again one of those unusual tented arches like the ones I’d found on the evidence from last night’s crime scene. He was our guy.

  My stomach suddenly plummeted, and I broke out in a sweat. I’d had the killer in this office and hadn’t had a damn clue. How could I have sat and chatted with him and had no inkling he had a murderous dark side? I didn’t think I was going to be able to forgive myself for missing something like that.

  Wiping my brow with my forearm, I managed to stop berating myself long enough to focus my energy on the task at hand. After brushing on some fingerprint powder, I was about ready to do a tape lift when a knock on my door startled me. I carefully set down the award and let Baxter in.

  He took one look at me and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Hunter Parsons is our killer. I’m sure of it. I found his fingerprint on my award.”

  “Don’t you have to do a little more than eyeball it to make that kind of blanket statement?”

  I frowned. “Damn it, Baxter. I’ve stared at his prints all night long. This is it.”

  He held up his hands. “Okay, I believe you.”

  Turning my back on him, I returned to my task, smoothing the lift tape over the fingerprint. After making sure there were no air bubbles, I slowly pulled the tape off and secured it to the card. It was a good print.

  I handed it to Baxter. “There you go. I hope you’ve got a brilliant idea up your sleeve as to how to find this guy. I feel officially outsmarted.”

  “I think our next step is to go to the media. I’ve already set the Voice in motion, so if we can get the local media to run the photo, we might be able to find someone who knows him. Someone has to. By the way, I want you to sit down with a sketch artist this morning. That photo is all we have, and I’m afraid it’s too grainy to be of much use on TV. I want a composite sketch, too.”

  I looked at my watch. “When? I have class in thirty minutes.”

  He stared at me. “Seriously? We’re going to do this again? Get a sub or cancel.”

  Frowning, I replied, “I’m sorry my career is getting in your way, Detective. Finals are next week, and I can’t be cancelling classes.”

  Baxter wiped a hand down his face. “What’s your schedule like this morning?”

  “I have an hour break at ten.”

  “Okay, I’ll see if the sketch artist can come to you. You’re a real pain in the ass sometimes, you know that?”

  “Back at ya.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I meant what I said before about keeping an eye on you until we catch our killer. But I have things to do, so if you insist on staying here, I’m going to have to assign a deputy to you.”

  I hated to have an officer of the law waste time babysitting me when there was a young woman in real danger. “I don’t think it’s necessary if I’m only going to be here on campus. Hunter isn’t going to show his face at Ashmore once the Voice starts running his photo. It’s too risky.”

  “I’m not putting anything past this guy. But more importantly, your safety is non-negotiable to me.”

  I didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so I busied myself with bagging up the award and scribbling information on the evidence tag. “Oh,” was my noncommittal response. I handed him the bag. “I guess if you’re going back now, you should take this to evidence.”

  “Sure. Now stay put and lock the door. A deputy will be here shortly.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “When you’re done with your classes, you’ll need to come back to the station.” He frowned. “We all have to meet individually with the Fed today.”

  I let out a disgusted snort.
“Talk about a pain in the ass.”

  With a wry grin, Baxter said, “I’ll see you soon. Stay safe, please.”

  ***

  The class I had fought so hard to teach didn’t turn out as well as I’d hoped. It was supposed to be the first part of the final review for my Intro to Criminalistics class. I had everything I was going to go over on a PowerPoint presentation, but for some reason I couldn’t keep my mind on the material.

  I wasn’t the only one. My students were not much better off than I was. Some looked haggard, I assumed from participating in the late-night search. Some were downright distraught—pale and sickly-looking. Jenna Walsh’s death had hit campus hard, especially on the heels of the last string of student deaths these poor kids had had to deal with. It was all too much, and it was dredging up old fears. It also didn’t help that there was a Hamilton County sheriff’s deputy sitting in the back of my classroom.

  About halfway through the review, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Guys, I feel your pain. Jenna Walsh was a close friend of mine and of my sister’s. She was like family to us. I know this is hard, especially since it’s probably also bringing up bad memories from earlier in the semester. I understand that your heads are somewhere else.” I sighed. “Unfortunately for you, this couldn’t have occurred at a worse time. Finals are going to happen, whether we’re ready for them or not. And I don’t want you to ruin the grades you’ve worked so hard for all semester with one test. Please, if you’re grieving, scared, or upset in any way, get help now. Go to your RAs, and they’ll point you in the right direction. Work through it as well as you can. Get your mind healthy so you can get through next week. Most of you are freshman, and you’re probably already overwhelmed at the thought of your first round of finals. It’s going to be a difficult week. But it’ll be much more difficult if you don’t make the effort to pull yourselves together so you’re clear-headed enough to study. Like I always say, emotional control is one of the most important skills you can have as a criminalist. This is one of those times when it’s essential.”