Her Own Drum

by Ali Franklin

  “You and the rest of your faculty prepare them well, Madame Department Chair,” said Ryan. “You’ve had quite a few students go on to win great parts.”

  “That’s true,” said Teddy. She drew the back of her hand across her brow like a long-suffering heroine. “It’s the only thing that keeps me going.”

  “Whatever. We need to get to work.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Teddy. “Our goal is to amass evidence that Grace is a good person who would never hurt someone.”

  “That’s the gist of it. I’m going to start by talking with her boss and coworkers. Maybe they’ll be able to put me in touch with some of the clients she has helped.”

  Ryan’s plan was to provide mountains of information to the sheriff’s detectives – so much that they would have to realize Grace really was a decent person. She didn’t care that Grace was the obvious first suspect. Ryan was going to prove they were barking up the wrong tree.

  She had been feeling wistful since her last meeting with Grace. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to be in jail, but she knew she wanted to help Grace get out as soon as possible. Ryan knew the information she gathered might not make an immediate difference, but it was something concrete she could do to help.

  She woke up her computer and searched for the number of the state’s main Health and Human Services office. A quick call got her the number of the office where Grace worked. The receptionist at that office verified that Grace did work there but was not available today. Ryan asked to speak to a manager. After a short wait, she was connected.

  “Todd Alcon,” said a deep voice at the other end of the line.

  “Hello, Mr. Alcon,” she said. “My name is Ryan McCabe and I’m a friend of Grace Loh.” There was silence on the other end of the line, followed by a curt question.

  “Yes? What can I do for you?”

  “Mr. Alcon, do you know where Grace is?”

  “Yes, I am aware.”

  “I’m trying to help her,” said Ryan. “I’d like to talk with you and some of Grace’s other colleagues about her work there. Maybe we can show what a good person she is and convince the people in charge of the case to look in a different direction.

  “Why would you want to do that?” said Alcon.

  “What?” She paused, confused. “I’m her friend. I think the detectives are railroading her.”

  Silence again.

  “Mr. Alcon, is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “No,” he said. “But I don’t know you. You could be a reporter.” Ryan hadn’t thought of that.

  “Have reporters been calling you?”

  “Not that I know of,” he said.

  “Mr. Alcon, what if I come to your office? Then you can look at my identification and decide if I’m genuinely trying to help Grace.”

  “I really don’t know what I’ll be able to tell you,” he said.

  “That’s okay. Let’s just meet and see what comes out of it.”

  They agreed on a time to meet the following morning at Alcon’s office and Ryan ended the call.

  “That was weird,” she said.

  “I only heard your side,” said Teddy, “but it sounded like he’s a little untrusting.”

  “I wonder if he has a reason to be?”

  Teddy shrugged her shoulders. After a few seconds, she straightened up with a smile. “Don’t you need to call ‘that nice Detective Trainor’?” she asked, doing a fair impression of Helen.

  “No, I don’t,” said Ryan. “She can sit and wait for all I care. She’s probably just going to tell me more about her case against Grace.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know what she’s got?” asked Teddy.

  “No, I don’t need to know.”

  Ryan had begun moving around items on her desk, picking them up and replacing them firmly, matching the rhythm of her words.

  Teddy looked on, her head cocked to one side. Then she poked the bear.

  “What about her makes you so mad?”

  “She’s so arrogant. Always saying ‘I know how to do this and you don’t, Dr. McCabe’. It ticks me off.” Thunk went the pencil cup.

  “She probably does have some training in investigations,” said Teddy.

  “I’m sure she does. In fact, I hope she does. But that doesn’t make her the only one who can look into the case. She acts like she’s the only one capable of finding a clue.” She slammed a desk drawer.

  “Yesterday she told me I could get hurt if I kept trying to help Grace.” Slam.

  “Was she threatening you?” asked Teddy.

  “No, no. She was insinuating that I can’t take care of myself.” Slam.

