by Rickie Blair
On my third try, I found it. the neutral indians, early 1600s read the tiny brass plaque nailed to the front. And under that, professor randall dignam. With a flick of my wrist, I tossed the sheet aside. It slid off the display cabinet, dropping soundlessly into a pile on the floor.
I leaned in to read the table of contents under the cabinet’s glass cover. Dignam’s name was followed by others, listed in much smaller type. Those must be the grad students who accompanied him on the dig. I ran a finger down the glass, reading the tiny print carefully until I came to claire hawkes. I felt a stab of pride when I saw her name.
The cabinet’s wooden edge shaded the text at the bottom, and the overhead safety lights weren’t bright enough to read it. Rummaging through my bag, I pulled out the penlight Jeff had given me for lighting keyholes in the dark. Bending over the display case, I trained its narrow beam onto the glass, squinting against the glare.
There was the intertwined P&C logo I’d seen on my last visit, along with the words, sponsored by palmerston corp.
That name meant nothing to me on my previous inspection. But now I knew more. According to Emy, Palmerston Corp. was a huge local land developer. There was nothing unusual about it underwriting an academic endeavor. As a former bookkeeper, I knew the value of goodwill. Palmerston likely made many philanthropic gestures.
But this was the only one with my mother’s name on it.
Something else had changed since my previous visit. I no longer had to plead with Palmerston to view their archives. I had an “in”—Emy’s friend, Tracy Palmer. She had invited me to visit the head office to view her grandfather’s collection. It was an invitation I intended to take her up on as soon as possible.
I was still staring, lost in thought, when I became aware of a repetitive sound in the corridor behind me. Footsteps. Headed in my direction.
Blast. I hadn’t heard the door open.
Turning off the penlight with a flick of my thumb, I rehearsed my story. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Then I thought, Why say anything? I was hidden behind the plastic drop cloth. The guard would never know I was here.
Without thinking it through, I crouched behind the display cabinet, dropping my shoulder bag to the floor and placing the penlight between my teeth.
The footsteps paused, and I heard the plastic crackle.
“Anybody in here?”
I held my breath.
The plastic crackled again. I tried not to breathe. Had the security guard let it drop and continued on his way? I strained to detect the sound of footsteps, but my heart was pounding so loudly I could hardly hear anything.
Then a voice—so close to my ear I jumped—said, “Lost, are we?” And all the lights came on.
A huge man was crouched on the floor beside me.
I jerked away so fast I smacked my head on the display case. My teeth came down hard on the penlight.
Wincing, I removed the flashlight with one hand and attempted a wry chuckle. It came out more like a strangled sob.
“Sorry to be such a nuisance. I was trying to find the exit.”
“On the floor?”
“Ah. No. I dropped my penlight.” I stood, waving it enthusiastically. “Found it.”
The guard also rose, revealing a massive chest, thighs that strained his khaki trousers, and a sour expression.
For several seconds, we stared at each other.
Then, “May I see your ID badge, please?”
“I don’t have one. I’m a visitor.” It occurred to me, as I stood face to face with the burly guard, that I was trespassing. After hours. In a room full of valuable university assets.
“Irina Lasher can vouch for me,” I babbled, placing the penlight on the edge of the cabinet and bending to retrieve my shoulder bag. “I’m Verity Hawkes. I was visiting her office, and I left in a hurry so I could leave the building before lights out and… I clearly miscalculated. When I saw this room, I thought it was a shortcut to the elevator.” My voice trailed off. “I’m sure people do that all that time,” I added feebly.
The guard swept the beam of his heavy metal flashlight over the shrouded dioramas, lingering a moment on the sheet that lay crumpled on the floor.
Wordlessly, he pointed to the exit.
Once out in the hall, he barked briefly, “This way.” And gestured to the hall that led to Irina’s office.
With my head slumped against my chest, I plodded after him. Irina would have left for home by now. Without her, I had no way to prove I’d been in her office, never mind why. Even if the university had security cameras, this guard might not check them. He might simply decide to phone the police and report me as a trespasser—or worse.
Don’t get into any trouble, Jeff had said. Biting my lip, I pictured his reaction to the news I was waiting to be bailed out at the Strathcona police department.
The lights were out in Irina’s office, as I expected.
With a practiced movement, the guard checked the lock. He twisted the handle, shaking the glass door slightly. It opened under his grip. Frowning, he pushed it all the way in and stepped into Irina’s office. I followed.
Papers rustled under my feet. “Hey,” I said. “These weren’t here before.” I searched out the guard only to find him ignoring me. He was staring at something behind the desk.
I craned my neck to see what it was.
Irina’s wheeled office chair had toppled over, and it lay on its side on the floor.
I remembered her twirling that chair. She must have leaned back a little too far, I thought, suppressing a smirk. Still, it was odd to leave it on the floor and the door unlocked. “Irina must still be here,” I said. My pulse quickened—maybe I wouldn’t end up at the police station after all. “Is there a copy room or somewhere she could have gone?”
With a grunt, he marched into the corridor. With a shake of my head, I followed him. A few yards away, light shone into the dimly lit hall through an open door. We headed in that direction.
