Into the Grey Page 13

  Dulcie, meanwhile, was going to try to get some work done.

  That was Trista’s idea, not Dulcie’s. She had been all for going back to question Griddlehaus again. She wasn’t comfortable with that – the clerk had seemed on the edge of breaking – but it had seemed necessary. ‘After all, Tris, maybe he observed something he wasn’t aware of. Maybe he’s remembered something.’

  That pierced brow went up. ‘And you’re going to – what? – hypnotize him?’ Trista had shaken her blonde mop. ‘No, you should stay out of this, Dulcie. Leave the dirty business to me.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  With a plan in place, albeit a sketchy one, the two friends parted, Trista to seek Tom Walls, and Dulcie to her office.

  ‘The last few yards are the hardest,’ her friend had said. ‘Believe me, I know.’

  Only as she walked back through the Yard, Dulcie couldn’t escape the feeling that she was missing something. A name or a piece, or …

  ‘Watch out!’ Dulcie jumped aside just in time to avoid being hit by a bicyclist, ear buds firmly in place. ‘Hey, you’re not supposed to ride with those in!’ It was hopeless. The cyclist was already out of earshot, even if he had turned his music down. At least her yell had cleared other pedestrians out of the way.

  ‘So stupid riding like that. But couldn’t he see me?’ Dulcie grumbled. ‘It’s not like I’m invisible. In fact, if I were …’

  That was it. She stopped short, and nearly got pushed over.

  ‘Sorry.’ It was her turn to apologize, and she turned to see Alyson Beaumont, wide-eyed with surprise. ‘Oh, I was just thinking of calling you.’

  ‘Me?’ Alyson’s normally lyrical voice squeaked.

  ‘Yes.’ Dulcie nodded energetically. ‘I realized I didn’t ask you yesterday. Why did you say you saw a redhead down on Level Two two mornings ago? You know, the morning that …’

  The blonde raised her hands as if to physically stop Dulcie from continuing. ‘Please, don’t,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I should never have said anything.’

  ‘But you did.’ Dulcie looked at her. ‘Were you down there that morning?’

  ‘Me? No.’ She shook her head emphatically, sending those golden curls swinging. ‘I must have heard it from Tom. In fact, I’m sure of it.’

  Dulcie looked at her, trying to remember everything her student had told her. It was bad enough that Tom wouldn’t say definitively that Mina wasn’t there. If he was now saying positively that she was, well, that was beyond the pale.

  ‘But why would Tom say that?’ Something wasn’t fitting, and she looked at Alyson for an answer. ‘Why tell you?’

  The undergrad rolled her eyes. ‘I have no idea. He can get a little obsessed. You know?’

  Dulcie nodded. She did, and the idea of a positive absence was rather abstract. Like seeing proof that something had been erased – a thought that led her back to her earlier concern. And her duties. Particularly to the pretty blonde who stood blinking before her.

  ‘I’m sorry to have startled you like that,’ Dulcie said, trying to summon a smile. Another thought had begun tickling the edge of her consciousness. ‘Alyson, you and I had talked about you writing your senior thesis on The Ravages. Have you given any more thought to that?’

  ‘Wow, you are all business, aren’t you?’ The other woman laughed, shaking her head again. ‘No, I’m sorry. I haven’t. I know that’s your thing but I’m kind of off that whole period.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Dulcie. ‘We have time.’ At least, Dulcie thought as she watched her charge walk away, she hoped she did.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Dulcie was halfway across the Yard when it hit her. Maybe she couldn’t talk to Tom, but clearly Alyson had. In fact, it sounded like Alyson had spoken at length with the shy junior about the morning Fenderby had been killed. And while Dulcie didn’t think that anyone ought to be passing along second-hand information to the police – she’d have to check with Suze, but she was pretty sure that was not considered kosher – it sounded like Alyson had done just that. Which meant that whatever she knew wasn’t that private. Surely, she could share it with Dulcie.

