The police came for me on Sunday.
Two detectives, a man and a woman, both wearing expressions I recognized from the facility. Neutral. Professional. Suspicious.
"Sarah Brown? We need to ask you some questions about Cain Morrison."
"Of course. Anything I can do to help."
They took me to a small room on campus. Not the police station, not yet. Just somewhere private where they could talk without an audience.
"You were dating Cain," the female detective said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"When did you last see him?"
"Monday. We got coffee after class."
A lie. But a believable one.
"And Thursday night? Where were you Thursday night?"
"In my room. Studying. My roommate transferred schools, so I was alone."
Another lie.
"Anyone who can verify that?"
"No. Like I said, I was alone."
They exchanged a look.
"We found some things on Cain's computer," the male detective said slowly. "Messages. Between him and his friends. About you. And about your friend Aria."
