Professor Law E-Book

Jonathan D. Rosen

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

On paper, Steve Jones is a stellar law professor at an elite university in Miami, with impressive credentials and a long list of academic accomplishments. But there is a side Professor Jones only shows to a select few: he is a prolific serial killer.

Detectives Carlos Garcia and Wayne Briggs are a dynamic duo at the Miami-Dade Police Department. On their desk is a growing pile of unsolved murder cases.

The two are prepared to do whatever it takes to bring down the elusive killer and bring justice to the litany of victims. But in a deadly game of cat and mouse, can they outsmart their opponent before another life is lost?

Leseprobe

PROFESSOR LAW

JONATHAN D. ROSEN

AMIN NASSER

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Authors’ Note

Acknowledgments

About the Authors

Copyright (C) 2022 Jonathan D. Rosen and Amin Nasser

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Tyler Colins

Cover art by Lordan June Pinote

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

1

The alligators moved in from all directions, smelling blood in the murky water. More alligators started to circle the small boat rocking in the water. A twelve-foot alligator thrashed his tail. A tall, thin man grunted in the bouncing boat, his black hair tossed by the wind. He was all smiles, miles from the nearest person in the middle of the swampy Everglades. That’s how he liked it: just him and his flashlight.

“You boys hungry? I’ve got a treat for you tonight.” The man opened the box in his boat and pulled out another pound of fish. He then threw a dead chicken into the water. He grabbed another bag that contained animal blood and poured it overboard. He laughed at the sight and whispered, “Come get it, boys. Tonight is going to be a feast.”

The alligators surrounded the dead animals and began to chow down. One swallowed the floating chicken in one swift gulp.

“Wait for it. Wait for it. Where’s my death roll?” asked the man in the boat.

Two alligators started to fight over the feast. One larger alligator bit down hard on a smaller one and began a death roll, the method used to drown prey. The man threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh.

“Good boys, that’s what I like to see. Now, since you’ve been so good, I brought you something special. Here’s the real treat.” The man looked around to make sure nobody was approaching. He was safe, as only the animals were out at 3 a.m. in the Florida Everglades. The man pulled the body out of the bag and threw it overboard. “Happy trails, Natasha. Better luck in your next life. If only you would have learned to shut your mouth. Have at her, boys.”

As the alligators started to devour the body, the man turned on the engine and sped off through the water. He enjoyed the solitude. Gazing up at the stars, he was happy to rid himself of a major liability. It took him nearly an hour to arrive at the spot where he left his car, and another hour to hitch the boat. He looked at his watch. Wow! It was 5 a.m. already? He had to be at work early tomorrow. Five minutes later, he was driving slowly down the highway and back toward Miami. He knew not to speed at night, as the cops would love nothing better than to write a big ticket. The cops were a joke in this city. A cesspool of incompetence and corruption. He loved it. He was five minutes away from his apartment in Brickell, a hip spot near the water only a few minutes from downtown Miami.

He was nearly at his apartment when two drunk college students appeared. They were walking across the street and saw the boat attached to the car.

“Billy! It’s a boat. Let’s jump on that beast,” said one of the drunk college students.

“Nice boat,” said Billy. He could not stop laughing.

The driver got out of the car as the drunk students jumped up and down in it.

“Hey, jerks! Get off my boat.” The man was six feet tall but thin, so the college students were probably not threatened by his appearance.

“Calm down, man. We just want to go for a ride. It’s all good.”

“Don’t you idiots have anything else to do? It’s early Monday morning. Don’t you have a job or a class to go to? Why don’t you get a job and do something with your pathetic lives? This is what is wrong with society. The youth of this generation just want to party all the time. They don’t believe in hard work.”

“Calm down, grandpa.”

This made the man fume. His face turned red; his hands balled into fists. “Get off my boat. Don’t make me ask you again. The light just turned green. I don’t want to get hit.”

“There’s nobody on the road. Relax, dude,” said Billy.

“I’ve had enough. Get off my boat or I will blow your brains out!” yelled the man. He pulled out a nine-millimeter gun.

“He’s got a gun. Run!” yelled Billy.

The two college students jumped off the boat and dashed across the street.

