The Inferno Collection

by Jacqueline Seewald

  He gave her another warm smile. She tried to ignore how handsome he was. He seemed so nice, she could almost forget that he was a policeman.

  “You must have been a good schoolteacher. You got the look.”

  “I don’t know about that. But I always wanted to do something meaningful with my life. It’s made me fairly restless and dissatisfied.”

  “How come you’re not married?”

  The way he switched gears nearly threw her. “I’ve never managed to have that kind of loving relationship with a man,” she said.

  “Your old man turn you off men?” He was blunt and insightful.

  “What makes you ask that?” She could have done without his probing. There was a fluttering in her stomach.

  “Cop’s intuition,” he responded with an easy shrug. “You get like that when you deal with people day after day.”

  “I don’t like people asking questions about my personal life. I kind of like being left alone.” She managed to keep her voice even.

  “Just think of me as someone who wants to help you.”

  “Now why should I do that?”

  His eyes were a guileless, dove gray. “Your old man hurt you, didn’t he? Made you think the worst of people?”

  “I suppose he did, but in a sense, he did me a big favor. I know how to protect myself.” She didn’t know why she was opening up to him, except there was something about the man that made him easy to talk with.

  “Did your old man abuse you?”

  She shook her head, not quite meeting his direct gaze. “Not in the way you mean. But his words could be cruel. Ma said he was sick from the time he came back from serving in the army. He just wasn’t himself. He was overseas for several tours. But he chose to be there. He was seriously wounded and awarded a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star.”

  “He must have been a brave man.”

  “I guess. I just remember him being very mean to me and especially to Ma. She had a big heart. She always forgave him, but I couldn’t.”

  “Why was that?”

  “I don’t know,” she said evasively. Some things were too painful to talk about.

  “Were you ashamed of him?”

  “Of what he did? It was horrible.”

  “Yeah, it was nasty.”

  “The police acted like we were criminals, Ma and me. So many questions. As if they thought we knew what he was going to do that day, like we helped him plan it.”

  “He never talked about it?”

  “Not to me, and I’m sure not to Ma either.”

  “I know it must have been hard for you and your mother.”

  “It was. Ma’s forgiven him and moved on with her life. I’ve been devoting my life to helping other people solve their problems—those that can be answered from books anyway.”

  “The Mother Teresa of the library stacks?” His teasing was surprisingly gentle.

  “Not exactly. I’m no saint and I don’t pretend to be one. I don’t have a martyr complex.”

  “Don’t forget,” he said, “solving your own problems comes first.”

  “I don’t have any. Like Thoreau, I keep my life very simple.”

  He took her arm, pulling her back from the street. She felt a strange surge of energy where he touched her, almost like an electrical shock. It was totally unexpected, and she stared at him open-mouthed like a fish caught on a hook.

  “You didn’t see that car coming toward you, did you?”

  “What?” She realized that he was right; they were crossing a busy intersection and she’d hardly paid any attention to the traffic, too engrossed in their conversation.

  “Thanks, guess I was distracted.”

  “Can’t thank me since I was doing the distracting.” The smile looked genuine this time. When he smiled that way, he didn’t look as tough or rugged, not nearly as intimidating.

  “Which just proves if you’re going to psychoanalyze people, you better use a couch and an office.”

  “The kind of people I work with would probably steal the couch the minute I turned my back.” He had a way of not taking life too seriously, which made her almost relax her guard—but not quite.

  “It’s time I got back to work.”

  “Call anytime if you need me,” he said. “And remember what I said about not asking too many questions.”

  “But you still think maybe I killed Lorette and Sandy, don’t you?”

  “Well, not really. I just wanted to see what I could shake loose if I approached you that way. We can pretty well establish time of death by the disposition of the body. At the time you called for assistance, Ms. Campbell had already been dead approximately six to eight hours. I checked you out and discovered you were right here working at the time. So you’re off the hook.” He grinned broadly.

  “Thanks for letting me sweat!” Damn him!

  “Don’t mention it. Mind fucks are my specialty.”

  That was probably not the only kind of fucking he was good at. Now where had that stray thought come from? They walked the rest of the way back to the main library entrance in silence.

  She wasn’t opposed to taking Lieutenant Gardner’s advice about not asking any more questions; she just couldn’t do it. She had to continue. A momentum had been building. Maybe it had become a form of obsession; she didn’t really know.

  Gardner didn’t care about finding out who killed Lorette, not the way she did. It was time to talk to this Nick person. Before she could get busy again, Kim phoned the first number that Jim had given her. This time there was an answer. It wasn’t easy talking to a complete stranger; by nature she was reserved, reticent, but she forced herself to do it.

  “Is this Nick Margrove?”

  He indicated that it was.

  “Sandy asked me to contact you.” Where had that lie come from?

  “What about?” He sounded wary.

  She explained who she was and then carefully told him about her conversation with Sandy. “She offered to help me find out what happened to my friend. I believe you knew Lorette Campbell?”

  “Saw her around campus. I heard she took an overdose of cocaine and died. So what’s there to find out?”

  “Why it happened.”

  “She was a user. It doesn’t get any simpler.” His voice crackled with belligerence.