  “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” said Teddy.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “For someone you claim to hate, you sure talk about that detective a lot,” said Teddy. “And you’ve got to admit she’s as beautiful as anyone we know.”

  “Why does everybody keep saying that?”

  “Because it’s true,” said Teddy.

  “I don’t care.”

  “So you admit she’s gorgeous.”

  Ryan opened her bottom desk drawer. “I admit no such thing.” SLAM.

  17

  Ryan said good-bye to Teddy and got back to work with renewed energy. She was going to show that know-it-all detective who was the better investigator.

  She logged on to her computer again and accessed the website for one of her professional associations. Navigating to the “Membership” page, she found the contact information for an acquaintance who worked at MIT. She dialed the number and left a voicemail; he returned the call twenty minutes later.

  “Hi, Ryan,” he said. “What are you up to these days?” Ryan gave him a lightning-speed rundown of the past couple of years, then dived into the reason for her call.

  “Jeff,” she said, “I’m looking for some information about an MIT alumna. I’m trying to find one or two professors who might be able to tell me a little bit about her.”

  It might have been a bit misleading, the way she framed her request. Usually a call like this was part of a background check before an institution hired a new faculty member or administrator. She hadn’t exactly said that was her reason for calling, but she knew Jeff probably assumed it to be the case. Either way, he was more than willing to refer Ryan to two computer science professors who had been at MIT for at least ten years each. One of them was likely to know Grace and able to tell the detectives she was a good person. Now we’re making progress, she thought. Her heart was beating so fast she was barely able to thank her friend before ending the call.

  Her fingers were shaking so much she had to dial the first number twice before getting it right. She forced herself to take a deep breath and released it while the call connected. When it did, she was thrilled to find herself talking with the first professor Jeff had recommended. Unfortunately, while the professor thought she vaguely remembered Grace, she did not have any information Ryan could use to help the former student. The professor recommended Ryan call another professor, Dr. Ghosh. That was the other name Jeff had provided. Ryan thought that was a good sign.

  After thanking the first professor, Ryan dialed Dr. Ghosh’s number. He was not available, so she left a message telling him she was looking for information on a former student. Even without any hard facts, Ryan hung up feeling like she was making progress. Even the skeptical Trainor would have to listen if an MIT professor had good things to say about Grace.

  For the next hour, she paced the floor waiting for Professor Ghosh’s call. Finally, she decided to take a walk around Henley Pond to clear her head.

  Ryan loved walking around the pond. It was so calm, even during the academic year when it was surrounded by students. The ducks came and went, picking up food and returning later to settle in for the night. In the spring, they had their babies and spent their days walking around campus in straight lines. The students were considerate toward the birds, always giving them the right o
f way; some students even purchased special duckling food for the little ones.

  As she rounded the north end of the pond, Ryan was surprised to see Nicki.

  “Hey, Nick,” she said, “are you on patrol?” She smiled, knowing that Nicki was not a patrol officer. Her days were usually filled with meetings about security protocols and budgets.

  “Funny,” said Nicki with a half-smile. “The patrol officers spent so much extra time here last week during the investigation that I’ve given them each an afternoon off this week. I’ll be taking their shifts. It will give me a chance to get out of the office more.”

  They walked together in silence for a few minutes. Eventually Nicki looked over at her friend. “Have you seen Grace?”

  “I saw her yesterday. She’s holding up pretty well.”

  “I talked with Detective Trainor yesterday afternoon,” said Nicki. “She said she’d already heard your ‘theory,’” she made air quotes with her fingers, “about Abby. She didn’t seem happy about it.”

  Ryan sighed. “I don’t think she took anything I said about Abby seriously. That woman really gets under my skin. I can’t believe she thinks she can just look into one person and wrap up her case. Abby is a viable suspect.”

  “You’ll have to take her some hard evidence,” said the chief. “Show her something she can’t ignore.”

