I’m almost scared to enter the lab today. Graham had pushed back his specs, hastily thanked me for dinner and then scurried away after last night’s ghostly encounter.
He’s leaning against his desk facing the door, so there’s no ducking in without him noticing me. Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders, smile from ear to ear and step into the lab.
“Morning, G.”
“You took your own sweet time getting here,” he responds.
“Say what, when was I ever late, how do you do, why I’m fine, thank you,” I say cheerfully, trying to shake off my nervousness.
“I would think after last night you’d be eager to start taking a closer look at Nick,” he replies. “Never mind though; take a look at what I’ve found,” he says, shoving a stack of papers into my hands.
Dropping my bag, I start skimming through the pages, most of them from a university and their ethics committee.
“What am I looking for, G?”
“Not what. Who,” he answers. “Nicolas Sardonski.”
“Nicolas? Taryn’s Nick?” I ask, raising an eyebrow in surprise.
“Uh-huh.”
“How the heck did you get your hands on this information, G?” I ask, flipping over a page. “Woah! Even his bank statements.”
“Just keep reading.”
I’m trying to figure out how and where Nick fits in, when I come across a letter from the ethics committee addressed to Nicolas Sardonski.
“What the…? He was studying medicine development?” I shriek.
“Uh-huh.”
“This explains how he knows so much about medicine; claiming he picked it up working as a clerk at the pharmacy,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “But what does that have to do with Taryn?”
Shoving the page beneath the pile for later reading, I find myself face-to-face with an image of Taryn. She’s sitting on her bed propped up against the pillows. Her eyes are closed, a book is lying against her chest and her hands are folded demurely on her lap, as though she had fallen asleep after a long read. The scene of the crime.
My fingers grip the pages so tightly that the whites of my knuckles show.
“You astound me sometimes, Claire. Can’t you see the connection?”
Graham’s question jerks me back to the present and I slap the papers down on the closest desk, Scratching my head, I gradually realise what he’s hinting at.
“Are you trying to tell me that he … that Nick … killed Taryn?”
“Uh-huh.”
I feel as though the world has come crashing down on me. I’m dizzy with shock and anger. I slump down onto a chair.
“This … isn’t … happening!”
“I’m sorry, Claire,” says Graham. “Our biggest challenge is proving he’s guilty of murder,” he continues.
Slamming my hands on the desk, I look at Graham in bewilderment. “We? The only we here, is when WE report this to the police! So let’s go!”
“And how do you propose we do that? Walk into the police station and tell them her ghost led us to her murderer?” he asks, unfazed by my fury.
He’s so maddeningly level-headed.
“I can’t sit on my ass and do nothing, G. Not when there’s a killer out there! The bastard killed Taryn! And who knows whether he hasn’t done it before or will again?”
***
Tell us what you think: Do you believe Nick killed Taryn? Why/Why not?