by Clea Simon
‘So, Dulcie Schwartz.’ The officer flipped open a file and raised her eyebrows. ‘Seems you’ve been in to talk with us before.’
It wasn’t a question, but Dulcie nodded. The murder of her summer sub-letter had taught her more about the workings of the Cambridge police department than she cared to remember. Detective Carioli read for a few moments, then closed the folder with a little grunt. ‘Well, that was interesting.’
Dulcie waited. If nothing else, Suze had taught her to keep her mouth shut.
‘So, would you walk me through Monday afternoon again?’
Suze had also taught her to keep her answers short and factual, which was a challenge for anyone who lived in novels. But by the time Dulcie got up to her finale, when she was banging on the professor’s door with the bottom of her fist while yelling herself hoarse, she felt like she’d kept her story as straightforward as possible. Still, she had the sneaking suspicion that the detective was trying not to chuckle as she shuffled some papers.
‘Thanks for – ah – filling in the details.’ She was definitely suppressing a smile. ‘But I still have a few more questions.’
Dulcie waited.
‘How long do you think you waited before Professor Bullock opened the door?’ Dulcie shrugged and thought back. It probably hadn’t been more than five minutes. ‘And what was the professor’s relationship with the deceased? According to what you observed, please?’
‘I don’t know that he had one.’ Dulcie wasn’t sure how much about the academic world this detective knew. ‘You see, although they were technically in the same department, they were in really different areas. Entirely different centuries.’ She smiled, and hoped that her words didn’t sound condescending.
The detective nodded. ‘And personally?’
Dulcie opened her mouth and then closed it. Nobody really knew about the professor’s private life. The only gossip had speculated about Polly and, more recently, Lloyd. ‘Well, Cameron was known as a ladies’ man.’ She spoke without thinking and bit her lip, remembering the first time they’d met. It had been a departmental mixer, and he’d been charming, asking Dulcie all about herself. She’d been flattered that he’d known about her adventure the previous summer, and a little flustered – until he moved on to their more attractive colleagues. That had broken the spell, leaving Dulcie with the impression of an experienced flirt who knew full well the extent of his powers. Still, a pretty boy could swing both ways. ‘You don’t think . . .’ She paused, unsure of how to phrase the question. ‘You don’t think that Cameron and the professor . . .? I mean, I was there . . .’
The detective was looking at her, not smiling, as all the possibilities began to run through Dulcie’s mind. A thwarted pass. A broken heart. ‘Maybe there was someone else. A third party?’ She was creating a fiction, something Suze pointed out that she often did. And at the thought of her law-school roommate, Dulcie finally shut up. Several long moments passed before the detective spoke.
‘Just as a matter of course, given the nature of the wound and all, may I ask you, Ms Schwartz, if you have ever carried a knife?’
‘A knife?’ She shuddered, thinking about that incident over the summer. ‘No. Never.’
‘What about Professor Bullock?’
By the time Dulcie left the office, she had the distinct impression that Detective Carioli had found her amusing. And that Professor Bullock was a suspect.
‘Hey, Lloyd, have you ever noticed anything hinky about Professor Bullock?’ Dulcie had picked up a sandwich and chips at the Union and had half finished the tuna rollup by the time she found her colleague in the tiny office they shared.
‘Oh, don’t tell me that’s all starting up again.’ Lloyd looked up from his desk, his face as white as the papers piled before him.
‘What do you mean?’ Dulcie collapsed into her own chair, opened up the bag of chips and pushed them toward Lloyd. ‘Again?’
Her officemate grabbed a handful and considered while he crunched. ‘I’ve worked for the man for, what, three years? Anyway, I still can’t tell you the truth.’
‘Can’t, or won’t?’ Dulcie was joking, but the look Lloyd shot her as he reached for more of the chips was serious. ‘What?’
‘It’s not funny, Dulcie.’ Lloyd looked like he’d swallowed a bug, rather than salt-and-vinegars, but when Dulcie didn’t apologize, he kept talking. ‘You really don’t know?’
Mouth full of the last bit of sandwich, she shook her head.
‘Well, you know that Unlocking the Great Books, his defining work, came out, what? Twenty years ago next year? And that he’s supposedly been working on his next book ever since?’