Once in the room, the guard stopped so suddenly I nearly ran into him. I ducked around his massive bulk to take in the tiny space. Metal shelving units lined with thousands of multicolored file folders crammed the area.
At the back sat a huge industrial shredder—the kind with slots that accepted everything from small books to plastic DVDs. I couldn’t help but wonder what was so confidential at Strathcona University that they needed a machine like this.
But only for a second.
Because a woman’s body sagged from that shredder, a silver chain twisted tightly around her purple throat. The other end of the chain was caught in one of the shredder’s entry slots.
Despite the expression of horror on her face, I recognized her.
Irina Lasher.
Chapter Fourteen
The anthropology department was soon swarming with people—police officers with rolls of yellow caution tape, knots of university staff whispering among themselves, and ambulance attendants, to name a few.
I watched the burly security guard confer with the police officers. Soon, I was herded to a small room off the hall, out of sight of the activity around the copy room, and relieved of my cell phone “for safekeeping.” I waited anxiously, wishing I could call Jeff.
Finally, an officer came by with a paper cup of water. I drank it gratefully.
“What's going on?” I asked. “How long do I have to stay here?”
“Sorry, Verity—that’s your name, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“I’m sure it won’t be long.”
“I live in Leafy Hollow. If someone could just call my boyfriend, Jeff Katsuro, he can vouch for me. He’s a detective with the Leafy Hollow branch.”
“I think they know that,” he said gently.
“I’ll take it from here, Officer,” said a woman in the doorway.
A middle-aged police officer with a severe haircut, her face as long and thin as a ferret’s, stared at me as if I were a rat pinned in a hole. A bulletproof vest covered her white
shirt. She must have been called away from another investigation—nobody was doing any shooting here.
“Ma’am,” the officer said with a nod before leaving the room.
The woman pulled out a desk chair, arranging it to face me. She sat, adopting a friendly expression. The smile did not reach her eyes.
“Ms. Hawkes, my name is Detective Unwin. I know you’d like to get out of here, but we have a few questions for you. The security guard says he found you in a display area up the hall. What were you doing there?”
I stared, my composure rapidly draining away. What should I tell this woman? How could I explain? Jeff would advise me to tell the truth, always. So I did.
“I came to talk to Irina Lasher about my mother.”
“What about your mother?”
“She was a student here twenty years ago. I wanted some information about her time at the university.”
The detective tilted her head. “Why didn’t you ask your mother?”
“She’s been dead for ten years.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. What information were you looking for?”
I hesitated, wondering what to say next. Honesty was the best policy, but not the easiest. Which explanation made sense? I swallowed hard.
“My mother worked with a professor in this department. I hoped to contact him. I asked Ms. Lasher where I could reach him.”
“Did she tell you?”
“No. It turns out Professor Dignam left the university some time ago.”
“What did you say his name was?”
“Randall Dignam.” I glanced at her face to check for a reaction. There was none.
“Did she tell you where he went?”
“Well… No, she didn’t, because I don’t think she could.”
“Why was that?”
“Apparently, Professor Dignam disappeared and no one knows where he went.”
“You came to the university after office hours to ask Ms. Lasher about a man who disappeared twenty years ago. Is that correct?”
I tried to form words, but nothing came out.
“Is that correct, Ms. Hawkes?”
“Yes, technically, but it’s not as weird as it sounds. I had a good reason.”
“And that reason has to do with your mother? Who has been dead for ten years?”
I nodded.
“You admit you spoke with Ms. Lasher before her body was found?”
“I wasn’t the last person to see her alive, if that’s what you mean.”
The detective leaned forward. “Excuse me?”
“Well, obviously the killer must have been the last person to see her alive.”
“The killer? So, you believe Ms. Lasher was murdered?”
“Wasn’t she?”
The detective relaxed in her chair. “Verity—” She smiled. I wasn’t fooled by her suddenly soothing demeanor. “You’ve found several dead bodies, haven't you?”
The panic mounting in my throat inched up another notch. “What do you mean?”
“You live in Leafy Hollow, correct?”
“I’ve lived there for nearly a year, but my aunt has lived there for decades. I used to visit the village as a child with my mother. My aunt’s name is Adeline Hawkes. You can ask her about me if you want.”
I was babbling, but, for some reason, I couldn’t stop.
The detective listened patiently to this rambling account. “Perhaps we’ll do that later. For now, I’d simply like to know why your name comes up in so many murder investigations.”
My emotions were veering wildly between panic and inappropriate laughter. These were ridiculous questions. And while we sat here, a killer was escaping.
“Just lucky, I guess?”
“It’s not funny, Ms. Hawkes. There’s a dead woman down the hall. For now, we believe her death was a tragic accident. Yet, you seem to think it was a murder. Can you explain why?”
“I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. That’s not what I meant. I just thought… I just thought…” Verity, come up with something, for pity’s sake. With impeccable timing, my stomach rumbled loudly.
“Sorry,” I said bleakly.
“We can discuss this more thoroughly at the station if you prefer.”