  “I’m still diggi—”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of the Alumni Bell. They walked in silence until it had finished striking the hour.

  “Sometimes I forget how loud that is,” said Nicki. “Do the students ever complain?”

  “Only the ones in Miles Hall. It’s pretty loud from in there.” Ryan grinned. “I’d better get back. I’m waiting for a call from MIT about Grace.”

  Nicki wished her good luck and they turned in opposite directions.

  Grace paced the floor of her jail cell. She had replayed the conversation with Ryan over and over in her head, trying to pick out any piece of information she could use. For the hundredth time, she told herself to stay calm. It was going to take time for the new leads Ryan had uncovered to yield results.

  She stuffed her hands into her pockets, frustrated with the shame of it all. What had she ever done to make someone think she was capable of murder? The worst thing that had ever been on her record was a parking ticket, which she had paid immediately, thank you very much. She had a job helping people who were less fortunate. She had never hurt anyone. She sat and punched her mattress.

  Flopping onto her back, she picked up the book she had borrowed from the jail’s tiny library cart. It was an Agatha Christie novel. In Christie’s stories, the sleuth always found the bad guy while the police focused on the wrong suspect. In the meantime, a second person was often targeted.

  Grace knew her case wasn’t as clear-cut as a mystery novel. But if no other suspects came to light, she was going to be behind bars for a long time.

  Ryan’s news about this Abby person was interesting. Had Abby had a reason to hurt Cora? Grace wondered what the controller’s internet records would show. Not the ones that just anyone could get hold of, but the ones hidden in the nooks and crannies of the web. If anything damning about Abby was out there, Grace could find it. If only she had a computer.

  She noticed movement outside the cell. The guards were going through the motions of their shift change. Grace drummed her fingers on her thighs, thinking.

  “Hey, Linda?” she said. The body on the top bunk shifted and a dirty blond head peeked over the side.

  “What?”

  “Do they let us use computers in here?” Grace asked.

  “It depends,” said Linda. “Why? You wanna look at some porn?” Her lip curled up in a sneer.

  “I want to work on my case.”

  “Don’t we all.” The blond shifted in the bunk so that she was facing Grace. “I hear if you’re really nice to the guards, like r-e-a-l-l-y nice,” she drew out the word, “they might let you have some time on one of the computers. Of course they keep track of what sites you go to.”

  Grace decided to ask the next guard she saw for permission to use the computer. She hoped Linda was exaggerating and she wouldn’t have to do anything distasteful to get some screen time.

  At eight o’clock on Wednesday morning, Ryan stared out her kitchen window and sipped her coffee. The robins in the front yard were busy with the business of breakfast, jumping from the lower limbs of her Bradford pear tree to the ground and back again. The sky was clear and it was already eighty-five degrees and humid. Standing in this spot, all looked right with the world. She breathed deeply in and out. Today was going to be a good day.

  She was looking forward to meeting Grace’s boss, Todd Alcon, that morning. Her goal was to convince a few of Grace’s coworkers to talk with Detectives Prieto and Trainor about Grace’s character. She doubted Trainor would care, but Prieto seemed like a man with a bit of compassion. Maybe he would listen. All Ryan wanted was for either of the two detectives to agree there were other viable suspects — any other suspects — so Grace had a chance.

  Ryan was also going to encourage Alcon to contact some of the families Grace had helped through her work. Even Trainor’s heart would be touched by testimonials from some of the families whose lives were better because of Grace’s work.

  “All Trainor has on Grace is the fact that she used to be Cora’s girlfriend,” she told the biggest robin through the window. “And a few skin cells.” She tapped the fingers of both hands on the countertop, eventually falling into a rhythm. Rata-tat, rata-tat, rata-rata-rata-tat. Then she banged the surface with both hands. Bam.

