“We certainly do.”

“What can I do to help?”

“We know you and your other roommates went over everything with the first detectives you spoke with. Do you mind if we do that again?”

“No, not at all.”

They spent the next hour reviewing the notes from the first interview, discussing Ling’s routine, the people she saw every day, her weekend job at a nearby coffee shop. Detectives had spoken with close friends, classmates, lab partners and coworkers, who had all said the same thing. Ling had been a brilliant student with a bright future ahead of her as well as a nice person who got along with everyone in her orbit.

“There’s one thing that nags at me,” Lily said almost as an afterthought.

Sam sat up straighter. “What’s that?”

“About a week and a half before she was killed, we were at a bar one night. It was rare for her to come out with us, but we were celebrating our roommate Cassie’s birthday, so she came. We were at a bar a mile or so from campus, and we met up with a bunch of guys that Cassie knows from high school. She grew up here in DC. One of them, this guy Shane, was hitting on Ling. She wasn’t interested, but he didn’t let that stop him from bugging her all night.”

“In what way was he ‘bugging her’? What was he doing?”

“Asking her to dance with him, not taking no for an answer, buying her drinks she didn’t want. That kind of thing. Cassie told the other guys to do something about him, but they were all drinking and partying and didn’t care that their friend was being a dick. Ling and I ended up leaving so she could get away from him.”

“How did he react when he realized you were leaving?”

“He followed us out of the bar, yelling that she’d be sorry for missing out on a chance to be with him.”

“You heard him say that? She’d be sorry?” Sam asked, her backbone buzzing with the tingles that came from finally catching a break.

“I did.”

“Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”

“I’d forgotten about it until just now. I’m so sorry. Everything has been so awful since Ling was killed. My thoughts are all over the place.”

“How can we find this guy?”

“Cassie would know.”

“Where is she?”

“Working at Tucker’s Steak House down by the Feds stadium. She’s not allowed to look at her phone during her shift, or I’d text her. I can get you the address.”

“I know where it is,” Freddie said. “What’s her last name?”

“Richardson.”

“This was helpful,” Sam said. “Thank you so much.”

“I wish there was more I could do.”