Matt pulled over, studying the imposing structure. Behind the house, the manicured lawn gave way to a wooded area.
"The pond is back there, behind the house," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Through those trees. I need to see it again."
"Haley, wait."
She gave him a tense look. "Why?"
"It's going to be upsetting."
"Everything is upsetting. I need to see it again. I need to go back to the beginning."
Her words echoed his earlier thoughts, and he got out of the car. He couldn't let her go back to the beginning alone.
They walked around the side of the fraternity house, past a patio with expensive outdoor furniture and a barbecue area. Beyond that was a thick wooded area with a narrow dirt path leading through the trees. The air grew cooler as they descended, the sounds of campus life fading behind them.
The pond was smaller than Matt had expected, maybe thirty feet across, fed by a creek that meandered through the woods. The water was dark and still, reflecting the overhanging branches. Someone had built a small wooden dock that extended a few feet into the water.
Haley stopped at the edge of the water, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"When I got here that morning," she said, her voice hollow, "his body was still on the ground. Right there." She pointed to a spot not far away. "In a black bag. I couldn't believe it was him. I thought there had to be some terrible mistake. They told me I didn't have to look, that his fraternity brothers had already identified him, but I had to see."
He stayed quiet, letting her process the memories, knowing how horrendously painful that moment must have been for her. Landon had been an extension of herself—not just her brother—her best friend, her whole family.
"There were people everywhere," she continued. "Police, paramedics, campus security. They had yellow tape around the whole area. But I couldn't hear anything but the pounding of my heart and the unzipping of the bag. And then I saw his face." Her voice caught in her throat as she looked away from him to some point on the ground near the water. "It was him. But I still didn't want to believe it. His face was blue. His hair was wet. He looked frozen. It was the most horrible image I've ever seen, and I'll never forget it. I fell to the ground, and I couldn't stop crying. I don't know how long I was there until the police detective—Julia—helped me up. She gave me a hug and said she was going to find out what had happened. She was like an anchor for me in a storm of emotions. The only one who seemed able to look me in the eye. Because when I turned to the fraternity brothers, they all glanced away. No one wanted to see me. No one wanted me to see them." She drew in a breath and looked back at him. "I think his killer might have been standing right there, behind the tape, in the crowd of onlookers."
He didn't say anything, sensing she needed to talk through the memories.
"I started screaming at them. 'How did this happen? Why didn't anyone help him?' They just stared at me. Henry, Trent, Drew—they were all there that morning. And no one had anything to say. Julia pulled me away and asked me if I had someone I could call to come and be with me. I said, no. Landon was the only person I could have called, and he was gone. She had another officer take me down to the station, and after a while, I was calm enough to talk to them, and we went over everything I knew, which was very little. After that, I went to Landon's apartment, and that's when I ran into Brooke."
"When did you first talk to the frat guys?"
"The next day. But they told me nothing. I stayed in a motel for almost two weeks after that, talking to Julia every day, until she told me I needed to go home, return to my life, my work, and let them do their job. So, I did. But it was less than a week later when she informed me the investigation had concluded. Landon's death was deemed an accidental drowning, a result of the high level of alcohol in his body. They did next to nothing to really investigate. I pleaded for them to keep looking for answers. Julia told me there was nothing more that could be done officially, but she'd keep asking around. She stayed in touch with me for a while, but nothing new ever came up. It took me a long time to stop asking for updates. When she left the force, that was the end of it." Her chest heaved with another ragged breath. "I can't believe I'm back here." She surveyed the scene once more. "It's such a pretty area, so calm and quiet. How could Landon die here in this pond that isn't even very deep?"
"We're going to find out, Haley."
"I've heard that before. It never happens."
He hated the edge of defeat in her voice, not that he couldn't understand it. "It's different now. You know that. You needed to go back into the past, and I'm glad you brought me here. But now you need to return to the present. You're not helpless and alone, not this time."
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "You're right. I'm ready to go. Let's talk to Professor Harrington."
As they walked up the path, Matt noticed how isolated this area was. On a dark night, with music playing from the fraternity house, and hundreds of kids partying, no one would hear someone calling for help down here. The perfect place for murder disguised as an accident.
After returning to the car, he drove back through the main campus and up into the hills where faculty housing was located. The houses here were scattered among the trees, each one carefully positioned to maximize privacy while taking advantage of the dramatic Pacific coastline views.
Professor Harrington's address led them to a modern glass and steel house that seemed to float among the trees, its clean lines a stark contrast to the Spanish colonial architecture of the main campus below. The home was perched on a ridge with an unobstructed view of the ocean.
"They provide incredible housing for their faculty," he commented.
"One of the perks of teaching here. The university has very little in the way of faculty turnover because they take good care of their professors."
"That probably makes them extremely loyal."
"I know. I'm mentally preparing for Professor Harrington to plead ignorance and tell us nothing."
He nodded, unable to disagree. But he hoped they might catch a break. According to the research he'd done last night, Professor Justin Harrington was in his late forties and had divorced his wife five years ago, the year after Landon's death. Harrington was a popular professor with silver-threaded brown hair, blue eyes, and an apparently sexy scholarly look that had put him on the informalhottest professorlist that circulated in social media from current and past Westbridge students. Harrington taught advanced-level programming, data structures and algorithms, financial computing, and a basic economics class. Landon had served as his TA in two of those classes.
He pulled into the circular driveway, right behind a car with an open trunk and several suitcases inside. "Looks like Harrington is taking a trip."
