Resolve by J.J. Hensley Read Free Book Online

single fact that unexpectedly fit. They had simply been toying around with the dial on the front of the safe and the tumbler had accidently, and remarkably, clicked into place. One number in the combination . . . down.
    For the first time, the two detectives spoke almost simultaneously. Hartz, suddenly looking less concerned with the cold breeze, won the brief verbal tug-of-war and reasoned, “So you did know her a little more than your other students?”
    “I suppose I know . . . I knew her a little better because she tended to stop me after class and ask me questions. She was flirtatious, but that was it. I swear, nothing ever happened between us. I did not return her implied pronouncements of affection at any point. I was very clear about it yesterday!”
    Implied pronouncements of affection? Way to not sound pompous, Dr. Dumbass. And when a person being questioned says, I swear, that’s what is called a qualifier. Usually, it means that the person is lying through his teeth. This was sure going well.
    Now, it was Shand coming at me with a backhand this time, “Yesterday in your office.” A statement. Not a question.
    I hadn’t said she came by my office.
    “Yes. My graduate assistant, Steven Thacker, was there with me in my office until three-thirty. He witnessed the entire exchange where I made it completely clear to her that there could be no relationship between us,” I exclaimed as my irritation started to rise again. Continuing in a labored breath, “I explained that university policy forbids it and that it was simply not going to happen.”
    “How old is Mr. Thacker?” asked Hartz, without letting a second pass.
    What a strange question to ask. If I were interrogating some pompous professor at a second-rate university who openly admitted a recently-made-dead student was hitting on him, I certainly wouldn’t focus on some grad student’s age.
    I managed to breathe out, “I guess he’s around twenty-five or so. He’s scheduled to graduate this May.”
    It occurred to me that I better start asking some questions of my own before it began to look as if I were not asking because I already knew most of the answers.
    “Wait a second. You’re asking a lot of questions that make it sound like this wasn’t an accident. What happened to Lind . . . Ms. Behram?”
    Nice job idiot. First name basis with the deceased.
    The fact that I have always tried to be on a first name basis with all of my students, and that it is actually possible at a small school like this where everybody seems to know each other, is probably not something the detectives wanted to hear at this point. Maybe I could also dazzle them with my knowledge of adult learning theory and the benefits of informal interaction in the classroom while I’m at it. Genius.
    Hartz’s turn to swing the racquet. They were falling back in line with their routine.
    “She was found strangled in the Hill District. You know the area?”
    “I know of it, but I don’t go up there. No reason to, of course.”
    Of course. Because of course I didn’t have a reason to go to a high-crime, drug-infested area, detectives. I was an upstanding pillar of the community in one of the country’s most-respected institutions of higher education. Well . . . at least I was a well-liked fellow at a barely accredited college. The point was, didn’t they know that I had written journal articles that probably had been read by two or three pairs of people?
    What the hell was Lindsay doing there anyway? I didn’t take her for a druggy, but I could see her as a party girl. I guess if she was naïve enough to go up there to buy some Ecstasy or weed, then that might explain some of this. However, in all of my time on the street I never, ever saw a drug-buy-gone-bad end in strangulation. It just doesn’t happen. Gunshot? Sure. Stabbing? No problem. Beaten to death, run over by a car, set on fire, drowned in the gutter . . . why not? But not strangled. I knew it didn’t make sense