Sucking in a quick breath, I straightened my spine. “I don’t have to go to the station with you unless you charge me with something.”
“Of course not. I’m only hoping for your help with our inquiries. Naturally, you may choose not to cooperate. That is always your right.”
Detective Unwin held up one hand, then snapped her fingers. I stared, mesmerized, as the other officer immediately strode in and handed her something. The detective took it without acknowledging him.
“Is this yours?”
I stared at my penlight, wide-eyed. “Where did you find that?”
“You left it in the room where the security guard discovered you.” She brandished the penlight. “This could be considered a burglary tool.”
“That is unfair,” I said with a gasp. “It was dark in there. I needed it to see—”
“See what, Ms. Hawkes? What were you looking for?”
“I was checking a diorama for my mother’s name—Claire Hawkes. If you go in there to look, you’ll see she was one of the students on an archaeological expedition led by Professor Dignam twenty years ago.”
“This was after you spoke to Ms. Lasher?”
“Yes. I had only just left her office.” My voice rose. “She was fine when I left her, absolutely fine. She was sitting at her desk, and—”
“Did your visit begin after office hours?”
“I suppose… it did. Actually, I was surprised she was still there. I think she was waiting for someone.”
“Was that person you?”
“No. She had no idea I was coming. It was a surprise visit.”
“Why didn’t Ms. Lasher go with you to view this diorama?”
“We didn’t talk about the diorama.”
“What did you talk about?”
“I told you. My mother, Claire Hawkes.”
“Were she and Ms. Lasher friends?”
“Not exactly. I don’t think she liked my mother much.”
“What makes you think that?”
“She was… insulting.”
“Did you argue?”
“No,” I sputtered.
“You said she insulted your mother. Most people would consider that inflammatory. Arguments have started over much less.”
“I didn’t argue with Irina Lasher, and she was fine when I left her. I don’t know what happened after that.” I sat back, crossing my arms defiantly across my quaking chest. “And that’s all I’m saying.”
She smiled gently, her demeanor changing yet again. I was in danger of whiplash from this conversation.
“Verity, I’m only trying to determine what happened here. No one’s accusing you of anything. After all, you’re a Krav Maga enthusiast, are you not?”
I watched her suspiciously. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I just meant if you wanted to kill someone, you could do it without needing a shredder.”
My mouth gaped. “You can’t be serious. I did nothing to Irina. I’m sorry she’s dead, but I barely knew her.” Wildly scanning the room, I willed Jeff to appear. “As for Krav Maga, it’s defensive only. It’s not used to—kill people.”
My blood ran cold at the thought. Could I actually kill someone? No. Never. This entire interview was ridiculous. “Can I go?”
“One more question, if you don’t mind. Why did you hide from the security guard?”
“I didn’t. Not really. I—”
“He said you told him you were lost.”
“It’s easy to get lost in this place. Have you seen those corridors? This place is hard to navigate. I don’t know what the architect was thinking when he designed it. Maybe he had vertigo.”
The detective smiled, undeterred. “I’m confused. Were you lost? Or were you looking
for something?”
“Both.”
“If you were lost, wouldn’t you welcome the appearance of a guard who could lead you to the exit? Yet—you hid from him.”
“I guess I panicked.” Immediately, I grimaced. Shut up, Verity. Every word out of your mouth is making this worse.
The constable reappeared in the doorway. “The coroner’s here, ma’am.”
She gave me a long look before replying. “I’ll be right there,” she said, without turning to look at him. “Ms. Hawkes, thank you for your time.” Rising and pivoting to the door, she gestured at me with her thumb. “Give her back her phone.” Then she swept out of the room.
I rose, anxious to get the heck out of there. But my legs were so shaky I plunked down on the chair again. Everyone assumed I was an old hand at finding dead bodies, but nothing could be further from the truth. Every time this happened, I was horrified all over again. More, even.
I closed my eyes to shut it all out, only to see the image of lifeless Irina Lasher as she hung from her necklace. She hadn’t been the nicest person I’d ever met, but I hadn’t wished her ill.
And definitely not death by shredder.
In the hall outside my room, there was a new burst of activity. Multiple voices overlapped, creating a dull hum. Someone had arrived—the coroner, I assumed. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes and rose carefully, one hand resting on the back of the chair, determined to make my escape.
Jeff practically exploded through the doorway, worry etched on his handsome face. With one stride, he had both hands on my shoulders. “How are you?”
“Oh, Jeff.” I sagged against him, burying my face in his chest. “It was awful.”
He wrapped his arms around me. “I’m taking you home.”
I knew there’d be a lecture—but much later. For now, he was only concerned with my welfare. I tilted my head to search his face. “Did Detective Unwin say it was okay?”
“Never mind Detective Unwin,” he said, puffing out a breath. “We’re getting out of here.”
We passed the constable in the hall as he was returning to my interrogation room. He held out my phone.
“Thanks,” I said, accepting it with an unhappy sigh.
Jeff had left his black civilian pickup in a no-parking area in front of the Social Sciences building. Once we were underway, I remembered my own truck.
