“I have a feeling you don’t put as much stock into it as other people do,” I remark.
He gives an almost sheepish smile and a partial shrug. “I just feel that it’s such a small thing and it’s become almost an urban legend. All the police have is proof that she was strangled. The ligature marks are clear, and she had the breaks of the hyoid bone and petechiae in her eyes. Cause of death was manual strangulation. That’s not up for debate. But there is no absolute proof that it was any particular weapon that killed her, scarf or otherwise.”
“So, why do you think they’re so fixated on the scarf? All the people at the party said they remember seeing it. She was putting it on as she left,” I say.
“Group hysteria is real. Especially in times of tragedy and heightened emotion, people can become extremely suggestible, based on wanting to help or be a part of a resistance to something unjust. These people at the party know they saw her alive that night and sent her off thinking she’d be safe. She ended up dead. As far as we know, none of them are responsible for that, but it’s easy to feel guilty. So, if one of them says she remembers a scarf and that sounds like a logical potential weapon, another person may think he remembers seeing it as well. Eventually, the story grows to the point that nobody at the party is going to deny seeing the scarf. And the thing is, they all really believe it. It’s as true in their minds as anything else,” he says.
“I am very familiar with that phenomenon,” I say, letting out a breath as I look through the materials again.
“What do you think about the scarf?” he asks. “Show off some of that Bureau skill.”
A short laugh puffs out of me. There’s something flirty, almost suggestive about the way he said that, and it took me by surprise. I decide not to acknowledge it, but I can’t help but glance down at my hand and wonder if that ring I told Sam I don’t care about is more important to me than I thought.
“I think that as irresponsible as it would be to put all of the attention of an investigation on one piece of evidence, such as the potential that a scarf was used as the murder weapon because it would distract from other possibilities, it’s also irresponsible to dismiss details. The fact that a lot of young people agree on something doesn’t automatically make it wrong. As much as some people would like to think that. Besides, in this situation, the detail makes sense. She was strangled with something, but there was nothing left on the scene. And it was a very cold night. Wouldn’t it make sense that Samantha would have been wearing a scarf?” I ask.
Professor Harris looks at me with a slight lift in one eyebrow. “It was cold the night Julia borrowed a scarf, too.”
Without saying anything, I carefully examine Samantha’s crime scene photos with a thought for incidents that happened after Carla’s death, scanning for any of the gifts she’d bought before her murder. Nothing stands out to me, but before I can look any further, my phone alerts me to a message.
I glance down at the screen and don’t recognize the number. I’m both curious and wary as I open the message. Rather than being from the same person taunting me through the email and calendar, the text is simple.
Emma, this is Bill Meyer. I need to speak with you. Please call me.
I gather everything into my messenger bag.
“Something wrong?” Professor Harris asks.
“No, I just need to make this call. Thank you so much for talking about these with me. I’m sure I’m going to have more questions,” I say.
“You can go ahead and call me anytime. Anything I can do to help,” he says.
I smile at him and rush out of the building and into the courtyard behind it. As soon as the door closes behind me, I dial Julia’s father.
“Mr. Meyer, this is Emma Griffin,” I say when he answers.
“Please, I told you. Bill,” he says.
“Bill,” I say. “What can I do for you?”
“My wife would not be happy if she knew I was telling you. But I got a call from Julia’s high school today and I heard about the things you need to know. For right now, we still believe strongly that it was our daughter’s choice to leave her life behind and start out new somewhere else. And the reason for that is why I’m calling you.”
“Go ahead,” I tell him. “Are you comfortable talking about it over the phone? Or would you rather meet in person? I would be willing to travel to you if you need me to.”
“No need, they are just a few things I think you need to understand. When you first spoke to us about Julia’s leaving thirteen years ago, my wife placed a lot of emphasis on Julia’s desire to change her major and embark on a career we didn’t approve of,” he says.
“I remember,” I say. “It doesn’t seem like enough of a reason for a grown woman to break away from everyone and everything, though.”
“It might be for some, but I don’t believe it would have been for Julia. She had too much going for her. She was too headstrong. It truly pains me to say this, but the truth is, I believe if it really came right down to it, Julia would take the path she thought was right, whether it included her mother and me or not. She wouldn’t give up everything that she worked for and that mattered to her for something that simple.”
“But you think there is something else that would motivate her enough,” I say.
“Yes. Jeremy Fine.”
“Is that the Jeremy she wrote about?” I ask.
“I can’t be positive, of course,
