“They could’ve been the one to kill her,” Roman finished in a low voice.
Julian nodded. “Exactly. Talk to them. If any of them say anything that’s even vaguely suspicious… put them on the list of suspects.”
“I’m on it.” Roman turned and headed for the door.
Julian looked back at me. “Let’s look at the footage now,” he said, his expression grim and determined. He set the laptop on the table between us and opened it. “If we don’t find anythinguseful, I’ll look into the blood incident. You called the police, right? And they took samples?”
“Yes, but they never got back to me about what sort of blood it was,” I said. “I figured they ‘accidentally’ lost the evidence, because the university probably assumed it was the Club behind the incident and wanted to cover it up.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me at all.” Julian rubbed his jaw. “The Blackthorne Harbor PD has a habit of ‘losing’ evidence if they think it’s even remotely connected to the Dionysus Club, thanks to our long-standing relationship with them.”
He pulled up a video player interface, scrolling through dates and timestamps. “Early October, right?”
“Yeah. The eighth, I think? It was a Friday night,” I said. Then I shook my head. “Actually, it was early Saturday morning. So the ninth.”
Julian's jaw tightened as he navigated to the right date. “Let's see what happened.”
He hit play, and suddenly I was looking at my dorm room from the light fixture above my bed. The timestamp showed 3:47 AM. Around two hours before I'd woken up that morning.
For a few seconds, nothing happened. I could see myself sleeping in the bed, completely unaware. Then a figure stepped into the frame, moving slowly and carefully. They were wearing a thick dark hooded jacket that obscured their entire body. In their hands was a bucket.
“Oh my god,” I muttered.
We watched in silence as the figure continued to creep across the room with an eerie deliberateness. They stopped beside my bed, and I felt sick watching myself sleep, completely vulnerable, while this person stood over me.
The figure tilted the bucket slowly, pouring the dark liquid across my blanket. It spread slowly, soaking into the fabric. I'd been so deep asleep that I hadn't even stirred.
The whole thing only took three minutes. Then the figure turned and walked back toward the other side of my dorm before disappearing from the frame.
Julian immediately rewound and played it again, leaning closer to the screen.
“Can you see anything?” I asked. “Anything identifying?”
He shook his head, frustration evident on his face. “The jacket is too bulky, and it covers their hair, too.” He paused the video on a frame where the figure was closest to the camera. “Can't see height properly because of the angle. Can't even tell if it's a man or a woman.”
“What about their hands? When they're holding the bucket?”
He zoomed in, but the footage was too grainy because of the darkness in the room. "Can't tell. Looks like they’re wearing gloves."
“Dammit,” I muttered.
Julian's expression darkened, and he slammed the laptop shut, clearly angry with himself. “This footage is completely useless.”
“It’s like that person somehow knew the camera was there. But there’s no way that can be true.” I sighed and leaned back in my seat, rubbing my temples. “I guess they just dressed up like that in case someone spotted them breaking in that night.”
“Yeah.” Julian pulled out his phone, his expression shifting into something cold and businesslike. “I'm calling the concierge service.”
“The what?”
“It’s the Club's twenty-four-hour phone service.” He was already dialing, with the call set to loudspeaker. “Any member can call, give their name and code, and they'll organize pretty much anything.”
The phone barely rang twice before someone answered.
“Concierge service,” a smooth, professional voice said. “Name and code, please.”
“Julian Valcourt. Code seven-seven-four-nine-delta.”
“Verified. How may we assist you, Mr. Valcourt?”