“Aww. Where’re you going? I guess you’re not so tough once you see a gun pointed at your face. Run along now before I change my mind and kill you.” The man adjusted his black hat and sunglasses. That would teach those punks a lesson.

The man got back into his car and arrived at his building five minutes later. Time to sleep. He had to be up in a few hours. Perhaps he should’ve done that on the weekend but, oh well, the deed was done. He pulled into the parking garage of his twenty-story high-rise.

2

Steve Jones walked toward his office at Southeastern University Law School, located in South Miami. This private school in sunny South Florida was the number one law school in the state. It was known for its rigorous academics and for having the top bar passage rate in Florida for the past ten years. The law school attracted many hard-working students looking to get an education. Steve was more than willing to exploit them all for the honor of working with him. He walked, almost skipped, through the halls as he planned to dominate the department’s publishing output. He’d make them all look like lazy ingrates in comparison.

Suddenly, one of Steve’s criminal law students approached. “Hello, Professor Jones.”

“Hi. How’s it going?”

“I’m ok. Thanks for asking, Mr. Jones.”

“It’s Doctor Jones. I didn’t suffer through my joint JD/PhD program to be called Mr. Get it right.”

“Sorry, Dr. Jones. Could I stop by your office today to ask some questions?”

“Uh, yeah, ok. Come during my office hours. I’m in meetings all day today.”

“When are they?”

“Really? What are you, an idiot? It’s called a syllabus. Look at it. Frigging memorize it. You mean to tell me I wasted my time putting it together? It contains all the information you need about my course and my office hours. You know when people say there is no such thing as a dumb question? They’re wrong. There is such a thing, and it comes from dumb people like you. Please tell me that you aren’t going to ask these types of questions in court,” said Steve flatly.

The student’s mouth hung open and before he could respond, Steve stormed off down the hall toward his office. He laughed to himself as he approached the door.

A voice rang out behind him. “Hello, Steve.” It was another law professor. “How’s the semester treating you?”

“Another day in paradise,” said Steve as he looked at the students drinking coffee in the quad.

“I don’t miss my days in Boston.”

“Indeed. I don’t miss the cold of New York either,” responded Steve.

“Well, nice seeing you too, Steve. Try not to be too hard on the students today.”

Steve was being nice for a change. It took real talent to be the biggest jerk in a law faculty. He won the prize by a mile.

He opened the door to his office. Home sweet home. He turned on the lights and went toward his bookshelves, which were filled to the brim with criminal justice and law books. Steve was an avid reader. On average, he read three books per week.

Steve heard a soft knock. My goodness. What did these people want? His job would be so great if there were no students. Maybe if he didn’t answer, they’d go away.

A student knocked again.

“What? Come in.” He wanted to move his office to a place where nobody could find him.

“Hello, Professor. Do you have a second?”

“No! My office hours are posted on the door in large font. Can’t I have a moment’s peace without one of you yapping in my ear about your problems? Goodness! Just read the textbook, do the assignments, and leave me alone.”

Steve went to sit at his desk and turned on his desktop computer. His office didn’t have a window. Prime real estate offices were reserved for senior faculty. Steve couldn’t get along with the administration if his life depended on it, so they stuck him in a windowless office on the third floor of the law library.

“I’m sorry. It’ll only take a second,” said the student as she looked at the academic awards hanging on the back wall. “Wow, you have a lot of degrees.”

The wall, full of accolades, forced everyone in the office to gaze at Steve’s accomplishments.

Steve ignored the compliment, opened his email, and started reading. “Seriously, some people at this university have nothing better to do than send out emails every five seconds. Delete. Delete. Delete. What? Do you want me to answer emails all day or do my job?”

“Professor Jones, I just wanted to ask if you give study guides for the final,” said the student reluctantly.

“Study guide? What is this, amateur undergraduate hour? No. I don’t. Tough luck. Welcome to law school. One exam is your entire grade, so if you can’t cut it, you won’t be wasting anyone’s precious time, including mine.”

“I understand. I’m sorry for asking,” she said and turned to walk away.

Steve, however, was not done with her. “You need to toughen up if you’re going to make it in the real world. Lawyers are not nice people. They will eat you alive.” Steve stared at the ceiling. He tended to do this when he pontificated. “I don’t have a study guide. I’ve got a meeting with my research assistant. My advice is to read and study hard. Reading is when you drag your eyes across the page of a book. Often people like to go to the library. Just to let you know, the law library is located between Starbucks and Subway. It’s the big building in the middle of campus. Come on! Start thinking like a lawyer. Nobody is going to hold your hand at this institution.”

