Bitter Past

by Caroline Fardig

Once I got over the initial shock, I was able to compose myself. I even recognized some of the reporters from my criminalist days. I had handled this kind of relentless, invasive media questioning many times before when news crews would congregate around a crime scene I was investigating. I could do it again. The only problem was that I was out of practice.

  Digging up my professional tone from years ago, I said, “I’m sorry, but I am unable to answer any of your questions. Any questions you have should be addressed to the Hamilton County Sheriff’s office.” My voice shook, but I managed to give a firm answer.

  As I was closing my door, the reporter shouted, “What type of relationship did the victim have with the suspect, Dr. Dudley Cooper? Is this murder a teacher-student tryst gone bad?”

  My jaw dropped, and before I could stop myself I blurted out, “The suspect? What? No!” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I admonished myself for letting them goad me into responding. I slammed the door and collapsed against it. The woman was still shouting questions at me through the closed door.

  Wide-eyed, Rachel demanded, “What the hell is going on out there?”

  I ran my hands through my hair. “A shitstorm. I hope we have some food for dinner, because we’re not going anywhere tonight.”

  My phone rang, startling me. I plucked it out of my pocket and groaned. The caller ID said the call was coming from a local newspaper. They had already found my name and address, and now they’d found my cell phone number. Needless to say, I didn’t answer the call.

  To Trixie’s dismay, Rachel went to the front window and drew the blinds so no one could see into the house. She said, “Why don’t you call that hunky cop and have him come back over? Maybe he can get these guys to piss off and go bother someone else.”

  “You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

  “I don’t want a bunch of strangers milling around outside. I have a child to think of.”

  “I’ll call him right now.” Taking out Baxter’s card, I dialed his cell number.

  “Baxter,” was his greeting.

  “Hi, Detective. This is Ellie Matthews.”

  “I didn’t think you’d be calling so soon. What’s up?”

  I sighed. “This is probably more of a Noblesville police issue, but I thought you should know there’s a mob of news crews on my front lawn.”

  “Shit,” he said under his breath. “Sorry. I’ll send someone out to take care of that right away. You didn’t talk to them, did you?”

  “I told them to direct their questions to the Sheriff’s office.”

  “Good job. Now, if you feel uneasy or feel like you’re being watched or followed, you call me. Day or night.”

  “Thanks. I will.” After we ended our call, I turned to Rachel. “Detective Baxter is going to send someone over to shoo away the vultures out there. I’m going to self-medicate with a couple of shots of vodka, and then I’m going to bed.”

  “For the night? It’s not even dinnertime yet, Grandma.”

  “I don’t care. I’m done adulting for today.”

  ***

  Awaking with a start, I shivered as I tried to shake off the haunting image of Vasti Marais that had been pervading my dreams. I looked at my phone. It was only 9:07 PM. And I had twenty-seven missed calls—eight of them from Cooper.

  I dialed his number, and he picked up on the first ring. “Ellie?” he said, his voice tight.

  “Did you call me? Eight times?”

  “I need to talk to you. Can we meet somewhere?” he pleaded.

  I glanced out my window and didn’t see any people or news vans, so Detective Baxter had made good on his promise. I wasn’t a prisoner in my own home anymore.

  “Meet me at the Starbucks on 116th in Fishers in fifteen minutes.”

  Cooper beat me there and already had a cup of coffee waiting for me. Ever the gentleman, he stood as I approached him, but he was so weary, he sunk back down into his chair before I reached him. If it was possible, he looked even more haggard than he had earlier today. I sat down in the leather armchair next to his.

  “What’s going on, Coop?” I asked.

  He threaded his hands through his hair. “I… This is bad. Very bad.”

  “What? Did something happen tonight?” I took a sip of my coffee.

  He sighed and lowered his voice, although we were the only customers in the store. “I had to go to the Sheriff’s station for further questioning. It seems that they…found some emails between Vasti and myself.”

