Grey Expectations

by Clea Simon

  THIRTY-NINE

  It wasn’t even one, and Dulcie felt exhausted. Conversations with her mother could do that to her, she thought, and then corrected herself. Finding a dead body could do that to her. She looked at her phone, now silent in her hand. She should call Chris, let him know that she was OK. He’d still be with his tutees, however. She should at least wait till half past. And if he wasn’t going to be home . . . By habit, she headed toward the basement office she shared with Lloyd. Maybe seated at her desk, with her notes around her, she could find a way to get back into her thesis – a way to incorporate that horrid new essay. At the very least, she should see if any of her other students had come by. She should never have blown off office hours without posting an alternate time.

  ‘It’s not like they’ve got any pressing work,’ she said to nobody in particular. The trees leading up to Memorial Hall were in full leaf now, and a grey squirrel had paused to watch her pass. ‘I’m the one who has to finish the grading.’

  The squirrel looked at her expectantly, and Dulcie paused. Something about his manner, the sharp stare of his black beady eyes, made her feel he had a message for her. A warning, even. But he only chattered in an agitated manner. ‘What?’ she answered, unable to get anything more from the beast. ‘So I like cats? Deal with it.’

  That was it. Cats. Almost like a waking dream, a memory came to her: Mr Grey, outside and on the hunt. She saw him lurking, his plume of a tail lashing once, twice, and then a third time in his agitation. Then she saw him crouch and creep forward, a grey squirrel just like this one in his sights. Her beloved cat had made his way forward, placing himself between the small rodent and the only nearby tree. With a thrill of fear, Dulcie found herself holding her breath – and then, Mr Grey had lunged. Only, the grey predator had overextended himself. Even before he leaped, the squirrel seemed to know he was coming. With a quick feint to the right, the squirrel had sped left, ducking down to run under the giant cat’s outstretched claws. Dulcie remembered laughing with joy as the terrified squirrel had scurried up the tree. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Grey!’ She had scooped him up. ‘It’s better this way. I promise.’

  ‘Now, what brought that on?’ She found herself laughing out loud as she entered the building. It had never happened; she was almost sure about that. Mr Grey had been a house cat, not a hunter. ‘Must have been a dream,’ she decided. The squirrel’s chatter faded behind her.

  Squirrels! She was still chuckling as she descended the stairs. Only when two shadows emerged from a doorway did she stop, a chill suddenly running down her back.

  ‘Um, hello?’ She took one step backward, then another. ‘May I help you?’

  Usually, this hallway was buzzing with activity. But it was spring, a Friday afternoon, and she could hear her own footsteps clearly on the old tile.

  ‘Hello.’ The first man stepped toward her. He was wearing a suit and smiling.

  To anyone else, Dulcie thought, he would have looked respectable. As Lucy’s daughter, however, she had an ingrained distrust of white shirts and ties. Especially loud ties.

  ‘Please don’t worry, miss. We’ve already checked in with security.’

  She opened her mouth – and hesitated. There was a guard, upstairs. Not that he ever noticed much.

  ‘Actually, miss.’ The other man stepped into the light. Another dark suit. Where ever they had bought them, neither had been properly sized. Fashion might not be Dulcie’s forte, but she was reasonably sure jackets were not supposed to bunch up like that. ‘We are security,’ the second man was saying. ‘We’re with a special detachment of the university police.’

  He pulled out a billfold that contained a badge, as did his partner. Advancing carefully, Dulcie took it. ‘Officer Read,’ she read out loud. ‘Community-university liaison?’

  ‘Uh huh, and I’m Harris,’ the first man said, holding out his badge.

  Feeling a little silly about her hesitation, Dulcie waved it away. Rogovoy had said that the insurance company was pushing for an investigation, and she suspected he had relegated it to the back burner. It made sense that some extras had been called in. ‘I’m sorry.’ She found herself breathing more normally. ‘I should have been expecting some kind of follow-up. It’s just been a crazy day. How may I help you?’

  ‘We have some questions,’ the second one – Read – said. ‘Is there a place we can talk?’

