Read A Function of Murder for Free Online Page A

car, marveling at how still and lovely the
     campus was. The graduation hubbub and the squealing from one of the last all-female
     graduating classes were over. Who knew what kind of celebratory sounds the male grads
     would make in a couple of years? Perhaps they’d simply say, “Good job, bro,” and knock
     knuckles.
    Seemingly out of nowhere, we heard clumping noises—dragging sounds on the lawn and
     then shuffled footsteps on the pathway, coming from the direction of the dorms and
     the east end of the Administration Building.
    “Help!” a low, pained voice cried. “Help me!”
    We turned and saw a man in a light business suitstaggering toward us, as if he would topple over on the next step. He looked a lot
     like the mayor, with auburn highlights showing up under the campus security lamps.
    On closer inspection—it was the mayor.
    I could hardly believe it. He teetered and swayed till he got to the edge of the fountain,
     where we’d been sitting, then fell in, headfirst. His commencement speech wasn’t that
     bad, I thought, that he had to get himself wasted. How embarrassing. What was he thinking?
     He should be grateful that it was Bruce and me who were here and not someone from
     his opponent’s campaign or parents with a decidedly negative opinion of him to begin
     with.
    Bruce didn’t stop to judge or make a guess about what had happened or why. He snapped
     to it, on full alert, as if he were back in the air force in Saudi Arabia, or at the
     MAstar helipad rushing to get to an accident scene. He made it to the fountain in
     three long steps and lifted the mayor out by the shoulders. He laid him facedown on
     the grass.
    I was confused—why didn’t he put him on his back? That’s what television emergency
     crews did when they gave CPR. Faceup.
    Then I saw the blade sticking up in the air.
    I drew in my breath. What had happened?
    “Your sweater.” Bruce addressed me more calmly than I would have thought possible.
     “And nine-one-one. Make sure you give the address.”
    Bruce was on autopilot, so to speak, issuing commands. I was grateful for his reminder
     that the emergency dispatcher might not be able to trace the exact location of my
     cell.
    I dug in my purse for my phone, shrugging off my cotton sweater at the same time.
     I stuck the phone under my chin talking to dispatch, hopping around the fountain,
     trying to free my sweater from my arms, as if I’d been hired to do a frantic, comic
     dance.
    I handed my sweater to Bruce, who promptly wrapped it around the shiny silver blade,
     close to the wound in the mayor’s back, and applied pressure to the surrounding area.
     At first the blade looked to me like a knife, then a screwdriver or some other tool,
     and finally I recognized it as a letter opener. One of the special Henley College
     letter openers, in fact. The same letter opener that the Mathematics Department and
     every other department handed out to its majors on graduation day. My eyes were locked
     on my sweater, steadily soaking up the mayor’s blood. Finally, I turned away from
     the unlikely, gruesome sight at our beautiful fountain.
    I thought I heard low cries of help and indecipherable words from the mayor as he
     lay on the ground, but it might have been the rustling of the nearby trees, or my
     mind in trauma.
    At one point, Bruce stood for a moment and twisted his body in all directions, taking
     in the campus. Stretching, I assumed. I had always thought I’d like to see Bruce in
     action, at his job. And although Bruce simply piloted a helicopter, he assured me,
     and left the medical ministrations to the flight nurses, I saw now that he was ready
     to fill in wherever he was needed. I had a new appreciation for my boyfriend and his
     grace under pressure and knew I’d never again need an up close demonstration of his
     skills.

    By the time the emergency workers arrived, I felt I’d been holding my breath all evening.
    The noise and lights from the vehicles and