  “It’s all circumstantial,” she said in the female robin’s direction. It made her feel better, knowing there wasn’t a single piece of evidence that unequivocally tied her friend to this crime. Ryan just had to find one thing that would turn the cops’ heads in a different direction.

  The appointment with Alcon was for ten o’clock, so she tried to keep herself busy until it was time to leave. She tidied up her breakfast dishes, filled the bird feeders in the front and back yards, and checked her hamper to see if there was enough laundry to start a load. There wasn’t.

  At nine o’clock on the dot she started her car and pointed it in the direction of Grace’s office. She listened to Brahms’ First Symphony, which always made her feel powerful. It was a good thing the music was inspirational, because the drive certainly wasn’t. There were a few oil derricks and acres of green shoots of — what, corn? It looked like it could grow up to be corn. Next were miles and miles of cattle ranches. By the time Ryan got past the last one she was convinced her nasal passages might never recover.

  A few minutes later Ryan pulled into a tiny parking lot adjacent to a one-story building. The office was easily a mile from its closest neighbor and far from the nearest town. Ryan checked her lipstick in the rear-view mirror and gave herself a smile.

  “Go get ‘em, kid.”

  Inside the building Ryan was shown into a stark office with wood paneling, a small desk, and two metal chairs that looked like they might be military surplus. She was struck by how completely uninspiring this environment must be for the employees and their clients.

  “Ms. McCabe?” said a voice from behind her.

  She turned. An enormous man filled the doorway, a scowl taking up his entire face. He looked like a linebacker who had eaten another linebacker for breakfast. Ryan felt her fight-or-flight instinct trying to kick in and told herself to relax.

  “Yes. Mr. Alcon?”

  “Pleasure to meet you.” He held out his beefy hand and she took it, silently promising never to get on this man’s bad side. “Have a seat.”

  She sat in one of the chairs. The cushion was thin and provided little barrier between Ryan’s backside and the cold metal. Alcon moved from the doorway to the far side of the desk in only three steps. His own chair, a high-backed throne of red leather, moaned only slightly as he settled his bulk into it.

  “Yo
u’re a friend of Grace Loh’s?” he asked.

  “That’s right. I know you’re aware of the…situation she is in.”

  Alcon waved his hand as if to push away the bad news. Then he squinted at her.

  “Are you working with the police, Ms. McCabe?”

  “No, not exactly,” she said.

  He leaned back in his chair. The scowl had returned.

  “That’s why I’m here, sir. Grace needs more people on her side. The detectives settled on her as their suspect right away. They aren’t looking at anyone else.”

  “I see,” he said. “And just what is it you want from me?”

  “I thought, if we could get you and some of Grace’s other colleagues to tell the detectives that she isn’t the kind of person who would hurt someone, that she does good work for some of the neediest people in the state, they might consider following up on some of the leads that don’t have anything to do with Grace.” Out of breath, she sat back in her chair. She stared at Alcon, waiting for a response.

  “Ms. McCabe,” he said, “I’m not sure what I can tell you. Grace is a very good employee. She does her work, and there’s no one better at tracking down online data. I mean it. I manage four of these offices, and there is no one better on a computer.”

  Ryan felt warmth begin in her core. She had an ally. He continued.

  “Grace doesn’t work in this office most of the time. She can do her work from anywhere she can get a wi-fi signal.” He picked up a pen and twirled it around a knuckle. “She’s worked for me for three years, but I can count the number of times I’ve seen her in person on both hands. I think the others in the office would say the same thing. And she’s not the kind to drive all the way out here for an office happy hour.”

  Ryan’s warm feeling was turning cool.

  “Mr. Alcon, is there any way you could put me in touch with any of the families she has helped? Maybe if they told their stories to the detectives, we could get the authorities to think of her as something other than a suspect.”

  Alcon pursed his lips, seeming to consider Ryan’s request.

  “Ms. McCabe, I’ve been wondering something ever since this happened. Do you have any idea why the detectives considered Grace a suspect to begin with?”