Influenced by Eva Robinson (best free ebook reader TXT) š
- Author: Eva Robinson
Book online Ā«Influenced by Eva Robinson (best free ebook reader TXT) šĀ». Author Eva Robinson
From his phone, he turned on Spotify, playing a song from Miles Davis. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out a corkscrew. Thunder rumbled outside, and rain started pattering against his window.
Heād interviewed Peterās colleagues today, but had gotten nowhere. Peter lived alone, and heād been expected to go on vacation that week. The professors he worked with hadnāt even realized he was missing. It seemed Peter didnāt see friends often, and he spent a lot of his free time playing video games or jogging by himself. He was like a ghost, with nothing on social media, few close contacts.
With his stomach rumbling, Michael poured himself a glass of wine. But if he didnāt fill his stomach with food, heād find his head swimming fast. As his mind slid over todayās fruitless interviews, he filled up a pot with water, then dropped it onto the stovetop.
Because there were now two dead academics with missing laptops, the autopsy had happened fastābut it didnāt give them much to go on. Four or five days ago, Peter had died of unknown causes, then heād been dragged into the pond. He hadnāt drowned.
The autopsy had showed his stomach was nearly completely empty. Either he hadnāt eaten in a while, or heād thrown up what he had. From medical records, Michael knew that Peter had a life-threatening peanut and tree nut allergy. If heād died of anaphylaxis or a poison, he likely would have vomited before death.
The body had been in the pond too long to know if his throat had shown any signs of swelling, but the real question was if heād been poisoned with thallium. Or maybe another toxic substance. Itād be another two weeks before they learned what had happened.
Not a single person Michael had spoken to knew of anyone whoād want to harm Peter. Heād broken up with a boyfriend months ago, but the boyfriend was now overseas.
Two dead academics within the span of a few weeks, both with missing laptops. Cambridge had a few murders per year, but this was deeply unusual. Michael had a sinking feeling that if they didnāt figure out what was happeningāfastāthey could soon be stumbling over another academicās corpse.
But what had really crushed Michael that week was having to tell Peterās mom that her son had been found dead. The look on her face was now seared into his braināher stillness as some part of her mind took it in, but the rest refused to believe it. Her expression had made Michael feel desperate to find out exactly what had happened to her son, who had dumped his body in a pond.
Michael pulled out a pan and doused it with a bit of olive oil. As he started slicing up an onion, he thought of what heād once read long agoāthat soldiers called for their mothers when they diedāand wondered if heād think of his mum when his time came.
But in most of his memories it was the other way around, wasnāt it? She called him for help.
Sixteen slices of onion, no more, no less. They were a bit bigger than heād like, but theyād have to do.
Whenever he started to think of his mum, a storm of emotions clouded his mindāsadness and regret so murky that it was hard to think straight.
While the onions sizzled in the pan, he grabbed a head of garlic and started peeling the cloves. Four cloves, cut into fours, crushed in with the onions. As it fried, a delicious scent filled his apartment. He opened a can of tomatoes, steam from the heating water curling into the air.
He let the sauce simmer and sat at his table to pull out his laptop.
It was unfortunate that not everyone conveniently catalogued every moment of their lives like Rowan did.
Peter Sylvestroā¦ The name kept niggling at him. He was sure heād seen it recently.
Did he have something to do with Rowan?
He opened her Instagram feed, where he found an artful sunset photo of her standing on a plot of land, shot from behind. The text beneath it was all about the Cambridge Teen Center, how theyād gotten the funding they needed, how it would help educational outcomesā¦ It all sounded much more professional and academic than what Rowan normally wrote. It didnāt quite seem like Rowan at all, in fact.
Michael scrolled to her bio, then clicked the link to the teen center page. And that was where heād seen the name. There was Peter, smiling behind his glasses.
Michael would be paying Rowan another visit.
And where was the real Rowan? Because this golden image of Rowan saving the world wasnāt it, nor was the text about the fundraising.
The real dirt was on the blog discussion sites.
When he opened TOI.com, he found that no one there seemed particularly interested in the teen center. He switched the view, so that the āhotā posts shifted to the top. One was an ongoing discussion about whether or not sheād murdered Arabella, filled with complete conjecture about a jealousy motive.
The other two were deleted photos that Rowan had apparently posted a few nights ago. Theyād been up only a few hours before she took them down, but of course theyād already been catalogued.
The first image was a dark, glimmering pool of water. The location tagged it as Fresh Pond. The text read, I havejt snaped..; Im perfecly san;e. I didnāt kill any one.
His pulse started to race, and he scrubbed a hand over his mouth, staring. Holy shit.
He pulled out his phone, calling Ciara.
When she answered, she sounded breathless. āMichael? Youāre not at work. Where are you?ā
āNo, because itās nine thirty on a Friday, and I havenāt eaten. Whatās up?ā
āOh. I forgot dinner. Anyway, I found something.ā
āWant to come by? I can add extra pasta.ā
āUh, yeah, sure.ā She hung up without another word.
Michael rose, pulling a chili pepper out of the fridge. With Ciara coming, heād make it as hot as he could stand, until
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