She had no idea what might happen if he did.
But the woman cop said sharply to Officer Steele, “Leave her alone, Nat. Can’t you see what she was doing? She was guarding the room, making sure nobody else got in. We’ve got her to thank that the crime scene isn’t hopelessly contaminated.”
Officer Steele backed away, looking resentful.
The woman shouted to the onlookers, “I want everybody to stay exactly where you are. Nobody moves, d’you hear? And keep talking to a minimum.”
There were nods and murmurs of assent from the group.
Then the woman grabbed Riley by the arm and started to escort her away from the others.
“Come with me,” she whispered sharply to Riley. “You and I are going to have a little talk.”
Riley gulped anxiously as Officer Frisbie led her away.
Am I really in trouble? she wondered.
CHAPTER THREE
Officer Frisbie kept a firm grip on Riley’s arm the whole way down the hall. They went through a pair of double doors and wound up standing at the base of the stairs. At last the woman released her.
Riley rubbed her arm where it hurt a little.
Officer Frisbie said, “Sorry to get rough there. We’re in kind of a hurry. First of all, what’s your name?”
“Riley Sweeney.”
“I’ve seen you around town. What year are you in college?”
“A senior.”
The woman’s stern expression softened a little.
“Well, first of all, I want to apologize for how Officer Steele talked to you just now. Poor guy, he really can’t help it. It’s just that he’s … what’s the word my daughter would use? Oh, yeah. A dick.”
Riley was too startled too laugh. Anyway, Officer Frisbie wasn’t smiling.
She said, “I pride myself on having pretty reliable gut instincts—better than the ‘good old boys’ I’m stuck working with, anyway. And right now my gut is saying that you’re the one person around here who might be able to tell me exactly what I need to know.”
Riley felt another wave of panic as the unsmiling woman took out a notepad and got ready to write.
She said, “Officer Frisbie, I really have no idea—”
The woman interrupted her.
“You might be surprised. Just go ahead—tell me about what your night’s been like.”
Riley was puzzled.
What my night’s been like?
What did that have to do with anything?
“From the beginning,” Frisbie said.
Riley replied slowly, “Well, I was sitting in my room trying to study, because I’ve got a class tomorrow morning, but my roommate, Trudy, and my friend Rhea …”
Riley suddenly fell silent.
My friend Rhea.
She remembered sitting on her bed while Trudy and Rhea had been across the room doing their nails and playing Gloria Estefan too loud and generally making nuisances of themselves, trying to get Riley to go out with them. Rhea had been so lively—laughing and mischievous.
No more.
She’d never hear Rhea’s laugh or see her smile again.
For the first time since this horrible thing had happened, Riley felt close to tears. She sagged against the wall.
Not now, she told herself sternly.
She straightened up and took a deep breath and continued.
“Trudy and Rhea talked me into going to the Centaur’s Den.”
Officer Frisbie gave Riley an encouraging nod and said, “About what time was this?”
“Around nine-thirty, I think.”
“And was it just the three of you who went out?”
“No,” Riley said. “Trudy and Rhea got some other girls to come. There were six of us all together.”
Officer Frisbie was jotting down notes quickly now.
“Tell me their names,” she said.
Riley didn’t have to stop to think.
“There was me—and Trudy Lanier and Rhea, of course. And Cassie DeBord, and Gina Formaro, and Rhea’s roommate, Heather Glover.”
She stood there silently for a moment.
There must be more, she thought. Surely she could remember something more to tell the police. But her brain seemed stuck on her immediate group—and on the image of her friend dead in that room.
Riley was about to explain that she hadn’t spent much time with the others at the Centaur’s Den. But before she could say anything else, Officer Frisbie abruptly put her pencil and notebook back in her pocket.
“Well done,” she said, sounding very businesslike. “That’s exactly what I needed to know. Come on.”