  “Unless they said ‘I’m going to kill you,’ that’s not exactly damning evidence.”

  “They found out…” He paused, a pained expression marring his face. “They found out about my…relationship with Vasti.”

  “Your what?” I cried. A couple of the workers turned their heads in my direction, so I whispered, “You’re in a relationship with a student? Are you nuts?” That was sleazy, not to mention grounds for dismissal at Ashmore College. But maybe not if your mommy was the president.

  His eyes grew wide. “No, no. Not any longer. It was last semester. Things went too far, and I broke it off.”

  “Still not okay to have sex with a student, Cooper,” I hissed.

  Wiping a hand down his face, he said, “I know.”

  The pieces of this were coming together for me. “Is that why she’s been so vocal against the facility? Is she—was she angry with you?”

  “Yes, she was angry, and I believe she organized the protests as yet another way of getting back at me. I did a poor job of ending our relationship. I didn’t want either of us to get into trouble, so I told her we shouldn’t see each other at all, in public or in private. She didn’t take the news well and has been hostile toward me ever since. She made quite a nuisance of herself, especially at first. She’d come to my large lecture classes and stand in the back and stare daggers at me. She called me at all hours of the night. When I wouldn’t return her calls, she began slipping notes under my office door.” He stopped to rub his eyes. “They said horrible things. She went so far as to fabricate lies about having an affair with my father to try to hurt me. I don’t even know if she was actually against the facility or if she was only trying to make my life miserable.”

  “This doesn’t look good. You had an inappropriate relationship with a student, which ended badly. She openly opposed your new project and organized protests against it. And now she’s been found dead on a property you own. That’s two sufficient motives for you to have killed her.” I hesitated, not quite sure how to continue. “You didn’t kill her, did you?”

  He regarded me as if I’d slapped him. “No! How could you think I would be capable of such a thing? Even after everything she’s done to me, I still cared about her.”

  I hated to have asked such a nasty question of my friend. “Look, I don’t think you did it. I just needed to hear it from you. Do you have an alibi for last night?”

  “Sort of. After you left, the news of what happened between you and Justin spread like wildfire. Everyone at the gala insisted on hearing every detail from me personally. I got so weary of answering questions, I wanted to get some air, so I drove around aimlessly for a while. Once I managed to pull myself together, I returned. The party broke up shortly after that, and I went home alone.”

  I blew out a breath. “Shit. I’d bet anything your little drive coincides with Vasti’s time of death window. I’m sorry for causing a scene at the fundraiser. I lost my cool.”

  Cooper slouched in his chair and rested his head against the back of the seat. “It’s not your fault. I made this mess, and now I have to deal with it.”

  As disgusted as I was with Cooper after finding out about his affair with Vasti, I still didn’t want to see him blamed for her murder. “Since you didn’t kill her, there won’t be any evidence at the crime scene to tie you to the murder. They can’t charge you without evidence. They can probably hold you for seventy-two hours, though, on suspicion.”

  Eyes bulging out, he breathed, “Seventy-two hour
s? In jail?”

  “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

  A few hours in lockup would certainly make him think twice about even looking at a pretty co-ed again. For his sake, it was a good thing Vasti’s family lived on another continent. If it had been my sister who’d been playing doctor with Dr. Cooper, jail would have been preferable to what I would have done to him. Parents and guardians do not take kindly to people messing around with their babies, even when their babies are legal adults.

  “If any of this gets out, my career could be ruined.”

  I shrugged. “You’re an Ashmore. Play the nepotism card. Your family is not going to fire you from your own school. If you’re really worried about it, get one of your dad’s political handlers to sweep the whole thing under the rug.”

  “My father is likely to disown me over this,” he muttered. “The last thing he’ll do is help me.”

  I didn’t have a response for that, so I changed the subject. “I take it you lawyered up.”

