Page 12 of Silencing Stolen Whispers (Kinsley Aspen #2)

Alex Lanen

July

A lex’s head pounded with the special kind of vengeance reserved for those who had stayed up drinking whiskey well past midnight. The decision had seemed entirely reasonable after successfully breaking into the morgue to steal the box of headbands.

“You went to The Bucket after we left the morgue, didn’t you?”

Alex winced at the intensity with which Kinsley had used her voice.

“What makes you say that?”

Alex activated his turn signal to warn the driver behind him that he was about to turn into the campus parking lot. He had done everything right to avoid Kinsley razzing him all day, from texting her to meet him outside the station to wearing his sunglasses.

“You want a list?” Kinsley flashed him a smile. “You keep turning down the music, you have the air conditioning on full blast, and you haven’t touched your coffee at all. Shall I go on?”

Alex squinted against the morning sun as he searched for a parking spot up front near the administrative building. His sunglasses weren’t dark enough, though they had hidden his bloodshot eyes. Or so he’d thought.

Kinsley, on the other hand, seemed irritatingly refreshed and alert this morning. Not that he would comment on her sunny disposition, which was a three-sixty turnaround from yesterday. He had learned his lesson last night about keeping his mouth shut.

Kinsley had to go and bring up Laura Mitchell, ruining all the progress Alex had made over the past nine months after their split. In fairness, he wasn’t sure he had made too many strides in that department.

“It wasn't intentional,” Alex fessed up as he brought the car to a stop. He shifted the gear into park. “Izzy ordered us the first round of shots. I swear that her tattoos absorb the alcohol or something.”

Alex switched off the engine. The abrupt silence somehow amplified the throbbing in his head.

He held up his hand when he believed Kinsley was going to speak.

Surprisingly, she silently reached out for his fingers and turned his arm until she could place two white tablets in his palm.

He gratefully downed the Excedrin with his now cold coffee.

“Ready,” Alex muttered as he kept the empty to-go cup in his hand. He spotted a trash can outside the administration building's entrance. “Oh, before I forget, the money for those raffle tickets I sold is in the glove compartment. I keep forgetting to bring it into the station.”

“No worries. I have mine, too, though I still haven’t turned it into Wally. I’ll just combine the money and put it in my purse.”

Alex enjoyed the extra time he was given to regain his composure while Kinsley opened the glove compartment. She removed the envelope resting on top of the vehicle’s manual before removing the money and sliding it into her envelope.

“Thank you, Kin.”

Alex wasn’t sure Kinsley heard him as she tucked her purse behind her seat.

She then opened her door and stepped out.

He followed, entering the heavy humidity where the thick air immediately pressed against his skin.

He straightened his tie, a habitual gesture that helped him shift into professional mode despite feeling like death warmed over.

The campus was essentially a green void dotted with red brick buildings that had remained unchanged for the past fifty years. A few students milled about as they slogged their way to summer classes that they either had to retake or were meant to lighten their load come Fall.

“Interesting,” Kinsley murmured as they came to a stop in front of the glass entrance. “Any plans tonight?”

A black-and-white photo of Hannah Scriven stared back at them from a memorial announcement. The flyer, taped to the glass, announced a candlelight vigil for Friday evening in the courtyard. REMEMBERING HANNAH SCRIVEN was printed in bold letters across the top.

“How much overtime have you racked up this month?”

“Four hours.” Kinsley had her phone in hand, so it took her mere seconds to snap a picture of the flyer. “I have another six before I’m working on my own dime.”

The city budget was tight this year, just as it was in the previous year and the year before that. Orders had been sent down from above to restrict their overtime hours. It didn’t matter that cases went unsolved or that the department was understaffed.

“Then I guess we’re attending the vigil tonight.” Alex reached for the door handle. “I’m sure as hell going to need a nap first.”

Inside, the temperature dropped by at least fifteen degrees. The humidity dropped significantly, too. The air conditioning was cranked to a level that made Alex shiver, despite his suit and the lingering warmth from last night’s alcohol binge.

The lobby featured high ceilings, polished marble floors that amplified every step, and wood-paneled walls bearing the portraits of previous deans. The overall effect was one of carefully cultivated authority, the kind designed to intimidate first-generation students and impress wealthy donors.

