by Vivian Barz
But now she knew. This was it.
She said, “I’ll check with the airlines, too, to see if either of them have attempted to book tickets to leave the country.”
Keith suddenly appeared next to Howell, holding a mug of coffee so fresh that there was steam coiling out the top of it. With a suppressed smile, Susan wondered if he’d dumped the last cup he’d gotten only a short time ago into the wastebasket at his desk so as to have an excuse to happen upon them on his way back from the break room. He had the tendency to magically appear whenever Howell was nearby discussing a new case. She could hardly begrudge her assistant’s eagerness to make an impression and prove that he had what it takes to handle cases on his own, having been in similar shoes herself once upon a time as a rookie police officer.
Offhandedly, as if just thinking of it, Keith said, “Oh, by the way, I’ve taken the liberty of calling all the major hospitals in the area.”
Despite his nonchalance, Susan suspected that he’d practiced the statement in his head at least twenty times before saying it. “That’s great, Keith; thank you. Any luck?”
“Not a single hospital has had either man check in, so I’m thinking we can rule out that they were involved in an accident.” Howell frowned, and Keith’s cheeks reddened. Quickly, he added, “Er, if you think that it should be ruled out, I mean.”
Susan could have sworn that Howell was trying hard not to laugh.
“I’ve also touched base with the police and sheriffs’ departments,” Keith said. “They don’t have either man in custody.”
“Good work,” Howell praised, and Keith seemed to grow taller by about a foot.
Once Keith finished with his enthusiastic thanking of their boss, Susan said to Howell, “I’d like to have a look at their bank statements as well, to see if there’s any unusual activity. It’s hard to believe that anyone would be stupid enough to use their personal bank accounts to commit a federal crime, but you never know.”
Howell nodded. “I’ll contact IT and see what they can dig up.”
Howell and Keith left Susan at her desk so that she could get to work. Although she could sense she was in for a long day, she was content. Not as happy as she’d be knowing that Eric was at home waiting for her, but happy enough. And that would have to do for the time being.
CHAPTER 4
Pompous ass were the first words that came to Jake’s mind after Dean of Students Alan Williams entered Eric’s office and uttered but a few simple words. He’d wasted no time making it evident that he was unhappy about the wait he’d suffered while he’d futilely knocked for a time period that spanned, by Jake’s estimate, no more than twenty seconds. Given the way he’d followed up his grumbling by declaring and I can’t imagine any good reason why your door was locked, Eric might as well have killed someone.
Eric had stashed the gun before allowing his snippy visitor to enter, providing a look to Jake that suggested it was probably best if they stayed quiet about Bryan’s intrusion. Jake briefly wondered if Williams had overheard the exchange between them and Bryan, but it was evident that he hadn’t; if he had, he would have been screaming his head off for every available law enforcement officer in the greater Bay Area to come and deliver them from evil, self-important as he was.
While Jake wasn’t sure why Eric was loath to spill the beans, he was okay keeping mum for the time being. Even if he wasn’t, Alan Williams would be one of the last people on earth he’d confide in. The guy had a major stick up his ass about everything, and Jake suspected that he was still bent out of shape over having to let him slide through admissions because of Eric’s job conditions.
And here was Williams now, staring down at Jake disdainfully, as if he was wishing he’d evaporate. Whatever he needed from Eric, it must have been urgent—or at least urgent in his mind, which, really, could amount to something as trivial as him needing a jump on the dead battery in his car so that he could make it to a racquetball lesson on time, or whatever the hell it was guys like him did for recreation.
Jake told Eric, “I’ll just be outside,” acting as if he hadn’t been held hostage by a wanted murder suspect only moments ago—never mind the embarrassment that a gun a child could probably identify as a prop was what it had taken to scare them into submission. He took the papers that needed grading with him, the insinuation being that he was going to work while he waited for them to have a conversation.
Jake got to work outside in the hall, all right, but it wasn’t on the papers. Quickly, he set about finding a good position to eavesdrop, first checking to see if the coast was clear. He found the old-fashioned way worked best, pressing his ear against the door, which was potato chip thin and made out of cheap plywood. For as much as LU students paid for tuition, the university could have sprung for a nicer door, though it was par for the course.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the news by now about Samantha Neville’s murder,” Williams said. He let out a long-suffering sigh, as if the poor girl had gotten herself murdered just to spite him and eat up time on his already jam-packed schedule. “Anyway,” he continued, so Eric must have nodded, “I have just spoken with her parents, who are understandably upset. We actually talked for a great deal of time.” Another sigh. Then, reluctantly, “Much of it was about you.”
“About me?” Eric asked. There was a hint of caution in his voice, and probably for good reason, Jake thought. Williams never would have come to this side of the campus unless he absolutely had to. The dean avoided most social science and liberal arts faculty offices like the plague—word on the street was that he shunned any professor who didn’t teach a high-dollar subject like those under the STEM blanket—science, technology, engineering, and mathematics.
Putz.
