Murder 101 Read Online Free PDF

where they were sitting. Everyone else formed two lines, side by side, and made their way up the center aisle. I found myself elbow to elbow with Detective Crawford. He leaned over and asked how I was feeling.
    “I’m better,” I whispered. I think the close proximity of the two lines had him thinking that he might have to duck for cover if the body of Christ made me nauseous.
    He nodded and looked straight ahead, preparing to receive communion. I looked back, but Wyatt was still in the pew, sprawled out with elbows resting on the back of the pew and his right hand resting on his gun. He stifled a yawn as he watched everyone first proceed up the aisle and then back down.
    I returned to my pew at the back of the church and knelt to pray. I didn’t know quite what to pray for: happiness in heaven? A swift resolution to this mystery of the murder? Retribution? So, in the end, I said good-bye to this young girl who never did understand what constituted plagiarism or the correct form of the bibliography. And when I thought about her that way, in the only way I really knew her, I was overcome by profound sadness. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes and dropped onto the pew in front of me. I put my face in my hands and rested my elbows on the top of the pew.
    The Mass ended, and the sound of sobbing girls—Kathy’s friends—was loud and echoed throughout the building. I recognized a couple of the girls from my classes—Fiona Martin, Mercedes Rivas, and Jennifer Garrison. As her family followed the casket out of the chapel, her grandfather, Tommy, began to wail—a low, pitiful moan that filled the chapel and reverberated around us. I saw Crawford fold his hands in front of him and look down, his discomfort with the loud displays of grief obvious to me. Wyatt looked over at Capelli in disbelief. I sat in my pew and waited until everyone had left. Outside the chapel there was a buzz of activity as every major media outlet was covering the funeral. I wasn’t sure if it was Kathy’s family that generated the interest, the circumstances of her death, or a combination of those two things, but the campus had been crawling with vans filled with crews and reporters since the beginning of the week. President Etheridge, hoping to maintain some kind of normalcy for the students, arranged for uniformed officers from the local precinct to patrol and monitor traffic coming into the school. The president’s affiliation with the mayor and his latest campaign seemed to ensure that there were at least fifteen officers on campus at all times. Too bad that hadn’t been the case when someone was stealing my car, murdering a young girl, and dumping both alongside a parkway on the border of the City and Westchester County.
    As soon as I was sure that the hearse and the limousines had left the front of the building, I left the chapel and stepped onto the cool marble floor of the foyer. The foyer was circular, with benches on either side, and a balcony that overlooked the main floor. Ray sat on a bench looking out of the circular rose window that overlooked the river. When he heard my footsteps, he turned to face me.
    He held his arms out to me and by habit, I went to step into them before I remembered that I didn’t have to and didn’t want to. I would have liked a hug but I couldn’t do it and his arms hung awkwardly in the air before he dropped them to his sides. “Are you OK?” he asked.
    “Yes.” I took a step toward him. “Were you at the funeral?”
    “I was,” he said. “I had Kathy in class.”
    “Me, too,” I said, and studied his face. Funny . . . I didn’t remember ever having seen him cry when we were married or even when we were in the throes of divorce, but now, tears were coursing down his cheeks.
    “I heard that they found her in your car.”
    “Apparently.”
    “How are you getting to school then?” he asked, running his hands across his wet eyes.
    “I’m taking the train and walking from the