  “Of course. That’s why I’m not rotting in a jail cell right now. I’m taking a personal day tomorrow, by the way.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.” I stood up. “I need to go. I’ll see you soon.”

  Cooper got up and caught me by the arm. He whispered, “Please don’t let this change your opinion of me. I couldn’t bear to lose your friendship.”

  “I have to go,” was all I could reply.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ashmore College, nestled in the well-to-do town of Carmel, has frequently been named Indiana’s most beautiful college campus, and with good reason. The original buildings were built of sturdy Indiana limestone around the turn of the century, all sporting a Collegiate Gothic style abounding with arches, buttresses, and parapets. The dorms as a rule were new construction or at least remodeled, but designed with classic style and details to fit in with the aesthetic plan of the campus.

  Ashmore’s front lawn, most days a peaceful, wide-open stretch of manicured grass, well-tended flowers, and majestic oak trees, was crawling with television reporters, stopping students to harass them and beg for interviews. To watch and document their interactions would have been an interesting psychological study—some students were thrilled to be on camera while others ran away, either too shy or too upset about Vasti’s death to be able to talk about it.

  As I pulled into my parking spot, I wondered if I should have taken the day off like Cooper did. I didn’t want to be bothered by any more reporters, so I scrounged around in my car for some sort of disguise. I found a knit cap wedged under the passenger seat and stuffed my long brunette hair into it, then put on a pair of Rachel’s oversized sunglasses. Ducking my head, I hurried into the science building through a side door.

  I kept my disguise on until I reached my office. When I got there, I closed and locked the door (otherwise students and faculty alike would barge right in) and then flopped down into my chair. I was not in the mood for a barrage of questions. Having been curious about how much my face was going to be plastered across the news, I had flipped on the TV when I got home last night. Big mistake. There I was, making an idiot of myself on camera when the reporter caught me off guard. An interview with me was still in high demand, judging from the forty-three missed calls I had on my phone from numbers not in my contacts list.

  Steeling myself for the inevitable difficulty of getting through my classes, I gathered my things and entered the classroom with my Criminalistics 1 students. Every one of them was either reading or discussing a copy of the Ashmore Voice, which had a huge picture on the front page of Vasti ambushing Cooper at the fundraiser protest. The headline read “Student Protestor Found Dead, Professor Questioned.” I grimaced. I didn’t expect it to take long for the Voice’s opinionated, shit-stirring staff to begin crucifying Cooper for his involvement in this mess. Even if he wasn’t charged with the murder, his reputation with the students was damaged beyond repair.

  My students quieted down when I reached the front of the classroom, which was a first. I didn’t remember seeing any of my current students protesting Saturday night. I generally taught freshmen and sophomores (being assigned beginner-level classes since I held only a Master’s Degree), and the protestors had seemed to be mostly upperclassmen.

  I took a deep breath to calm myself, then cleared my throat. “I know you’ve all heard about the tragic passing of one of our students, Vasti Marais. Those of you who knew her, I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sure you have questions, but I can’t and won’t answer them, so please don’t ask. The one thing I can tell you is that I found her body. This is an open case being investigated by the Hamilton County Sheriff’s Office. As future criminalists, you must understand that I cannot, under any circumstances, give away any details of what I saw. Not only would it interfere with the investigation, but it would also put my credibility as a former criminalist on the line.” I had an idea. “You know, maybe today instead of starting our lesson on handwriting analysis, we should discuss confidentiality and how a criminalist should handle media inquiries…”

  My lecture on confidentiality and media pressure went quite well. The students seemed interested, and they asked questions that got some good discussions going. I thought it also drove home the point that in real life, it is extremely difficult to be at the center of an event that you can’t openly speak about with anyone except the other people involved in the case.

