Butterfly Kills. Brenda Chapman

already been dead when they were discussing her loose morals, her spirit hovering in the room, listening to herself being called a slut. Surely Juicy had nothing to do with Leah’s death, but her smile was disturbing. Gail swung her eyes back toward the office.

      “Who’s that with Beach Boy and Tadesco?”

      “It’s a detective. Stonechild, I think she said her name was,” Nate roused himself to respond. “And she brought along a police officer.”

      “Christ,” Gail said. Her stomach rolled and she swallowed hard. Sweat was making her armpits wet. She was glad she’d worn a sleeveless white top that wouldn’t show the dark stains.

      Mark’s office door opened and the detective crossed the floor in their direction. Gail stared over: an Aboriginal, about their age, younger than thirty anyhow. She had long black hair tied back in a ponytail and black eyes that were drinking them in, assessing and processing. Dressed in navy slacks and a white shirt, the detective looked lean, muscular, and confident, everything Gail knew herself not to be.

      “Hello, I’m Detective Stonechild,” the woman said upon reaching them. “I know the news of Leah’s death has come as a shock, but it would help our investigation if I could speak with each of you individually.” She looked down at her notepad. “I’ll start with Jucinda Rivera. Please follow me into your supervisor’s office. Gail Pankhurst and then Nathan Anders will follow. Officer Marquette will stay with you. I’d appreciate it if you do not discuss anything about Leah amongst yourselves. Thanks.”

      Wow, no messing around. Gail felt that sick feeling back in her stomach. They were actually being interrogated, like on a police show, but this was no work of fiction.

      The detective turned and Jucinda rose to follow, throwing a rolling eye glance in Gail’s direction. Lucky for her, Marquette had his back turned. He was leaning against Gail’s desk and pulled out his cellphone as she passed by him. Mark and the professor joined Nate on the couch.

      “Well, this wasn’t what I was expecting today when I got dressed for work,” Gail said. Nobody smiled and she couldn’t really blame them. Making light when their colleague had just been murdered was in extremely bad taste, but she had to cope somehow. Every inch of her body felt like it was burning up with fever. She even smelled rancid, fear changing her body odour to something putrid and disgusting.

      A curious thought came to her as she looked at the three stooges — Tadesco, Nate, and Mark — lined up as if they were facing a firing squad. Juicy had said that Leah was sleeping around with a married man. Could it be one of these three? She studied them to see if any was more broken up than the others, but had to admit they all looked devastated. Tadesco won out in the red-eyed category though. She looked at him again.

      Immaculate blue suit and open-necked shirt the colour of daffodils, tall with jet-black hair gelled back, and a Mediterranean complexion. Attractive enough if you liked the Italian-prince-slash-GQ look. He was the hotline’s staunchest supporter and considered a socialist — a handicap the wealthier right-wing students overlooked because his psych classes were so interesting and he was such an easy marker. His wife, on the other hand, was an unpopular English prof. Medieval lit major, a horsey face, and expensive silk dresses labelled her elitist and stuck up. Rumour had it that she was cold in the sack. There might have been enough dissatisfaction in their marriage for Leah to move in on Tadesco. As Gail watched, Tadesco leaned into Mark. Gail shifted forward to hear their exchange.

      “I have to get over to the president’s office. He’ll need to speak with media and put out a news release. A murder on campus could create mass hysteria if not handled properly,” Tadesco said quietly.

      Mark and Tadesco both lifted their heads to look at the officer, who was just tucking his phone into his pocket.

      Mark nodded. “You’ve already given a statement so it should be okay.”

      “I just feel helpless sitting here when I know time is of the essence for keeping this contained.”

      Tadesco stood and strode over to talk with Marquette. Tadesco was the kind of man who strode, not walked. Gail thought he was a self-confident son of a bitch and maybe colder than his wife, if his words were anything to go by.

      Marquette and Tadesco discussed his departure in low voices and then Tadesco called across the room to Mark. “I’ll talk to you later. I’ll be available by Blackberry if you need to reach me.” He broadened his look to include Nate and Gail. “We’ll get through this. Stay strong, kids, and I’ll be back later so we can talk.”

      Gail felt she should pump her fist in solidarity but instead waved a hand in his direction and wondered why his promise for a tête-à-tête sounded like a warning. The person he probably should be telling to keep quiet was Juicy, but she was already spilling her guts to the detective. If Tadesco was the married boyfriend and Juicy knew it, things could go badly for his marriage and career. The university was strict about enforcing its rules regarding professors fraternising with students, especially if the student was in their class. Leah had been in Tadesco’s this year and last.

      Gail felt a surge of excitement replace the horror and dread. She itched to get out her laptop to start a new file about the murder and the players in Leah’s life. This could turn into the biggest psychological study ever and she was going to have a front-row seat. At least making this into another human experiment would take her mind off the horrible end that Leah had suffered. It might help her to make sense of the unfathomable and it could turn into a thesis that might get her published. What was that saying? Every cloud has a silver lining. It might sound crass, but life had to carry on and you had to make the most of whatever bounty fell your way.

      Chapter Eleven

      Kala sat in her truck and checked the address she’d copied into her notebook when Mark Withers brought up Wolf’s personnel file on his computer. She pulled out her map of Kingston from the glove compartment and traced the route with her finger. Wolf Edwards lived outside the campus, heading northwest.

      She tossed the map onto the passenger seat and started the engine. If there’d been a common thread running through every interview, it had been the boyfriend Wolf and his recent split with Leah Sampson. Jucinda Rivera was the only one who’d said Leah had been sleeping around on him with a married man, but she’d stopped short of giving a name. Gail Pankhurst had admitted that Leah and Wolf dated at one time, but clammed up about their breakup.

      How angry had Wolf been at Leah’s infidelity? Angry enough to torture her? Men did crazy shit when women left them. Sometimes men you would never suspect of being capable of violence.

      Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She slowed the truck and pulled over to the curb. Scanning the tree-lined street ahead, she counted mainly oak and maple with the odd poplar. Old trees in an old town. She held the phone to her ear.

      “Yeah?” Shit. Gundersund. She’d forgotten all about him.

      “Where are you?” he asked.

      “Just finished up the interviews and am heading to see Leah’s ex-boyfriend, who lives northwest of the university on Centennial Drive. He also worked at the help line until recently. Autopsy over?”

      “No. The parents were late and had a hard time with their daughter’s death. They were with her a while so we’re about an hour behind. I just stepped out to call you. Maybe you should wait for me and we can go together. What’s the guy’s name?”

      “They call him Wolf. Last name Edwards. Has the coroner found anything yet?”

      “Says she died sometime in the early morning hours on Saturday. There are bruises all over her torso and broken ribs. The fingers on one hand are mashed. She has rope burns on her wrists and ankles where the bastard tied her to the chair. Whoever it was cut her superficially all over her body, but the knife wound in her stomach was deep and nicked her liver. She died when she bled out.”

      Kala let out her breath but didn’t say anything. She watched a squirrel do a high wire act above the road in front of her. A cardinal flashed red in its flight between two