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of a black buggy, asking about college kids and sex, and he groaned. He looked down to Eddie, still on the hallway bench, and asked Niell, “Ricky, can you take Eddie back to campus?”
    Niell nodded, “Sure,” and Branden started walking down the hall.
     
     
    The professor’s phone rang, and he answered it in the hallway, feeling spent. Caroline was right. He had been morose. He was feeling the years.
    Arne Laughton, president of Millersburg College, asked, “Mike, where are you?”
    “Medical examiner’s labs, with Bruce Robertson.”
    “Has he taken Eddie Hunt-Myers into custody?”
    “What?”
    “Eddie Hunt-Myers. Is he in custody? I got a call from his father.”
    “Arne, Cathy Billett is dead. You need to be down here.”
    “Can’t come now, Mike. Edwin Hunt-Myers is an alumnus. He just wants to know where his boy is.”
    Branden moved outside to the parking lot and said, “Arne, I’m only going to tell you this once. Cathy Billett’s family deserves your consideration more, right now, than anyone else. You let me take care of Eddie. You need to help the Billetts.”
    “They’re saying it was suicide, Mike. I can’t call her parents until I know about that.”
    Incredulous, Branden demanded, “You haven’t called them?”
    “It’s only been an hour, Mike. Do you think this was a suicide?”
    “Yes,” Branden said, feeling dirty. “Missy Taggert has her body in the morgue.”
    Laughton urged, “Ask her, Mike. Find out for me. Then I’ll make that call.”
    “Look, Arne,” the professor said, “you’re gonna blow this. Think. Cathy is dead because they got into the bell tower last night.”
    There was silence on the line. Then Laughton said, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
    “Come now,” Branden said. “You can stand outside the morgue and provide some comfort for Eddie. I’m going to leave.”
    Laughton held the connection, but did not reply. Feeling the weight of his years, Branden said, “Arne, this is not your finest hour.”

6
    Friday, May 11 10:45 A.M.
    BRUCE ROBERTSON found Branden standing on the hospital’s blacktop, next to his white truck. The professor still had his phone out, but it was closed.
    “Who was that?” Robertson asked.
    “Arne Laughton.”
    “Is he coming down?”
    “Says he is. Look, Bruce, I’m gonna go find Caroline. And I’ve got to talk to Cal about an Amish fellow. You going to be OK with this for a while?”
    The sheriff said, “You know I don’t like Laughton.”
    “Right now, I don’t either,” Branden said.
    “I’m gonna wait to hear what Missy says,” Robertson said. “I’m sending your boy home with Ricky, but he’s not off the hook. Not with me. I want to know if he pushed her off that tower.”
    “You’re wrong about him, Bruce. As wrong as you can be.”
    “You let me worry about Eddie Hunt-Myers, Mike. You’ve got a reserve deputy sheriff’s badge, and I want you to use it now. I need you to stay here and handle Arne Laughton for me.”
    Branden rubbed at tension in the back of his neck and pictured Arne Laughton back on the phone with Eddie’s father. The cord that tethered Branden emotionally to the college seemed to him more frayed than ever. “Try not to be morose,” he remembered from Caroline’s note. He saw Cathy Billett lying on the ground and Eddie swaying on the parapet above her. He remembered Enos Erb’s “Oh, my!” while standing on his tiptoes to see out the office window. And he pictured Aidan Newhouse with handcuffs on one wrist, standing in proud protest at commencement.
    “You really do need to stay off campus, Bruce,” Branden said. “At least for a while.”
    Robertson shrugged, saying, “Whatever. Look, Mike. What can you tell me about Ben Capper? Dan’s probably going to bring him down to the jail.”
    Branden said, “He’s simple enough—straightforward, I mean. He does a good job as chief of security.”
    “Does he have a ‘thing’ for Newhouse?” Robertson