I don’t say anything. She’s right—I do know what it takes to write a book. I know because I’ve tried and failed, many times, and nothing teaches you how hard it is to do something like failing at it.

But I can’t tell her that.

Bowman scratches her chin. “We, of course, checked all the calls she made and e-mails she sent. Sophia made a few calls to the English Department. To the main line. Do you know why she might have called there?”

“I have no idea.”

“She didn’t talk to you?” Bowman asks.

“I don’t know who she is. I have my own direct line to my office. Every faculty member does.”

“True enough. Sophia called the main office, but then if it got transferred somewhere else, we can’t see that on the records. So you don’t know why she was calling the English Department?”

“I have no idea. What was this nonprofit she worked for?”

“It promotes literacy among at-risk youth. Reading programs, workshops, the like.”

“Maybe she wanted help from the English Department. It seems like a natural match if she cared about literacy.”

“That’s what her husband said. I guess maybe a few English majors have worked there as interns over the years.”

“That’s possible. I don’t know where every student works as an intern.”

“And who handles the internship program?” Bowman asks. “Do you know?”

“My colleague Carrie Richter does.”

“Yeah, we talked to her at the time of the murder. She and Sophia exchanged e-mails about the program.”

“Okay, then.”

“But you didn’t talk to Sophia?”

“I didn’t, Detective. She didn’t call me.”