Dulcie nodded again. This was departmental lore.
‘Well, ever since I became his research assistant, people have been hounding me, trying to find out what the next book is on.’
Dulcie murmured. She had to admit that she, too, had been curious.
‘I mean, he’s got me researching everything. Etymology to usage, Continental colloquialisms, you name it. So, no, I have no idea what the new book is on. Or even if he’s started writing.’
‘There can’t be that much pressure on him.’ Dulcie put her feet up. ‘I mean, he’s not like one of us. He’s a university professor.’
Lloyd was shaking his head. ‘I don’t know, Dulce. Even endowed chairs are getting a little tighter. I think there may be more heat on Bullock than anyone knows.’
‘Come on. I can see how he’s putting pressure on himself—’
Lloyd cut her off in mid-sentence, rolling his chair over to hers as if even their tiny office wasn’t secure. ‘It’s not just self-inflicted, Dulcie. Nancy has let some things drop. They’re pressuring old Bullock. They want him to retire. The minute his title changes to “emeritus,” he frees up a ton of cash.’
‘No!’ Dulcie stared at her officemate’s pale face and felt her own color drain away as he nodded slowly. ‘This isn’t imminent, is it?’ She could hear her voice cracking. If Bullock left before her thesis was finished, she’d be essentially orphaned. From the grim set of Lloyd’s mouth, she knew he’d had the same thoughts.
‘That’s just it, Dulcie. I don’t know.’ He pushed back to his own desk. ‘That’s one big reason I’ve been putting in the hours. He’s always had some student do his dirty work, but if I can help him get moving . . .’
He didn’t have to finish the thought. His career, even more than hers, was tied to the professor. With a sigh, he went back to grading papers while Dulcie mulled over what he’d said. For a few minutes, the soft scrape of his pencil was the only sound in the office.
‘And now the cops are asking about him.’ The words slipped out, but they had an electrifying effect on Lloyd.
‘You serious?’ He started up, the papers in front of him once again forgotten. ‘About Bullock specifically? In what way?’
Dulcie thought about what the detective had asked her. ‘I don’t know exactly.’ She looked over at her officemate, searching for the words. How do you ask a colleague if his mentor has ever seemed murderous? ‘He’s never seemed, I don’t know, odd to you?’
‘No more than usual,’ Lloyd said, his voice falling.
Dulcie wondered how long he’d been at those papers. ‘Junior essays?’
He shook his head. ‘Midterms.’ As Dulcie watched, he ran one hand through his thinning hair. She bit her lip. Most of the student midterms had been graded weeks before. ‘Bullock held these up for some reason. Wouldn’t hand them over. And I, well, I figured I’d help him any way I can.’ He answered her unspoken question.
‘So there is something going on!’ She craned her neck over to look and was a little taken aback when Lloyd slapped one hand down on the closest paper.
‘Who are we to question the gods?’ The humor in Lloyd’s voice softened the blow, but he’d noticed how she had recoiled. ‘I’m sorry, Dulcie. I’ve just got to plow through these.’
‘No problem.’ Now that she was sitting here, she wanted to tell
him all about her morning. He was close enough to Bullock that maybe he could shed some light on what would make the professor a suspect. But in the moment as she gathered her thoughts, Lloyd had gotten back to work. Whatever he was scrawling in the margin might not be legible, but at least the graduate student was giving the paper more attention than the professor ever would.
When the knock came on the door, they both jumped.
‘Come in,’ Dulcie called and stood to greet the guest – and ended up craning her neck. The tall, slender woman who waltzed into the tiny office looked as out of place as a swan in a duck pond. ‘May I help you?’
‘I’m looking for Dulcie Schwartz?’ The voice was low and as warm as her golden skin.
‘You found her.’ Dulcie pointed to the one guest chair. Behind her, she could hear Lloyd shifting. She’d have to get rid of this visitor quickly and let her officemate work in peace.
‘I’m Raleigh Hall,’ said the bronzed beauty, as she lowered herself into the chair with the grace of a model. ‘I’ve come to talk with you about my senior thesis.’
‘Raleigh. Of course.’ Dulcie blinked. At five-five, she’d gotten used to most of the student body being taller. But undergrads were not supposed to be this self-assured. Or this gorgeous. ‘I left you a message.’