Williams cleared his throat so loudly that Jake had to take his ear away from the door momentarily. That must be some mucus buildup; it sounded like he was churning cement in there. Yuck. “You know my feelings about your . . . clairvoyance.”
“I don’t call myself a clairvoyant, never have. But I understand what you’re getting at. You think I’m a fraud,” Eric replied dryly, and Jake thought: Go, Eric! He imagined few professors had the gall to speak to Williams with such bluntness. Then again, most professors weren’t as impervious to firing as Eric was, which must have incensed the dean to no end.
Jake anticipated an outburst of denial from Williams, but it never came. He might have been compelled to employ Eric at the university, but he was under no obligation to be kind about it. Civil, it seemed, was the best he could manage. “Regardless of what I think, the Nevilles seem to believe you’re legitimate,” he said in the cynical tone of a staunch atheist dismissing the authenticity of Jesus’s face appearing on a slice of charred toast.
If Williams had been expecting a reply from Eric, he was about to be disappointed. Eric, who Jake knew had little respect or use for Williams, said nothing. Jake considered this a greater slight than a nasty retort. To speak would have taken energy, but by remaining silent Eric was telling the dean that his opinion of him mattered so little that he wouldn’t waste even one breath defending himself. Sometimes, saying nothing communicated volumes more than shouting did.
After a moment of silence that was awkward even for Jake, the dean said, “They—we—would appreciate it if you could help them in their time of need.” Jake could almost hear him gagging on the words as they came out, like little pieces of rotten fish.
“Help them do what?”
“Well, since there are some who seem to believe you’re credible in your claims, the Nevilles feel it would go a long way with the authorities if you could go down to the station with them and make a statement.”
That’s funny, because Bryan wanted us to do the same thing only a minute ago! Jake wanted to burst in and shout. He could just imagine the hilarious look on Williams’s face if he did just that, though he doubted Eric would find humor in the interruption.
Eric said, “I don’t understand.”
Williams sighed imp
atiently. “It should be obvious. You’d tell whomever is in charge at the police that they need to find this Bryan McDougal character and put him behind bars!”
“Why would I do that?” Eric asked, his voice contrastingly calm to the dean’s shrillness.
“Because! The Nevilles are generous patrons of the university!” Williams sputtered, sounding as if he was struggling to keep his temper under control. Then, as if realizing his gaffe, he added, “But that’s hardly the point. A young woman has been murdered, and her killer needs to be brought to justice.”
Eric said, “I misspoke. What I meant was how could I do that? I have no idea if Bryan is guilty or not.”
“You know because he’s the most obvious culprit. It’s usually the boyfriend who does it.”
“And here I thought I was the one teaching lessons about crime,” Eric said mildly, and Williams made an aggravated hmph sound.
Jake put a hand over his mouth so a giggle wouldn’t escape.
“Look, according to Samantha’s parents, Bryan was jealous of her relationships with other students. He wanted her attention only on him, and he was angry when she ended their relationship. He did not take kindly to rejection.” Williams’s tone indicated he felt his time was being wasted with these ludicrous debates and Eric’s dismissal of his opinion—ironic, then, that he should be the one criticizing Bryan for not taking rejection well. It was clear the dean was accustomed to other professors at the university bowing to his bullying and had not anticipated Eric putting up a fight. “Of course he did it. Who else could it be, if not him?”
Smoothly, Eric remarked, “You’re basing your assumptions on what the grieving parents of a murdered girl are telling you. For all we know, they didn’t like their daughter’s choice of the now ex-boyfriend, and so they’re pinning the murder on him because he’s low-hanging fruit.” Had he not known better, Jake wouldn’t have had a clue that Eric had just spoken with the ex-boyfriend in question about the very matter. “And it’s probably safe to assume that Bryan’s parents aren’t also generous benefactors to the university?”
“I’m not sure what you’re insinuating with that remark—”
“Have you considered the possibility that the Nevilles could just be angry about their loss and are looking for someone to blame?” Eric interjected. “It’s quite common.”
“Are you going to help or not?” Williams asked abruptly. Jake imagined he was probably making a show of checking his wristwatch. With what was undoubtedly a smarmy smile, he added, “I would consider it a personal favor if you did.”
As if he’s tripping over himself to do you a favor, Jake thought with a roll of the eyes.
Eric sounded sincere as he said, “I am sorry about the loss of Samantha, and I do want to help in any way I can. But I can’t go to the police and pin a murder on someone when I don’t know the full story. That would be unethical. Part of the reason people find me, as you earlier pointed out, legitimate, is because I don’t go off half-cocked to the police accusing potentially innocent people of murder.”
“Do you understand how admissions work at our university, Professor Evans?” the dean said, apropos of nothing.
“I have a fair grasp, yes,” Eric replied humorlessly. The subtext being: I’m not a moron, you moron.
The dean continued, as if Eric hadn’t answered. “One of the major reasons parents feel . . . righteous about sending their children to our institution is because of our upstanding reputation.”
“I don’t understand what that has to do with—”
“If I may finish,” Williams cut in tersely.
“By all means.”
