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  Danforth said to Frisbie, “What do you want me to do with her now?”

  “Take her to the common room,” she said. “Try to help her get comfortable.”

  Comfortable? Riley thought.

  There wasn’t much chance of that.

  Danforth escorted Riley to the common room, which was as devoid of student life as the hallways were. Riley sat down on a couch, and Danforth sat in a chair across from her.

  The cop said nothing. She just sat there staring grimly and silently at Riley.

  What’s going on? Riley wondered.

  Did Danforth suspect her of Trudy’s murder? Did all the cops suspect her—except maybe Officer Frisbie?

  If so, why?

  Then Riley remembered …

  I was covered with blood.

  They had to pull me away from Trudy’s body.

  Why wouldn’t they suspect me?

  Riley wondered—was she going to be arrested?

  She felt herself wilt under Danforth’s accusing gaze. Should she try to explain to her what had happened?

  If I’m under arrest, maybe I should keep quiet, she thought.

  Then she heard a pair of quarreling voices outside the common room—the voices of Officers Frisbie and Steele.

  She heard Frisbie say, “We should get her to a hospital.”

  She heard Steele reply, “Why? She’s not injured.”

  “She’s still in shock,” Frisbie said.

  “I just want to ask her some questions,” Steele said.

  Riley heard Frisbie let out a growl of disapproval and walk away.

  Steele strode into the common room. He gave Officer Danforth a nod, which she seemed to take as a silent order to leave. Danforth got up and left the room, and the overweight, red-faced man sat down in her place.

  He stared at Riley for a moment.

  Then he said, “You’re an awfully curious young woman, aren’t you?”

  Riley didn’t know what to say—or even what he meant.

  Did he mean “curious” as in wanting to know something, or as in being an unusual person?

  Maybe both, she thought.

  Steele said, “I remember finding you standing in the first victim’s doorway when we showed up that night. Then a couple of days later you came into the station asking questions. ‘How is the investigation going?’ you wanted to know. And now we’ve got a second victim—and she just happens to be your roommate.”

  He fell silent, leaving Riley to wonder …

  Is he asking a question?

  If he was, she sure didn’t have any idea what to say to him.

  Finally Steele added, “Maybe you’ve got something you’d like to tell me.”

  Riley was truly baffled now. Then she heard a deeper male voice from the common room door.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Steele. What do you think you’re doing?”

  Riley’s head jerked around to see who had spoken. She was relieved to see that Dr. Zimmerman had just walked in the door, accompanied by Officer Frisbie.

  Zimmerman crossed his arms and glared at Steele, who looked anything but pleased to see him.

  Steele growled, “This is police business, Zimmerman—not yours.”

  Clearly, the two men knew each other, and they definitely didn’t like each other.

  “Are you going to arrest this student?” Zimmerman asked. “If so, you’d better read her her rights.”

  Steele scowled silently.

  Zimmerman spoke in a firm voice. “Leave this girl alone. She’s not a suspect.”

  “How do you know?” Steele said.

  “Because I happen to know a few things about killers,” Zimmerman replied. “And I know this girl. She’s sensitive and smart, and she didn’t kill anybody, and she doesn’t deserve to be bullied.”

  Officer Frisbie tilted her head at Steele and pointed toward the hallway.

  “Come on, Nat,” she said. “Leave this poor kid alone. We’ve got real work to do.”

  For a moment, Officer Steele looked like he might argue. But then he reluctantly got up and followed Frisbie out of the room.

  Dr. Zimmerman sat down on the couch next to Riley and held both of her hands.

  “Oh, my dear, I know this is awful for you,” he said. “I came as soon as I’d heard about what happened. Is it true? Was it really your roommate this time?”

  Riley nodded.

  “I’m so terribly sorry,” Dr. Zimmerman said.

  After the grim coldness of Officers Danforth and Steele, Riley found the professor’s kindly presence to be a startling change—even a shock to her system.