Alex straightened his shoulders as they approached an arched counter. He unhooked his badge from his belt as he caught the attention of a young man staring at a computer screen.

“Excuse me,” Alex greeted as he held up his badge. “Detectives Lanen and Aspen, Fallbrook Police Department. We'd like to speak with the dean regarding a recent graduate, Hannah Scriven.”

The young man immediately stood, sending his chair wheeling back by a good two feet. He stared at the badge while nodding his understanding.

“Of course. It’s horrible what happened to her.

We’re having a vigil in her honor tonight.

” The young man picked up the desk phone before pressing a button.

He held the receiver to his ear, but he continued speaking with them in the meantime.

“It’s being held in the courtyard tonight at nine o’clock.

Dean Chambliss even reached out to Mr. and Mrs. Scriven, just in case they wanted to be here. ”

Dean Chambliss’ voice was loud enough over the receiver that Alex caught the name of the young man. Trevor didn’t mince words, and he immediately notified the dean that two detectives were on site to discuss Hannah Scriven’s murder.

Before too long, Alex and Kinsley were walking down a long corridor.

They hadn't made it halfway down the hallway before a door opened and a tall man with a traditional haircut and a tailored navy suit greeted them.

Dean Chambliss appeared to be in his early sixties, with the kind of distinguished appearance that inspired confidence in parents writing hefty tuition checks.

“Detectives, I've been expecting someone from law enforcement.” Dean Chambliss took time to shake their hands before stepping back and allowing them to enter his office. “Devastating. Just devastating, isn’t it? Please, have a seat.”

The dean’s office reflected his status. The spacious room featured dark wood paneling and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with legal texts and academic journals. Behind a large oak desk, there was a wall of framed degrees and awards, highlighting an impressive career path.

“Has there been any progress in the investigation?” Dean Chambliss waited for Alex and Kinsley to claim the two leather chairs positioned in front of his desk before taking a seat himself. “It’s a terrible tragedy—Hannah was one of our most promising graduates.”

Alex briefly closed his eyes behind his sunglasses before removing them and slipping them into his jacket pocket. The pounding in his head had eased into a dull, persistent ache thanks to the Excedrin.

Still, he didn’t mind when Kinsley took the lead.

“Unfortunately, it’s still early in the investigation,” Kinsley replied as she crossed her legs. “What can you tell us about Hannah Scriven?”

Alex hadn’t spent much time in academic institutions, but he recognized the careful dance Dean Chambliss was performing for them. It was a delicate balance between protecting the school's reputation and helping law enforcement. The dean's expression stayed neutral and practiced since greeting them.

“Hannah was exactly the kind of student we highlight in our recruitment materials.” The dean's hands formed a steeple on his desk blotter. “Graduated in the top fifteen percent of her class. Participated in moot court competitions. Published a note in our law review on corporate liability in data breach cases. She was going to follow in her mother’s footsteps.”

“Was that not stressful for Hannah? The pressure to live up to her parents’ expectations?”

The dean's eyebrows lifted slightly before settling back into position.

"Most law students experience significant stress, Detective. It's practically a prerequisite for success in the legal profession. Most of our graduates and pre-graduates are legacy students.”

“But Hannah specifically,” Kinsley pressed, almost certainly noticing the deflection like Alex. “Did faculty ever express concerns about her well-being?”

Dean Chambliss’ pause was brief but telling.

“Hannah may have been more...driven than some. Professor Lambert mentioned that Hannah seemed particularly anxious this past spring. But that's not unusual for students facing the bar exam.”

Alex made a mental note of the professor's name.

“Did Hannah have conflicts with other students?” Alex asked as he retrieved his small notebook from the interior pocket of his suit jacket. “Any disciplinary issues we should know about?”

“None whatsoever. Hannah was thoroughly professional in her conduct.”

“Hannah was involved with another student, though,” Alex pointed out after writing down the professor’s name, even though they would request a full list of Hannah’s professors in her last semester. “Nick Ryder. What can you tell us about him?”

Mr. Ryder was a hardworking student, though not as academically distinguished as Hannah. He was more focused on networking and building connections than on earning academic honors.

“Any disciplinary issues there?” Kinsley asked while Alex continued to take notes.