‘Yes, I got it, and I thought it would be best if we met as soon as possible.’
Behind her, Dulcie heard Lloyd cough. ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid we’re disturbing my colleague here.’
‘Not at all.’ Lloyd squeezed by Dulcie’s desk and extended a hand to the undergrad. ‘Lloyd. Lloyd Pruitt. Doctoral candidate in eighteenth-century prose.’
Raleigh smiled, her chestnut hair falling across her face. ‘Pleased to meet you, Lloyd.’ She took his hand, and Dulcie noticed the shimmer of pearl polish on her tapered fingers. ‘Don’t you work with Professor Bullock?’
‘Oh, y-yes!’ Lloyd almost stuttered, and Dulcie was amused to hear her colleague’s old speech defect – gone for years – reawakened by the presence of this girl.
‘We should talk sometime,’ the undergrad was saying. Lloyd stood transfixed, as Dulcie reached for her coat.
‘Anyway, Raleigh, why don’t we go grab some coffee?’ She ushered the willowy girl out in front of her. Turning back, she raised her eyebrows at Lloyd. ‘Back to work, Lloyd,’ she stage whispered. She’d been about to add something more. Something about how maybe the tired-looking scholar should try to finish by midnight for a change. Should maybe come out with his fellow students for some beer and socializing once in a while. But the look on his pale face stopped her. She’d expected him to look smitten. Shocked, maybe, or awed. What she saw was fear.
TEN
Whatever was going on with Lloyd, however, was none of Raleigh Hall’s business, and Dulcie hurried the undergrad out of the Commons and into the bright, cold day.
‘Kate’s?’ she suggested. The coffeehouse wouldn’t be too crowded in the middle of the day and it was only half a block from Harvard Yard.
Raleigh nodded and buttoned up her coat. ‘I’m really glad you could see me so soon.’
‘Hey, that’s my job.’ Dulcie put on her warmest smile as she looked up at Raleigh. Maybe the pretty young student had an undergraduate’s nerves after all. ‘To help you get your thesis done.’
‘Well, I’m glad.’ The taller girl’s longer legs had Dulcie scrambling to keep up, but when she saw Dulcie puffing she paused. For a moment, they both looked in a store window. High-end knits, imported and dyed into a rainbow of hues. But even as Dulcie pulled her own rather scratchy hat down over her ears, she realized the younger woman was still talking. ‘Because, you see, I want to get my first draft finished in time for my sponsors to read. I’ve submitted a chapter as an essay to the Modern Languages Review, and I believe I’m a strong candidate for the Krullworth Prize, and you know how political that can be.’
Dulcie made herself close her mouth. Publication in the Review was usually reserved for graduate students or post-grads, an honor that almost guaranteed a fellowship – if not the offer of a teaching job. And the Krullworth Prize was the most prestigious award given to undergraduates. ‘You know that students in all disciplines will be competing for the Krullworth?’ she managed to say. ‘Not just English.’
They were walking side by side through the Yard now, the bright sun occasionally broken by the shadows of the bare trees around them. Raleigh had once again pulled ahead, but Dulcie had the distinct impression that the younger woman had rolled her eyes.
‘I’m fully aware of the competition for the Krullworth.’ The younger girl turned to glance down at Dulcie. ‘But I also know that the last two have gone to abstract mathematics and paleophysiology. So Cam and I knew that this year the judges would want to consider the humanities.’
‘Cam?’ It just slipped out.
‘Cameron. You know, my thesis adviser?’
‘Ex-thesis adviser,’ Dulcie muttered. Her colleague’s face flashed into her mind. Not as he had been: handsome, and, yes, a bit manipulative. But cold and white, with that smudge of dirt and blood on his face. ‘But wait.’ She shook her head to clear it and nearly sent her hat flying. ‘This year? What do you mean?’
The younger woman looked over, her eyes wide. ‘I took two semesters off, didn’t it say in my files?’
Dulcie shook her head. They’d reached Mass Ave and stood, waiting, while a crowd of Japanese tourists piled into a bus. ‘I haven’t had a chance to read your file yet. I’m sorry.’
‘Well, what have you been doing?’