“As I was saying, Lamount is a place of high moral standing. We don’t just let anyone in, contrary to what your employment ultimatums may have ordained when you joined us. Your friend got lucky. As you are aware, that was a special circumstance, and I can guarantee you something like that will never happen again, not as long as I am running this institution.”
Jake could feel the heat rise up the back of his neck. The dean was clearly speaking about him. He wondered if he might somehow have been aware that he was eavesdropping and was being spiteful for his benefit. He quickly checked to see if his feet might be casting a shadow under the door. He was in the clear, as the door hovered mere centimeters above the old navy-blue carpet that ran along the hallway. Spite just must come natural to the man, then.
“Is there a point to all this?” Eric, it seemed, no longer cared about making nice.
Jake couldn’t help feeling a little guilty about the whole thing since his interest in the university and his studies had been lacking as of late. If he were to really dig deep down within himself, he might even find that he wouldn’t have cared all too much had the dean angrily declared that his teacher’s assistant position had been revoked and he was being thrown out of Lamount. He might have even welcomed such a thing.
The dean cleared his throat. It sounded as if it was all he could do to keep himself from shouting. “My point is that the last thing this university needs is some tacky media scandal. How do you think that will make us look? We’ve got a would-be rapist that we gave a little free tuition to and a girl from a high-profile family found stabbed to death, and doped up no less—despite what the Nevilles think, their daughter was no angel. Obviously,” he quipped with a snort. “What do you think it would do to our reputation if the story got out?”
“I guess I haven’t thought about it,” Eric said with blandness that must have irritated the dean to no end, because the next thing Jake heard was him mutter something about it being clear that he was not getting through to the professor—that God forbid he should do anything to help the university.
Like a ridiculous parody of an old Hitchcock film, Williams said darkly, “You’re going to regret this. I’m not a person you want as your enemy.”
Hearing footsteps, Jake scrambled back from the door, and not a moment too soon. Seconds later, the dean was skulking out into the hallway. He glared at Jake when he saw him, as if to say: Try talking some sense into that idiot in there, would you?
“Have a nice day,” Jake sang with the widest grin he could muster.
The pleasantry was not reciprocated.
CHAPTER 5
Jake went into the office and plopped down on his butt-ugly chair, which was done up in a loud red plaid from the seventies and uncomfortable as all get-out. “What an asshole.”
“Listening in, hmm?” Eric smirked. It was good to see that the dean hadn’t robbed him of his humor.
“You’d better believe it, though I’d hardly need to, to determine such a thing,” Jake said with a guilty laugh. “I don’t know how you managed not to lose it on the guy.”
“Him? That’s nothing. You should read some of the things reporters have written about me.”
“I have—no wonder you’re writing a book. It’d piss me off like crazy, having people essentially calling me a liar to my face.”
“Tell that to Susan,” Eric said with a grunt. “She’s still mad about it.”
“Hardly the same thing. You’re only trying to clear your name.”
“Again, tell that to Susan. She said I’m just like her father, trying to make a buck off tragedy.”
Jake frowned. He was aware that Susan’s father had badgered her to sell her story about her involvement in the events at Death Farm and Clancy to a media agency known for producing salacious (if not exaggerated) narratives. Although she would have made a shocking amount of money, she’d said to do such a thing would have made her feel smarmy, since she’d have to break the confidentiality oath she’d pledged to victims as a law enforcement officer.
However, what Eric was trying to do with a respected publisher, Jake knew, was reveal how he’d gotten involved in two famous cases and clarify how his so-called psychic visions worked.
Jake had always thought that Eric and Susan had made a sweet and complementary couple, like salt and pepper, with him being imaginative and a little out there an
d her being responsible and grounded. So, it had disappointed him when he’d learned of their split. He’d made it known to both parties that he thought that their ending a relationship over a book was ridiculous; however, they’d both later confided in him that it wasn’t just the book. There had been other issues at play. He hadn’t pressed too much on what those issues were, since it really wasn’t his business. Besides, no matter what “he said, she said” conversations might reveal, the only two people who could genuinely know what happened were Eric and Susan.
After a moment of thoughtful silence, Jake asked, “You think you’ll call her—Susan?”
“About Bryan?”
“Yah.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that, actually,” Eric said, and then he made a move to give them some extra privacy.
“I don’t think he did it,” Jake said as soon as the door was closed.
“Why do you say that? I’m inclined to agree with you, but I’d like to hear your reasoning.”
“I’ve seen how Bryan behaves at work. He isn’t a creeper. If anything, he’s the opposite. I was in the bar one time, and this drunk basketball player started getting into this girl’s personal space. He was cornering her, grabbing on her waist, asking what the hurry was—that sort of thing. It was gross. Anyway, Bryan was there in a heartbeat, telling the prick to get the hell out of the bar, even though the guy was twice his size. He seemed pretty furious. He was so concerned about the girl being okay that she actually got a little embarrassed by the kerfuffle. Then, another time—”
“I thought you were too old for that place?” Eric cut in with concern that put Jake on edge. “How often are you actually going there?”