  “Then what happened to Sandy?”

  “Some nut attacked her. Happens all the time. Sandy was an airhead, a freak, an easy target; anyone could sneak up on her.”

  “I believe there’s a connection between the two deaths. I’d like your help.”

  “There’s nothing I can do.” His tone was surly. “Look, I’m busy. I got a deadline on a paper; it’s due in the morning.”

  “Could you talk with me tomorrow then? Just for a few minutes. I could meet you at the graduate student lounge in Kinley. Would that be convenient?”

  “I guess.” People were more eager to visit the dentist.

  “What time?”

  “After my morning class. Twelve-thirty. But I’m not hanging around if you’re not there.”

  “I will be there.”

  No hardship was involved, since Wendell had scheduled her for the late shift all week. It was the worst schedule, of course, but she did not complain. First, outside of the graduate assistants, she was the newest librarian on staff, and second, she did not have a husband to answer to or children to care for as many of the women did.

  * * * *

  She was not only on time to meet Nick Margrove the next day, but actually about fifteen minutes early. There were a number of students in the lounge drinking coffee and gobbling down their lunches between classes. Here and there she overheard snatches of conversation.

  Two young men were talking. One was thin and slightly hunched, wearing rimless eyeglasses; the other was of average height and build, but with a complexion marred by acne.

  “Sorry to hear about Sandy,” the one with the glasses said. “I know you and her were close.”

  The one with
moon craters on the surface of his face looked around nervously. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

  “Sure, Nick, whatever you say.”

  Kim approached Nick Margrove, studying him thoughtfully. Instinct told her to be careful around him. She politely introduced herself. He looked her up and down in an insulting manner.

  “Sandy told me that you’re from California.”

  “So?” His eyes were narrow slits.

  Already this was not going well. “I understand you have a talent for writing.”

  He shrugged; the compliment obviously pleased him.

  “Sandy thought you were one of Dr. Forbes’ chosen group of students. You were invited to his house, I believe. Apparently, so was Lorette. The question is, what were you chosen for?”

  He licked his lips. He had a thick bush of kinky, ginger hair that he ran his hands through nervously.

  “I don’t have time to talk with you. I have to get going.”

  “Fine, I’ll just walk along with you.”

  He took off at a quick pace, but she kept up with him. There were benefits to wearing sturdy shoes.

  “If you’re not forthcoming about this, I’m going to give your name to the police. They’ll probably want to question you.”

  He seemed upset; his hand suddenly snaked around her wrist. “What do you want to know?”

  She freed her hand indignantly. He’d hurt her, but she wasn’t going to fuss about it. “Do you have any idea who murdered Sandy?”

  “Of course not.” He sniffed in a supercilious manner as if she’d spoken like an idiot.

  “Did you kill her?”

  His eyes flashed angrily. “I would never hurt her, and I have no idea who did.”

  “All right, but you do know what goes on at Dr. Forbes’ house, don’t you?”

  When he didn’t reply, she continued. “What went on at the house the evening Lorette was there?”

  “Just the usual.” He sounded as if cotton were stuffed in his nose and rubbed at it irritably.

  “What was the usual?” She was trying not to sound exasperated.

  “You’ll have to ask Dr. Forbes.” His eyes were so narrow that she could barely see the pupils. He sniffed at her with his clogged, runny nose again.

  “You ought to take care of your cold—if it’s a cold.” With that, she left him in front of the building and took off down the square.

  She was too annoyed to go directly to work. Besides, it was much too early. Nothing had been accomplished. So frustrating! Nick Margrove wasn’t going to tell her anything. She thought he might be a cocaine addict, and Lorette had been killed with an overdose of that very drug. So there was a possible connection. However, suspicions were one thing and clear-cut evidence was quite another.

  There was a gnawing in her stomach. Breakfast had consisted only of a quick bowl of Total corn flakes. She took a walk to the McDonald’s near the university bookstore. It was a cheerful place where she could sit quietly and think. She ordered a cup of coffee and a grilled chicken sandwich and then sat down to eat. Maybe she should do what she’d told Nick. It wasn’t an idle threat; why not inform Lieutenant Gardner about him? Nick’s attitude with a police officer would not be so snotty.

  She finished her sandwich, chewing meditatively, and then walked over to the university bookstore. It was a nice place to browse around. She did so in a leisurely manner. Libraries and bookstores were her favorite places; she could lose herself for hours in either one. Lost souls could be located on bookshelves, maybe even her own.

  Too soon it was time to walk back to campus and begin her workday. She decided to phone Lieutenant Gardner the next day. It wasn’t like her to procrastinate, but seeking out the police for any reason was alien to her nature. Deep down, she felt only trouble could come of it. Still, there was nothing ordinary about Gardner. She knew that instinctively.

  Rita Mosler was working with her again. Before Rita left for the evening, Kim told her that she’d left her own office keys in her car. She asked to borrow those belonging to Rita, who was annoyed but gave them to her anyway. Kim waited until Rita was busy with a patron. She hurried to Wendell’s office and opened it, then went back to the reference desk. She returned Rita’s keys promptly and thanked her. After Rita went home for the night, Kim left a graduate assistant alone at the desk for a little while and rushed back to Wendell’s office.

