LITMIR.BIZ

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Paige—I’m sure that a professional such as yourself is aware that the suicide rate among college students has increased over recent decades. It’s the third leading cause of death among people in the undergraduate age group. There are more than a thousand suicides on college campuses each year.”

      He paused, as if to let those facts sink in.

      “And of course,” he said, “some schools experience clusters in a given year. Byars is a demanding school. It’s unfortunate but rather inevitable that we should get somewhat more than our share of suicides.”

      Riley suppressed a smile.

      The figures April had researched a couple of days ago were about to come in handy.

      April would be pleased, she thought.

      She said, “The national average of college suicides is about seven point five out of one hundred thousand. But just this year, three of your students out of seven hundred have killed themselves. That’s fifty-seven times the national average.”

      Autrey raised his eyebrows.

      “Well, as I’m sure you know, there are always—”

      “Outliers,” Riley said, managing again not to smile. “Yes, I know all about outliers. Even so, the suicide rate at your school strikes me as exceptionally—unfortunate.”

      Autrey sat looking away in silence.

      “Dean Autrey, I’m under the impression you’re not happy to have an FBI agent poking around here,” she said.

      “As a matter of fact, I’m not,” he said. “Should I feel otherwise? This is a waste of your time and mine, and of taxpayers’ money as well. And your presence here might give the impression that something is amiss. There’s nothing amiss here at Byars College, I assure you.”

      He leaned across his desk toward Riley.

      “Agent Paige, what branch of the FBI are you with exactly?”

      “The Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

      “Ah. Right nearby in Quantico. Well, you might want to keep in mind that many of our students come from political families. Some of their parents have considerable influence over the government—the FBI included, I imagine. I’m sure we don’t want this sort of thing getting back to them.”

      “This sort of thing?” Riley asked.

      Autrey swiveled back and forth in his chair.

      “Such people might be prone to register complaints with your superiors,” he said with a significant look.

      Riley felt a tingle of unease.

      She sensed that he’d guessed she wasn’t here in an official capacity.

      “It’s really best not to stir up trouble where no problem exists,” Autrey continued. “I’m only making this observation for your benefit. I’d hate for you to run afoul of your superiors.”

      Riley almost laughed aloud.

      Running “afoul” of her superiors was practically routine for her.

      So was getting suspended or fired and then getting reinstated again.

      It didn’t scare Riley in the least.

      “I see,” she said. “Anything not to taint your school’s reputation.”

      “I’m glad we see eye to eye,” Autrey said.

      He rose to his feet, obviously expecting Riley to leave.

      But Riley wasn’t ready to leave—not yet.

      “Thank you for your time,” she said. “I’ll be on my way as soon as you give me the contact information for the families of the previous suicides.”

      Autrey stood glaring at her. Riley glared back without moving from her chair.

      Autrey glanced at his watch. “I have another appointment. I must go now.”

      Riley smiled.

      “I’m in a bit of a hurry too,” she said, looking at her own watch. “So the sooner you give me that information, the sooner we both can get on with things. I’ll wait.”

      Autrey frowned, then sat down at his computer again. He typed a little, and then his printer rumbled. He handed the sheet with the information to Riley.

      “I’m afraid that I’ll have to register a complaint with your superiors,” he said.

      Riley still didn’t move. Her curiosity was mounting.

      “Dean Autrey, you just mentioned that Byars gets ‘somewhat more than its share’ of suicides. Just how many suicides are we talking about?”

      Autrey didn’t reply. His face reddened with anger, but he kept his voice quiet and controlled.

      “Your superior at BAU will be hearing from me,” he said.

      “Of course,” Riley said with measured politeness. “Thank you for your time.”

      Riley left the office and the administration building. This time the cold air felt bracing and invigorating.

      Autrey’s evasiveness convinced Riley that she’d come upon a nest of trouble.

      And Riley thrived on trouble.

      CHAPTER SIX

      As soon as Riley got into her car, she went over the information Dean Autrey had given her. Details about Deanna Webber’s death began to come back to her.

      Of course, she remembered, bringing up old news stories on her cell phone. The congresswoman’s daughter.

      Representative Hazel Webber was a rising politician, married to a prominent Maryland lawyer. Their daughter’s death had been in the headlines last fall. Riley hadn’t paid much attention to the story at the time. It seemed more like salacious gossip than real news—the sort of thing Riley thought was nobody’s business but the family’s.

      Now she thought differently.

      She found the phone number for Congresswoman Hazel Webber’s office in Washington. When she dialed the number, an efficient-sounding receptionist answered.

      “This is Special Agent Riley Paige, with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit,” Riley said. “I’d like to arrange a meeting with Representative Webber.”

      “May I ask what this is about?”

      “I need to talk with her about her daughter’s death last fall.”

      A silence fell.

      Riley said, “I’m sorry to disturb the congresswoman and her family about this terrible tragedy. But we just need to tie up a few loose ends.”

      More silence.

      “I’m sorry,” the receptionist said slowly. “But Representative Webber isn’t in Washington right now. You’ll need to wait until she gets back from Maryland.”

      “And when might that be?” Riley asked.

      “I couldn’t say. You’ll just have to call back.”

      The receptionist ended the call without another word.

      She’s in Maryland, Riley thought.

      She ran a quick search and found that Hazel Webber lived in Maryland horse country. It didn’t look as though the place would be hard to find.

      But before Riley could start her car, her cell phone buzzed.

      “This is Hazel Webber,” the caller said.

      Riley was startled. The receptionist must have contacted the congresswoman immediately after hanging up on Riley. She certainly hadn’t expected to hear back from Webber herself, much less so quickly.

      “How can I help you?” Webber said.

      Riley explained again that she wanted to talk about some “loose ends” regarding her daughter’s death.

      “Could

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