by Dobi Cross
He had been so frazzled by the photo that he had forgotten the presentation paper that he had been putting together for a conference in a few weeks. By the time he remembered the paper he was going to present at the Annual Meeting of the American Society of Human Genetics, the day was far spent. Since he needed to send off the paper soon, he had doubled down in the last three hours to finish it. And now he was late for dinner.
Professor Oakley looked around the garage and realized it was almost empty. The section of the parking lot that he was now in had poor illumination. The air was still and shadows danced around the bare cement pillars and dark corners. The ongoing major renovations in this area made it look like a mini war zone.
Professor Oakley shivered, a sense of apprehension enveloping him. Even though the air felt nippy, he wondered if he was cold for another reason. He had heard the news about the murder case in the Gross Anatomy lab in a different section of the campus. Fortunately, he hadn’t known the victim. But now, most folks in the campus were scared. It was all they had talked about today at the end of meetings and in the cafeteria. Everyone wondered if they would be the next victim. So the campus had emptied out earlier than normal. No one wanted to be around if a killer was on the prowl, including him. It was best he hurried home.
Professor Oakley hastened his steps till he reached the driver’s side of his car. He pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked it. He slid into the driver’s seat, dropped his leather satchel on the passenger seat, and shut the door.
Professor Oakley let out a sigh of relief. He was safe now.
As he turned the key in the ignition to start the car, a shadow rose from the backseats behind him and plunged a needle into his neck.
Professor Oakley’s eyes widened in fear, and he reached up his hand to pull out the needle. The needle clattered to the floor of the back seat. The assailant spread his gloved hands around Professor Oakley’s neck and squeezed. Professor Oakley clawed at the hands to get them off his throat, his knees hitting against the steering wheel. He needed to breathe, and the chokehold was making it difficult.
But the assailant did not let up, and eventually, Professor Oakley weakened—much faster than he would have expected for a man like him who jogged everyday. That was when he realized that his brain was losing control over his limbs. I’ve been injected with a muscle relaxant.
His heart rate spiked and Professor Oakley became more frantic in a last ditch effort to free himself, but it was to no avail. His limbs dropped like heavy weights to his sides.
The assailant whispered some words into his ears, his breath heavy and foul. Professor Oakley’s eyes widened in shock. He tried to form words but couldn’t. The last thing he saw was his life slipping away before the darkness claimed him.
Leonard Frisk, fondly known as Leo, had been a security guard at Lexinbridge Medical School for thirty-five years. It was a good job with only the occasional car lockout or lost parking ticket. But Leo was looking forward to his retirement at the end of the week. He had promised his wife, Betty, that they would take a cruise for their thirtieth wedding anniversary in two weeks. Betty was especially looking forward to it; it had always been a dream of theirs. She deserved it for sticking with him after all these years. It would be their first out-of-state trip since they got married, and Leo was excited about the adventure.
Leo shivered and rubbed his short arms as he walked through the parking lot of the Genetics building. The air was a bit chilly, and the short sleeves of his security uniform did nothing to help. He hated the cold. His bald head hated it too. That was why he was headed to warmer weather for the cruise. Fortunately, his morning round through the parking lot was usually quick. He would be done in a jiffy and back to the security room in no time to drink the flask of black coffee that Betty kindly made for him every morning. Leo quickened his steps at the thought of the hot liquid.
As he circled back to finish the loop around the garage, he noticed a head resting on the steering wheel of Professor Oakley’s car. Professor Oakley had parked in the same spot for over ten years, so Leo recognized his car at first glance.
That’s strange. He had never seen Professor Oakley this way and he wondered what was wrong.
Leo moved closer to the driver side and knocked on the window. “Professor Oakley?”
There was no response. The head remain still on the steering wheel.
Leo rapped his knuckles on the window again. “Professor?”
There was still no reaction.
Leo felt a strong sense of foreboding. The Martha Adams case had put everyone on high alert. The higher-ups had mentioned in the meeting yesterday that the campus could not afford another dead body. Leo hoped that the Professor was alright and had only slept off.
He walked around to the passenger side to see if he could get the Professor’s attention. That was when he saw the eyes staring blankly at him through the window, arms hanging awkwardly to the sides. He didn’t need a doctor to tell him that Professor Oakley was dead. It was that obvious.
Knowing that the chance of a cruise in the near future was gone till the case was solved, and swallowing the bile that rose to his throat, Leo lifted his radio to his mouth and called the campus police.
CHAPTER NINE
Zora woke up to the sunlight filtering in through the curtains into her room. She was bone tired, and her head ached. The nightmare had not repeated itself again in the night, and for that she was grateful. She turned her head to check the time on the alarm clock on her bedside table and saw that she was already late for class.
“Oh, shoot!” Zora sprang up from her bed and rushed into the bathroom. She took a quick shower and dressed hurriedly in a white blouse and grey slacks. She was late for her Immunology class at eight a.m., and the professor frowned sternly on latecomers.