  I decided to go with the same subject matter in all of my classes today. With a second successful lecture under my belt, I started to feel more like myself again. After class, as I turned down the hallway to my office, I froze when I saw a man in a suit standing by my door, his back to me. I couldn’t believe that a reporter would have the balls to enter one of the classroom buildings to get to me. I considered running in the opposite direction, but it was lunchtime, I was hungry, and my lunch money was in my locked desk drawer. While I was contemplating my options, the man turned around. My mouth nearly dropped open when I realized who it was. Standing there, smiling his dazzling smile, was Rob Larson—and he was holding a White Castle bag and two bottles of beer.

  Stunned that he’d tracked me down at work so soon after we’d met, I approached him. “Hi, Rob. It’s good to see you.”

  “Hello, Ellie,” he said, his deep voice ringing down the hallway. “I hope you’re okay with a surprise visit. I brought lunch.” He held up the bag and bottles.

  I was flattered that he had remembered what I’d said at the party. “Absolutely.”

  “Would you like to eat outside? It’s nice out today.”

  There was no way I was going outside with those vultures hanging around. I ducked into my office. “Would you mind if we ate here?”

  “Not at all.”

  I sat down at my desk and gestured for him to take the seat across from me. “Thanks for lunch.”

  “I feel like I owe you one. After all, you did get assaulted on my watch. It was a blow to my ego as a security specialist,” he said, a sheepish grin on his face.

  Laughing, I said, “Oh, stop. I don’t feel assaulted. No one expected the kid to pull a stunt like that.”

  “I know, but I still feel bad. Maybe I could get your dress dry cleaned for you?”

  I hesitated. My dress was probably being cut apart and the soiled fabric tested as we spoke. However, that was information I couldn’t share with anyone. I had even lied to my sister about it last night when she asked why my dress was suddenly “evidence.”

  “No need. It was beyond repair. It…went out with the garbage.”

  His face fell. “That’s too bad. You looked gorgeous in it.”

  Rob Larson certainly knew the right thing to say to a girl.

  I blushed. “Thanks. Um…so is keeping Mayor Cooper safe a difficult job? I mean, surely his life isn’t at risk all the time.”

  Laughing, he said, “No, he’s not one of my high-risk clients.”

  “Clients? You don’t work for him exclusively?”

  “I’m sure he
and his family tell everyone I’m his personal round-the-clock bodyguard, but I’m not. I own a private security firm, RZL Security.” He fished a business card out of his pocket and handed it to me.

  “Your own firm. Impressive.”

  “Speaking of security, are you being harassed about the murder yesterday? I saw the news. It looked like there was a swarm of reporters camped out at your house.” He gestured to the winter hat and enormous sunglasses sitting on my desk. “It’s warm out today, and I doubt you were wearing that hat as a fashion statement.”

  Sighing, I said, “You got me. It’s been a little crazy. That’s why I didn’t want to eat outside.”

  “I figured as much. If you ever feel like you need help, call me.”

  I was beginning to wonder if this lunch was a sales pitch in a handsome disguise. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you—are you and Dr. Cooper…?” He trailed off instead of finishing the sentence.

  “We’re work colleagues and friends. Nothing more.”

  “I can’t say I’m sad to hear that, but he’s going to need someone in his corner. His father is circling the wagons, and I’m afraid poor Dudley’s going to get left out in the cold.”

  I frowned. Cooper wasn’t kidding when he said his father would disown him over the Vasti scandal. “Cooper’s dad is really going to turn his back on him? That’s pretty harsh, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I think it’s horrible, but Mayor Cooper doesn’t ask my opinion. I’m just the hired help.”

  We both laughed.

  Rob got up and gave me an apologetic smile. “I hate to cut our lunch short, but I have to get back downtown.”

  I stood as well, coming around to lean on the side of my desk. “Right. And I have to get ready for my next class. Thanks again for lunch. It was nice to have another adult to talk to.”

  “You’re welcome, Ellie.” He took a step toward me so we were face-to-face. “I was thinking, since you won’t let me get your dress cleaned, how about you let me take you to dinner?”