“From what I can tell, Lakshmi came back that fall, hit the books, and has kept her distance since.” He took a sip. “Granted, she bugs the hell out of me, but what would I do if someone killed a woman I loved?”

“Didn’t she violate the order by calling the Chapman Chapter out tonight?”

“Technically, Doris Chapman started it all with a tweet, so there’s no direct line between Lakshmi and Amireau. I don’t see a reason to draw one. This was a fluke. Dave barely comes into town anymore.”

“But he stayed close, as in he still lives near Bloomington?”

“Moved to a place near Nashville. Runs a farm that sells organic produce, mostly to sororities or frats.”

“So you’ve kept your eye on him?”

Greenwood took another sip. “Kid knows what happened to Chapman. He’ll snap. Only a matter of time.”

“And pressure,” Caitlin said. “Like a city of women calling you a murderer any time you turn up in public.” She tilted her cup back, hit only ice a second time. “Lakshmi and Chapman were lovers.”

“You asking or telling?”

“ ‘A woman she loved,’ you said. And how about the Friday girl’s nights with only two girls, the visits to Chapman’s apartment, and the complete lack of love life?”

Greenwood finished his drink. “We never made her say it out loud. I’ve spoken to her father, and I get it. This might be the town that invented the Kinsey scale, but everybody has lives back home, and that’s their personal journey. But don’t go thinking that conservatism is restricted to the Indian doctor. Chapman’s parents dwell on the high school version of Angela rather than the college one.”

“Then on the Kinsey scale?”

“Lakshmi leans far to one side, but Chapman straddled the divide.”

Caitlin crunched an ice cube. “Talk about your college stereotypes.”

“Nineteen years old? I didn’t know I wanted to be a cop until I was twenty-two, and even then, I probably did it for the wrong reason.”

“Which was?”

He laughed. “Ladies love men in uniform. When did you know who Caitlin Bergman was, or were you one of those people who were set at sixteen?”

“I thought I knew before I got to school,” she said, then caught herself in a memory, flagging down a mini-van, her torn shorts covered in blood and limestone chalk. “But you’re right. Things change us. So you looked at Lakshmi?”

“You know we did.”

“And?”

“And that girl loved Angela Chapman the way I loved my wife.”

Caitlin held back the next question—if he ever got jealous when his wife went out with another lover.