Page 12

Two hours of digging into Marcus Thornton's life had taught Ella one thing: the man was pathologically mundane. His bank statements read like a monk's diary - rent, utilities, grocery store runs that never varied by more than ten dollars. Every Monday and Wednesday like clockwork he'd stopped at Angelo's Coffee on his way to campus. Every Friday, he'd got takeout from a place called La Mer Rouge.

‘I didn’t even know they did French takeout,’ she said.

Luca glanced up from his own screen. He’d been lost in Marcus’s financial reports for an hour. ‘Maybe Marcus was ahead of the curve. His most exotic purchase in the last six months was premium-grade rock polish.’

‘I didn’t know they made rock polish, let alone in premium grade.’

‘Every day’s a school day, but yeah. He even pulled his cash from the same ATM. Who pays their electric bill three days before it’s due?’

Ella rose to her feet and shook the feeling back her legs. They still throbbed, but she’d learned to tune out the discomfort, like how her shoulder ached when rain was coming.

They'd pulled every record they could access. Bank statements, tax returns, parking tickets, library fines, loans. All well either submitted on time or didn’t exist in the first place. Marcus lived like a man who'd memorized the rules of life and followed them to the letter.

‘Social media?’ she asked.

‘Dead zone. No Facebook, no Twitter. Had a LinkedIn profile but hadn't updated it since 2018.’ Luca scrolled through more data. ‘Ex-wife's in Ann Arbor now. Remarried to a dentist. They've got matching Peloton accounts.’

‘Has he visited anywhere out of the ordinary recently?’

‘Nope. Went to Iceland last year, and CCTV caught him up and down a few highways but nowhere that raises alarms. Tax returns are clean too. Tenure salary, some consulting fees for geological surveys. Nothing unusual.’

‘What about the consulting clients?’

‘All legitimate. Engineering firms mostly, wanting ground stability reports for construction projects.’ He pushed back from the desk. ‘Face it – Marcus Thornton was boring. ’

Ella walked the timeline they'd constructed from CCTV and transaction records. Marcus's Mustang hit the same traffic cameras at roughly the same times each day – southbound on I-684 around 7:30 AM, northbound between 6:30 and 7 PM. Regular purchases from the university café, always between 12:15 and 12:45. Faculty parking garage timestamps that rarely varied by more than ten minutes.

Ella rubbed her temples. Cases usually gave her a buzz, a hit of dopamine every time she connected another dot. This one just gave her a headache.

Luca asked, ‘What about his research? Academic rivalries?’

‘Nothing that screams murder.’ She gestured at the pile of journals on her desk. ‘His last paper was about limestone formation rates in the Hudson Valley. Before that, erosion patterns in the Catskills. He wrote something controversial about a type of sedimentary rock, but are rocks enough to kill over?’

‘Ell, our last guy killed people because he thought his house was haunted. What about his finances?’

'Clean. Mortgage payments are like clockwork. No gambling, no secret accounts in the Caymans.' She thudded the back of her head against the wall, then walked over to the evidence table on the other side of the room.

Luca said, ‘For a murder victim, he's remarkably unmurderworthy.’

‘Guy lived on academic salary and seemed perfectly content. These been processed?’ Ella eyed the collection of Marcus’s last possessions. His phone was already at the lab, but the rest lay spread out like artifacts in a cut-rate museum: a rock hammer, some chisels, sample bags, and that leather-bound notebook.

‘Yeah. CSU's had their fun. All prints matched Marcus, and the rest is geological gear.’

Ella pulled on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves. The notebook drew her eye - the kind of thing you'd find in an artisan store. Marcus had cared for it. The sort of man who cataloged his whole life would treat his field notes like scripture.

She supported the spine as she lifted it. The pages had that specific texture of expensive paper, the kind that took ink without bleeding. She went back to her desk and flipped through from the beginning.

It was pure geology – coordinates, mineral compositions, technical sketches that might as well have been hieroglyphics.

March 12: Catskill Formation (Upper Devonian) Sample C-14: Red sandstone w/ cross-bedding. Quartz grains sub-angular to rounded. Hematite cement gives characteristic color. Ripple marks suggest shallow marine environment Note: Check correlation w/ Hampshire Formation.

March 15: Grade Wilson's paper. Order more sample bags

March 29: Manhattan Schist exposure Location: Central Park outcrop. Muscovite-biotite-quartz assemblage. Strong foliation trending N40E. Garnets up to 2cm diameter Follow up: Compare w/ samples from Bronx.

April 14: Department budget meeting. Discuss equipment allocation for spring semester. Remember to follow up re: mass spectrometer calibration.

April 20: Faculty meeting 2PM - bring erosion rate data.

Ella had to reset her brain by staring blankly at the wall. Luca caught her eye.

‘Too much?’

‘Almost.’

The entries continued in the same fashion – geological observations interwoven with mundane academic tasks. Marcus recorded everything with scientific detachment, like he was cataloging specimens rather than living a life. Ella kept going until she reached the end of October – two weeks ago.

Ella turned another page. More field notes, more faculty meetings, more gentle complaints about student comprehension. Then something different caught her eye.

October 30: Felix Blackwood – restricted texts? See dean ASAP.

Ella sat up straighter. The writing was different here - pressed deeper into the paper, more urgent. Like Marcus had been excited. Or afraid.

He came around the table and read over her shoulder. ‘Felix Blackwood. What does he mean by texts? As in text messages?’

Ella shrugged. ‘Maybe, but what would be restricted about them?’

‘No idea. Could this be another professor there?’

‘We’ll have to check it out.’

She kept reading, but the next entry jumped to routine field notes about limestone samples. Whatever had unnerved Marcus about Felix Blackwood's texts, he hadn't written it down. Or hadn't lived long enough to.

‘Well, now’s the perfect time, because the university folks are waiting us.’

Ella glanced at the clock. 1:30 PM. Time to go. She photographed the page, then carefully resealed the notebook in its evidence bag. Two hours of investigation had revealed a man who lived by routine and died by surprise, but someone had seen past that boring facade to whatever secret was worth killing for.

Before the day was out, Ella promised herself she’d find out what that secret was.