Chapter 30
Emily's POV
I woke up disoriented in an unfamiliar couch the next morning. The memories from last night slowly came back to me.
When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I discovered Olivia had already left for work. On the kitchen counter sat a spare key and several twenty-dollar bills. She'd left a note: "In case you need anything. Lock up when you leave."
"Wow, this feels shitty," I muttered to myself, picking up the cash with two fingers like it might burn me. My stomach twisted with shame. "Like I'm some charity case. Or worse—like I'm a one-night stand she's paying off."
I showered quickly, trying to ignore the guilt gnawing at me. I'd manipulated my way into her apartment with a lie, and now she was being nice. Fucking great. I felt like the world's biggest asshole.
Looking at my phone, I nearly dropped it when I saw the time. "Shit!" I realized I was running late. The team was gathering at the station at 9:30, and it was already past 9. I tried calling an Uber, but the app kept saying "No drivers available."
"Damn," I cursed, grabbing my bag and racing down the stairs. Maybe I could catch a bus.
As I burst through the lobby doors, I nearly collided with a familiar black sedan. Michael sat behind the wheel.
He reluctantly stopped and rolled down his window, visibly uncomfortable.
"You live here?" I asked, genuinely surprised.
"Third floor," he replied curtly.
"Why didn't you tell me we're neighbors?" I suddenly felt indignant.
"You never asked where I live."
I stared at him for a moment, then suddenly laughed. "Fair enough. Can I get a ride to the station?"
He nodded silently, unlocking the passenger door.
I opened the door and got in.
"How did you convince Olivia to take you in?" he asked curiously.
I told him about what happened last night.
Michael kept his eyes on the road. "She actually believed such a clumsy lie?"
"Yeah, but there were other reasons," I fidgeted with my seat belt. "In high school, I told Olivia I came from a broken home. That my parents were dead, and others treated me badly. I quickly won her sympathy and kindness, and we became friends."
---
By afternoon, the lab results had come in. We gathered in the conference room as Olivia presented her findings.
"The toxicology report confirms the presence of digoxin in the cat's blood," she announced, displaying slides on the screen. "It's a cardiac glycoside found in foxglove plants, commonly known as digitalis."
"Isn't that a heart medication?" Thomas asked, adjusting his glasses.
Olivia nodded. "It was widely used to treat heart conditions until more reliable synthetic alternatives were developed. In the right dose, it strengthens heart contractions. In excess, it's lethal."
"Could the cat have accidentally eaten the plant?" Raymond asked.
"No," Olivia replied firmly. "The concentration was too high, and there were traces in the hot dog pieces found in its stomach. Someone deliberately poisoned this animal."
"This is practice," I murmured.
"The killer is very likely planning to use refined poison to murder someone," Michael said.
The speculation hung heavy in the room.
---
We headed to Underwood University, where most of the dead animals had been found. Thomas had created a digital map marking each location, color-coded by date.
"Every single body was found within 500 feet of this sculpture," he explained, pointing to his tablet screen. His recall of the exact coordinates was impressive.
"Thomas," I said carefully, "do you have hyperthymesia?"
He looked surprised, then slightly embarrassed. "Superior autobiographical memory, yes."
"That must be difficult," I said quietly. "Remembering everything."
His eyes met mine with sudden understanding. "It's not always a gift."
"Based on the distribution pattern," Michael interrupted, bringing us back to the case, "our suspect likely lives in the dormitory area, and frequently passes by here."
We walked toward the residence halls when suddenly an ambulance raced past us, sirens blaring. It stopped outside an apartment building in the dormitory area.
We approached cautiously as paramedics rushed in with a stretcher. Students were gathering, phones out, recording the scene.
"Everyone back!" A residence hall supervisor was shouting. "Put those phones away! This isn't a spectacle!"
The paramedics emerged minutes later with a young man on the stretcher. His face was flushed, and he was breathing rapidly. One of the EMTs called out medical jargon as they loaded him into the ambulance.
"What happened?" I asked a nearby student.
"It's Tom," the boy replied. "He collapsed in his room. His roommate found him."
"Probably food poisoning," another student added. "His room is disgusting. Like, biohazard level."
"Initial assessment suggests acute gastroenteritis," one of the paramedics told Michael.
Thomas leaned close to me. "The symptoms are consistent with digitalis poisoning," he whispered. "Flushed face, rapid breathing, confusion..."
Michael's eyes narrowed. "Let's find out more about this Tom."
---
Inside the dorm, we spoke with the residence manager, who confirmed Tom was a graduate student in literature. His roommate, Toby, was still shaken.
"It has nothing to do with me. I entered his room and found him already collapsed on the floor," Toby explained, repeatedly running his hands through his hair. "He was all red and sweaty, mumbling nonsense."
"Had he eaten anything unusual?" Michael asked.
"Everything Tom eats is unusual," Toby said with nervous laughter. "His side of the room is like a garbage dump. I've been asking for a room change for weeks."
With permission, we entered Tom's room. The stench hit me immediately—a mixture of unwashed clothes, old food, and something undefinably sour.
"Jesus Christ," I muttered, covering my nose.
Michael was already examining the cluttered desk, where three different takeout containers sat open. Among them was a tall Starbucks cup with a green liquid inside, barely touched.
"'Matcha Latte,'" Michael read from the label.
He carefully turned the cup, and I noticed something—a tiny puncture mark beneath the label.
"Michael," I whispered, pointing. "Look."
He nodded grimly. "It appears someone injected something into his drink."