Just Past Midnight

Kane sighed. “Yeah, I remember him. He was that college kid who died in a dorm fire up in Connecticut.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Hell, that had to be—what? Seven, eight years ago?”

“It was seven,” Richard confirmed. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask you about that fire.”

Kane’s gaze narrowed. “Why? That kid’s family bringing a lawsuit against the school or something? It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

“Being a cop, you should know there’s no statute of limitation on murder.”

Kane looked startled. “Murder? Who said anything about murder?”

“You did.” Richard studied the man’s expression. He hadn’t figured Kane out yet, but he would. He’d become adept over the years in interpreting every blink, flicker and tic of a witness or juror. So far, Kane remained an enigma. “Seven years ago you hinted to at least one person at Drury University that you thought Michael Farmer had been murdered by his girlfriend.”

Kane rubbed the stubble on his chin. “What if I did? I never could prove it, and besides, the university was more interested in hushing the whole thing up than they were in getting at the truth. Murder would have been bad for their reputation. Not a lot of parents want to send their kids off to a school—especially one with Drury’s price tag—that can’t protect them.”

“You worked for the campus police department back then. According to the official record, you were the first officer to respond to the fire.”

Kane nodded. “I was on patrol that night. I happened to be driving by the dorm when I heard the alarm go off. Then I saw smoke coming out of some of the upper-level windows, and I called it in.”

“You did more than that,” Richard said. “From what I understand, you rushed into the dorm and helped people get out. You were credited with saving lives.”

Kane shrugged and glanced away. He appeared uncomfortable with the accolades. “I was just doing my job, and yeah, luckily, most of the kids did get out. Everyone except Farmer. Nobody thought to knock on his door because he was supposed to be away for the weekend. The best we could figure, he had a sudden change of plans and didn’t tell anyone.”

“So no one knew he was there.”

“Right.”

“Except possibly the girlfriend.”

Kane’s gaze lifted. Something dark flickered in his eyes. “Right again.”

Richard got up and paced over to the window to stare out for a moment. The neighborhood where Kane lived was isolated and quiet. One of those places that seemed to wear a perpetual air of foreboding, as if the things that went on there at night were best not examined by daylight.

Richard suppressed his own feeling of foreboding as he turned back to Kane. “The police thought the fire started in Michael’s room.”

“That’s what they thought, yeah. According to the coroner, Farmer had been drinking. He had a blood alcohol content of .06, and traces of an opiate showed up in the tox screen. The police and the medical examiner concluded that the kid was so hammered, he passed out in bed with a lit cigarette and never woke up.”

“But that wasn’t what you thought.”

Kane remained silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice had grown cold with suspicion. “Why are you asking all these questions now?”

Richard came back over and sat down. “It’s taken me a long time to track you down, Sergeant. Houston is a long way from Connecticut.”

“So?”

“I’m wondering what brought you all this way.”

The suspicion deepened in Kane’s eyes. “And I’m wondering how you think that’s any of your damn business.”

Richard shrugged. “I’m curious, that’s all.”

Kane’s expression told him he wasn’t buying it. “Let’s just say, I got tired of the cold. I moved to Houston because I’m a sucker for smog and humidity.”

“And because you were born and raised in Texas?” When Kane didn’t respond, Richard said softly, “That wasn’t hard to figure out, Sergeant. You didn’t get that accent just by living here for a couple of years.”

“I’d still like to know what the hell you’re after,” Kane muttered.

“Just the truth.”

Kane sat forward suddenly, his expression tight with anger. “You want the truth about Michael Farmer? Here it is, then. Seven years ago, I wasn’t much older than most of the kids at Drury, so I got to know some of them pretty well. They liked to talk and I liked to listen. Word around campus was that Farmer was a real weirdo.”

Richard had to tamp down his sudden anger. “What do you mean?”

Kane shrugged. “He kept to himself, didn’t make friends. There was even talk of a suicide attempt. Then he met Danielle Williams.”

“The girlfriend?”

“Yeah. Nice-looking chick. Nothing spectacular, but a lot of the guys had a thing for her, including Michael. He used to follow her around campus like a little lost puppy. It was pretty pathetic.”

Richard’s voice sharpened. “Wait a minute. He followed her?”

Kane nodded. “She wouldn’t have anything to do with him at first. She didn’t seem to have much use for any of those guys. Always acted like she was kind of afraid of them. But I think that was just part of her game.”

“What game?”

“The seduction. The hunt.” Kane’s eyes gleamed. “I don’t know how to explain it, but there was just something about that girl. She was different from the others. Part of it was her upbringing, I guess. She came from a small town in East Texas, and most of the other students grew up in places like Boston, New York, Philadelphia. They drove fancy cars, wore expensive clothes. Had money to burn. Not Danielle. She was there on a full scholarship and didn’t have much dough for anything extra. So Michael started buying her things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Books, CDs. Things like that. Then he gave her some jewelry, and I guess that’s when she decided to reel him in. They were inseparable for a while, but I don’t think anyone expected it to last. They were just too different.”

Richard frowned. “Because he had money and she didn’t?”

“It was more than that.” Kane settled back against his chair. “They were both journalism majors, but Michael was one of those idealistic types. He wanted to go live in a tent in Somalia or Bangladesh or some damn place and write about things that could change the world. I got the impression that Danielle Williams was a lot more ambitious than that.”

“That doesn’t make her a killer,” Richard said.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Kane shrugged again. “But the thing that’s bothered me all these years is that trip Michael canceled right before the fire. If he had a change of heart, why not tell his girlfriend about it? Everyone knew he was crazy about her. And yet he stays in town and doesn’t let her know? Something just doesn’t add up there.”

“According to the police report, Danielle was in her room the whole night,” Richard said. “Her roommate corroborated her story.”

“Yeah, but a girl as clever as Danielle Williams could have gotten around the roommate.”

“How?”

Kane thought about it for a minute. “Suppose she put something in the roommate’s drink earlier that night. The same drug that turned up in Michael’s autopsy. Danielle could have slipped out, gone over to Michael’s room, started the fire, and then hurried back to her dorm before anyone was the wiser. When the roommate woke up and heard the sirens, she would have assumed that Danielle had been there the whole time.”

“Was any of this ever investigated?”

“The Hanover police went through the motions, but there was no physical evidence linking the girl to the fire. No witnesses. No motive, apparently. At least not at first. The people who ran that university pulled a lot of weight in Hanover. The president, the dean, the Board of Regents—they all wanted the whole thing over and done with so that they could begin damage control.”