Shame

it did cover the discoloration and bruises extending over her neck. She had brought a second scarf along but not for herself.
    She put her hand in her purse and cradled it atop her Smith & Wesson. Before getting out of the car, she looked all around. With all the law enforcement in the area it seemed like a silly precaution, but after having been attacked in the middle of the day just outside a military complex, she wasn’t about to assume she was safe anywhere.
    There weren’t as many onlookers at the Kappa Omega sorority house as she expected, no camera crews or press to be seen. It was evident the media weren’t yet aware of the Shame tie-in. The area had been secured with crime scene tape that stretched beyond the house itself. Memories started coming back. Elizabeth’s throat tightened, and her eyes burned. Ancient history, she tried to tell herself. Something that had happened more than two thousand miles from here. But she couldn’t deny her feelings. She thought of Tracy and Paula, her sorority sisters and friends.
    Elizabeth slipped a lozenge into her mouth and stepped out of the car. She sniffed the air and smelled the remains of a fire.Lieutenant Borman had said something about that. He had told her that SDPD had control of the crime scene but that a friend of his on the force had alerted him to the incident. His call to her had been brief, and she’d been in her new rental car within two minutes of the time they had talked.
    Their alliance, initially uneasy, was solidifying. Hours earlier Borman had agreed to participate with Elizabeth’s ploy to blame Caleb Parker for the assault on her. The lieutenant wasn’t ready to concede that Caleb might be innocent or that there might be another murder suspect in the Shame killings, but neither had he wanted to drive Elizabeth’s assailant into hiding.
    A uniformed SDPD officer intercepted her approach. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Only authorized personnel...”
    “My name is Elizabeth Line,” she said. “Lieutenant Borman of the Sheriff’s Department is here, and he’s expecting me.”
    The officer wasn’t ready to take her at her word. He motioned for her to wait while he went and consulted with a higher-up. Elizabeth tried to clear her throat. Her voice was still raspy. For dinner she’d had tea and honey and mushy crackers. She fingered her scarf and felt she was deceiving no one, felt like a chemo patient covering up her baldness.
    She looked at the darkened Kappa Omega sign. Elizabeth assumed the sorority sisters still identified themselves as Kayos,
KO
being the boxing abbreviation for “knockout.” She and her sorority sisters had liked the idea of being knockouts but always got a quick reality check when the frat boys called them “knocked-ups.” Times had changed, she supposed.
Knocked up
was a phrase she hadn’t heard in years.
    Elizabeth hadn’t pledged Kappa Omega until she was a sophomore. And she’d never even finished out her junior year. After the attack, she never went back to the sorority. Her belongings had been packed for her. This would be her first time back inside a Kappa Omega house, or any sorority for that matter, since the night she’d first met Gray Parker.
    “Ms. Line?” The officer was holding up the crime scene tape for her.
    She ducked her head, felt the stab of pain in her neck, then followed the policeman into the house.
    “The lieutenant is upstairs, ma’am,” he said, motioning her to go first.
    Elizabeth paused for a moment on the stairwell to take in the scene. Evidence techs were working both outside and inside, and uniforms were patrolling the grounds with flashlights. Interviews were going on in several rooms. There was lots of nervous laughter, lots of tugging of robes and nightgowns. In a short while the girls would be able to convince themselves that nothing really bad had happened, that no one had really been hurt, and that their lives could continue as normal. Elizabeth didn’t stop to introduce herself as a Kayo who knew differently.
    Lieutenant Borman greeted her at the top of the stairs. The lieutenant’s dark circles were deeper than her own. She wondered when he had last slept. With SDPD controlling the crime scene, Borman looked like a fire dog confined to the station.
    “I was able to get you cleared for a brief talk with the victim,” he said. “Her name’s Dana Roberts. According to the paramedics, she’s more upset than she is hurt. They’re just about finished with her