  How should she deal with it?

  How could she help but let her emotional guard down?

  As if in reply to her unspoken question, Dr. Zimmerman said, “You can talk to me. It’s all right.”

  Tears trickled down Riley’s cheeks.

  She said, “I didn’t do this, Dr. Zimmerman. I didn’t kill Trudy.”

  “I know you didn’t,” Dr. Zimmerman said.

  “But …”

  She couldn’t say the rest of what she meant.

  Dr. Zimmerman spoke her thought for her.

  “You think it was your fault. You think you’re responsible.”

  Riley nodded again and choked down a sob.

  Dr. Zimmerman squeezed her hands.

  “Tell me the truth,” he said. “Was there any part of you that wanted this to happen? Did you feel even the slightest trace of such a wish, even for a fleeting moment?”

  “No,” Riley said.

  “Of course you didn’t,” Dr. Zimmerman said. “Someone else did this, not you. You’re not responsible. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Dr. Zimmerman lifted her chin and looked into her eyes.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” he said again. “I’m liable to keep saying that like a broken record. You might even get sick of hearing me say it. But it’s true, and you’ve got to believe it. It’s not your fault.”

  Riley wanted to believe him. But she found herself remembering their conversation in his office a few weeks ago, when he’d said …

  “We mustn’t cause a panic by spreading our suspicions around.”

  She said, “Were we wrong, Dr. Zimmerman? Should we have let everybody know what we were thinking? About the killer, I mean. That he was likely to kill again.”

  She noticed a flash of uncertainty in Dr. Zimmerman’s eyes.

  He took a long breath and said, “We were just two people with a hunch. We mustn’t second-guess ourselves. We have to deal with the here and now.”

  Riley paused for a moment, then said, “Do they suspect me? The cops, I mean?”

  Zimmerman thought for a moment, then said, “Did you see a knife in the room? Did the killer leave the murder weapon?”

  Riley tried to think—had she seen a murder weapon?

  Would she have even noticed if it had been there?

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m not sure.”

  Zimmerman scratched his chin and said, “We’ll have to see. But if it’s at all possible, I want to get you away from here. You’re still in shock. Would you like me to take you to the hospital?”

  Riley shuddered as she imagined spending the night in such a cold and impersonal environment.

  “No,” she said.

  Zimmerman thought again, then said, “I could put you up at my place, just for the night. I’ve got a guest room.”

  Riley had trouble deciding for a few seconds.

  Then she said, “I guess that would be all right.”

  Zimmerman helped her up from the couch.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go talk to them, see if it’s all right for you to leave.”

  As Dr. Zimmerman took her arm and escorted her out of the common room, Riley felt markedly stronger than when she’d come in. Zimmerman’s presence had been more than helpful. In fact, she wondered how she could have coped if he hadn’t shown up.

  Once they were out in the hallway, Riley
could see that some new people had arrived.

  One of them was striding toward her and Dr. Zimmerman—a short, vigorous, barrel-chested man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties.

  As the man approached, he called out to her, “Is your name Riley Sweeney?”

  Riley nodded.

  The man pulled out a badge with identification.

  He said, “I’m Special Agent Jake Crivaro, FBI.”

  Riley stopped in her tracks with a renewed flash of alarm.

  I really am going to be arrested, she thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Riley more than half expected the FBI agent to pull out a pair of handcuffs and arrest her right there. Then Dr. Zimmerman spoke up.

  “Agent Crivaro, I’m personally concerned about this young woman. She’s experienced a terrible trauma. She’s been through more than enough today, and she’ll be better able to answer questions tomorrow. I’d really like to get her away from here.”

  Crivaro frowned at Dr. Zimmerman.

  “You would, huh?” he asked. “And who might you be?”

  “Dr. Dexter Zimmermann.”

  Crivaro’s eyes widened.

  “Holy shit,” he said. “The Dexter Zimmerman, the criminal pathologist? Yeah, now I remember—you teach here at Lanton.”