  ‘Sure.’ She’d assumed they’d come to her office looking for her. Then again, perhaps they were just being polite. She unlocked the door and led them in to the tiny, book-filled room she and Lloyd shared. ‘Please come in.’

  She turned to switch on the overhead as the two men crowded in. Rather to her dismay, Harris strode over to Lloyd’s desk, pulled out his rolling chair, and sat down heavily without pausing to ask permission. Read, who in the light she could see was the slightly smaller of the two, headed toward hers, but she scooted around the big, metal desk and claimed it first, leaving him with the rickety, but perfectly adequate wooden chair usually occupied by visiting students. That was probably immature of her, she realized a moment later. After all, they were both taller than she was and more formally dressed. But when she thought about rising, about offering the officer the better chair, she just couldn’t. Besides, Read seemed comfortable. He even tipped the chair back and put his feet up on her desk.

  ‘So?’ She tried to smile as she moved a stack of books away from his feet. ‘I’m all yours.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Read, across from her, smiled, revealing oversized canines. They didn’t make him look particularly friendly. Then again, she’d thought Rogovoy was an ogre when she first met him. ‘We appreciate your time.’

  ‘No problem.’ Dulcie tried to relax. She’d managed to salvage her day. Put the horror of the morning behind her. Just the thought of what she had seen – the blood, the still body – began to bring it all back. She shook her head. ‘But I don’t think I know anything that will help.’

  ‘Sure you do,’ Read said, his jovial tone startling her out of her reverie.

  ‘What we want to know is about the Professor.’ The voice of the other man – Harris – was deeper, as befitted his size. ‘How well did you know him? What was your relationship?’

  ‘What?’ Dulcie swung around to look at him. This wasn’t about library usage. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘We think you do.’ Harris was leaning forward. He was, she noticed with a sinking feeling, quite large. ‘And we think you should tell us.’

  ‘I told everything to Detective Rogovoy this morning.’

  Harris turned to exchange a look with Read.

  ‘I assume you’ve spoken with him?’ Dulcie asked cautiously.

  ‘Yeah, Rogovoy.’ Read tossed the name out like a bone. ‘We talked with him, too.’

  Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Too late, Dulcie remembered how Trista had been visited by two men who claimed to be police. Rollie, too. Somehow, she felt they had moved beyond merely trying to scare people. She braced herself against her desk.

  ‘I don’t think I want to talk to you.’ She stood and put her hand on the back of her chair. ‘It’s all on file. I’ve got to go.’

  Harris acted first, lurching out from behind Lloyd’s desk. But Dulcie was ready for him. She shoved her own chair at him, rolling it hard into his belly, and then pushed at the books on her desk. They hit Read’s feet, and he tipped over backward with a yelp. Harris roared and lunged for her, shoving the chair out of the way. But she’d bought herself a few seconds – and her size served her well. Grabbing her bag, Dulcie ducked under his outstretched arm and bolted down the hall. She’d left her office wide open, but she didn’t care. Mr Grey had warned her, and she raced up the stairs, as fast as any small animal in fear for its life.

  FORTY

  The guard, of course, was absent from his post. Absent or . . . No, Dulcie didn’t want to think of what else could have happened to the jovial senior who usually sat behind the desk at the top of the s
tairs. He was half deaf and no taller than she was, and Dulcie had long suspected the job was something like tenure for the old man, providing a place for him to sit until retirement. He wouldn’t have stood a chance against those two. The image of Professor Coffin as she’d last seen him – bloody and still – flashed through her mind again, causing her to pause for a moment. To grab at the wall. Better not to think of it. Of him. Better to just keep moving.

  But where? As she pushed out the big door and found herself in the improbably sunny grounds by the Science Center, Dulcie paused again, breathing heavily from her panicked bolt, and looked around. Home was twenty minutes away. The university police, ten. A quick glance behind her showed nobody on the steps, nobody in pursuit, but Dulcie couldn’t relax. Even if she had escaped, her safety was temporary. They thought she knew something. Besides, they had terrified two of her classmates – one of whom was missing.

  Trista. So brash and sure of herself, her friend was not easily scared. Had they come back to question her again? Had she called their bluff about being cops? Dulcie didn’t want to think about it. She did, however, pull out her phone as she set off again, breath ragged in her throat. She was heading into the Yard. There would be people there. Students packing up, parents. Alumni gathering. In the relative safety of the crowd, she could think for a minute. She could make a plan.