  Only, where had the pretty junior gone? Dulcie sped up, walking quickly back up the path she had ambled down only minutes before. Alyson, as an upper-classman, no longer lived in a Yard dorm, so she might have been on her way to one of the lecture halls. Or the library. Or maybe …

  There she was! Dulcie caught a flash of honey-blonde hair striding rapidly, head down, and about to disappear behind a rhododendron. And if the woman beneath it wasn’t heading for the administration building opposite, that meant she was heading to the Square. Dulcie broke into a run, eager to catch her student before she disappeared in the tumult of the city.

  ‘Aly—’ Dulcie called out, before swallowing the last syllable of the name. Because as she raced around the big green bush, she saw why Alyson was hurrying. She was hailing Tom Walls.

  Dulcie stopped short. Here, by the rhododendron, she was shielded from their sight. Nobody could accuse her of being a stalker if she was simply standing around the Yard, waiting for an opportunity to speak with one of her own students. To foster the illusion, she bent over the shrub’s dark green leaves. Yes, there were buds. In a few weeks, there would even be flowers. In a few weeks, maybe she’d be filing her last thesis chapter. Or looking for a job.

  She snuck a peek. Alyson was leaning toward the tall young man in a manner that clearly made him uncomfortable. Of course, thought Dulcie. Tom Walls wasn’t at ease with any woman. Surely a beauty like Alyson would make him tense. As she watched, Alyson gesticulated, raising both arms, and when Tom stumbled back, Alyson stepped toward him, closing the gap. Her head bobbed as if she were talking at a furious pace. This wasn’t a discussion about reserve reading material or conflicting interpretations of a sonnet. From what Dulcie could see, the two were having a heated discussion of something personal. Very heated.

  She couldn’t resist. She stepped closer.

  ‘Excuse me!’ Another cyclist whizzed by, forcing Dulcie into the planting. A sharp branch, one that hadn’t survived the winter with its leaves intact, scraped her leg.

  ‘Ow!’ She bent by instinct, though what she could do if her jeans were torn or she was bleeding wasn’t immediately apparent. Still, she hiked up her pants’ leg to examine the damage – a long scratch, much like something Esmé might give her, ran up the back of her calf. Strangely, her jeans seemed undamaged, and as she rubbed the broken skin, Dulcie had an odd presentiment. That scratch … could it be a message from Mr Grey?

  No, she told herself. She wasn’t Lucy. Not everything was a portent. But just then, she heard footsteps and she ducked lower, as if to rub her injured leg. The footsteps stopped just short of the shrub.

  ‘But— but.’ Tom. She’d know that halting speech anywhere. ‘They would know, Alyson.’ He sounded like he was choking on the words, and Dulcie had to fight the urge to stand and comfort him. ‘I know they would. They would have your ID.’

  This close, Dulcie heard his strangled sob. With that, he turned and took off. Only when he was safely gone did she dare look up through the dark green leaves shielding her. Alyson Beaumont was still standing there, a pained expression on her face. But Dulcie didn’t think she could reveal herself now. Not unless she wanted to acknowledge the strange interaction she had just heard. Which, she realized, she could. After all, she hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. She did have a legitimate question for the blonde junior, and she had happened to see her …

  It wasn’t to be. Just as Dulcie was working up her nerve to step out of the planting and confront her student, the junior whirled around. Squaring her shoulders, she walked off, through the gate and into the bustle of the Square.

  They would have your ID. Dulcie was still standing, absently rubbing her left foot against the scratched right calf, minutes later. She should have gone after Alyson. Should have asked her about sharing Tom’s information with the police, if not about what she had just overh
eard. But the moment was gone, and Dulcie couldn’t help but feel that the rhododendron, if not the cyclist, had been a message from Mr Grey. She was supposed to hear that, and she was not supposed to be detected. But what could it mean?

  Clearly, both the undergrads knew more about what had happened in the library than they had let on. Or – no – they both feared being thought to be involved, a subtle but important difference. Tom, it seemed, was protecting Alyson. And Alyson had some reason to be angry with Tom – or had wanted something from him. Dulcie replayed the body language she had witnessed. The pretty blonde had been moving in on her shy classmate. Arguing for – or against? – something.

  She shook her head. She’d have better luck starting on the other side. The ID. That had to refer to the library. Alyson had said she hadn’t been there that morning – or not on Level Two, at any rate. But if the library, or the police, had her student identification, perhaps she’d been lying.

