Free Poisoned Pins by Joan Hess

certain that’s the vehicle, and we’re running the plates right now. A brown substance on the front bumper appears to be blood, and a headlight is broken.”
    â€œBut she was . . .” I couldn’t find the word, much less say it aloud in the presence of the badly violated body.
    Peter put his hands on my shoulders and drew me across the alley, where he could wrap his arms around me without risking grins from his cohorts. “The initial impact most likely killed her instantly, or at least knocked her unconscious. Go on upstairs, Claire. As soon as I’m done, I’ll join you for a drink. I have to deal with this, but I don’t like it any better than you, especially when it’s a kid.”
    â€œWhat about the girls in the house, and the housemother? Why aren’t they out here? How could they not see the lights? I don’t understand why—”
    He dug his fingers into my back until I stopped sputtering at his shoulder. “There’s no one home at the moment. It’s Friday night, so they may all be out on dates or working late at the library or whatever sorority girls do on weekends. We’ll stay here until someone returns and we can get information about the victim. Now that we have a name, I’ll send an officer to see if he can roust the registrar. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
    I was still battling nausea, and the idea of collapsing on my sofa with a cup of tea was enough to make me giddy. I hadn’t liked Jean Hall. Then again, I thought with an explosion of frigid anger, my antipathetic opinion hadn’t given someone tacit permission to kill her. She hadn’t deserved to be run down so brutally, so dispassionately.
    It was not yet time for tea. “Listen, Peter,” I said, “all four of the girls were staying in a wing off the lounge. I don’t know which room was Jean’s, but I can tell with a quick look. Maybe you can find an address book or some correspondence that will indicate whereher parents live. They should be notified as soon as possible.”
    â€œI suppose you’re right,” he said gloomily. “I’ll send for a campus cop to unlock the house for us. They’ve already made it clear that the alley is city property and in our jurisdiction, but they’ll assist us.”
    â€œIf no one’s in the house and it’s locked, she must have taken her key with her. Did someone check her pockets?”
    â€œEarlier, for identification. Her pockets are empty, and as you heard while so charmingly eavesdropping, her purse hasn’t turned up yet. Campus security can be here in a minute or two.” He told me to wait where I was, then reentered the brightly lit arena of activity to confer with the medical examiner, the squad from the crime lab, and the medics.
    A disgruntled campus policeman arrived with a key, and shortly thereafter, Peter and I entered the house. Jorgeson followed with a flashlight, which proved necessary when we found ourselves in a dark kitchen. Aluminum pans and bowls glinted dully from hooks along the ceiling, and stacks of plastic glasses reflected slivers of orange and blue. A vast refrigerator droned unsteadily.
    I found a light switch, and led them through the dining room to the lounge, and after a moment’s consideration, down a corridor replete with a blank bulletin board and tiers of mail cubicles, all empty. When Rebecca had given me the tour, she’d pointed out the hallway lined with four bedroom doors on one side, and on the opposing side a pink-tiled bathroom and a closet used by the custodial staff.
    The first door was locked. I stepped back, and Jorgeson fiddled with a pick until we heard a ping. He opened the door and switched on the light. I knew it wasn’t a matter of breaking and entering, not with a pair of cops accompanying me, but I felt as guilty as a dieter with a doughnut as I went inside the room.
    It wasn’t much larger than my