  As her phone powered up, she saw that she had a message.

  ‘Dulcie, are you OK?’ It was Chris. ‘Please call. I’m leaving my phone on.’ She checked the time: he had called only a few minutes ago. Tutorials were supposed to be cellphone free, but she hit redial.

  ‘Dulcie!’ He sounded overjoyed to hear her voice. ‘Hang on a minute, guys. I’ve got to take this call.’

  He was still meeting with his students. Of course, he would be for another half hour. Dulcie tried to keep it short.

  ‘Hi, Chris. I’m OK. Really. But I think I need to tell the authorities. Those guys are dangerous. I mean, I think they might be involved with Coffin and they kept asking me what I knew and, well, it was just instinct, but—’

  ‘Wait! Dulcie? Who are you talking about? What guys? Are they with Galveston?’

  She hadn’t filled him in. ‘This is something different, Chris. Rollie – I mean, Galveston’s scared, too. The same two guys came after him, I think. There were two guys, two men in suits. They called themselves Harris and Read, but if those are their real names, then I’m Mrs Malaprop. Anyway, they were in my office and I got away. I’m in the Yard now. I don’t know whether to go to the police or the departmental offices. I mean, this is all tied up with the Dunster Codex somehow—’

  ‘Dulcie, Dulcie, please! Hang on.’

  Dulcie paused; he was shouting.

  ‘Dulcie, please. Get somewhere safe – somewhere with people – and then call me back. Right away. Please.’

  ‘If you’re sure it’s OK . . .’

  ‘Dulcie!’ She agreed and hung up. Maybe it was hearing her boyfriend’s voice, maybe it was being outside, surrounded by milling students and their families, but she felt a little more relaxed now. Less scared, but – as she thought about it – angrier. It was time to call a halt to this nonsense.

  ‘Detective Rogovoy, please.’ Dulcie had started walking again, craning her head to see if anyone was following her. She wasn’t going to be foolish about this. ‘Tell him Dulcie Schwartz is calling.’

  While she waited, she kept walking, striding along the paths that criss-crossed the shaded Yard. Turning left on one, she realized, without much surprise, that she was heading toward Widener. Well, it was her safe place. And she didn’t have to go in. She could wait with the guard. If the detective wanted her to, she could head up to the police headquarters from there. Maybe he’d want to send a car to pick her up. The important thing was that she stay in the open.

  ‘Ms Schwartz?’ Whoever had answered the phone was back. ‘I’m afraid Detective Rogovoy isn’t available right now.’

  She stopped in her tracks. The detective wasn’t available?

  The voice was still talking: ‘—will speak with you.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ She turned around again, hoping to catch sight of the burly detective on one of the paths.

  ‘I said that Detective Rogovoy left very specific instructions in case you called.’ The speaker sounded young, and Dulcie wondered if the police department used work-study students. ‘He said if you had any questions or concerns, or thought you might have any new insights to share, he would like you to come in.’ Or interns. He could be an intern. ‘He said to tell you that Detective Sanchez has been briefed on the case and, um, on your history, it says here. He said you should come in and talk to her.’

  ‘He did, did he?’ It wasn’t rational, she knew that, but she couldn’t help the feeling that she was being pawned off on a junior staffer. ‘He told her my history?’

  ‘That’s what it says.’ The voice sounded sheepish now. ‘I’m just quoting.’

  ‘I bet.’ Dulcie thought for a moment before replying. ‘Well, would you get a message to Detective Rogovoy, please? Would you tell him I do have new information, but I also have my own work to do. He can reach me at this number. When he’s available.’

  She snapped her phone shut with a satisfying click. So much for trusting in the police to be there for her. It didn’t matter. Widener stood right in front of her. Her intellectual home, the library was the ultimate safe haven. She looked in through the glass doors at the uniformed guard, standing to attention. It wasn’t the same man as the day before, she was happy to see. But she was reasonably sure that anyone posted here would be able-bodied. He certainly wouldn’t be deaf.

