“Good idea. Maybe by then I might have more info on the background checks you requested. Still working on those.” She pulled up Jay McKnight’s file on her computer. Though she’d never officially met him, she’d seen his name and observed him once at a crime scene. So far so good.

“It’ll be late. I work until seven. By the time I get there it could be close to nine. As long as things stay calm and I don’t have to pull any overtime.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll be here,” she assured him, grateful that someone in the department was starting to believe they had a problem at All Saints. A big problem.

“See you then.”

Portia hung up and not only sent the list of vehicles to McKnight but printed out another copy for herself. She was surprised at how many of the workers there owned a dark van. Along with a gardener and a security guard, the parish owned a black ’98 Chevrolet full-sized van; an assistant professor named Lucretia Stevens owned an ancient Ford Econoline that looked like it had once belonged to someone else in her family; another person named Stevens, Natalie Croft’s husband, owned a dark green van that he used in his construction business; and Dr. Dominic Grotto’s brother, too, owned a black van. Portia had widened the swath a little, just because she was suspicious of the guy. She’d interviewed him twice. He was too smooth for her. One of those who thought he was smarter than the rest. His conversation with her had brushed on supercilious, though he’d acted concerned, as if he wanted to help.

But Grotto wasn’t the only person on campus she thought was hiding something. The whole damned English Department was filled with secretive sorts. Even the woman in charge, Natalie Croft, was a lofty, self-important academic whom Portia didn’t trust for a second. The curriculum had been changed to add in the popular “hip” and “cutting edge” classes such as the vampire thing, a class on the history of rock and roll, and others to draw students to All Saints. Then there were the Wagner descendants. She could have a whole file on them alone. Georgia Clovis was a major pain in the backside, acted as if she were royalty. And her brother, Calvin Wagner, a rich bastard who didn’t hold a job as far as Portia could tell, was certainly an odd duck. The third child, poor frail Napoli, was only one short step away from a permanent breakdown.

Beyond the Wagners was the clergy. Father Anthony “Tony” Mediera was a forceful priest with his vision of what the college should be, and Father Mathias Glanzer, the burdened priest in charge of the drama department, seemed riddled with secrets.

Portia would love to hear what each of them needed to confess.