  The search was difficult because she wasn’t precisely certain what she was looking for. The desk itself was locked, but what she was looking for wouldn’t be in a desk. It was a collection of books or manuscripts and, therefore, had to be in some sort of cabinet. She studied the room carefully. Everything seemed quite ordinary, except for the incredible degree of neatness. Then she saw it. In a recessed corner stood a small, mirrored cabinet, ornate, like something from another age and time. On a hook above it, a large antique key sat as if waiting for her to place it in the lock. She turned the lock on the first drawer and opened it, quickly looking inside. Kim saw at once that the manuscripts were very old and fragile, delicate to the touch. She was just about to examine them more thoroughly when a noise sounded outside the office door. Her heart was palpitating as she hurriedly closed the cabinet and relocked it, placing the great key back exactly where she found it.

  “Kim, are you in there?”

  “Yes,” she answered, setting the door to lock and then closing it behind her. Why did her voice sound so breathless?

  Mary Parkins eyed her with curiosity and suspicion. “What are you doing back here?”

  That wasn’t any business of a graduate assistant, but Mary was always pushy and nosy. She also had a jealous nature. Kim didn’t like the girl and thought Mary had the same reaction to her.

  “Do you need me?” She found herself still short of breath.

  “I thought we were never supposed to leave the floor while we were on duty.”

  “I needed to locate something.” She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice.

  “In Mr. Firbin’s office?”

  “You’re a student, Mary. My duties are more complex than yours.”

  “I’m still learning, but I do just as good a job as you, although I don’t get much pay for it.”

  She ignored Mary’s surly comment. “Let’s get back. Now what’s the problem?”

  “I couldn’t locate a set of government documents this student was looking for.”

  “We’ll do it together.”

  As she finished her final hour of the evening, several times she noticed Mary turning a malevolent look on her. She left feeling upset that Mary knew about her being in Wendell Firbin’s office. An excuse had to be created that Wendell would believe in case Mary mentioned it to him. It was very likely that she would.

  The solitary walk to the parking deck further discombobulated her. Was she imagining footsteps behind her? She’d spent so much of her life ignoring her special sensitivity, pretending that it didn’t exist, but in some ways, she realized, it could be a form of self-preservation. She did not want to turn and look to see if she were really being followed. She began to run, taking the stairs to the third level as quickly as she could. Near the top of the stairs, a hand caught her around the throat. She felt something cold, sharp and metallic against her neck and let out a scream. She had the presence of mind to reach into her handbag. Her fingers gripped the can of pepper spray she’d bought just for such an occasion. She sprayed it in a quick movement behind her, not certain if she’d caught her assailant in the face or not.

  A surprised curse told her she’d been successful. Her hand loosened on the weapon, and she ran as if the devil were chasing her. Kim turned only once, thinking she caught sight of a bush of ginger hair escaping down the stairs into the darkness below. She was choking and gasping for air when she reached her car, her hands shaking almost too much to open the driver’s side lock.

  But no one was there anymore. She was alone now and could hear only the sound of her own frightened breathing. She put her hand
to her throat and it came away with blood. There was no use trying to control the shaking; it wouldn’t stop. A scarf in her jacket pocket served as a good bandage. As she drove the car from the parking deck, tears welled up in her eyes.

  Stop that! He only scratched you. It’s nothing. You’re all right. You did what was needed, no point falling apart now. He only meant to scare you. She ground down on her back teeth, but her trembling did not cease.

  THIRTEEN

  The following morning, Kim phoned Wilson Township police headquarters and asked for Lieutenant Gardner. She came directly to the point when he got on the line.

  “A student named Nick Margrove took Sandy to Dr. Forbes’ house. Sandy was the one who told me that Lorette was invited there. Nick appears to be a regular in Dr. Forbes’ group. Oh, and I think it’s likely that Nick snorts cocaine.”

  “I’ll have a talk with him.”

  Should she tell him about the previous night, her suspicions regarding the attack on the parking deck and her belief Nick Margrove had initiated it? Finally, she decided that he ought to know.

  He listened without interrupting. “Get someone to walk you to your car in the evening from now on. I can arrange for it if you want.” His tone was serious.

  “No, I don’t think I’ll be bothered anymore. I fought off my attacker. He won’t be after me again.” She did not tell him about using the pepper spray, although its use was perfectly legal. The simpler she kept things, the better.

  “I’m not as certain about your safety as you seem to be. I think you better stop asking people questions from now on. I suggested it to you before, now I’ve got to insist on it. Two women have been killed. You don’t need to be the hat trick.” His authoritative tone annoyed her.

  “I’m part of the university. There are things I’m knowledgeable about that a policeman wouldn’t understand.”

  “Now look, I asked you nice, but you don’t seem to comprehend. Stay out of this from now on.” He definitely sounded angry.

  She wasn’t going to argue with him; it would accomplish nothing. “I’m glad you’re finally seeing the connection between the two murders. You do think both Lorette and Sandy were murdered, don’t you?”