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several sheets. “Wynton here was good enough to bring us some dope on the victim and I want to go over it now.”
    Corde also opened an envelope of his own. He shook out the glossy photograph of Jennie Gebben on the volleyball court. It showed clear eyes, a competitive smile, patches of sweat soaking her T-shirt, more throatthan a girl that age would want. He noticed in the photo two metal hoops in each ear. When had the third hole been added? he wondered.
    Corde handed the photo around. Miller glanced quickly then passed it on.
    “No.” Corde said solemnly. “Take a good look. Remember what she looked like.”
    Miller was flustered for a moment then did what he’d been told.
    When the picture had made the rounds Corde said, “I flew over to see her father this morning and he wasn’t much help. There were no diaries or letters I could find but he’s going to keep looking. He says he doesn’t know of anybody who might’ve wanted to hurt her but I put the bug in his ear and he might not know it but he’s going to be looking at people at the funeral, who’s there and who isn’t. Maybe he’ll remember a boyfriend or somebody who had a grudge against her.”
    Kresge said, “That’s why you went this soon to see him? I was wondering why you did that.”
    “You were?” Corde asked absently. He turned to the files that Kresge had brought. “Jennie Gebben was twenty. She was a junior at Auden. No loans or scholarships, so I guess Daddy paid for most of it. She was an English lit major. GPA two point nine seven. Say, I’d like you to take notes on this.” Slocum and Miller picked up pens. Corde continued, “Treasurer of the Folklore Club. Meals on Wheels volunteer once a week early in the semester but she gave that up after a couple months. Worked three days a week in the office of the dean of financial aid.
    “Her classes this semester were French Reading III. Her professor was Dominique LeFevre. The Civil War to the Centennial taught by Randolph Sayles. Contemporary Literary Criticism, by Elaine Adler-Blum. Chaucer, by Robert … Ostopowiscz. Well, that’s a mouthful. And here’s another one: The Relation Between Psychology and Literature: The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries. Her teacher there, I mean, her professor wasLeon Gilchrist. And a seminar group of that same class taught by Brian Okun. Finally The Roots of Naturalism, Charles Gorney.”
    Corde wondered momentarily what the courses were about. Corde had graduated in the top half of his class because his school had plenty of engineering courses. He shuffled through the file Kresge had brought him then stapled the class roster sheets together. He set them aside.
    Kresge said, “Excuse me.”
    Corde glanced up. “Yes?”
    “Just wanted to tell you, I checked with the clinic. She wasn’t seeing a therapist and had only one visit this year. It was to get antibiotics for bronchitis.”
    “No therapist,” Corde repeated. The fact was recorded neatly on a three-by-five card. He did not notice Slocum and Miller play a round of eye rolling.
    “Also,” the security chief added, “Personnel has a policy of never hiring ex-felons. So if there are any on staff they lied about it on their resumes.”
    Ebbans asked, “Was she ever up before the UDB?”
    University Disciplinary Board. Kresge said she wasn’t.
    “Now,” Corde said, jotting down these facts, “as for the murder: At around ten o’clock on Tuesday night she was raped and strangled, possibly by someone she knew.”
    “How could you tell that?” Kresge asked and Corde glanced at him with irritation.
    “Look—” Corde began.
    Ebbans answered Kresge. “Because she didn’t run and because he got close enough to subdue her before she fought back.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “If she’d fought there’d be tissue under her nails.”
    “Kleenex?”
    Slocum laughed. Ebbans said, “Skin. The man’s skin.”
    “Oh.” Kresge added, “But then if she knew him, he probably wasn’t