  Out of habit, Dulcie reached into her own bag, feeling for the wallet that held her ID. In truth, she wasn’t sure of the last time she’d used it. But, no, there it was. Safe and not lost at the scene of some crime. Nestled in by her laptop and the yellow legal pad on which she still took notes.

  Notes, she realized, she should see to. She had missed her opportunity to question Alyson further, and everyone – even Trista – had been after her to get back to work. After all, it was her notes, or lack thereof, that had gotten her into this mess. If she had been more careful with her attributions, then Fenderby might not have been able to make a case against her chapter. And then she never would have uttered those rash, hateful words – or had to seek the professor out, opening herself up to suspicion.

  Extricating herself from the shrubbery, Dulcie turned back toward her office with new resolve. As curious as she was about Alyson and Tom, she should leave that to the professionals. Let the police do their work, and focus instead on her own responsibilities. She would type her notes into her laptop. Amend the chapter, and email it to Thorpe. Surely, even if she were still officially on probation, he would take a moment to review the chapter. It seemed quite clear that the investigation had plenty of leads. She would be exonerated in a matter of days. Hours, maybe. She should never have been involved at all.

  Only, she was. Like the smarting of the scratch along her leg, the truth of the situation kept at her. Yes, she was innocent, and, yes, she had only become involved through a series of minor coincidences. But no matter how quickly her role was clarified, Dulcie couldn’t hide from the truth. A man had been killed, and she had information that the police might not. And even though that man was the horrid Professor Roland Fenderby, she was still Dulcinea Schwartz, a member of the university, soon to be restored to good standing, and a citizen with a moral obligation to help bring his killer to justice.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘Detective Rogovoy?’ As soon as she’d dialed the detective’s private number, Dulcie had been seized by misgivings. She didn’t like to think of herself as a tattle-tale – a less harsh word than ‘snitch’ – but she was looking to provide information about another student. Two other students, actually. And she hadn’t thought through how to present it. ‘It’s me, Dulcie Schwartz.’

  The sigh at the other end of the line was familiar. The ogre-like detective worked long hours, Dulcie knew. And if he was also being called on by some university task force, he probably had additional paperwork on top of his regular duties. She hated being a burden. But if her information could make the investigation go more quickly, maybe that would be a good thing.

  ‘Ms Schwartz.’ The voice sounded tired, and Dulcie could visualize how he was probably running one meaty hand over his face. ‘What a surprise.’

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, detective.’ She paused and took a breath. Being direct was probably best. ‘I just overheard two of my students talking, and I wanted to let you know that I think Tom Walls might be covering for somebody. I think he’s covering for Alyson Beaumont. I think she was there, and she saw something that morning.’ There, it was out.

  ‘Ms Schwartz, aren’t you working on your dissertation now?’

  She smiled, despite herself. ‘Well, I would be,’ she said, emphasizing the verb. ‘Only because of the horrible tragedy, the college has put me on probation. I gather I’m being investigated.’

  Saying the words out loud to her friend, the detective, took the sting out of them. Made them, in fact, sound ridiculous.

  ‘And that makes you want to call me, Ms Schwartz?’ There was a note in his voice that suggested his question was rhetorical. ‘That makes you want to tell me about other possible suspects? Please, Ms Schwartz, this is a police matter. A serious investigation, and not something you should be involved in. Do yourself – do everyone – a favor. Take some time off. Go home, and think about something else.’

  That was not helpful. In fact, if one could simply choose to think about something else, then one would cease worrying about difficult problems. Like what was going on between Tom Walls and Alyson Beaumont. Or why anyone would want to frame her or her cousin. As Dulcie made her way at last toward her office, she fretted over the futility of those words. No wonder she felt like a pariah. Almost as if she—

  ‘Dulcie!’ She looked up. Mina had been sitting on the stairs leading down to her office but now rose and was coming toward her. ‘I was hoping you’d come here. I didn’t want to call.’

  ‘Of course.’ Dulcie hurried forward. ‘You’re always welcome. What’s up?’

  Her cousin didn’t respond, but the way she was looking around was answer enough.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Dulcie, fishing for her keys. ‘Let’s go where we can talk in private.’