  She climbed the last few steps, batting away a twinge of guilt, as if it were an annoying fly. Before the day was over, she’d talk to Rogovoy. Probably when he got back from lunch. But everything had gotten so complicated, she didn’t want to have to explain it all, especially not to some subordinate who wouldn’t know all the players and probably had been deputized to keep her calm. Until the big detective could make time for her, she’d be safe in the library. Maybe she could even find out a little bit more of what was going on.

  She was about to enter when another thought hit her. That girl – the one who looked like Trista – she worked in the Mildon. Dulcie could stop by and get her name, maybe her phone number. She had been hesitant to ask more about the girl before, back when she thought that she was still being framed for the Dunster Codex theft. Now, thanks to Rollie, she at least had a rough idea of what was going on. And the fact that Rollie had been spooked by the young blonde was added proof that the girl was somehow involved.

  Rollie wasn’t a bad sort, Dulcie thought. He’d surface again to clear her name. Wouldn’t he?

  Turning her back on the big glass doors, she scrolled down till she found ‘Roland Galveston’ in her contacts. She felt for him, she really did. The financial pressure on students was intense. And if Rollie had already been outed as a fraud, he had nothing more to lose – well, not much more to lose. All he had to do was explain how he had been pressured to copy Dulcie’s ID.

  She hit ‘call’. Maybe she’d start by asking him about that letter he’d told her he’d helped restore. That was a friendlier note, and she’d never followed up on it. ‘Rollie?’

  Three rising tones greeted her, followed by a message she knew too well. ‘The number you have reached is not in service . . .’

  Damn! She clicked off, trying not to panic. This didn’t mean that her one-time colleague had gone to ground. Lucy had had her phone turned off many times, and Dulcie had just been thinking of the financial pressure on her colleague. He wouldn’t have bolted, would he? Not when she needed him to clear her name by explaining how Professor Coffin—

  Professor Coffin, who had just been murdered. Dulcie had felt instinctively that Rollie was incapable of such a crime. That didn’t mean the cops would agree. And now that she had filled him in on the news – of the theft and the murder – Rollie had enough sense to see
that he’d be the prime suspect. If, that is, he could be tracked.

  Well – she turned back toward the library entrance – she would simply have to prove her innocence some other way. Finding that skinny little blonde would be a start. With a new determination, she pushed open the door and strode in.

  FORTY-ONE

  It was nothing, Dulcie told herself as the guard seemed to take an unusually long time to examine her ID. A new guard. Normal precautions. She’d already turned off her phone. There wouldn’t be any kind of a watch list with her on it, would there?

  Only once he waved her in did she realize she’d been holding her breath. Safely in the elevator, she took out her card to examine it. Photo, check. Name and student number . . . For a moment, she was seized by a horrible thought. What if this were a fake? Maybe her real ID had been the one taken. She flicked the card back and forth under the elevator’s fluorescents. The holographic ‘Veritas’ seal reflected back and disappeared again. It looked real enough, but Dulcie made a note to talk to Thorpe anyway. She didn’t know what would happen to the investigation now that Professor Coffin was dead. She did know she didn’t want to be caught short.

  The elevator stopped on the third lower level, and Dulcie had to stop herself from getting out. She’d pressed this button automatically, but she wasn’t going to her carrel this afternoon. Even if she didn’t have other matters more pressing, she didn’t necessarily want to go back to work. Call it thesis fatigue, even brain freeze. Ever since reading that essay, Dulcie had simply lost all taste for The Ravages of Umbria.

  The automatic doors slid closed to descend another floor, and Dulcie allowed herself a moment of reverie. The Ravages had been so much of her life. She’d lived through that book, found excitement first in the wild adventures of Hermetria as she battled to save her castle, her inheritance – and then her life. And as Dulcie had gotten more involved in the work, she had been caught up in the drama of its creation as well. The anonymous author, a woman of brains and spunk. Fearless, or so it had seemed, and willing to face down the authorities with her near-revolutionary fervor. No wonder she’d had to flee England. A country at war with Napoleon didn’t want to consider social upheaval. The New World must have seemed so much more inviting, and with peace between her homeland and the new republic, travel was finally possible.