Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_03 by Death in Lovers' Lane Page B

because Maggie’s murderer wanted to link her death specifically to the Rosen-Voss murders .
3. Lovers’ Lane chosen because murderers repeat themselves .
    The first possibility was the simplest and likeliest. For some reason, it was important to the murdererof Maggie Winslow that her body not be discovered where the actual death occurred, and there was no better place on campus to get rid of a body than Lovers’ Lane.
    Was the murderer unsophisticated enough not to know the police would determine that Maggie had not died in Lovers’ Lane?
    Possibly.
    Was Rita Duffy that unsophisticated?
    I doubted it.
    Perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps what mattered was leaving the body far from the site of death.
    The second possibility required a murderer knowledgeable about the earlier crime and quick to take advantage of Maggie’s efforts to discover fresh facts about the Rosen-Voss case. It could mean the murderer was involved in the Curt Murdoch case or the Darryl Nugent disappearance and was trying to focus attention on the Rosen-Voss case.
    The third instance meant Maggie had indeed discovered something that could reveal what happened in Lovers’ Lane in 1988. If that was true, the murderer was either going back to a pattern that had worked before or was confident only Maggie had an inkling of the truth. In either event, leaving her body in Lovers’ Lane was an arrogant, taunting display of power.
    None of this led me any closer to knowing whether Maggie died because she screwed the wrong husband or because she’d pressed too close to a previous crime for comfort.
    But was it reasonable to think that Maggie in a matter of hours could solve puzzles that had baffled hardworking investigators for years?
    Larry Urschel seemed to be a careful and capabledetective. He was apparently convinced yesterday’s murder and the 1988 slayings had nothing in common.
    I remembered Maggie’s confident observation: Somebody always knows something.
    And her body was found on Lovers’ Lane—
    My office door opened.
    Dennis Duffy was a man in emotional turmoil, his eyes glazed, his skin gray. Patches of sweat stained the armpits of his cotton dress shirt.
    â€œHenrie O, I need help. Please. Jesus, you’ve got to help me.” His outstretched hands trembled.
    Gone was the bullying and sarcasm and snickering suggestiveness that laced his usual verbal assaults.
    â€œSit down, Dennis.” My voice was gentle, but also remote.
    He lunged toward my desk, glared down at me, big and mad. “Goddammit, you’re the one who told Maggie she had to come up with new stuff. I asked her about that damn ad and that’s what she told me. You’re the one.” It was an accusation.
    We stared at each other.
    His eyes were wild, beseeching, desperate.
    â€œSit down, Dennis.”
    â€œThat cop won’t listen to me. I tried to tell him about Maggie’s series. He won’t listen! You’ve got to talk to him—”
    â€œI already have.”
    It was as if Dennis had run as fast as he could, using every breath, every muscle, and slammed full force into a wall.
    Slowly, like a pricked balloon, Dennis sagged into the chair. “Henrie O, Rita didn’t do it. She couldn’t. Never. She’s—oh yeah, she explodes.She’s got a rotten temper, but to hurt someone—to kill someone—she couldn’t do it. I swear to God, she couldn’t.”
    I didn’t know Rita Duffy that well, but last night her corrosive anger had shocked the newsroom into immobility.
    â€œWhy was Rita so upset?” Implicit in my question was the judgment, So what else is new this time, you sorry, unfaithful bastard?
    He clenched his hands, stared down at them. “Yesterday—it was November 15.”
    I waited.
    â€œThe day”—each word was as hard and distinct and unyielding as a granite gravestone—“our daughter Carla died. Of leukemia. Six years