“I believe you,” Decker said. “But you certainly know more than you’ve been telling us. There have been hang-up calls. You think you’re being followed. We’re here because we’re concerned about your welfare.”

Terry seemed to wilt. He sat down next to his open suitcase. “You showing up here isn’t good for my health.”

“On the contrary,” Oliver said. “Our presence tells the bad guys that we got to you before they did. So hurting you wouldn’t serve any purpose for them other than to spur us to redouble our efforts. Right now the more people you tell, the better off you are.”

McAdams said, “What’s your password for your Wi-Fi?”

“My password?”

“The password for the apartment. I’d like to get on the Internet.”

“Terrypark. Capital T.”

“Thanks.”

Decker opened up his notepad. “Tell me about the hang-up calls.”

He whispered behind his hands. “A blocked call would come through my cell. When I answered it, I’d get heavy breathing—to let me know someone was there. And then whoever it was would hang up. I put in a *82 feature on my phone . . . so no one could get through without revealing the number. The calls would still come through as blocked. It freaked me out.”

“How long has this been happening?” Oliver asked.

“They began a few days after Angeline was murdered. And then after you guys were shot at, I—”

“Detective Decker was shot at,” McAdams interrupted. “I was shot.”

“I know, I know. I got nervous. I had to get out of there.”

“And you thought you were being followed,” Decker said.

“Could have been my imagination.”

“Probably not,” Oliver said. “Tell us about it.”

“I’d see things. Fleeting shadows but then I’d turn around to really look and it wouldn’t be anything.”

“So you felt like a person was following you?”

“As opposed to a dog, yes.”

“As opposed to a car, Lance.”

“Oh. I get what you’re saying. It’s hard to tail someone on campus with a car because you’re walking across quads and fields and things that don’t intersect streets. So no. I never noticed a car following me.” He furrowed his brow. “Like what kind of car?”

Decker said, “Silver Hyundai Accent van. Maybe two years old.”

Terry shuddered while he shook his head no.

“Detective Oliver is right,” Decker told him. “The more people who know your secrets, the better off you are. So start at the beginning.”

“I’ve told you everything.”

“No, you haven’t, Lance. So either tell us or you’ll wind up telling someone who’s holding a gun to your head.”

He slapped his hands over his face. “It . . . God . . . it was so long ago.” No one spoke. “Just a stupid dare.” He looked up. “Hazing. To get into the frat.”

Everyone waited.