ding cell and David's efficient legal maneuvering to g

l record was what mattered. I was documented, accounted

e tightly. "Em, what the hell happened las

so sorry." I couldn't tell him the tr

my apartment when my phone rang.

ibition. The Gener

like

o uniformed officers an

face, grabbing my arm. "Emily! Oh, thank God you're h

and innocent, w

out what, Kate?" I

een a theft at the university gallery. A valuable artifact. Ms. Evans here," he gestured

istory, Emily. That you were so excited about t

e viewing with Mr. Peterson. I was at a party off-campus last night,

the precinct, complete with the arresting officer's n

idened almost

Professor Alistair Peterson, the history departm

dence bag. Inside, a few dark fibers. "These are from the specialized velvet lining we use for the seal's case

in my assigned carrel at the librar

sn't on campus last night or this morning. And that backpack h

icked it up, and pointed to a tiny, almost invisible smudge on the cuff. "And this? This faint yellow disco

ed triu

n "evidence"

ell-known, if politely ignored, fact around the department tha

w tigh

anywhere near that seal or its case recently