Good Girls Lie(78)

“Tony. You know I care about you, deeply. If I wanted to stay here, at Goode, things would be very different. But it’s unfair of me to ask you to give up your life so I can pursue my dreams.”

“I know. You’ve been clear. Hurt me a little now so you don’t break me a lot later. Still, I miss you, girl.”

She sits back down, puts her hand over his, squeezes the rough skin.

“It’s okay, Tony. We’re all stressed. We’ll get through this.”

“Right.” When she doesn’t leave any room for the conversation to continue in this vein, he tightens down again, back to business. “The shirt we took from the roommate? The fabric is a match.”

Ford sucks in a breath.

“But. The piece we have tests out as standard 100 percent cotton, could be from anything of the same weight and color. I’m willing to bet there are a hundred shirts on campus that match the fabric. Not to mention, who knows how long it’s been there? Without a perfect match and a hell of a lot of proof, it’s not something that will hold up in court. Ash’s shirt is torn, yes, but she says the shirt was a gift that she received the night of the incident. A decent defense attorney will have it struck from evidence in a heartbeat, saying the fabric was there prior to Camille going off the edge. No way to prove otherwise without more—fingerprints, DNA, something. If someone was up there with her at the same time, we need more. Right now, there’s plenty of reasonable doubt.”

“It might be circumstantial in a court of law, but she was wearing a shirt that matches with a tear in it. Is that enough for us to assume she was up there? That she’s lying to us?”

“We need more to go on. She said the shirt was a gift. If she’s telling the truth, then where did it come from? Who gave it to her? We need to run it down.”

“She did seem quite frantic that we took it from her. It means something to her.”

“I agree. Whether she was wearing it while killing her roommate, or it’s just an innocent coincidence, she didn’t want to give it up. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but it doesn’t look good. Now, the key—how could she get access to your keys?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. I have to assume it’s one of the secret societies, though, for all I know, Security could have been up there and left it unlocked. They deny it, but without cameras, we have no proof. It’s a mystery we need to solve.”

“Well, Ford, it’s your school. That I leave to you.”

“I appreciate that, Tony. I will look into it, from every angle. I promise. And the moment I know something, I’ll reach out.”

“Good. In the meantime, my office will continue running down what we have. Though I gotta say I’m not sure of the girl who was pushed off the ledge. I’ve read the journal. She really was a mess. If there was a note, I’d say we’d have a clear-cut case of suicide, and the ME didn’t feel differently.”

“I hate to say this, but I’d rather that be the case. The very idea someone on my campus could hurt one of my girls is too disturbing for words.”

“Agreed. We’ll keep an eye out, our ears to the ground. Step up the patrols, just in case.” He stands, a knee cracking. “Oof. Getting old.”

“Yes, you’re just ancient, Tony.”

He surprises her by laughing. She smiles along with him. The tension between them dissipates.

“I’m sorry for what I said last night, Tony. It was inappropriate. You were only doing your job.”

“Yeah, well, I provoked you. And it’s hard, I know, to lose a student. Bygones.”

“Bygones. Let me walk you out.”

She walks him to his car, tells him to take care and means it, then watches him drive away. He’s a good man. A kind man. But he wants way more than she is willing to give. Not to mention all he said last night was true. She is getting out. Maybe not right now, but sometime.

The gates close behind him with a clang. She checks her watch. Almost time for the five o’clock bells.

She’ll tell Ash about her shirt after dinner.

It hits her like a lightning bolt.

If the girl’s half as good as Medea says she is, Ash can read that email header. Ash can tell her where the email came from. It’s got to be safer to have her look at it than Medea.

Before she does anything else, though, she needs a private audience with Rumi. They need to make a plan.

She sends him a text.

My place. 10:00 p.m.
He writes back immediately.

Not a good idea.
No shit, Sherlock. She’s well aware of the risks.

Mandatory.
Three little dots sparkle interminably as if the message is a long one. Finally, the return text appears.

No.
She is struck dumb by this. He has never refused her. Not once. He has always answered her affirmatively, whether it’s personal or professional. He appreciates her. Her attention is only part of the relationship. She’s given him a home. A job. A family.

And now he’s going to defy her?

She sets down the phone. She must speak with him but maybe this is for the best. If someone’s lurking around taking photos of her front door, the campus might not be the safest place. She can arrange to bump into him later today. He’s working at the coffee shop, she knows. She knows his entire schedule. She drew it up, after all.