“Fifteen years ago. I’ve only been at the school for the last five.” The dean renewed her smile. “Of course, we want to cooperate with the police but I think you probably want to see someone in our Public Relations office.”
Again Miranda glanced over at Parker. He had moved to the window, staring out with his hands in his pockets as if he were thinking of something else.
Okay, she’d handle this by herself.
She turned back to the dean. “We were wondering if there were any faculty here who might remember the victim.”
“Faculty?” She put a hand to her cheek, tapped her fingers against it. “There are some who’ve been here quite a while but I don’t know that information offhand.”
“Could someone look up her records?” Miranda prompted.
“I can have my assistant do that.” The dean seemed suddenly relieved she could pass these two intruders off to somebody. “What was her name?”
“Lydia Sutherland. She died in a house fire in Lawnfield Heights.”
“Oh, how dreadful.” Dr. Drescher pushed a button on her shiny white desk. “Elizabeth? Can you come in for a moment?”
“Be right there,” a perky voice replied.
A moment later there was a jingling sound and a woman in torn jeans and a tunic in a wild red and yellow design popped her head through the door. Her neck was laden with layers of gold chains with bells on them. Must be easy to find her.
“Yes, Dr. Drescher?” she said in a high-pitched, girlish voice.
The dean’s assistant had big bright eyes, a big toothy grin, a too wide chin and large hoop earrings that matched her neck adornment. Her thick dark curls flowed off her head and spilled onto her shoulders giving her the appearance of floating. She seemed young and wore an expectant, at-your-service expression that told Miranda she must be on a work grant of some kind and was desperate for the dean’s approval.
Dr. Drescher gestured toward Miranda with both hands. “Elizabeth, this is…I’m sorry. What were your names again?”
Suddenly Parker came out of his reverie. “Wade Parker and Miranda Steele,” he replied in a tone that had to be a lot friendlier than he felt. “We’re private investigators.”
“Really?”
Miranda didn’t think Elizabeth’s eyes could get any bigger but they did.
“They’re investigating a case for the police and need information,” the dean said. “Would you be so kind as to help them?”
And the eyes got even bigger. “Oh, yes. Certainly. I’d be happy to. Come with me.” She held up a finger. “Oh, and Dr. Drescher?”
“Yes?”
“The Stiffles are here.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“When did you say this Lydia Sutherland attended here?”
After being firmly ushered out of the office by the dean, Miranda was following Elizabeth down a long turquoise hall with Parker at her side. He’d gone quiet again.
“Fifteen years ago.” Miranda said.
“Do you know when she matriculated?”
Fancy word for enrolled, right? “All we know is that she was a student here during the winter of that year. That was when she died in a house fire.”
“Oh, my.”
Elizabeth opened a door and led them into a large space that looked like a library. Long white shelves were neatly stacked from floor to ceiling with brown file boxes, the kind accountants used. Except for the lack of guns, ammo and drug paraphernalia, the place reminded Miranda a little of the Evidence Room at the police station.
Funny coincidence.
Along one wall ran a counter with several computers on it.
Elizabeth sat down at one of them and logged in. “This is where we keep the older records. If she’s not in the system, she might be in the stacks in the back, but let’s try here first. How do you spell her name?”
Miranda replied and Elizabeth typed in the letters.
Miranda pointed to a nearby shelf. “What’s in those boxes?”
“Those boxes?” Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, they contain data on past alumni, including photos and examples of the best projects of the outstanding students. But it would take forever to find anything fifteen years old in them.”
And they didn’t even know what kind of a student Lydia Sutherland was.
Miranda folded her arms and tapped her fingers against her bicep. Once again, Parker put his hands in his pockets. He stared at the computer but he still had that faraway look in his eye.
What was up with him? Suddenly a feeling of dread came over her. Was Parker getting tired of working with her?
No. Investigating crime was his life as much as it was hers. He’d introduced her to it. That didn’t make sense at all.
At last the computer beeped and a window popped up on the screen.
“Ooh, we’ve got something,” Elizabeth squealed as if she had scored in a video game. She peered at the information.
Miranda leaned over her shoulder and studied the results. Sure enough there was a small photo of Lydia Sutherland looking a lot like the one in her case file.
“That’s her, all right,” she said.
Elizabeth pressed another key and more detail appeared. “Looks like she transferred from Iowa State. She was only here one semester. She was a Fine Arts in Studio major.”
Not much more than what they already knew.
“Classes ended on December fifteenth that year.”
That was new. “The fire happened on the eighteenth,” Miranda told her.
“So she’d been out a couple of days. Probably getting ready for the holidays. That’s so sad.”
More than sad. Tragic. “Do you have a record of what classes she attended and who else might have been in them?”
“You mean other students?”
“Yes.”
“We’re looking for anyone who might have known her,” Parker explained, coming to life again.
“Hmm. I can’t really cross search with this system but…” Elizabeth scrolled up, ran a finger over the screen. “Yes, she had Core Studio Practice with Dr. Bennett.”
“Dr. Bennett?” Miranda asked.