“Thanks, Professor Jones. Have a nice day,” said the student on the verge of tears as she turned to the door and exited.

After deleting several emails, including those from students, Steve opened a folder on his computer that had all his works in progress. Steve was a prolific scholar and had published more than one hundred law review articles and several textbooks. When he started out as a law professor, he wrote all the law review articles himself. Three years into his academic career, he realized that he could exploit his smart law students who were eager to publish to bolster their resumes. Steve had three research assistants and a half dozen other students toiling away on articles at all hours.

He heard a knock at the door and without looking up responded, “Come in.” A professionally dressed young woman walked into the office. Her name was Samantha, one of Steve’s research assistants.

“Hi, Professor Jones. Do you still have time to meet about the article?” asked Samantha. She had a 3.9 grade point average and was the editor-in-chief of the law review.

“Yeah, I’ve got time. Grab a seat,” said Steve. He started to brush his black hair with his hands. Regardless of his rude overconfidence, he was always fidgeting with nervous energy. This nervousness manifested itself in many ways, especially his inability to stop touching his hair.

“I’m done with the first draft, Professor Jones. I wanted to run a few ideas by you regarding the conclusions before I send it to you. I’ve also got to check some citations.”

“Which paper is this again? I’m sorry, but I’ve been working with other students as well.”

“It’s on juvenile lifers.”

“Right. Listen, send me the draft, and I will give you some comments. I forgot to put this meeting on my calendar, and I have a lot to do. I’m helping supervise several students at the university’s legal aid clinic, and they need me to read over some stupid documents before they submit them.”

“I’ll send you the draft in another week or so. Does that work?”

“No, didn’t you hear? Send me the draft now. The sooner the better. You need the publications. You’ll be doing me a favor as well. I’ve had a slow year, as we had a tough time placing several articles. For this article, we need to strive for a better journal. Also, remember that you’re trying to be a lawyer, not an activist. Make sure you keep this in mind as you proofread. The last thing I want to be associated with is a bleeding-heart activist. Those people make me sick, and they have no business in scholarship. Do you hear me?”

“I understand, Professor. I’m doing my best. I’m here to learn,” said Samantha quietly, not quite meeting his concentrated gaze.

“Sure. That’s what all my students say. You need to smarten up. I know students don’t care about writing. You know how much crap I have to deal with, doing students favors, allowing them to publish with me? They just want to add lines on their resumes, especially embellishing their work with me. They want something to talk about during interviews. I’m doing a public service here.”

“I love research. I really do.”

“Oh yeah? Give me a break. You realize that nobody is ever going to read this article in the real world. The law school journals are popularity contests. They just publish topics that are in vogue. My past experiences have taught me that a well-researched article on a dry topic does not get you published.” Steve focused on Samantha’s eyes with a penetrating look. “Don’t forget that this is a transaction. Nothing more, nothing less. Understood? You’re using my name to publish. Do you want to be a top legal mind and scholar, or some fly-by-night attorney? You want to be a top legal scholar, and you need me to help you with that.”

“Understood, Professor. I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to work with you,” responded Samantha, nodding firmly.

“I’m doing you a favor, so act accordingly.” Steve brushed his hand through his hair.

Samantha stood still and stone-faced as she waited for Steve to close his mouth. But he was not done.

“Wait! How’s the opinion piece coming along? I guess I’ll have to change it from ‘Professor Jones’ to ‘Professor Jones and my star student’.” He winked as he picked up a pen and stuck it behind his ear.

“I haven’t had time. I’m sorry. I’ve been focusing on our article.”

“Are you kidding? It’s seven-hundred words, not a doctoral dissertation. What a disappointment. Forget it. I will write the opinion piece myself. I knew this would happen.”

“I can do it, Professor Jones. I’ll work on it today after my classes.”

“That’s what I want to hear. And you better do it. If you can’t handle something, just let me know. There’re dozens of students clamoring for the opportunity. Luckily, the editor is my good friend, and I’ve been writing the occasional ‘Professor Law’ column for over a decade. Don’t blow this opportunity. Got it?”

