13. Call Me Ken

She called the university and was told the professor was too busy to be disturbed but was available afternoons for student visits. She used the University Student online booking app to make an appointment for 2:00 p.m. and thought how things had changed since she left school.

Grabbing lunch in a nearby café, she made notes, caught up on messages and pondered whether to let Brampton know what she was up to.    She hadn’t shared her thoughts on the connections between the two murders and he would probably scold her for that. She grinned at the word, then blushed and shook her head.

She tossed her sandwich wrapper in the bin, pushed past two students in the doorway, locked in an embrace, and wondered if Brampton would ever ask her out.

At 2 o’clock sharp Dr. Rivers met her at his office door.

“Ms. Chatsworth, how nice to see you. I do hope I can be of help, what’s on your mind?”

“Dr. Rivers, I’m tracking down a cold case from seven years ago, Catrina Somers was killed out at Channel Lane Point. I understand she was your student?”

Shock flashed on Rivers’ face, but he recovered, smiled and moved aside, gesturing for Kathy to step in.

“Call me Ken,” he said warmly. “Dr. Rivers sounds so formal.” He sat down behind the desk, straightened a pen and a picture, sat back and crossed his legs and leveled his gaze at her.

“Catrina was in my ancient history class, a clever girl and very conscientious. She had just handed in a group assignment when,” he shuddered. “When it happened. So tragic what happened to her.” He sighed. “They never found the killer. The police don’t think it was anyone she knew. A robbery, they said, she surprised some thug who attacked her. Tragic.”

Kathy murmured agreement, noting his neat summation of what had probably happened. She let a beat go by. Where should she go next? Find out the others in Catrina’s study group.

“Dr. Rivers, um Ken, if it’s not confidential can you give me the names of the people in her project group?”

Rivers looked relieved and reached for his laptop. “No problem, that’s public information, let me pull up the old class list.”

The Apple notebook lit up as he touched the keys and began to scroll through files.

“Here we are. There were four, Catrina, Everett Jones, Tabatha Everson, and Grant Ashbury the lone male. They were a serious bunch, I didn’t know them well and, of course, I know even less about them now,” he sighed and closed the computer. “Some students stay in touch, but most move on, get busy with careers and life and never think of their old professors.” She opened her mouth to say something nice, but stopped. What did she know about old professors? She had avoided most of hers like the plague. She thanked him, shook hands and left.