“No.” Dr. Banerjee’s hands remained folded neatly in his lap, but his muscles were tight across his face. “Nisha has been swimming since she was two. She would have had to have tripped and hit her head for it to be an accident. But no bruises? No concussion?” He paused, his mouth writhing for a moment before he could speak again. “My daughter was murdered.”

Quinlan hesitated, his lips downturned beneath his mustache. “There’s more,” he said softly. “I hate to tell you like this. But the examiner found extremely high amounts of diazepam in her bloodstream. That’s . . .”

“Valium. Yes, I am a doctor,” Nisha’s father snapped. His knuckles went white as he squeezed his fingers together harder. “She doesn’t have a prescription for Valium.”

Quinlan sighed, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “I know. We checked her records.”

“Then what are you . . .”

“I know it’s hard to hear. But Nisha had a very bad year.” Quinlan looked uncomfortable. He turned his hat over and over in his hands. “I don’t want to sound like I’m accusing her of anything. But Sanjay, teens try new things and don’t always know their limits.”

Dr. Banerjee’s voice was hard. “Her room was all torn up, Shane. Someone went through and ripped the place to bits. Someone was looking for something.”

Quinlan shrugged. “There was no sign of forced entry, and we didn’t find anybody’s fingerprints in there. Only yours and hers. Nisha must have done that herself. Sometimes people do strange things when they’re in an altered state.”

Dr. Banerjee sat very still for a long moment, looking down at his hands. His glasses were askew on his nose, and it gave him a slightly manic look. Quinlan looked awkwardly around. For a moment Emma almost felt sorry for him.

“Look,” he finally said in an undertone Emma had to strain to hear. “If there are any people you have a funny feeling about—strange people hanging around the house, boys who seemed too aggressive with her—if she had any enemies, give me their names. I’ll look into it. But right now, I have no evidence, no leads, no clues. Give me something to work with.”

Dr. Banerjee shook his head. “She didn’t have any enemies. None that I knew of.” His hands came free from each other and flew to cover his face. “I don’t know who would want to do something like this to my little girl,” he groaned, his back shuddering.

Behind the monument, a surge of guilt welled up in Emma. Should she tell them about the calls and frantic text from Nisha? Her stomach tightened with anxiety. Quinlan’s suspicions were always quick to rise when Sutton Mercer was involved. At best, he’d probably dismiss it as another attention-seeking prank. At worst, Emma would end up on a list of suspects, and her own story would crumble easily on inspection.