“I won’t. I’d better get going.”

“Yeah, you’d better run along now. Remember that I need a draft sometime today. I can work with something, but I can’t work with a blank screen and so far, that’s what you’ve delivered.”

“Yes, Professor Jones,” Samantha said. She shut the door behind her.

Steve chuckled to himself. He was a star around here. He made this place look good.He looked at his computer and opened his email again, writing a reminder to the same student. Before he could finish typing a “friendly reminder”, he heard another knock at the door. “How does anyone work here?” he said aloud as he brushed his hands through his hair. “Come in.”

John, an overweight student with patchy facial hair, poked his head through the door. He was another one of Steve’s research assistants.

“Hi, Professor. How are you? Is it still ok to meet now? I wanted to talk to you about the edits that I made to your textbook.”

“I really need to do a better job writing down these appointments. I haven’t been able to do anything without being interrupted,” replied Steve, annoyed.

“Would you like me to come back?”

“No, now is okay. I’m under a lot of pressure to turn in the edits to the press. Ninety-nine percent of academics turn stuff in late.” Steve leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hair. “I’ve decided to be in the one percent and turn in things prior to the deadline. This makes the press happier to work with you.”

“I just wanted to let you know that I finished everything. I added the ten new cases that you recommended.” The student pulled out his laptop and placed it on Steve’s desk. “Can I show you some of my revisions?” The laptop had a few smudges of dirt and grease.

“My goodness. Did you drag your laptop through the mud at a BBQ? This is the dirtiest thing that I’ve ever seen. Disgusting!” Steve grabbed for a wipe and started to clean the computer screen. “I’m going to have to wash my hands in bleach. Shape up son, you stink. And lose some weight. Why should I work with someone as sloppy as you? Is your work as careless as your lifestyle? I mean, come on, man.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ve been working around the clock. I’m neglecting my hygiene and eating fast food to get my work in on time,” replied John as his gaze fell to the floor.

“Sure, sure. Whatever. Excuses for days with you people. Alright, what about the analysis? Did you add a few thoughts here and there? Do you know why I wrote a textbook?”

“To add a line to your resume?”

“Are you stupid? You think a guy at my level cares about a resume? The main reason is money. This textbook is three hundred dollars, and I get a piece of that action every time I make students buy it. Every three years, I make some updates and keep the press happy.”

“To answer your question, yes, I added the analysis. I made all the proposed edits in track changes so you can see them.”

“Excellent. Send this to me ASAP. I will take a look and send this off to the press. I’m sure that they will be happy,” said Steve.

“I’ll need another few days to review and edit the writing.”

“Prioritize it, then. I really want to use this new book the next time I teach this class.”

“I’ll send it to you in a couple of days. Could I ask you a favor, though?” asked John with a worried look on his face. He had nervous bowels, which made him feel gassy.

“Make it quick. I’ve got a busy day.”

John had done all the work. The least that this jerk could do is listen to his second question. “Understood. Would you mind recommending me for a judicial clerkship? I’m applying to work with the same judge you clerked for.”

“Why? He was the biggest jerk I’ve ever met in my life. He’s also three hundred years old. Go get a job.”

“I think that it’d help my resume,” said John.

“Come on. What do you want to do?” asked Steve.

“I want to be a judge, Professor Jones.”

“Yes, I’ll write your letter. But I’m not calling that pompous jerk. I’ve avoided seeing him for decades. Now, run along. I’m busy. And send me the edits before I change my mind.”

“Will do, professor. Thanks for your consideration.” John bolted out of the office.

Steve did not care how hard the students had to work or whether they were affected psychologically by his abuse and exploitation. He believed that students should be thanking him profusely just for the opportunity to work with such a brilliant scholar. A few of Steve’s former research assistants ended up in the hospital due to exhaustion, but he did not care. Steve did not accept any excuses; he even sent one research assistant an email the day she was discharged from the emergency room. Steve thought there was a price to pay for greatness. One more line on his resume helped feed his ego, and he was willing to do it at whatever cost necessary.

Finally, he could do some work.Steve put his hands over his head and leaned back in his chair, satisfied with himself. He put on classical music, opened a book, and began to read.

