Page 14 of Silencing Stolen Whispers (Kinsley Aspen #2)

Alex Lanen

July

T he north wing of the building was a maze of identical hallways, with classroom doors spaced at regular intervals, much like cells in a prison block.

Alex's temples still throbbed with a persistent ache, but it was lessening with each passing minute.

He was hoping the discomfort would be completely gone by lunchtime.

Professor Patty Bigsby, however, clutched a stack of papers to her chest like they contained state secrets.

A constant hum of anxiety radiated off her in waves, but it wasn’t due to his questions regarding Hannah Scriven.

In his opinion, being high-strung was simply part of the professor’s demeanor.

“As I mentioned, Detective Lanen, Hannah was a gifted student,” Professor Bigsby reiterated, her voice clipped and efficient. “She should have gone on to have a very successful career.”

“Can you tell me specifically about her performance last semester in your Business Law course?” Alex resisted the urge to unfasten the top button of his dress shirt.

The air conditioning couldn't quite combat the summer heat seeping through the large windows, and the mingled scents of coffee, stale perfume, and photocopier toner made his stomach churn slightly.

“According to Dean Chambliss, Hannah was in the top fifteen percent of her class.”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Bigsby’s high heels clicked rhythmically against the polished floor. “Hannah was exceptionally diligent. She never missed an assignment, and her research was always on point.”

Alex noted the woman's frequent glances at her watch—the third time in two minutes—and the way she maintained a precise half step ahead of him, as if physically trying to outpace his questions.

Her black pantsuit seemed expensive but practical, much like the severe bob haircut that framed her narrow face.

Alex deliberately slowed his pace to force her to match him.

They passed a bulletin board plastered with flyers that included internship opportunities, study groups, and at the center, the notice for Hannah's candlelight vigil that evening. Bigsby's eyes flickered toward the flyer, but she offered no comment.

“Did you notice any changes in Hannah’s behavior toward the end of the semester?” Alex pressed, closing the cover of his notebook. Despite the lingering effects of last night's whiskey, his handwriting was neat and precise. “Anything that might suggest she was under unusual stress?”

Bigsby hesitated, adjusting her papers.

“Law students are always under stress, Detective Lanen. It's the nature of the profession they're entering.”

Another non-answer.

Alex suppressed a frustrated sigh. His interview with Bigsby was beginning to feel like trying to extract water from stone. She had been the third professor on the list that the dean had provided, but so far, she had managed to say absolutely nothing of substance about Hannah Scriven.

“Did Hannah ever discuss her plans after graduation? Her concerns about the bar exam, perhaps?” Alex tried again.

“Hannah was certainly focused on her future, if that’s what you mean.” Bigsby's heels continued their staccato rhythm on the floor. Maybe his headache wasn’t getting any better. “She understood the importance of thorough preparation.”

The hallway grew increasingly congested as they approached an intersection where students were streaming from a recently dismissed class.

Sweat was collecting under his collar despite the building's air conditioning, and this time, he didn’t hesitate to loosen his tie and unfasten the top button.

His mouth was dry, too. He wished like hell he had grabbed a bottle of water before leaving his house.

“Professor, I understand you might be hesitant to speak ill of the dead,” Alex said quietly, lowering his voice as they navigated around a group of students wanting to be anywhere but here, "but anything you can tell me about Hannah—her relationships, her struggles, even minor disciplinary issues—could help us understand what happened to her.”

Bigsby finally slowed, turning slightly to meet his gaze.

For a moment, it seemed she might actually provide something useful.

“Detective, I had seventy-eight students last semester alone.

While I remember Hannah as bright and capable, I simply cannot provide the detailed personal insights you're seeking.” Professor Bigsby glanced at her watch again.

“I have office hours in ten minutes, and I still need to review these papers. Do you have any other questions?”

They were standing near an intersection where the hallway branched into three directions. A door to their right was open, with the last of the students exiting the classroom.

Bigsby seemed to seize on the distraction.

“Oh,” Professor Bigsby exclaimed, pointing toward the emptying room with one manicured finger. “Victor Reeves was one of Hannah's professors last semester. His Criminal Law seminar, I believe.”

Alex followed her gesture to see a tall, lean man at the front near a podium, though he was facing the other direction, methodically organizing materials on a desk.

“Looks like this saves you from tracking him down in the faculty building.”

“Yes, it does,” Alex agreed, recognizing the dismissal for what it was. He extended his hand. “Thank you for your time, Professor Bigsby.”

The classroom was empty by the time Alex stepped through the doorway. Unlike Bigsby, who seemed perpetually in motion, Reeves moved with deliberate care, suggesting he believed his time to be extremely valuable.

Alex rolled his shoulders back, steeling himself for another potentially fruitless conversation. The air was noticeably cooler and more stagnant than that of the hallway. The professor didn't seem to notice Alex’s approach.

"Professor Reeves? I’m Detective Lanen, Fallbrook Police,” Alex announced, making his way down the far-right aisle. “I’m investigating the death of Hannah Scriven. It’s my understanding that she was a student of yours.”

The professor didn’t turn his attention to Alex until his briefcase was closed and secured by the gold square fasteners. His black hair was so precisely styled that it appeared almost artificial, and his tailored suit suggested a salary well beyond typical academic compensation.

