“Thank you, Rebecca. Really. Thank you so much.”

She stands in place a moment, and I see everything wavering, ready to tip over out of my control. But then Rebecca turns and starts out of the alley. And I hold my breath, hoping she’s really on her way to do what I need her to do.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

I head the other way, back toward the parking lot behind Troy’s, where I’ve left my car.

I slide my phone out of my pocket, ready to dial Bowman. Someone enters the alley at the far end, and I’m not really paying attention until they say my name.

I lift my thumb off the call button.

It’s my colleague Carrie Richter. The one who went out of her way to tell me she didn’t like the kind of book I wrote. She’s carrying a canvas shopping bag and wearing an oversized winter coat and earmuffs, which she pulls off when she sees me. She smiles but looks guarded. I wonder if news of Madeline’s death has begun to circulate online or on campus.

“Hi, Carrie.”

“Connor. How are you?”

She asks me that question the way one would ask the elderly or a small child. It’s the way people spoke to me for months after Emily and Jake died.

“I’m okay. How are you?”

“Preston e-mailed the whole department saying you had to take a leave of absence. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, right. Thank you.” I have no idea if Preston gave any more details. I doubt he mentioned my being a murder suspect, but I don’t know. He was eager to get me to talk to the cops. I know that. “Well, I just needed some time to work some things out.”

“Sure, of course.”

“I need to go—”

“Is this an illness, Connor? Or some kind of personal situation? I thought maybe your book was doing so well that you were quitting teaching altogether. It would be . . . unusual to do that so early in the term with so much time left to go, but I thought that might be the reason.”

When she fishes for information, Carrie isn’t subtle. Most academics aren’t. They want to know if someone else is getting something they aren’t—grants, raises, office space—and they want to know it now. And I can guarantee whatever I tell Carrie will be all over the department by late afternoon.

“Just a personal issue,” I say. “I hope to be back soon.”