3

Detective Carlos Garcia got out of the car and wiped the sweat off his brow. He was slightly overweight but handsome, with jet black hair and a charming smile. Carlos was a product and success story of Miami Dade County. His parents had moved to Miami from Cuba when Carlos was only ten. Carlos worked his way through college and went on to earn his master’s in forensic psychology. He joined the police force and moved up the ranks quickly. It was not without its challenges, given the state of the police department, which was known for corruption and misdeeds. But Carlos was known for his hard work and integrity. Unlike many of his colleagues, he kept his nose clean. He stayed away from unprincipled officers and focused on his own cases and problems. This was his tenth year working as a homicide detective.

Carlos adjusted his aviator sunglasses and looked up at the blue sky. The South Florida sun was not always conducive to wearing a black suit. Miami was always hot, and his girth made it difficult to be outside too long. He grunted as he made his way into the high-rise building on North Miami Beach.

“They’re in apartment seven-hundred-and-four,” said the woman working the front desk.

Carlos took the elevator to the seventh floor and jogged to the apartment. He quickly opened the door.

“Hello, Detective Garcia,” said one of the local police officers, who was busy collecting evidence.

“Good to see you, Detective Garcia. Wish it were under better circumstances,” said another police officer.

“Hey, fellas. What do we have here?” asked Carlos.

“The victim is a forty-year-old Caucasian woman,” said the lead officer on the scene. “Her name is Victoria Lane. She’s a divorce attorney.”

“Cause of death?” asked Carlos.

“Seems to be strangulation,” responded the officer. He lifted the sheet covering her body. “We found her hanging from the ceiling. Her office manager called the apartment complex because Victoria did not show up for work for two days. The building manager opened the door and found her like this.”

“Yo, Carlos. Where’s your partner in crime, you know, the cowboy? He’s always good for a laugh,” asked one of the officers.

“He’s stuck in court. I’ll brief him when he’s out,” said Carlos.

Known for her stylish suits and sharp wit, Victoria Lane was a courtroom brawler. She battled hard for her clients. Victoria had always known that she wanted to be a divorce attorney. Her father had left her mother when Victoria was only five years old; he went out for a drink one day and never came back. Victoria’s mother always used to joke that it must have been a great drink. She never forgot the trauma that this caused her and fought hard for her clients to receive a fair deal.

“I’d imagine that this lady has enemies. I’ve seen her name plastered on the billboards throughout the city,” said an officer.

Carlos walked around the apartment. It was immaculate and had a terrific oceanfront view. He took a deep breath as he stared out into the Atlantic.

“Married? Children?” asked Carlos.

“No. She didn’t believe in marriage. I’d bet that working as a divorce attorney convinced her that marriage is overrated,” responded one of the officers.

Carlos looked at the body. “This looks like a suicide. Did you find any notes?”

“No notes.”

Carlos gazed around. “There is no sign of forced entry. Nothing appears to have been stolen. I’m going to contact her office. Maybe she had a boyfriend or someone that knew her well. Perhaps she was depressed, and the pressure of the job got to her. She seems to have everything anyone would ever want. Doesn’t make much sense to me why someone like her would commit suicide.”

“Detective, this looks like a run-of-the-mill suicide. Don’t go crazy here, keep it simple. The crime scene unit is on the way and will dust for fingerprints. There is no forced entry. Nothing was stolen. There doesn’t appear to be any foul play.”

Carlos took a deep breath again and remained quiet for a moment, thinking. He finally broke the silence, letting out a quiet belch. “I agree. I’m out of here, guys. I’m going to head down to the victim’s place of business. Dang, I’m starving, and I need a drink. I also think that I need a new suit. I lost half a gallon of sweat walking from the police station to my car. Let’s go out for a beer sometime, fellas. It’s been too long.”

“See ya,” said the officers in unison as Carlos left the apartment.

4

Carlos left the deceased’s apartment and drove into the first fast-food place he saw. He grabbed a burger and a large soda and continued to the law firm, driving as he ate. He parked and finished his meal. The Victoria case was a puzzle. Why would a successful woman like her just up and kill herself for no obvious reason? Maybe she was just lonely after years of working. What did this life really mean anyway? All the money in the world didn’t make people happy. Carlos wiped his greasy mouth and walked to the law firm, stopping at the front desk.

