Particles of Murder (A Shadow of Death Romantic Suspense Series Book 1) Read Free

crazier parts of college except three frat parties my friends dragged me to, but the only situation I can think of where there would be body paint—especially taking into consideration that Victoria died early in the morning—is at a fraternity or sorority party. I take out my phone and call Detective Stolz.
    “Hello?” she snarls. There’s a rumble of noise—mostly people talking—in the background.
    “Uh, hey, it’s Solano,” I say. “Victoria Glassman had body paint under her—”
    “Have you not seen the news?” she demands. “Senator Holden was killed. I can’t deal with the student right now. I have to get on top of this before the press becomes unbearable. I’ve already got a couple forensic guys here, but there will likely be a massive amount of trace evidence coming your way.”
    “We can’t focus on both cases?” I ask.
    “That’s not what I said…but you should understand we don’t have enough resources to spend an equal amount of time on both,” she says. “Just—just wait at the lab. I’m going to send one of the guys to you, so you can start looking at the evidence and processing it. There’s blood spatter all over. Hopefully some of it is the killer’s.”
    “We can’t ignore Victoria Glassman’s death because of someone the media thinks is more important.”
    “There’s no sign of foul play in Glassman’s case. In this case…foul play is certain,” she says. “Don’t worry about it. The last time Dr. Lindhal updated me, there wasn’t anything wrong with her body. Listen—I have to go. Get ready to test a lot of blood.”
    She hangs up.
    I set my phone down. I put the paint chips back into their metal can. This isn’t the way I want to deal with the case, but if Tim finds something suspicious, they’ll open it back up. Sometimes being part of criminal investigations means things get political—in this case, we’re actually delving into politics.
    Unfortunately, politics tends to put the truth and anyone who speaks it to the sidelines, so for this case, I’ll have to remain silent. I sacrificed everything for this job—I can’t lose it.

    * * *
    I take the cherry out of my second whiskey sour and bite off its stem. I spent several hours testing blood with zero to show for it. It’s not the death that gets me or even the murders, though nearly every single one rips into me like I had been the one shot or killed. It’s simply the knowledge that the detectives and I are always there too late. We don’t save lives—we simply dig into their lives in the hopes of finding answers, though we know the murder likely still won’t make sense to us.
    “Can I join you?”
    I look over my shoulder to see Dr. John Zimmer.
    “What are you doing all the way in the city, professor?” I ask, gesturing to the stool at my left.
    “One of the other professors set me up on a blind date,” he says, sitting down beside me. “And you can just call me John. I’ve never gotten used to being called Dr. Zimmer or Professor Zimmer.”
    “My name’s Mira.” I look around—the bar has a calm atmosphere with faux-wood tables and bar, but it’s not romantic on any level. “Are you meeting your date here?”
    He shakes his head.
    “I already met her,” he says. “We had dinner at The Glass Oven—highly recommend them, though you have to get a reservation a couple of days in advance.”
    “But you’re here now, so it must not have gone well,” I say, taking a sip of my drink.
    John orders a jack and Coke and takes a gulp of it as he hands the bartender some money. He seems eager to get as much alcohol into his bloodstream as possible.
    I look at him over the edge of my drink. “Was it really that bad?”
    “Maybe I just have high standards,” he says, taking another quick gulp of his drink. “But there’s only so long that you can deal with a woman—or any person—talking about how her sister is terrible, her landlord is hostile, and that she believes the weathermen are