  Zimmerman nodded and said, “I’m head of the Psychology Department.”

  Crivaro shook his hand vigorously.

  “Man oh man!” Crivaro said. “I must have read everything you’ve ever written, Dr. Zimmerman. I’m a great admirer of yours. But then, who in the Bureau isn’t?”

  Zimmerman said, “I wish we could have met under better circumstances. I take it this is now an FBI case. How did you get here so quickly?”

  “My team and I flew in from Quantico by helicopter,” Crivaro said. “We landed in the college football field.”

  Crivaro looked at Riley again, then back at Zimmerman.

  He said to Zimmerman, “Listen, do you mind sticking with me for a little while? I might be able to use some help.”

  “I’d be glad to,” Zimmerman said.

  “Where can the three of us go to talk?” Crivaro asked.

  “The common area,” Zimmerman said. “Come with me.”

  Riley walked between the two men back to the common room, still uncertain as to exactly what was happening. Was her arrest just being delayed?

  She felt deeply relieved that Dr. Zimmerman wasn’t going away, at least for a while.

  Soon the three of them were sitting around the table in the kitchen that adjoined the common room. Crivaro took out a pencil and notepad and got ready to take notes.

  He said, “Ms. Sweeney, I understand you were the victim’s roommate.”

  Riley felt a jolt at hearing the word “victim.”

  “Yes,” she managed to say. “Trudy … was … my best friend.”

  “And you discovered the body, am I correct?”

  Riley felt jolted again by the word “body.”

  In fact, she cringed a little.

  Why can’t he just call her Trudy? she thought.

  “That’s right,” she said in a whisper.

  Crivaro looked up from his notebook. His expression softened, and so did his voice.

  “I know this is hard, Ms. Sweeney, but I need some answers. When and how did you find Trudy after she’d been murdered?”

  Riley was startled by the subtle shift in his tone.

  More than that …

  He called her Trudy.

  Had Crivaro picked up on her discomfort at the words “victim” and “body” and was now trying to exercise a bit more tact?

  Riley suddenly sensed that this seemingly gruff man might be a lot more sensitive than he normally let people see—and probably a lot more complicated.

  In answer to his question, she said, “I found her when I got back to the room this morning.”

  “At what time?”

  Riley told him the time, as best she could remember.

  Crivaro squinted at her and said, “So you were out all night?”

  Riley winced and nodded.

  Crivaro said, “Where and with whom?”

  Riley gulped hard. Was she going to get Ryan in trouble again?

  She also felt oddly embarrassed at what Crivaro might think of her for spending a night in a guy’s apartment.

  It seemed like a weirdly inappropriate thing to worry about.

  Why should I care what he thinks?

  Who is he, my father?

  She said, “I went home last night with Ryan Paige—a law student.”

  Crivaro thumbed through his notebook.

  “Ryan Paige,” he said. “Yeah, I see that his name has come up before—with regard to Rhea Thorson’s death. When did you last see Trudy Lanier alive?”

  Riley took a long, slow breath and explained how she’d coaxed Trudy into coming to the Centaur’s Den, and how she’d last seen Trudy sitting in a booth with Harry Rampling. At the mention of Harry’s name, Crivaro thumbed through his notes again.

  Has Harry’s name come up already? she wondered.

  It certainly made sense. Riley was surely not the only person to have noticed that Trudy and Harry had been together.

  Did that mean Harry was now a suspect?

  Riley reminded herself …

  I still don’t even know whether I’m a suspect.

  When Riley finished talking, Crivaro paused and sat staring at her, tapping his pencil eraser against the tabletop.

  What’s he thinking? she wondered.

  Then Dr. Zimmerman leaned toward Riley. He spoke slowly and carefully.

  “Riley, I think you should tell Agent Crivaro about your experiences.”

  “Experiences?” Riley asked.

  “You know. Those … moments you told me about when you …”

  He left the sentence unfinished, but Riley knew what he meant.

