Chapter Eleven

They drew the curtains and Lingg moved in with the Luminol. The UV light revealed no obvious traces of blood on the dagger. There were more sensitive tests to be done in the lab, but suddenly Landauer looked up at Garrett in the purplish dark.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Garrett nodded slowly. “We’ve got it.”

There were still dozens of witnesses to question—dorm residents, professors, advisers—and countless personal belongings to sort through, not to mention e-mails, phone records, and Jason’s car to be processed. But with the semen and blood on the jeans, if the DNA matched Erin’s, and the presence of a dagger in Jason’s room, plus the CD case with its symbols corresponding to the carvings in Erin’s body, and the testimony of the roommate and the DJ at the club, they likely had more than enough circumstantial evidence to charge Jason.

“I’m thinking we want to get home and try to talk to this kid before he’s lawyered up to the gills,” Landauer said, his voice faraway. “We’ve got a shitload here, G-man. If our luck holds he might just cop to it all.”

“Okay,” Garrett said, feeling both electrified and hazy from lack of sleep. They could go through Moncrief’s personal effects back at Schroeder, while they waited for results of lab tests, and their IT expert could get into Moncrief’s and Erin’s laptops. “Let’s think. What do we still need to get done, here?”

“Moncrief’s car. Check with Jeffs if there’s any student interviews we should know about. And we’re out of here.”

Garrett nodded. “I want to talk to the other members of the band, too,” he said abruptly. But they were not Amherst students; he’d already run DMV checks.

He turned to survey the room again. The red leather-bound book was still lying on the bed beside it, unopened, and he made another move to reach for it—

“Detectives.” Both of them turned toward the terse voice behind them.

Sergeant Jeffs was standing in the doorway, an intent look on his face. “I’ve got someone you’re going to want to talk to.”