She removed the borrowed sweatshirt and put it on the counter. “I will return these other items as soon as I have something else to wear.”

He stared down at his form and ignored her. “Your truck is still being processed. What’s the best number to reach you when we’re finished with it?”

Her teeth chattered as she gave him her cell number. “Did someone post bail?”

The man’s lips thinned. “No charges are being pressed at this time, so no bail is necessary.”

Darby was obviously missing something. “Is this some sort of bad joke?”

He stared at her like she was something putrid he wanted to wipe off his shoes. “It’s no joke.”

“You’re letting me go?”

“Unless you have a confession to make?”

“A confession?” Darby blinked. “What happened to all the fingerprint evidence Detective Torgerson told me about?” She looked for the detective when she spoke, but the woman wasn’t there. “She said it proved I killed Martin.”

The man continued to stare at her without saying anything, and Darby felt like an insect he wanted to crush. Finally, he leaned over the counter and glanced down to her slippered feet. “You should probably call a cab to get home. Don’t leave town without talking to us first.”

Something had happened, but no one was telling her what. That didn’t seem fair.

Her heart pounded as she headed to the door. A woman with dark hair and a pensive expression buzzed her out. The police officers’ eyes were like dozens of tiny needles sticking in her back. Every step Darby took she expected someone to run after her saying this was a big mistake and drag her back to her cell. She stood in the entrance vestibule doing some heavy-duty breathing exercises, while quickly pulling on and zipping up her parka to guard against the frigid weather. There was little she could do about her lack of proper shoes, gloves or hat.

She powered up her phone, grateful to see it had a sliver of charge.

An incessant string of messages pinged onto the screen, friends, fellow students, her advisor, people from the administration at UAF all wanting to know what was going on. A bunch from numbers she didn’t recognize. Nothing from Eban though, she saw with a sting of disappointment. The most recent one was from Elliot Byrne.

Take a cab straight to your apartment building. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.

A wave of relief rushed her. This was legit. They were letting her go. Elliot would know what was going on. He probably had something to do with her release.

She ignored all the other messages for now, hyperaware of her dying battery and the police officers’ accusatory gazes behind her, and cameras monitoring her movements. She pushed out onto the sidewalk, pulling her hood over her head to protect from the godawful windchill.

The temperature hit her like a wall of ice. Her numb fingers fumbled over the speed dial number for a local taxi firm when a loud honking noise sounded nearby. Startled, she looked up as a van pulled directly in front of her.