“Thank you,” Sam said. “Now we need to address another sensitive issue.”
“Don’t feel like you need to treat me with kid gloves, Detective Goodwin,” Cain said. “I get that my contributions to the department make questioning me tricky. But I want to know who did this to Maria. If I can tell you anything that helps do that, I will. So just ask.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sam said. “Do you recall if Maria had any conflicts with any of your guests last night? Terse words exchanged? A political argument of some kind? Perhaps a thoughtless comment that escalated?”
“You’re wondering if anyone said something offensive to her? Maybe even racist?”
“It doesn’t have to be that overt,” Sam said. “Any dispute could be notable.”
Cain offered a sad smile.
“Truthfully, I’m sure a few of them entertained some ungenerous thoughts. But I think they were less about Maria’s ethnicity than the fact that she was a decade and a half younger than me and we got married so fast. I think some of them thought she was taking advantage of an older man. But no one said anything. It just wasn’t that kind of crowd.”
“Okay,” Jessie said. “What about other folks? It seems pretty clear that whoever did this either had some kind of problem with Maria’s immigration status or wants to give that impression. Did she ever mention anyone else giving her a hard time?”
Cain shrugged dejectedly. “Sure. She told me she would sometimes get snide remarks when walking on the street. People shouted for her to go back to Mexico even though she’s Colombian. There were some catcalls too. But they were all one-off comments from strangers. No one she actually knew personally ever said anything like that. She would have told me.”
“Are you sure?” Jessie asked. “Maybe she didn’t want you to overreact considering your influence.”
“I doubt that,” he said. “First of all, Maria was very proud of her heritage. Secondly, she was no shrinking violet. She wouldn’t have gotten into an arguments with a stranger because who knows what they might be capable of? But if someone she interacted with regularly said that stuff? She would have said something to themandto me.”
“All the same,” Sam said, “would you give permission for us to search the house, as well as her emails, texts, and social media? You never know.”
“Of course. I’ll sign whatever you need to make that happen.”
Sam looked over at Jessie, clearly wondering if she had any additional questions. She couldn’t think of any right now. Mostly, she wanted to dive into Maria’s recent history. Like Sam, she wasn’t as sure as Edward Cain that his wife was telling him about everything she faced on a daily basis.
Hopefully, somewhere in her digital conversations, there was a clue as to who did this and why.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hannah Dorsey wasn’t sure whether to feel pity, relief, or both.
As she approached the front door of Finn Anderton's on-campus apartment, she took note of the fact that he was on the first floor, close to the main entrance and the handicapped ramp. That was great news, considering his mobility issues after the stabbing and coma. But she knew Finn well and suspected that he'd be sensitive about the extra accommodations he needed. As she knocked on his door, she decided not to mention them.
She waited patiently, well aware that it might take Finn a little additional time to get to the door. When it opened, she could tell it had been a struggle. He was holding a cane and his breathing was heavy.
“Hey,” she said, pretending not to notice.
“Hi,” Finn replied, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. Other than seeming a bit worn out, Hannah thought that he looked a lot better than the last time she saw him a month ago.
Back then, he was skinnier and his face was gaunt. She guessed that he’d put on close to ten pounds. His gray eyes were alert, suggesting that he wasn’t on as much medication anymore. His dirty blond hair was trimmed and brushed, though it stuck to his forehead where he’d been sweating. Either he or someone else had recently shaved his face, which was unusual. Typically, he let the stubble grow out for weeks at a time before doing anything. She wondered how much help he’d had.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
He shuffled to the side and motioned for her to enter.
“We haven’t done much decorating yet,” he told her.
"Who's 'we?"
“Me and my roommate, Greg,” he explained. “He’s not here right now. But between my issues and his MS, we’re not going to be climbing on chairs to put posters on the wall. That’s how we roll in the disability unit.”
“That’s not what it’s called, is it?” Hannah asked, aghast.
“No,” he said with a bitter smile, “that’s just our self-pitying term for it. They call the first floor of this building the ‘special access unit.’ Sounds nicer, right? Everyone here is limited in some way. I’m hoping that by the end of the semester, I’ll be spry enough to move out.”
“That would be great,” she said, glancing around and taking note of all the grip bars along the walls. The furniture that came with the place seemed focused on easy movement as well. The couches, which were spread far apart, weren’t too deep and everything had a solid, grippy base so it wouldn’t slide. “In the meantime, do you want some help with those posters? I’m pretty adept at standing on chairs.”