  He was talking about those two experiences she’d had of slipping into the killer’s mind.

  Riley was shocked by his suggestion. Dr. Zimmerman was the only person in the world she’d told about those moments. Did he really think she should confide them to a total stranger?

  She looked at Dr. Zimmerman and silently mouthed …

  “Are you sure?”

  Dr. Zimmerman nodded with a warm and sympathetic smile, then said to Crivaro, “I think you’ll want to hear what she has to say.”

  Agent Crivaro was now staring at her with keen curiosity.

  Haltingly and cautiously, Riley began to tell him everything—first how she’d sensed the killer’s thoughts as she’d retraced the route he had taken while following Rhea, then how she’d done the same thing in Rhea’s room, imagining how he felt looking down on her dead body.

  By the time she was finished, Crivaro was squinting at her with intense interest, and his mouth was hanging slightly open.

  Then he and Dr. Zimmerman exchanged a meaningful look.

  Obviously they were thinking the same thing.

  But what are they thinking? Riley wondered.

  She remembered something Dr. Zimmerman had said to her the first time they’d talked. He’d said that she might have a “unique talent,” and …

  “It might not be a talent you’d choose to have, but it might prove to be very valuable.”

  Was Agent Crivaro thinking along the same lines—that Riley might have the makings of a good criminal profiler?

  The idea scared Riley almost as much as the thought of getting arrested.

  Finally Agent Crivaro said, “Ms. Sweeney, I don’t want to push you …”

  He paused, and Riley felt cold chills all over.

  Then Crivaro added, “But I’d like you to try to get into this state of mind again.”

  “Oh, no,” Riley said, her voice trembling.

  She couldn’t imagine making such an attempt—not while she was so emotionally devastated by Trudy’s death.

  But Crivaro’s expression was urgent. Riley sensed that he wasn�
��t likely to take no for an answer.

  Finally Crivaro said, “I think you really should. Two young women have been murdered—and one of them was your best friend. I’m not sure but … I really think you might be able to help bring their killer to justice.”

  Riley felt a knot of panic form in her throat. How could she possibly say no?

  She nodded slightly.

  “I can talk you through it,” Crivaro said. “Come with me.”

  Without another word, the two men got up from the table. Riley stood uncertainly, then followed Dr. Zimmerman and Agent Crivaro out of the common area and into the hallway.

  Local cops and FBI agents were coming and going or standing around talking.

  Crivaro barked out to all of them, “I want the crime scene cleared of all personnel. Not just the room, the entire hallway. Everybody go outside and let this girl and me work.”

  The FBI agents immediately started heading out, but the local cops stood gaping at him with surprise. Officer Steele didn’t look like he was going to leave.

  “Did you hear me?” Crivaro snapped. “Move!”

  Startled, Steele and the rest followed the FBI agents out of the building.

  Dr. Zimmerman put a hand on Riley’s shoulder.

  “I’d better go too,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right outside.”

  Riley wanted to beg him …

  “Please! Don’t go away!”

  But Dr. Zimmerman headed on out, leaving Riley and Agent Crivaro standing alone in the hallway.

  Riley felt chills running over her body.

  What was going to happen now?

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  For a few moments, Agent Jake Crivaro stood looking at the frightened young woman wondering …

  Am I making a big mistake here?

  Maybe he was wrong about her. Maybe she didn’t have that rare intuition possessed by only a tiny handful of profilers—including himself. But Jake’s own gut feelings told him otherwise. Her descriptions of her experiences had sounded extraordinarily real.

  Besides, Dexter Zimmerman obviously sensed the same talent in her, and he was a certified genius when it came to this sort of thing. He had written about this ability of certain individuals to get inside the mind of a criminal.

  Most important, her insights just might be a shortcut to nailing the killer. Jake knew that the local cops already had a guy in custody, and maybe the girl could help him figure out whether they had the right man.