“Hello, sir. How can I help you? asked the office manager at Victoria Lane’s law firm.

“I’m Detective Garcia. I wanted to know if you had twenty minutes to talk about Victoria Lane.”

“I’m Meagan. I’m the office manager. Let’s go to the conference room.” She got up and showed Carlos to the conference room. “Can I get you some coffee?”

“I’m okay. Thanks though. Has Victoria always worked alone?” asked Carlos as he took a seat at the table in what Meagan referred to as the war room. It was a beautiful space of wood and leather. There were stainless steel jugs on the table surrounded by four glasses of water. There was a library as well, and a few boxes neatly stacked in the corner. The blinds were closed, which made Carlos feel quite relaxed and cozy.

“Yes. I’ve been working here for twenty years. Victoria was a free spirit. She always said that she went into solo practice because she didn’t work and play well with others.”

“I understand the feeling. Sometimes, I wish I was solo.” Carlos adjusted his tie. He prided himself on his professionalism. Even though he hated wearing suits, particularly during the hot summer days, he always made sure that he was dressed for the job. This was a value that his parents had instilled in him.

Carlos noticed Meagan was fidgeting in her seat. Her eyes were glassy. She was quite shaken by the past events, which made Carlos suspicious. Maybe there was foul play?

“I can’t believe that she’s dead. I’ve worked here forever. What am I going to do now? She was the best boss I ever had,” said Meagan. She pulled out a tissue and wiped her nose. Normally, Meagan was a beautiful woman who looked immaculate, with not even a strand of hair out of place. Yet today she was disheveled; her hair was an absolute mess.

“I can only imagine. I’m sorry for your loss. But I’m confident that you will find something. There is no shortage of lawyers in this town. I’m sure any law office would be happy to have you,” said Carlos with a smile.

“I don’t know. I do a little bit of everything at this job. Victoria paid me well and always treated me fairly. I worked at four law firms before coming here. They treated me like crap. I worked like a machine and was paid next to nothing. Victoria believed in empowering women. She pushed me to get my MBA and even paid for some of it.”

“She sounds like a great boss. I had to fight tooth and nail for the police department to pay for my master’s degree.” Carlos paused and thought for a bit. “Did Victoria ever receive any threats? Did any angry clients ever show up?”

Meagan poured a glass of water for herself. “Not really. Every once in a while, she would receive a letter calling her a homewrecker. Divorce is messy. Victoria always fought for her clients.”

“No stalkers? Nobody ever showed up at the office seeking revenge? Any scorned lovers? Or maybe a crazy neighbor?”

“Never.”

“Hmm. How well did you know Victoria personally? Was she romantically involved with anyone? What about her family? Any family members?” asked Carlos.

“Victoria didn’t believe in dating. The job was her life. It’s not what most people want, but that was Victoria. She refused to speak to her father, and her mom died of cancer several years ago. She was an only child.”

Carlos leaned back in the chair. He rubbed his hands through his thick black hair. He was quickly running out of questions. “This doesn’t make any sense. Do you think she was depressed? No family, no romantic interests, but maybe the job got to her?”

Meagan thought to herself. She looked up and to the right. Carlos felt sorry for her and thought it best to wrap up things. She wiped her nose once more and finally responded, “I don’t know. She seemed liked a happy person. I know she sometimes had a hard time not taking work home with her. She represented some women who were in awful relationships with abusive men. You know the wealthy ones are the worst. Some of these doctors and high-powered lawyers think that because they’re rich, they can get away with anything. But I don’t think Victoria would commit suicide.”

“Yeah. I figured that, but sometimes people are not what they appear to be. People can be strong on the outside but distraught on the inside. I’ve seen it many times. It makes you wonder if you ever truly know someone. We didn’t find any evidence of foul play at her apartment. And she didn’t leave a note or any clues.”

Meagan frowned and suddenly broke down. Carlos really hated this part of the job. They didn’t prepare you for this at the academy. He always said the same thing that seemed to work on everyone: men, women, and children. “It’s okay to cry. You need to let it out.”

“I’ve cried so much over the last day that I don’t think I have any tears left,” Meagan blurted. “Victoria wasn’t just my boss; she was a mentor. I wish that she would’ve come to me or felt comfortable opening up if she was depressed.”