Zora ran a brush through her hair and tied it up in a ponytail. She grabbed her book bag from her desk, tossed her phone from the bedside table into it, and rushed out of the room.
The smell of freshly toasted bread greeted her as she stepped into the living area. Christina was already awake and was lounging in a white graphic T-shirt and pink shorts at the kitchen countertop, while munching on some toast and scrambled eggs. The curtains had been pulled to the sides, and the living room was awash with light.
“Morning,” Christina said. “You look terrible. Where are you off to?”
“Good morning to you too,” Zora responded. “Thanks for the compliment but I gotta go. I’m late for Immunology class. Ouch!”
Zora had stumped her big toe at the edge of the couch. She rubbed her toe to make the ache go away.
“I’ll see you later,” she said as she limped to the door to grab her shoes. She donned them and opened the door to step out.
“You do know that it’s Saturday, right?” Christina said, her eyes twinkling with mirth.
Zora turned and closed the door. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
Christina grinned and then took another bite of her toast.
Zora dropped her book bag in front of the door and rushed to where Christina was sitting. She grabbed her from behind and began to tickle her.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Christina said over and over again as she tried to twist away from Zora and escape her hands. Zora eventually let her go and grabbed her remaining toast.
Christina moaned. “Hey! That was the last one.”
“Make yourself another,” Zora said as she scarfed down the toast.
Christina sat back on the stool and took a sip of her coffee. Her eyes searched Zora’s face. “How are you doing today? Did you sleep well last night?”
Zora said nothing and continued chewing. Christina knew about her nightmares but never asked about them unless Zora brought it up. Zora decided she wouldn’t mention it today.
Christina waited and continued sipping her coffee.
Finally, Zora responded, “I’m okay.”
She could see from Christina’s gaze that she didn’t believe her, but she said not
hing.
Her phone rang at that moment. She left the kitchen and walked towards the door to pick up her book bag. She rummaged through it till she found her phone. She retrieved her phone and looked at the screen. She didn’t recognize the number, but she hit the answer button anyway.
“This is Zora Smyth.”
“Miss Smyth, this is Detective Morris from the Lexinbridge Police Station. We have some additional questions for you. Would it be possible for you to come down to the station today?”
“Sure, I can come down to the station this afternoon,” Zora answered, as she walked back to the kitchen.
Christina gave Zora a curious glance.
“Okay. Let me know when you get here,” the voice on the other end said before disconnecting the call.
Zora tossed her phone down on the kitchen countertop.
“What was that all about?” Christina asked.
“It’s the detective from yesterday. He wants me to come down to the station to answer some questions.”
CHAPTER TEN
Thomas Strickland had always been Zora’s classmate. They had attended the same middle school, high school, and college, and had ended up in the same medical school.
Talk about bad luck. Because Zora always ended up first in class, while Thomas seemed to have an eternal claim to second place. Which meant Zora always got the merit scholarships that Thomas craved. It wouldn’t have hurt so bad if Zora hadn’t come from a wealthy home. Everyone had known in school that she was privileged—her mother was a notable figure in Lexinbridge. So Zora didn’t need the scholarships. On the other hand, Thomas had had no parents to rely on—his father was a mechanic by day and a drunkard by night. His mother had long abandoned their home. He had always never had enough and had worked three jobs to put himself through college. Now it seemed the nightmare was about to repeat itself.
Thomas desperately needed funds to stay in med school. The external funds he had been able to garner were not enough to cover his expenses. A friend of his had convinced him to try to double what little money he had at the blackjack table, and Thomas had lost that too. Now he was really in a bind. If he didn’t make payments soon, he would have to take the year off. All his previous hard work would be in vain because it would become a negative strike on his profile. Getting a good placement for residency and fellowship would then become difficult. So Thomas needed a solution immediately.
Zora and Thomas had both applied for a highly sought-after scholarship. Not only would the winner get thirty thousand dollars, but their books and housing costs would be covered as well. It didn’t hurt that it would also look good on the resumé, which would be advantageous for future scholarships and residency placements. Winning it would ease Thomas’ financial woes and place him in a good spot. But Thomas had heard from one of the financial office assistants, who had a crush on him, that he was placed second after Zora.
Thomas could see his dream slipping away if he didn’t do something about it. He had been in the Gross Anatomy building the night before by chance, and had seen Zora coming out of the lab. He had also seen someone else, but he didn’t recognize the person even though he could tell it was a man; a hood had hidden his face. Thomas had noticed that both Zora and the man were wearing hooded jackets and they were about the same height.
He was desperate and felt he had no choice. He knew if he pointed the finger at Zora, she would become a suspect. Then all he had to do was whisper it into the right ears at school, and the news would spread like wildfire. Mrs. Mutton at the library was the perfect candidate. Maybe he could even drop an anonymous note at the financial office to nudge the rumor in the right direction. Zora would then become ineligible for the scholarship, opening up the opportunity for him to take her place.
