and picked up the syringe, turning it over in his hands as if it burned him. “But there’s something else about this story.”
“I’m – we’re all ears,” Phoenix said.
“At the time we didn’t know it – and I suspect Eric Sawyer never knew it, either – But Mariela was seeing a friend of mine, one of the guys in our group, Phillip Mercer. She’d been seeing him secretly a few months before she was raped by Eric. I don’t know how any of us ever missed it, but we did.”
“Where can we find Mr. Mercer?” Phoenix asked.
“Over at Green Lawn.”
“Green lawn?”
“Green Lawn Cemetery.”
Chapter 7
In St. David’s University’s library, across the parking lot from the Lutrell Science building, Phoenix went to work on the computer, looking up news articles pertaining to the death of Mariel Diaz, Eric Sawyer, and Phillip Mercer. Alaia headed to the help desk to find the yearbooks covering the graduating class of 2005 through 2009 and, when she found them, went to work in a cubicle close by.
Before Alaia had barely cracked open the first book, Phoenix walked over to where she sat and leaned over her. “I want copies, in color, of every picture you see.”
“I hope you have a credit card,” Alaia said. “It ain’t coming out of my paycheck – you got that?”
“Let me worry about it. Anything with Dr. Cain, Mariela Diaz … wait a minute, I have to get my list.”
“Eric Sawyer and Phillip Mercer?”
“Cobb could be right – you know, about you being the detail girl.”
Phoenix walked back to where he was working and settled down into his tight, gray-walled cubicle, not far from where Alaia worked. He did a search on the computer. Eric Sawyer St. David’s University Mariela Diaz . The search engine spewed out a hundred or more results in under a second, listing article after article relative to the case, including multiple photos of both students. Phoenix closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind. He readied himself mentally and looked at the computer screen.
Eric Sawyer was a good-looking kid: vivid blue eyes streaked with white rays; knowing eyes, or maybe they were cynical – but very obviously his was the face of an intellectual. Short hair, dark blonde maybe, with very little blonde left, shaved close above the ears, blending into a loose comb-over up top.
“Says here Eric Sawyer was a Bible major,” Phoenix said, leaning out from his cubicle. “Guy looks like you could take him home to meet your parents and they’d trust you in the sack with him.”
“Doesn’t mean he believed in God,” Alaia whispered with a stern look on her face. “And don’t talk so loud.”
Phoenix stared at the photo – a minute, maybe two. This guy was probably a virgin, but only his closest friends would ever know that; and that wouldn’t matter now, not today. Eric probably felt the urge – and what guy didn’t in college? – had a formula for a date-rape drug he hoped would work, and he had a girl in mind.
But he’d hate her afterwards, wouldn’t he? He’d never want to see her again, not after that; and not so much because he’d drugged her, but because he’d felt shame for what he’d done to her after he’d put her under. This guy was a Bible major – he’d feel the heat of conscience or the musings of the Holy Spirit, and he’d be forced by his own insensibilities – sensibilities? – to walk away, try to save himself and, in the process, throw the girl out to the curb.
Mariela? Pure innocence, herself a Bible and Missions major. Long, dark hair, even darker eyes, face longer than it was wide – petite. The smile of a child just stepping out into the wonder of a world she could one day help shape. A kid. Innocent. She’d never have pulled the trigger, let alone shop for a weapon.
At first, Phoenix just sat there, motionless, mesmerized by the photos. He had an
“I’m – we’re all ears,” Phoenix said.
“At the time we didn’t know it – and I suspect Eric Sawyer never knew it, either – But Mariela was seeing a friend of mine, one of the guys in our group, Phillip Mercer. She’d been seeing him secretly a few months before she was raped by Eric. I don’t know how any of us ever missed it, but we did.”
“Where can we find Mr. Mercer?” Phoenix asked.
“Over at Green Lawn.”
“Green lawn?”
“Green Lawn Cemetery.”
Chapter 7
In St. David’s University’s library, across the parking lot from the Lutrell Science building, Phoenix went to work on the computer, looking up news articles pertaining to the death of Mariel Diaz, Eric Sawyer, and Phillip Mercer. Alaia headed to the help desk to find the yearbooks covering the graduating class of 2005 through 2009 and, when she found them, went to work in a cubicle close by.
Before Alaia had barely cracked open the first book, Phoenix walked over to where she sat and leaned over her. “I want copies, in color, of every picture you see.”
“I hope you have a credit card,” Alaia said. “It ain’t coming out of my paycheck – you got that?”
“Let me worry about it. Anything with Dr. Cain, Mariela Diaz … wait a minute, I have to get my list.”
“Eric Sawyer and Phillip Mercer?”
“Cobb could be right – you know, about you being the detail girl.”
Phoenix walked back to where he was working and settled down into his tight, gray-walled cubicle, not far from where Alaia worked. He did a search on the computer. Eric Sawyer St. David’s University Mariela Diaz . The search engine spewed out a hundred or more results in under a second, listing article after article relative to the case, including multiple photos of both students. Phoenix closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind. He readied himself mentally and looked at the computer screen.
Eric Sawyer was a good-looking kid: vivid blue eyes streaked with white rays; knowing eyes, or maybe they were cynical – but very obviously his was the face of an intellectual. Short hair, dark blonde maybe, with very little blonde left, shaved close above the ears, blending into a loose comb-over up top.
“Says here Eric Sawyer was a Bible major,” Phoenix said, leaning out from his cubicle. “Guy looks like you could take him home to meet your parents and they’d trust you in the sack with him.”
“Doesn’t mean he believed in God,” Alaia whispered with a stern look on her face. “And don’t talk so loud.”
Phoenix stared at the photo – a minute, maybe two. This guy was probably a virgin, but only his closest friends would ever know that; and that wouldn’t matter now, not today. Eric probably felt the urge – and what guy didn’t in college? – had a formula for a date-rape drug he hoped would work, and he had a girl in mind.
But he’d hate her afterwards, wouldn’t he? He’d never want to see her again, not after that; and not so much because he’d drugged her, but because he’d felt shame for what he’d done to her after he’d put her under. This guy was a Bible major – he’d feel the heat of conscience or the musings of the Holy Spirit, and he’d be forced by his own insensibilities – sensibilities? – to walk away, try to save himself and, in the process, throw the girl out to the curb.
Mariela? Pure innocence, herself a Bible and Missions major. Long, dark hair, even darker eyes, face longer than it was wide – petite. The smile of a child just stepping out into the wonder of a world she could one day help shape. A kid. Innocent. She’d never have pulled the trigger, let alone shop for a weapon.
At first, Phoenix just sat there, motionless, mesmerized by the photos. He had an
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