“It's Dr. Reeves, actually,” the professor corrected, his tone suggesting this was a frequent and tiresome clarification. “And yes, Miss Scriven was a student of mine.”

Alex's jaw tightened slightly at the man's tone, but he kept his expression neutral.

The remnants of his hangover were manageable enough that he could focus on reading Reeves' body language.

The professor—doctor—shifted his briefcase upright, but he let it remain on the table with his hand resting on the handle.

“Hannah was in your Criminal Law seminar last semester, is that correct?” Alex asked, coming to a stop when he reached the podium.

“That is correct. Miss Scriven was attentive, thorough, and never missed a lecture. While she lacked the ability to think outside established paradigms, I do believe she had a bright future ahead.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, noting the contrast between Dr. Reeves’ assessment and what he had heard from the other professors.

“That's interesting, Dr. Reeves. Dean Chambliss, Professor Bigsby, and the two other professors I interviewed earlier spoke quite highly of Hannah’s academic performance.”

“Well, if Patty Bigsby put more focus on her students instead of curving her grades to appear like a stellar professor, she might have noticed that Hannah didn't really want to be a lawyer. She pursued a career in law due to the pressure from her parents. It was evident in every case analysis she submitted.”

Alex kept his expression carefully neutral while internally noting the unexpected insight. Maybe he hadn’t given Dr. Reeves enough credit.

“And how did you become aware of these personal details about Hannah's motivation?”

“Observation, Detective Lanen. It's what effective educators do. When students discuss Cardozo or Holmes, their eyes reveal whether they're genuinely engaged or merely going through the motions. Hannah was merely informed—competently, but without passion.”

Dr. Reeves lifted his briefcase from the desk, letting it hang by his side. The way he carried it suggested it was both a tool and a status symbol.

“What about Nick Ryder? I take it he was also a student of yours?” Alex asked, recalling Professor Bigsby’s somewhat adverse opinion of the young man. “I understand he and Hannah were in a relationship until recently.”

“Now there is a student with the mindset to make a name for himself. Ambitious, adaptable, willing to challenge conventions when necessary.” The praise sounded genuine, unlike the man’s clinical assessment of Hannah. “Mr. Ryder understands the practical applications of law beyond academic theory.”

“And their relationship? I understand that Hannah and Nick broke things off last semester. Did you notice any changes in her behavior around that time?”

“The end of the Spring semester is chaos incarnate. Students are either running on Adderall or caffeine tablets." Reeves waved a dismissive hand before tucking it into his pocket. “Everyone, and I do mean everyone, looks like they're having a personal crisis.”

“But Hannah specifically?—”

“Participated in class discussions and completed her final paper on time. As I said, nothing out of the ordinary.” Reeves nodded toward the clock on the wall.

“I have office hours in fifteen minutes, detective. I wish I could help you, but I make it a point not to get involved in my students’ lives.

Too many careers have been ruined by something being taken out of turn. ”

Alex observed how smoothly Reeves wrapped up the conversation.

He shared just enough details to seem cooperative while hiding most of the substance.

It wasn't the first time Alex had interviewed someone good at dodging questions, which was not surprising since many of the interviewees this morning were lawyers.

“One final question, Dr. Reeves,” Alex said, deliberately placing himself between the professor and the exit. “Besides Jade Patel, who else did Hannah socialize with on campus? Any study groups or other close associations you observed?”

“Again, I do my best to separate myself from the students’ personal lives. If you have questions about her study groups, you should stop in at the library.” Dr. Reeves glanced meaningfully at the clock again. “Now, if there's nothing else…”

“Thank you, Dr. Reeves,” Alex said before stepping to the side. “I appreciate your time.”

Reeves nodded curtly before walking past with a perfectly stiff posture. The smell of expensive cologne hung in the air, another hint of careful self-presentation. Alex closed his eyes briefly when the strong scent made him nauseous.

Once he had stemmed the queasiness, he didn’t waste time exiting the building. The humidity was even worse outside, and the sweat he had managed to stem inside immediately beaded at his temples and collar. He crossed the nearly deserted quadrangle, wishing it were any other month than July.

The paved walkway practically radiated heat through the soles of his shoes.

He spotted Kinsley walking toward him from the direction of the apartment buildings across the street.

Despite the heat, she appeared impressively composed, her blonde hair pulled back in a clip.

Her expression was also animated in a way he hadn't witnessed in months.

“You aren't going to believe this,” Kinsley called out, her voice carrying across the empty walkway. Fortunately, she was carrying a bottle of water. “I have the name of the woman who has been going around and offering to take the bar for others. Not very discreet, if you know what I mean.”

The day's frustrations receded slightly, and he was grateful the morning’s interviews hadn’t been a waste of time.

Finally, a solid lead.

“Tell me everything,” Alex urged as they converged on the path toward the parking lot. “Because I just had the most unhelpful conversations with four professors who couldn't agree on whether Hannah Scriven was the next Supreme Court Justice or barely qualified to handle traffic court.”

“Oh, I do believe that our victim had a shot at the former.” Kinsley stepped off the curb, handing him the bottle, as if knowing full well he needed some hydration.

“Bailey wasn’t lying about Hannah considering using the woman’s services, but I’ve just learned it was the woman who sought out Hannah for advice on how to create a defense if her crimes were ever discovered.

Alex, what if we’re looking at a quid pro quo situation gone wrong? ”