Chapter 3: Clues and Questions

Susan Harper’s murder was already a major headache, and now, with a second case and two more victims, Dean Parker felt the pressure mount.

He pressed his palm to his forehead, cursing under his breath. The media were already circling, and now the stakes had doubled.

He immediately ordered the floors with the crime scenes sealed off. Police launched a thorough search, determined not to miss a single clue.

Blue-and-white tape went up fast, blocking stairwells and elevators. Uniformed officers knocked on doors, gathering statements, radios buzzing nonstop. Forensics teams swept every inch, bagging evidence from doorknobs to carpet fibers. Detective Williams wiped sweat from his brow, eyes darting to every shadow. The scent of bleach couldn’t cover the blood.

The Savannah College of the Arts—a palace of creativity—was instantly shrouded in tension, with rumors and speculation swirling both on campus and in the city at large.

Text chains and phone trees lit up with theories. Professors huddled in offices; students gathered in clusters, watching news vans set up outside the gates. There was a sense that nothing would ever be the same again.

What was the murderer’s motive?

Was it jealousy? Revenge? A botched burglary? Or something darker, lurking beneath the surface of college life?

Were the killings targeting faculty, students, and their families at the college?

The campus grapevine churned out theories by the hour: a jilted lover, a disgruntled student, even a random drifter. No one felt safe.

For now, these questions remained unanswered.

Every phone call, every footstep in the hallway, felt like a threat. No one slept easy that night.

The college could only tighten campus security, requiring all visitors to undergo strict checks.

Campus police rolled out extra patrols, and the blue emergency call boxes blinked like beacons along the walkways. Security guards checked IDs at every entrance, metal detectors beeped, and even the art students started glancing over their shoulders. Parents called in a panic, some pulling their kids out of summer classes entirely.

The tragic state of the victims and the grief of their families weighed heavily on the officers working the case.

Detective Williams, usually the jokester, went silent. Even Captain Parker seemed older, lines etched deep in his face as he watched the sun set over the quad.

Through the first round of forensic investigation, police uncovered several important clues:

Fingerprint kits, luminol, the whirr of cameras—nothing overlooked. Every drawer, every hinge scrutinized, evidence bagged and tagged. They worked late into the night, the hum of generators and camera flashes echoing through the halls.

First, both Susan Harper’s and Mark Jennings’ homes had two layers of locks: a security door and a regular wooden door. At both scenes, there was no sign of forced entry or prying.

The fact that the locks were untouched—no scratches, no broken jambs—sent a chill through the room. Someone had walked right in—someone they knew. And somewhere in Savannah, that person was still out there.