  Leading the way, they descended to the basement, where the warren of offices seemed unusually still for such a fine day. Dulcie took the quiet as a good sign, however, and was relieved to have to unlock the door.

  ‘We may be interrupted,’ she explained, pulling over the single guest chair for her cousin. ‘Lloyd probably thinks I just got out of section. But for now.’ She rolled her own chair from behind her desk to sit facing the younger woman. It seemed more collegial and inviting. But the way Mina was fussing made her wonder if it was the right move. By the time Dulcie sat down, the younger woman already had her phone out, as if expecting a text message of vital importance.

  ‘Mina, what is it?’ Dulcie reached over and took her hands, stilling them.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ With a forced grin, Mina shoved the phone back into her pocket. ‘I just keep looking – I don’t know what’s going to happen next.’

  ‘Next?’

  The younger woman squirmed in her seat. ‘This is pretty awful, and I feel, well, not culpable. But …’

  Dulcie waited as her cousin bit her lip and shifted. ‘Why don’t you just start at the beginning?’ she asked at last.

  ‘I thought it was a good idea,’ her cousin said. ‘I thought it wouldn’t hurt anybody. Obviously, I was wrong.’

  Dulcie nodded, urging her to continue.

  ‘It’s the gag order, or whatever they want to call it.’ Mina shrugged. ‘I wanted it lifted. It feels like everybody knows that I’m the one who brought suit—’

  Dulcie started to speak. Surely, Mina’s feelings of vulnerability, of being victimized, were at play here. But her cousin kept on talking.

  ‘No, please,’ she said. ‘People – let’s just say, I know they know. Only I can’t say anything about it. And now that Professor Fenderby is – well, it’s pretty clear that nothing I say is going to hurt his career any more. So I wanted to be able to clear my name. Stop all the gossip.’

  ‘Mina, who’s been talking about you? That’s not fair. It’s not nice.’ Dulcie reached for her cousin. She wanted to hold her, to look into her face. But Mina pulled away and kept on talking.

  ‘Anyway, I went to the dean’s office. I figured that’s where I should start, right? Only the dean told me that it was out of his hands. That, because the agreemen
t that settled the suit was between me and the professor, if I wanted out – if I wanted the gag order lifted – I’d have to come to terms with his estate.’ She looked up to see if Dulcie understood. ‘His widow. Did you even know that creep was married?’

  ‘I did, yeah.’ Dulcie remembered the angry woman she had briefly encountered. ‘Not the most pleasant person.’

  ‘I’m glad you said that.’ Mina nodded enthusiastically. ‘I mean, I know this must be an awful time for her, but …’ She was biting her lip again and staring at the floor.

  ‘You spoke with her?’ Dulcie spoke carefully. She didn’t see this ending well.

  Mina nodded. ‘I called her. I wasn’t sure I should, and I feel bad about it, but I did. It was weird.’

  ‘Weird?’ That wasn’t what Dulcie had been expecting. ‘How?’

  ‘It must be shock. Or a grief reaction, or something.’ Mina looked up finally, meeting her cousin’s eyes. ‘But she didn’t seem sad at all, or even angry. In fact, she kind of laughed when I told her who I was and why I was calling.’

  ‘Laughed?’ Dulcie tried to picture the angry woman she had met chuckling.

  Mina nodded, staring off into the distance as if she could see something there. ‘It was awful. I thought she was going hysterical, and that I had done something … like maybe she was having a breakdown.’

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t—’ Dulcie caught herself before she said more. She wasn’t sure of anything.

  ‘Anyway, I apologized. I asked her if I should come over or send somebody, but then she got all calm. She said she understood why I’d called.’

  ‘And is she going to release you from the agreement?’ Dulcie’s voice was lifted by a spark of hope.

  ‘No, that’s the strangest part.’ Mina shook her head, confused. ‘She said she couldn’t do that. That she wasn’t the one who had vouched for her husband, the reason that my suit had been dismissed – but that she was glad that now I finally understood. That it was my livelihood on the line now, thanks to somebody else’s lies.’ Mina shook her head in disbelief. ‘Anyway, I just had to tell someone. It just creeped me out.’