Proof of Life. Laura Scott

but her evidence had been solid, and in the end her testimony had caused the jury to find the surgeon’s ex-wife, Jessica Markoviack, guilty of murder. But Jessica couldn’t be the stalker, since she was currently serving a life sentence in an all-female state prison.

      A friend of Jessica’s, perhaps? If she remembered right, Jessica had a boyfriend, a guy named Clay Allen who hadn’t been involved in the murder, at least according to the evidence. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of doing the deed. She needed to go back through her case notes, to refresh her memory of the guy’s background. He was a viable suspect, someone who had a reason to carry a grudge against her.

      Fear gave way to anger as she rose to her feet. Maybe it was time to bring the police into this. The first two notes had been creepy but not outright threatening.

      I’m coming for you.

      She ground her teeth and turned her back on the note. She’d call the police, even though she knew there was little they could do. Hadn’t she already tried to trace the origin of the white cards herself? There was nothing special about them, they were commonly stocked in every office supply store in the area.

      Leaving the white card smudged with dark fingerprint powder on the table, she headed down the hall to the bathroom. First she’d shower, and then scrounge around for something to eat. It was only seven-thirty, and she still wanted to interview Quinn.

      Focusing her attention on Brady’s death would help her to ignore the eerie feeling of someone watching her, no doubt already planning his next move.

      Quinn Murphy read through the extensive list of names of all the kids who’d attended Brady’s party. The letters blurred and he had to blink to focus.

      He rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to stay awake, even though he’d been up for the past thirty-six hours straight. There were already forty-one names on the list, and he was certain there were more that had been forgotten. Kids who’d come only for a few minutes, or those who blended into the woodwork to the point no one ever remembered.

      Had the murderer stood back, watching? Waiting for the right moment to strike? He had no way of knowing. Wishing there was at least one solid lead to go on, he picked up the list again. Brady’s girlfriend’s name was glaringly absent. Anna Belfast had gotten hysterical when he’d told her about Brady’s death. No college student, even one in the theater program, could be that good of an actress.

      Anna won the lead role of Hannah in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and had done a performance at the theater starting at seven o’clock the night of the party. She’d been irritated that Brady hadn’t come to see her and claimed she’d refused to go to his party afterward, choosing to attend a cast get-together after the show instead.

      Her alibi was solid, confirmed by several other theater students. Although the suspicious part of his mind insisted there was likely time for her to come to Brady’s party after the cast get-together had broken up. Had Anna come to the party to find Brady with another girl? Her roommate, Maggie Carson, also had a role in the play and claimed Anna had come home right afterward, but there was a chance Maggie had lied to cover for Anna. Or Anna could have slipped out even later, after her roommate fell asleep.

      Sweet little Anna didn’t seem to be the type to bash Brady in the head, but her on-again, off-again relationship with his little brother was enough to keep her on the suspect list.

      They didn’t have the official report confirming the time of death, but the coroner at the scene had estimated it to be somewhere between five and seven in the morning.

      His phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts. He frowned. The number wasn’t one he recognized, but he answered it anyway. “Murphy.”

      “Officer Murphy, this is Shanna Dawson. I’m sorry to call you so late, but the crime scene took much longer than normal to process.”

      “I’m not surprised.” He could easily believe that going through the party mess had taken several long hours. He glanced at his watch and realized it wasn’t as late as it felt—just eight-thirty.

      “If you’re still available, I’d love to talk to you. But if you’d rather wait until tomorrow, I’d certainly understand.”

      He pursed his lips, thinking fast. The polite thing to do would be to wait until morning. Shanna had to be as exhausted as he was. But he also knew he wouldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest until he’d done everything possible to find Brady’s killer.

      “Tonight is fine.” He didn’t want to let her off the hook, and there was always the chance she’d give him some details on what they’d found. “Where would you like to meet?”

      There was a slight pause before she responded, “I’ll meet you at Karly’s Kitchen on Dublin Street.”

      “Sounds good. I can be there in twenty minutes.”

      “Thanks.”

      He actually made it in fifteen, but Shanna must live even closer because he found her already seated at a booth, nursing a cup of coffee. He slid in across from her, glancing up as the waitress approached. “I’ll have some coffee, too, thanks.”

      Shanna’s face was pale and drawn, as if she’d taken Brady’s death as personally as he had. With her wavy dark hair, alabaster skin and wide blue eyes, she reminded him more of a kindergarten teacher than a CSI. Maybe it was the air of innocence clinging to her. He’d thought most law-enforcement types became hardened by the brutal evidence of violence, but Shanna’s personality didn’t seem to have that distinctive hard edge.

      She summoned a smile. “How are you?” she surprised him by asking. “Is your family doing all right?”

      Amazed that she cared enough to ask, he sat back in his seat. She couldn’t know he wasn’t really a part of the family, not in the way she’d meant. His mother had pretty much abandoned him when she’d divorced his father, but over the years he’d made an effort to mend the rift between them, especially once his father died. No matter what, though, he was still an outsider. His mother had found a new life with her second husband, James Wallace, and his half-siblings, Brady and Ivy, were the joys of her life.

      And now Brady was dead.

      He’d given his mother the news, taking the brunt of her anger and frustration as she railed at him. Knowing that she would have preferred if he was the one who’d died instead of Brady was difficult to ignore.

      “I—my mother is taking Brady’s death pretty hard, as you can imagine.” He tried to soften his gruff tone. He didn’t hold a grudge against Brady, even though the kid had been offered every opportunity possible to succeed in life. More than Quinn had been given, that’s for sure. But Brady was basically a good kid.

      As Quinn had gotten older, he’d understood how his very presence reminded his mother of her dismal marriage to his father. A fact that was indirectly his fault, since she’d only married his father because she’d gotten pregnant with him.

      “I’m sorry for your loss.” Shanna surprised him again by reaching across the table to touch the back of his hand in a simple gesture meant to offer comfort. “I’ll do everything possible to find Brady’s murderer.”

      “I know.” He was impressed by her staunch dedication. And her empathy. Shanna looked young, barely twenty, although he figured with her training and experience she must be at least in her mid-to-late twenties. She was beautiful, her long wavy hair framing a heart-shaped face. The flicker of awareness annoyed him; he was here to help solve Brady’s murder, nothing more. “Thanks.”

      She began the drill, asking about his half brother’s life, going over all of Brady’s friends and roommates. He gave her everything he knew, which wasn’t all that much, since Brady had resented having his older half brother as a campus cop. Brady had kept his distance from Quinn as much as possible. Especially after Quinn had been the one to bust one of Brady’s parties a month earlier.

      If he’d known about this party last night, he would have busted it, too. And then maybe his