Elizabeth turned around with her big friendly smile. “Dr. Griffin Bennett. He’s been here for ages. He might remember her.”
“Can we talk to him?” Parker said, sounding more demanding than usual.
Maybe he seemed aloof because he was frustrated with this case. So far it was like banging your head against a wall.
Elizabeth frowned looking a little intimidated. “Dr. Bennett’s teaching right now, but I can take you over there. I don’t see why he wouldn’t talk to you. Let me just print out this information.”
Miranda grinned at the young woman. “That would be great.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Another trek through the turquoise halls and a ride down the elevator took them to a floor of classrooms.
With Parker silent again at her side Miranda followed Elizabeth past several open doors. Through them Miranda caught glimpses of large rooms where students daubed colorful paint onto canvases, sketched in charcoal, or took photos of nearly naked bodybuilders.
The human anatomy was a fascinating study, wasn’t it?
At last they reached a classroom at the end of the hall. This door was closed.
Elizabeth tiptoed up to it and knocked softly.
No answer.
She turned back, gave Miranda an apologetic look, then knocked again.
Still no answer.
The young woman braced her shoulders as if she were going into battle and lifted her hand for a third try. This time she knocked a little harder and opened the door as she did.
“Dr. Bennett?” The poor girl’s voice squeaked.
This guy must be one grouchy dude.
Inside another open space was filled with canvases and easels and drop clothes on the floor. The air smelled of paint and clay. Against one pale wall strangely shaped terracotta pottery was lined up on a single shelf. On t
he opposite wall twenty or so sketches of unidentifiable objects done in frenzied pencil strokes were on display.
Miranda counted five students at the easels and one spinning clay on a wheel in the corner. What did they call that? Throwing pots? She never understood the expression. Sounded more like what you’d call a drug raid to her.
In the opposite corner stood a man of average height and slender build.
He wore a black knit leotard-like shirt and black slacks that made him look as if he were a stagehand in the theater group. His hair was a closely cropped gray and a silver ring hung from one earlobe. He was trim but in good shape. Trying hard to look young but Miranda could tell he was pushing fifty.
His chin in his hand, he seemed to be concentrating hard on the brushstrokes of the student before him. He didn’t seem pleased with the work.
“Dr. Bennett?” Elizabeth said again, her girlish voice spiking higher.
The man blinked as if coming out of a deep sleep and shot them a ferocious grimace. “Elizabeth,” he snapped. “No interruptions while I’m teaching. You know that.”
“Yes, sir. But you see, I have two private investigators here who would like to talk to you.”
The man’s thin brows shot up to his hairline. Then he rolled his eyes and raised his hands to the ceiling in complete disgust. “Is this about that parking ticket? Really. I have an assigned spot but someone was in it that day. I simply had to double park. I am a revered faculty member. I would think I’d be entitled to some dignity in this matter.”
Miranda waited for Parker to speak. When he didn’t she went ahead. “It’s not about parking, Dr. Bennett. It’s about murder.”
The professor took a step back and put a hand to his throat as if he were about to choke. “What did you say?”
Interesting gesture. But he was probably just the overly dramatic type.
“I said murder,” she repeated. “A fifteen year old case. One of your former students was the victim.”
“How awful. How can I help?” Suddenly he wanted to be of service.
“The victim’s name was Lydia Sutherland. We’re wondering if you remember anything about her.”
The professor’s brows drew together in artful concentration. Then he shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I cannot remember a student from that far back. I can’t help you. If you’ll excuse me.” He turned away.
Miranda was about to reach for the photo in her briefcase, but Elizabeth beat her to it.
“This is her information.” The assistant handed the professor the sheet she’d printed out earlier.
Dr. Bennett gave Elizabeth an annoyed look but dug his glasses out of his pocket, put them on and studied the sheet. As soon as he saw the photo, he got serious.
“Oh, yes. The pretty blond. I remember her now. Effervescent type.”
“What can you tell us about her, Doctor?” Miranda asked.
Dr. Bennett glanced at her grades, rubbed his chin as he thought back. “She was an average student, as her record indicates. I seem to remember she liked to draw daisies. Not very innovative. Yes. She always got low marks in originality. That’s right. She was thinking of going into the fashion department. I encouraged that. We have an interdisciplinary curriculum here. Highly unstructured. Students are free to explore, collaborate, work in different disciplines.”
“I see. What were her relationships with the other students like?”
“Relationships? They were normal, I suppose. She was friendly. I don’t really pay attention to that sort of thing.”
Of course, he didn’t. “How about a guy?”
“A guy? As far as I recall, Lydia was friendly with both male and female students.”
“I mean a boyfriend.”
He scowled and handed the paper back to Elizabeth. “I really don’t recall.”
Nothing. Miranda had been afraid of that. It was too long ago and they were searching for details that could slip an uninterested party’s mind in half a day.
“What about a guy with shaggy blond hair who wore a black leather jacket and drove a Mustang?”
“I’m sorry. As I said I really don’t pay much attention to those things.” He turned away and strolled toward the student he’d been working with.
