“Did you meet Professor Creighton’s daughter?”
“Oh yes. She was there that night at the party. I can’t recall her name.”
“Lily.”
“That was it, Lily. A beautiful girl with long blond hair, like a little princess. But very quiet. She was still recovering from some sort of heart surgery, and I think she was a little wary of people. We all fawned over her, of course. Who can resist a little girl?”
Jane and Frost glanced at each other. Maybe someone couldn’t.
Jane said, “I read your interview with Detective Tremblay. I know a lot of time has passed since then, but maybe you’ve had a chance to think more about that evening. Remember other details.”
Anthony frowned. “I told him everything I could think of. Maybe my classmates can be of more help?”
“Yes, about your classmates. Did you ever wonder about any of them? Whether they could have been involved?”
“In the murder? Absolutely not. It’s not a very big college and after spending three and a half years in the same school, you get to know people. I can’t picture any one of them attacking Professor Creighton. Besides, wasn’t her ex-husband arrested for it?”
“He was later released.”
“Still, I assume they had a reason to arrest him in the first place. And who had a better motive to take that little girl than her own father?”
“What about the other students who were at the reception?” asked Elif. “Have you spoken to them?”
“No.”
Elif looked back and forth at Jane and Frost. “Why do you focus only on my husband? What is it you think he did?”
“Elif, please,” said Anthony. “I’m sure this is just routine.”
“I don’t think so.” Elif looked at Jane. “There’s something you haven’t told us yet.”
“The reason we’re talking to your husband,” said Jane, “is because he’s the only one from that reception who now lives in the Boston area.”
“Why does that matter? Professor Creighton was killed in Maine.”
“Two weeks ago, a woman was murdered in Boston. Her death may be linked to Professor Creighton’s case.”
For a moment, the only sound was the chirp of sparrows and the distant growl of a motorcycle as both husband and wife registered the significance of what Jane had said.
“Another murder,” said Elif. “And just because my husband’s the only student who lives in Boston, you assume—”
“We don’t assume anything. We’re just trying to find out if there is a connection.”
“Who was this other woman?” asked Anthony.
“Her name was Sofia Suarez. She worked as a critical care nurse at Pilgrim Hospital.”
“Suarez?” He shook his head. “I don’t know anyone by that name. And I don’t believe I’ve ever set foot in Pilgrim Hospital.”
“Neither of us has,” said Elif. “Both our daughters were born at Brigham and Women’s Hospital.”
“The victim’s name isn’t familiar to either one of you?”
Both Elif and Anthony shook their heads.
“Why do you think these murders are connected?” Anthony asked. “Was this nurse killed in a break-in, like Professor Creighton?”
“It happened in the victim’s home, yes.” Now for the question that would surely rattle them both: “Where were you on the night of May twentieth, Mr. Yilmaz?”
His wife opened her mouth to speak, but he quickly held up his hand to stop her. Calmly he reached into a pocket for his cell phone and looked at the calendar. “May twentieth. That was a Friday night,” he noted.
“Yes.”
“Friday?” said Elif, and she looked at Jane with a confident glint of satisfaction in her eyes. “That’s the night Rabia came home.”
“Rabia is our daughter,” said Anthony. “She flew home from London, where she attends boarding school. Elif and I picked her up at Logan Airport and we took her out to dinner. Then we all came home for the night.”
“And you stayed home all night, sir?”
He looked straight at her. “That night, my precious daughter was home for the first time in months. Why would I suddenly leave my house to go kill a woman I didn’t even know?”
* * *
—
“Well that was a dead end,” said Frost as they climbed into the car.
Jane buckled her seatbelt but did not immediately start the engine. Instead she sat for a moment looking out at the quiet street where the Yilmazes lived. It was a leafy neighborhood where people had room to grow roses in their backyards, where the sound of traffic was little more than a distant hiss. A place where an immigrant from Turkey could mingle comfortably with other professionals and raise his family and feel he belonged.