A reporter stood in front of the History Department building. “Dr. Xavier English, a history professor at Livingston University, was arrested in the museum murder.”

Louisa and April listened, slack-mouthed with shock, as the reporter summed up the case.

“I can’t believe it.” The news channel moved on to another story, and April turned off the volume.

“Me either. Let me know if you hear anything else.”

“You too.”

Louisa went to the museum foyer. Damian was waiting just outside the glass doors. A brown bag dangled from one hand. She pushed through the glass doors into the not-so-fresh city air.

He kissed her cheek. “I can’t believe Xavier was arrested.”

“Do you know what evidence they found?” They walked toward the square. In the center, the dazzling autumn sunlight turned Swann Memorial Fountain into a spectacular display of sculpture and sparkling water. Two, possibly three young women were dead. She respected Xavier. Even after his obnoxious behavior at the fund-raiser, it had never occurred to her that he could be a killer. How could she not have known?

Damian lowered his head and his voice. “Rumor has it that he was sleeping with a bunch of his students and—wait for it—making sex tapes without their knowledge.”

“That’s so . . .” Louisa searched for the right word.

“Trite? Boring? Crass?”

“Awful.” Louisa pictured young women fooled and duped by a charming professor. “They must feel so betrayed and humiliated.” She could have been one of his victims. Before being put in Conor’s path, she’d thought perhaps Xavier was working up to asking her out. She would have said yes.

“And let’s not forget dead.”

Louisa felt the blood drain from her face in a wash of chilly fall air. “Why would he kill them?”

“Apparently, someone got hold of some of the videos and was blackmailing him.”

“Who?”

“Another student.”

Louisa watched the wind blow water across the square. She picked a dry bench. The geyser in the center of the square spouted high in the air, often soaking visitors. “I can’t believe it.”

Damian’s mouth twisted. “Why is it that everyone feels so damned much pity for smart college girls, but the world couldn’t care less about my missing teen?”

“No word on your runaway?”

“Hard to find someone no one’s looking for.” Damian’s voice turned bitter. “Here’s a piece of advice, girls, don’t be poor or uneducated. No one will care if you disappear.”

“I’m sorry.” Louisa touched his hand.

“I know you are.” But Damian’s smile was brittle, and she wondered again why he was her friend. She was wealthy, educated, and born to privilege, everything Damian despised.

“OK. I’m done ranting on the social injustices in the world.” He jerked his chin up. “We need to be grateful for small successes. Today, a predator was stopped.”

“Not soon enough.” Louisa’s skin felt raw with grief.