The Sorority Murder (Regan Merritt, #1)(9)
Regan looked from Lucas to Henry. “This was your idea.”
“It was Lucas’s idea when he heard you were coming to lecture on campus. I thought it was a good one and told him so.”
“I was a US Marshal, Lucas. We don’t run murder investigations. We primarily transport prisoners, protect witnesses and courthouses, and find wanted felons. We run the WitSec program. I don’t know how I can be of any help.”
“But you do look for missing persons,” Lucas pushed. His whole body leaned forward, as if physically urging her to commit. “I want to get the word out about this unsolved case right here in our backyard but worry that I’m not asking the right questions. Those days she was missing could be critical. Don’t you think the killer should face justice? Isn’t that why you went into law enforcement at some point? To help right wrongs?”
Her reasons for being a marshal, she thought, were simple: law enforcement was in her blood. Her father had been a cop, then elected sheriff; her oldest brother was a deputy in Maricopa County; her grandfather had been a US Forest Ranger.
But the reason she had chosen the Marshals Service was complicated. Partly ego, partly to do something different from the rest of her family, partly to escape Flagstaff. She loved her hometown—hiking, skiing, kayaking, camping—there was no more beautiful place in the country than northern Arizona. The staggeringly tall mountains, the deep Grand Canyon, the rivers for kayaking, the land for hunting, the clean air and down-to-earth people. But it could also be claustrophobic. Being a Merritt in a long line of service-oriented Merritts, you always had to be on your best behavior.
Yet here she was, back home for a while, wanting to make changes in her life and licking her raw wounds...wounds she doubted would ever heal.
After Regan provided no answer to Lucas’s question, Henry filled in the awkward silence.
“Regan, what if I make a suggestion?” he said. “Listen to the first two podcast episodes. See if your curiosity is piqued. If so, lending your expertise would help Lucas in his project. One evening, one interview—it might help steer the direction of the case. Because I must admit, I have been curious about where Candace Swain was before she died, as well as who killed her. Was it a crime of opportunity? Passion? Revenge?”
“You read too many mysteries,” Regan said, grateful that he’d lightened the mood.
“She was a student here, after all. Her unknown whereabouts was an outlier in the case at the time, one the police never sufficiently explained.”
“Now you’re sounding like a lawyer,” she said with a slight smile. “You know the police don’t always share the information they have, especially with the public.” Yet Henry was right: the case was more than a little intriguing. She’d always been a sucker for cold cases. Some of her most memorable evenings growing up were spent talking to her dad and older brother about unusual crimes and missing persons, trying to come up with ideas about what happened. She wondered if Henry knew about that. It wouldn’t surprise her if her dad had told him, or if he just remembered her inquisitive nature from college.
“No promises,” she said, “but I’ll listen. Do you have a number where I can reach you tomorrow?”
Lucas pulled a page out of a college-ruled notebook and scribbled his name, phone number, email, and the name and URL of the podcast. “I live in an apartment off campus, the other side of downtown. We record here at the campus radio station, a studio in the communications building. Lizzy handles all the equipment and stuff, and the idea was that she would screen callers—but we’ve only had two. We have numbers—people are listening. Not a huge number live, not yet, but we’ve had several hundred downloads. If you would, maybe come thirty minutes before we go on? Then I can run through the program, answer any questions you have, get you comfortable.”
“I said no promises.” She finished her drink and put the glass on the Coconino County coaster. She’d said she wasn’t committed, but she had a lot of questions. She’d never been able to let questions like this go. A cold case? Here, at NAU? There was a lot of mystery surrounding Candace Swain’s murder.
“Henry, thank you for everything. Surprisingly, I enjoyed lecturing today.”
“And the class...?” he asked hopefully.
She just laughed.
“Lucas, I’ll let you know either way, okay?”
“Thank you. I really appreciate your time.”
Lucas watched Regan Merritt leave Professor Clarkson’s office. He put his head in his hands. “I didn’t do that right. I was all over the place, trying to convince her to help.”
“You did just fine, Lucas. Just fine.”
He stared quizzically at his advisor. Had he been part of a different conversation? “I should have told her more, about the police reports, the argument that night, how no one in the sorority will talk to me, about—”
“You told her enough to interest her. The rest she’s going to learn in the first two episodes. She’s going to do it.”
“Really? You think?”
“I’ll bet a bottle of Macallan.”
“I’m broke, so I’ll just take your word for it.” He hoped his professor was right, because he feared—like he’d told Lizzy last night—that no one would call in with clues and he’d never find out what really happened to Candace Swain.