A Silent Terror. Lynette Eason

as much as she could into their eager minds.

      

      Ethan threw the pen down on the report and rested his head in his hands.

      “What’s wrong, partner?” Catelyn asked as she found a perch on the side of his desk.

      “This case,” he mumbled into his palm.

      “Yeah.” Confusion colored her voice. “I don’t understand the complete lack of evidence.”

      He snorted and looked up. “We’ve got evidence, such as the shoe print, it just isn’t leading us anywhere. The fact that there were no viable fingerprints leaves us cold. Not even a stray hair. I don’t get it. Suzanne put up a struggle—didn’t she? The room was torn apart.”

      “There’s no indication she fought back.” Catelyn dropped a sheaf of papers on his desk. “The M.E.’s report. Nothing under her fingernails, nothing on her clothing.”

      “Then she surprised him. The room’s not trashed, because she fought him, he trashed it before she got there.” Tapping his chin, he looked at the papers but didn’t pick them up. “He wasn’t expecting anyone to be there.”

      “Okay, so he broke in, started gathering his loot in the bedroom, was there maybe a couple of minutes when Suzanne walked in on him.”

      Nodding, Ethan said, “She startled him and he grabbed her, she probably would have pulled back, maybe stumbled and fell, hitting her head? Or maybe he pushed her trying to get out of the room. I don’t know, just speculation, but…” he said, shrugging.

      “But where was her car? The one in the driveway was registered to Marianna. And it was clean. No sign of a search or tampering.”

      His gaze snapped up to hers. “You’re right. There was only Marianna’s car. The garage was empty.”

      “Suzanne may not have owned one.”

      “One way to find out.” A few taps onto the computer keyboard brought up a number of Suzanne Millers in the Spartanburg area. He scrolled down to the right one listing her address and clicked. Suzanne’s pretty features as shown on her driver’s license filled the top right corner of the screen. Finding the area of the screen he wanted, he clicked again.

      She owned a black Honda Accord. Glancing up at Catelyn, he pointed to the monitor. “Look.”

      Catelyn looked at him. “So, what are you waiting for?” She glanced at the clock on the wall opposite his desk. “It’s twelve forty. I’ve got another appointment, but it’s plenty of time for you to be waiting on Marianna when she walks out of class. Actually, she’s probably at lunch. It’s Friday, so the buses start picking up the kids at one.” The residential school dismissed the students early on Friday because some of the kids had a four-to five-hour trip home. The drivers and attendants who staffed the buses stayed the weekend in whichever city was at the end of their route, then brought the students back on Sunday night.

      “Yeah, I know the schedule.” Without another word, Ethan grabbed his coat and headed out the door.

      Fifteen minutes later, he’d flashed his badge to the guard at the entrance and refused the offer of directions to the building called Governor’s Hall, the cafeteria where the students gathered each day to eat, then stand outside to wait for the buses. He knew the way.

      Ethan now sat outside the building watching the end-of-day activity. Two high school boys tossed a football with one hand and signed back and forth with the other, talking in a language Ethan had done his best to forget, yet remembered with no trouble. Another young man stole a kiss from the girl he held hands with as they strolled up the hill toward the area where they would wait for the bus to pick them up. A group of elementary students crossed the street at the crosswalk, and a little girl about seven years old stooped to entice a cat to come to play until she was hurried on by the worker bringing up the rear.

      Nothing changes, he thought. When his sister had been a student here a little over three years ago, the same two boys played football, the same couple held hands—everything was the same. Then he shook himself. Of course everything wasn’t the same, but it sure did bring back memories.

      Memories that brought the pain of his sister’s death to the surface one more time, along with the resentment of his parents’ just moving on as if nothing had happened, as if his world hadn’t been ripped apart. A week after her funeral, his parents had left to tour Europe. Sure, they’d asked him to go with them, but he’d been shocked at their plans, had thought they were crazy, insensitive, unfeeling.

      Forcing his thoughts from the past, he concentrated on watching for the one person he hadn’t been able to push from his mind.

      Marianna Santino.

      And then there she was. Coming out of the cafeteria, her heavy wool skirt swaying against her endless stretch of legs. The baby-blue, cable-knit sweater only enhanced her dark beauty. She had her raven-colored hair flowing around her shoulders and down her back, just as she had two days ago.

      His palms suddenly itched, curious to feel what it would be like to let that hair flow through his fingers. Curling his traitorous hands into fists, he told himself to focus. He was here on a case, not a date.

      And soon she would be gone from his sight. Where was she going? Climbing from his car, he followed her. She was on her BlackBerry, texting someone, her fingers flying over the keys. Totally focused on her task, she kept her head down, never looking left or right—not exactly the best defensive walk. But then she wasn’t the one who needed to be on the defensive; Suzanne was the one who’d been killed.

      He wondered how Suzanne had walked. Probably like Marianna, completely unaware of her surroundings. The thought chilled him.

      “Marianna!”

      She didn’t turn. Instead, she flipped her phone shut, pulled open the glass door and slipped inside the building. Closing in fast, Ethan saw her enter the third classroom on the right.

      Reaching the door, he entered after her. Her desk faced the door and she stood behind it, pulling a box from a drawer. “Marianna?” He moved farther into the room.

      Looking up, she gasped. “Oh, Detective O’Hara.”

      “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. And it’s Ethan.”

      “Ethan, then. And it’s all right.” She held up a shoebox. “I’d forgotten to give this to Josh to take home last Friday, and with all the craziness this week, I forgot to give it to him today. He loves to bring me computer parts each week. I believe in recycling, so I was just going to rush down to the bus pick-up area and give it to him.”

      “Come on, I’ll drive you. I’ve got a few questions to ask if you don’t mind.”

      She blew out a sigh, grief crossing her flawless features for a brief moment. She shut the drawer and walked around the side of the desk. “I don’t mind. I can’t think of anything I haven’t already told you, but maybe your questions will jar something.”

      Together, they walked back to his car, with Marianna greeting various staff and students along the way. When they reached his vehicle, he drove her around to the where the buses picked up the students and she hopped out. Ethan stayed put and watched her approach an on-duty staff member. She asked in sign language while voicing, “Cleo, has Josh already gone?”

      Cleo signed back, “Yes, his bus left about five minutes ago.”

      Marianna sighed, hands gracefully forming the words, “Oh well, it wasn’t anything major, just his box. I guess I’ll save it for next week.”

      “You want me to keep it until Monday? I have to go back to my classroom anyway, so I don’t mind.”

      “Sure, thanks.” Marianna handed over the box of treasures with a dimpled smile, then walked back to climb in Ethan’s car. “Do you want go up the street to the coffee shop to talk?”

      “Sounds good to me.”

      The