The Last Good Girl by Allison Leotta Read Free Book Online Page A

accepted. “I heard about that poor girl,” the wife said, handing Anna a mug. “I hope you find her.” Anna thanked her. “Me too.” Judge Schwalbe had already printed out the documents Anna had e-mailed. He sat next to Anna, put on his reading glasses and read carefully through them. When he looked up, he shook his head.
    â€œYou don’t have enough evidence to search the fraternity house,” he said.
    Anna agreed—there wasn’t much, so far, indicating that evidence of a crime would be found inside the frat house—but she’d tried anyhow, hoping that sentiments like the judge’s wife’s would help.
    â€œCan we call you again to reapply if we find more evidence tonight?” Anna asked, worried about waking him again at three A.M.
    â€œOf course. That’s what the duty judge is for. Good luck.”
    He signed the warrant allowing them to seize Dylan’s Viper. They thanked the judge and left the house. As soon as they were outside, Sam called her agents and ordered them to tow the car and start processing its interior.
    Meanwhile, she and Anna headed to the university president’s house. Anna took a deep breath and tried to brace herself. She always hated this part. In a job full of difficult moments, there was nothing quite like talking to parents about losing a child.

SUNDAY

6
    S am pulled up to the president’s home, a beautiful Georgian standing on a circular drive in the middle of campus. Behind the house sprawled trees and then acres of campus, crisscrossed with tidy footpaths. The clock tower shone from its crown-jewel position just north of the house. The lights in the house were blazing although it was close to one A.M. Anna didn’t worry about waking anyone.
    Anna had looked at the Tower University website on the way over. It showcased the huge breadth of the campus, from scientists holding test tubes to the Division I football team. The university was home to ten thousand undergraduate students, with activities ranging from the skydiving club to atom splitting at the nuclear lab. Many of the students had been top students or athletes at their high schools, which the university highlighted in links to U.S. News & World Report rankings. There were pictures of the Jewish Students Group at Hillel, the LGBT Students Group, the Hiking Club, the College Republicans.
    Pictures of the president were easy to find, though his wife was more elusive. Anna had finally found a picture of Emily’s parents together: a handsome white couple in their fifties. He wore a tux; she was in a sequined ball gown. The caption read: “President Barney Shapiro and his wife, Beatrice, Attend the Black-and-White Ball, Which Raised $1.5 Million for the University’s Cancer Research Center.”
    Anna and Sam walked up to the house. The front yard was beautifully landscaped with native plants, Anna learned from a sign on the edge of the lawn. The doorbell chimed with the first stanza of the Tower University fight song. This was a house made for entertaining, for impressing visitors and welcoming donors. The woman who answered the door, however, didn’t match either the decor or the picture of Emily’s mother. This woman was in her midthirties, with spiky platinum blond hair and five piercings in her left eyebrow. She wore a crimson leather sheath dress, high-heeled black boots, and a massive statement necklace made out of what appeared to be old engine parts.
    She looked them up and down. “You’re the police?” she asked skeptically.
    â€œYes, I’m Anna Curtis, a federal prosecutor. This is Samantha Randazzo, FBI. May we come in?”
    The woman nodded and opened the door wider. They stepped into a long marble foyer. Long-stemmed lilies blossomed in a crystal vase on a pedestal table in the center.
    â€œI’m Professor Kristen LaRose,” the woman said, leading them through the foyer. They passed a high-ceilinged