He felt a prick to his conscience for what he planned to do, but he reasoned that Zora could afford those high-profile lawyers that could get anyone out of a bind. She would come out of the situation as clean as a whistle. And she wouldn’t miss the scholarship. He, on the other hand, deserved it after all these years. Yes, he did.
So he told the detectives that he saw Zora at the lab acting suspiciously the night before Martha Adams’ body was discovered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Zora entered the police station and walked to the reception area. The smells of cigarette smoke, unwashed bodies, and air freshener battled for dominance in the room, as her heels clicked on the polished concrete tiles and stopped in front of a glass partition. A burly male officer with a blank face looked up at her through the glass.
“How may I help you?” he asked.
“I’m here to see Detective Morris. He’s expecting me.”
“Hold on,” he said. He picked up the telephone on the desk and dialed an extension.
Zora looked around the room while she waited. There were only two other visitors seated in the waiting area, and one had her eyes peeled on the secure door on the right as if waiting for someone to come through. There was an enlarged map of the city of Lexinbridge that dominated the wall on the left, right above a water fountain.
“He will be with you shortly,” the officer said.
Zora nodded and walked back to sit in one of the chairs in the waiting area. She tried to adjust the position of the chair, but realized that it was bolted to the floor. Looking around, she noticed they all were. She made herself as comfortable as she could. The smell of cigarette smoke from the clothing of the only guy seated in the waiting room assaulted her nose, and she couldn’t hold back a cough.
“Miss Smyth?”
Zora looked up to see Detective Morris standing before her in a grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black pants and his tie askew. She had missed the sound of the electronic door clicking open into the waiting room. She stood up and noticed that she still had to look up to him at her height. His face revealed nothing.
“Thanks for coming,” he continued. “This way please.”
Zora followed him through the secure electronic door into the station. As the door closed behind her, she felt a claustrophobic sensation wash over her. Sweat trickled down her back with every step she took down the hallway. She almost turned to flee the station, but she forced herself to keep walking forward. If she ran now, she would look suspicious. Heaven knows how the detectives would interpret that, she thought. The air buzzed with the sound of keyboards clicking, phones ringing, dispatchers speaking into headsets, and printers spewing out rap sheets. The smell of aged coffee and stale pizza filled Zora’s nostrils as they passed the break room.
Morris stopped in front of one of the rooms on the left and led the way in. The medium-sized cream-colored room was windowless, but had a large mirror positioned about five feet high on one side of the wall. Zora guessed the mirror was two-way; it couldn’t be there for decorative purposes. She wondered if there was anyone on the other side.
Yellow light washed the room from the recessed bulb in the center of the ceiling. Zora noticed two cameras discreetly hidden at the top corners of the room. There was a table bolted to the floor in the center of the room, and three chairs surrounded it. Detective Shepherd was already seated in one of the chairs with some papers arranged on the table in front of him. Morris folded himself into the empty chair next to Shepherd and motioned for Zora to sit in the remaining one.
Zora sat down and crossed her legs. A slight chill ran through her. The whole scenario smacked of an interrogation. She’d thought she was just supposed to answer a few questions. She realized too late that if they only had simple questions for her, they could have asked her on the phone or stopped by her classes.
“Just to make sure that we capture the information accurately, we are going to record this conversation. This is Detective Morris of the Lexinbridge Police Department speaking, with Detective Shepherd also present. Could you please state your name for us?”
This was bad sign number two. There was something the detectives were not telling her.
Zora uncrossed and crossed her legs. “Do I nee
d my lawyer present?” she asked.
“Miss Smyth, this is just a friendly chat and won’t take long. We only have some additional questions for you.”
Against her better judgment, Zora decided to go along with it. She figured if she resisted now, it might actually work against her. She could stop the questioning at any time. “Okay, this is Zora Smyth.”
“As in S-M-Y-T-H, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Can I have your address, please?”
“111 Lakewood Drive, Lexinbridge.”
“Okay, do you need any water?”
“No, I’m good. Could we get to it already?”
“Sure.” Morris pulled his little notebook from his pocket and consulted it. “We checked the CCTV from the day before and we saw a young lady leaving the lab late in the evening. A witness confirmed that it was you. Could you tell us why you were there?”
Zora stiffened. Someone had gone out of their way to point a finger at her. She wondered who. She had been at the lab the night before but only to familiarize herself with the place.
“Miss Smyth?”
Zora came back to herself. “Yes?”
“Why were you at the lab that night?”
“I wanted to make sure that the body was lying prone and ready for the next day’s work.”
Morris scribbled something in his notebook. “Couldn’t you have done it in the morning of?”
“I figured if I needed to turn the body myself, some of the embalming fluid might have gotten all over me. And I didn’t want the smell to follow me to my other classes that day. At least this way, I could take a shower and change my clothes and have enough time for the smell to go away before the next day.”
Morris nodded and made some further notes in his notebook.
“We noticed you were wearing a hooded jacket. Why is that?”
“It was cold that night and it was really just the first jacket I grabbed from my closet.”