‘I’ve been a little busy.’ They stepped around the last of the tour group and up to the curb, just as the light gave them the okay to cross. Perfect timing, thought Dulcie. She was very tempted to give the younger student a piece of her mind, but not when she had to use all her breath to keep up.
‘Well, you can catch up on your own time.’ Raleigh stepped into the street. ‘But basically, I’m looking at the postmodernist novel-drama interplay from a semiotics standpoint.’
‘Wait.’ Dulcie grabbed her student’s sleeve, stopping them both in the middle of traffic. ‘This is an undergraduate thesis? In the English department?’
‘Well, yeah.’ A car honked, and the two kept walking. ‘I started out in philosophy, but then I met Cam and he convinced me that what I was doing would really stand out in English. I mean, aren’t most of the theses just more re-readings of some old texts?’
Dulcie bit her lip and then made herself take a breath. They’d reached the coffeehouse, but she was no longer convinced she could sit down with this woman. ‘Something like that,’ she managed to say.
‘Well, that’s what Cam said, anyway. And so when he suggested I wait a year, I . . . oh, I’m sorry.’
To Dulcie’s horror and surprise, the pretty undergrad suddenly put her mittens up to her face and started to sob.
‘It’s so terrible,’ she managed to say. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, it’s fine. There, there.’ Dulcie reached up to pat the slim girl’s shoulder with one hand, while rustling around in her pocket for a clean tissue with the other. ‘It’s okay.’ She had no idea what to say. Mr Grey would have been so much better at this. He, at least, could have leaned in, offering his soft, warm bulk for comfort. In lieu of a similar act, Dulcie found a tissue that looked clean enough and handed it over as she ushered her student to a table. Raleigh wiped her eyes and blew her nose. When she looked up, she was trying to smile. The attempt made her look younger, and Dulcie dismissed her earlier reservations.
‘Raleigh, if you don’t mind me asking, when did you last have something to eat?’
‘Oh, I had an egg-white omelet for breakfast—’ Dulcie cut her off and ordered two bowls of split pea soup and an oversized chocolate chip cookie to share. Maybe Mr Grey had taught her something about creature comforts after all.
Twenty minutes later, Raleigh had resumed her equilibrium and Dulcie had eaten most of the cookie. But along the way, Dulcie had also gott
en the rundown on the willowy senior, if not her thesis. The pampered only child of a bi-coastal couple, Raleigh Amesbury Hall had whizzed through some of the finest prep schools in the world. Whizzed through – or burned out of. The slender brunette blushed slightly as she described running off for a weekend with her Classics tutor at Everett. But from the way she described her career, Dulcie began to understand her confidence. This young woman had long been the most brilliant star in whatever firmament shone overhead. Probably the prettiest, too. Dulcie also had the sense that she hadn’t ever really lost anyone before. Not to murder, at any rate.
‘I am sorry, Raleigh.’ She poured the last of the organic peppermint tea into her student’s mug. ‘This has been a huge loss for all of us.’
‘Well, yeah.’ Her voice had gotten soft. ‘Of course, Cam was a bit of a dog.’
‘Oh?’ Dulcie hadn’t heard any negative gossip about her late colleague. Women tended to like him, but as far as she knew, he hadn’t been breaking any hearts. Then again, if he had a tendency to hit on undergrads, he’d have wanted to keep that secret. Such relationships were considered a serious breach of ethics. ‘Raleigh, was there something going on with Cameron?’
‘God, no. He might have impressed other girls, but, really, I’m so over that whole routine: staring into your eyes and acting all solicitious.’ She fiddled with the handle of her cup, and Dulcie felt herself blush. ‘Although, I have to admit, I do think those rules about students and teachers are way out of date.’
Dulcie kept quiet. This girl had already confessed her past. But just then another thought crossed her mind. ‘You’re not . . . There’s nothing going on with Professor Bullock, is there?’
To her great relief, the younger woman laughed, throwing back her head and revealing perfect teeth. ‘The old Bull? God, no.’ Her humor was contagious, and Dulcie found herself giggling along. Of course not. If Bullock was involved with any of his students, it would more likely be an older one. One of the graduate students who was already spending hours with him. Was already beaten down by his will. Her mind flashed to Polly and, regrettably, to Lloyd. But Raleigh had started talking again.