Her heart sinking down to her knees Miranda was ready to go. But she decided to give it one more try. “Lydia Sutherland was killed in a house fire in Lawnfield Heights. Do you remember anything about that?”
Dr. Bennett stared at her, his features growing dark and pensive. “Did you say house fire? Fifteen years ago?”
“Yes.” Miranda held her breath.
Slowly he nodded. “That was the year of the Werner Exhibition. I remember now. I saw it on the news. I vaguely recollect an official email from the school was sent to all the students and faculty expressing condolences. When we reconvened for winter classes some of the students wore black armbands in memory of her.”
Miranda stood in silence, waiting for more of the professor’s reluctant memory to kick in. Finally it did.
His eyes grew wide. He snapped his fingers. “Yes. She did have a boyfriend. But only for a few weeks before—before the end of the term.”
Breakthrough. At last. “The house fire occurred a few days after classes ended,” Miranda prompted.
“Yes, yes.” Slowly he nodded, rubbing his chin again. Then he stopped. “Now I recall. Adam Tannenburg.”
Miranda’s heart leapt. A name. “Lydia’s boyfriend?”
“Yes. He came in late in the course. He was a dropout from Northwestern. I didn’t think he should have been admitted, but he was connected.”
“Connected?”
“His family was well off. His mother was a musician. She donated heavily to the school. Adam took a liking to Ms. Sutherland right away. She allowed his advances and they became a couple. I remember his work now. It turned out he was good at rendering the human anatomy. He excelled in atmospheric perspective.”
Had to be the same guy but she needed more confirmation. “And this Adam Tannenburg had shaggy blond hair and drove a silver Mustang?”
“I don’t know his vehicle, but yes. His hair was blond and thick. He wore it almost to his shoulders. It was the fashion at the time. And he wore a black leather jacket.”
Okay, okay. They could probably get a photo of the dude from Elizabeth now that they had a name.
“So when the students reconvened, did Tannenburg wear a black armband?”
“What?”
“I memory of Lydia? After her death?”
“I can’t recall.” His hand went to his forehead again, as if he wanted to press the information out of it now. “Yes. That was right.”
“What?”
“Adam dropped out. Such a shame. He was talented.”
“Did he transfer?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think I was ever contacted for a recommendation. I never saw him again.” The professor turned away again as if in a daze. Then once more he stopped. “Now I remember.”
“What, Dr. Bennett?”
“About a year after that I heard on the news that Adam’s mother had died.”
Miranda frowned, hoping the professor wasn’t getting the details confused. “Are you sure it was him?”
“Yes. There were emails since she was such a patron of the arts, of the school. It’s all coming back to me now. At the time I thought, what a strange coincidence.”
Miranda felt a tingle go down her spine. “Coincidence? Why?”
Once more the professor turned to her with that dark, glassy stare. “Adam’s mother also died in a house fire. Their family estate in Evanston burned to the ground.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Twenty minutes later Miranda was back in the Audi beside Parker with a data sheet in her hand on Adam Tannenburg that Elizabeth had printed out for them.
The assistant didn’t have a picture of the guy on file, but she did have his academic record and most importantly, his address. At least where he’d been living
at the time he was a student—with his mother.
They were headed for Evanston.
Miranda scanned the sheet. “His grades at both Northwestern and the Art Institute were outstanding. He was a music major. Studied clarinet.”
“Mmm,” Parker said as he steered the rental car under the L tracks on East Monroe, heading toward the lake.
“Looks like he skipped a grade in high school. He was only nineteen when he hooked up with Lydia. A year younger than she was.”
Parker didn’t respond.
Irritated Miranda thumped the paper with a fingernail and gazed out at the crowded street. She was tired of the silent treatment. Time to get to the bottom of this. But she knew she had to be careful or Parker would just wriggle out of it.
“So,” she said as if she were about to yawn, “where were you last night?”
“Last night?” Parker woke out of whatever dream he was indulging himself in and frowned. “I told you,” he said in his low, sexy voice. “I had an interview for the Agency.”
Uh huh. “I mean, where’d you go?” she tried to make the question sound casual.
Parker hesitated a moment before he answered. “A place downtown. Angelino’s was the name, I believe.”
Miranda watched the skyscrapers around them open to an expanse of trees and city parks surrounding the north side of the museum. Parker didn’t know the name of the place he’d been to just last night?
She didn’t buy that for a minute.
But before she could ask him why he couldn’t remember, he reached for her hand and pressed it to his lips. “You’re doing quite well on this case, Miranda. You’ve grown into an outstanding investigator. I’m proud of you.”
Miranda sucked in her breath and fought down the giddy stomach flutter his compliments always gave her. He was trying to distract her. She wouldn’t let him.
She opened her mouth but he beat her to the next sentence.
“It’s because you’re doing so well that I feel comfortable letting you handle this case.” He gave her his sexy half smile.
It was only more interesting with the dark spot under his eye, and his aristocratic southern voice was so seductive she almost fell completely under its spell.
Trial by Fire (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 6) Page 10
