Before He Lapses

“But nothing negative?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Please forgive me for asking,” Mackenzie said, “but do you know if they were exclusive? Was there a chance Christine might have also been seeing anyone else?”

Mrs. Lynch thought about this for a moment. She didn’t seem to take offense to the question; she remained just as calm as she had seemed when they had first come into the lobby and met her. Mackenzie wondered at what point the poor woman was going to eventually snap.

“She never mentioned any competition for her heart,” Mrs. Lynch said. “And I think I know why you’re asking. I was told what the scene looked like—her being topless and all. I had just assumed…”

She stopped here and took a moment to collect herself. The words that were coming next caused something to stir inside, but she managed to get it down before the emotions took over. When she resumed, she was still stone-faced.

“I had just assumed it was a rape gone wrong. That maybe the man got frustrated for some reason and wasn’t able to go through with it. But I suppose there’s a chance there was another man in her life. If there was, I just didn’t know about it.”

Mackenzie nodded. The would-be-rapist theory had gone through her head as well, but the way the shirt had been tossed to the floor and then her head haphazardly lying on it…none of it seemed to add up.

“Well, Mrs. Lynch, we don’t want to bother you any more than we absolutely have to,” Mackenzie said. “How long do you intend to stay in town?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe a day or two beyond the service.” At the word service, her voice cracked the tiniest bit.

Ellington handed her one of his business cards as he got to his feet. “If you happen to think of anything or hear anything during the funeral or the services, please let us know.”

“Of course. And thank you for looking into this.” Mrs. Lynch looked forlorn as Mackenzie and Ellington left. I suppose so, Mackenzie thought. She’s all alone in a city she doesn’t know, having come to take care of her deceased daughter.

Mrs. Lynch saw them to the door and waved them off as they walked to their car. It was the first moment in which Mackenzie realized that her hormones were officially all over the place as a result of her pregnancy. She felt for Mrs. Margaret Lynch in a way she might not have before she’d found out she was pregnant. To create life, then raise and nurture it only to have it wrenched away from you in such a brutal fashion…it had to be miserable. Mackenzie felt absolutely wretched for Mrs. Lynch as she and Ellington pulled out into traffic.

And just like that, Mackenzie felt a flush of determination. She’d always had a passion for righting wrongs—for bringing killers and other evil men and women to justice. And whether it was hormones or not, she vowed to find Christine Lynch’s killer, if for no other reason than to bring some closure to Margaret Lynch.

CHAPTER SIX

The first name on the list of friends Clark Manners had given them was a guy named Marcus Early. When they tried contacting him, the call went straight to voicemail. They then tried the second name on the list, Bethany Diaggo, and were able to set up an interview right then and there.

They met Bethany at her place of employment, a law firm where she was interning as part of her course load at Queen Nash. As the day was winding down to dinnertime, she simply clocked out half an hour early and met with them in one of the small conference rooms in the back of the building.

“We understand that you were at Clark Manners’s apartment on the night that Christine was killed,” Mackenzie said. “What can you tell us about that night?”

“It was just getting together to have some fun. We had a bit to drink—maybe a little too much. We played some card games, watched some reruns of The Office, and that was about it.”

“So there were no arguments of any kind?” Mackenzie asked.

“No. But I did see that Christine was starting to get irritated with Clark. Sometimes when he drinks, he tends to go a little overboard, you know? She never said anything that night, but you could tell she was starting to get irritated.”

“Do you know if it ever caused problems with them in the past?”

“Not that I know of. I think Christine just sort of dealt with it. I feel pretty sure that she knew their relationship wasn’t this forever sort of thing.”

“Bethany, did you know a woman named Jo Haley? About your age, also a Queen Nash student?”

“I did,” she said. “Not quite as well as I knew Christine, but we were on a friendly basis. It was rare that we ever hung out. But if we crossed paths at a bar or something like that, we’d usually end up siting together and chatting.”

“I assume you know that she was murdered several days ago as well?” Ellington asked.

“I did. In a very cruel twist of irony, it was actually Christine that broke the news to me.”

“Do you know how she found out?” Mackenzie asked.

“No clue. I think they shared some of the same classes. Oh, and they had the same academic advisor, too.”

“Academic advisor?” Ellington asked. “Is that just some fancy way of saying guidance counselor?”

“More or less,” Bethany said.

“And you’re certain Jo and Christine had the same one?” Mackenzie asked.

“That’s what Christine said. She mentioned it when she told me Jo had been killed. She said it felt a little too close to home.” Bethany paused here, perhaps understanding the eerie precognitive weight of the comment for the first time.

“Would you happen to have the name of this advisor?” Mackenzie asked.

Bethany thought for a moment and then shook her head. “Sorry. No. She mentioned it when we were talking about Jo, but I don’t remember it.”

No big deal, Mackenzie thought. A quick call to the university will get that information for us.

“Is there anything else about either Jo or Christine you might be able to tell us?” Mackenzie asked. “Anything that might give anyone reason to want them dead?”

“Nothing at all,” she said. “It doesn’t make any sense. Christine was very focused and drama free. It was all about school and trying to get an early start on her career. I didn’t know Jo enough to really make a judgment there, though.”

“Well, thank you for your time,” Mackenzie said.

As they left the office and Bethany readied to leave for the day, Mackenzie tried to imagine these two dead women crossing paths in the hallways and concourses of the university. Maybe they passed by one another as one left their advisor’s office while the other was walking toward an appointment. The idea of it was a little creepy but she knew far too well that things like this tended to happen quite often in murder cases where there was more than one victim.

“University offices are still closed for the holiday break,” Ellington pointed out as they got back into the car. “Pretty sure they reopen tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but I’d assume there’s some sort of employee directory on the website. Based on some of the books I saw in Christine’s apartment and some political literature in her bedroom, I think it’s safe to assume she’s a political science major. We could narrow it down that way.”

Before Ellington was able to tell her what a good idea this was, Mackenzie was already on her cell phone. She opened up her web browser and started scrolling. She was able to find a directory, but, as she had assumed, there were no direct or personal numbers; they were all numbers to the advisors’ offices. Still, she located the two different advisors that were assigned specifically to the political science department and left messages for each one, asking them to call her back as soon as they got the message.

As soon as she was done with that, she scrolled a bit more, this time through her contacts list.

“What now?” Ellington asked.

“There are only two of them,” she said. “Might as well see if we can get some sort of a background check running on them—see if there are some red flags.”

Ellington nodded, smiling at her quick train of thought. He listened to her as she placed the information request. Mackenzie could feel his eyes flitting over to her every now and then, a caring and watchful sort of stare.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

She knew what he meant, that he was veering away from the case and asking about the baby. She shrugged, seeing no point in lying to him. “All of the books say that the nausea should be coming to an end soon, but I’m not believing it. I felt it a few times today. And, if I’m being honest, I’m pretty tired.”

“So maybe you need to go back home,” he said. “I hate to sound like that domineering husband type, but…well, I’d really rather you or my baby not get hurt.”