by A W Hartoin
“No. Hell no.”
It was a good instant answer. No hesitation whatsoever and I felt a little weight come off my chest. Not all the weight, just a little.
“Okay. We’ll leave that for now. Tell me about the cupcake wrapper in your trash.”
“Who said you could search my room?”
“Someone poisoned your siblings. Do you really want to quibble about privacy?”
“I guess not,” he said, all resentful teenager.
“So I found a cupcake wrapper in your trash. Where’d it come from?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“It’s in your trash.”
“I didn’t put it there,” he said, indignant.
Derek popped his head back in and gave me a thumbs up. I returned it and told him to ask anyone in the house if they knew anything about a cupcake in Christopher’s room. Another thumbs up. Excellent.
“You’re sure you didn’t eat a cupcake recently?” I asked Christopher.
“I’d remember if I ate a cupcake. I’m not stupid.”
“I know you’re not stupid, but the trauma of the last few days could make you forget. You’ve had bigger things to worry about.”
He was silent and I sensed that he was holding back tears. The moment was uncomfortable for the both of us. I hated making him answer questions in the hospital feet away from sick siblings with his father in the morgue, but it had to be done. I just wished it’d fallen to someone else.
“I’m sorry for what’s happened, Christopher. But your mother has asked me to do this for her, and I’m going to chase it to the end. I have to ask you about all of it.”
“Okay,” he squeaked out, his voice an octave higher.
“So you didn’t eat a cupcake. Was there one in your room? Maybe somebody gave you one?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t really like cupcakes that much. What kind was it?” he asked.
“Looks like chocolate.”
“I don’t like chocolate.”
“Tell me you’re not serious,” I said.
He chuckled a bit. “I’m serious. No chocolate. Everybody knows I don’t like it. My girlfriend in high school made me a shirt that said it.”
Not everybody knew. Someone very important didn’t.
“Give me the sequence of events the day your mom came by to pick up the picture you drew for your grandparents. Start with waking up.”
Christopher went through his day step-by-step and it was undeniably boring. Typical day in college. It got interesting when it came to Donatella’s visit but only because I’d found the wrapper. Christopher said he ran into his mom and siblings as they arrived at the house. He was coming back from class. They went into the TV room and he sent his brother and sister up to his room to get the drawing, which was lying on his bed. They brought the picture down, everybody hugged, and Donatella and the kids left. Christopher said he hadn’t been in his room since that morning. He didn’t lock his door. Anybody could’ve gotten in there and left the cupcake.
“You think it was poisoned?” he asked in a voice that dripped with doubt.
“I think the bacteria came from somewhere and this cupcake is awfully suspicious.”
“Then…”
“Then you were the target. Yes. That’s what I think. Let’s talk about Faith.”
“Do we have to?” He sounded much younger than eighteen, a little boy caught out.
“I’m afraid so.”
“You’re not going to tell my mom, are you? She can’t handle it. She’ll freak out.”
I walked over to the window and saw a woman dressed in a slouchy suit get out of a blue sedan that had motor pool written all over it. Cortier had arrived. I didn’t have much time left.
“Your mom’s going to find out, but I’ll put it off as long as I can. Tell me the story. The cops are here.”
Christopher’s tale was awash in clichés. He met Faith Farrell at a party. They hooked up. She was the clingy girl, average girl. He was the hot guy with other girls to do. She wouldn’t leave him alone. He ignored her until she did. There was no breakup or even a date, just sex and drinking. It was nothing to Christopher, but I suspected it was everything to Faith. Christopher claimed he was shocked when he was called into the campus police on a rape charge. He told his side and it went away. He made it sound simple. Nothing is that simple.
He’d had no other problems. No fights. No enemies. No enemies that he knew of that is. Christopher didn’t consider Faith an enemy and he wasn’t particularly angry about the charge. He called her crazy and that was it.
I told him that I’d be texting my dad and to expect him soon. I gave him a warning about Dad and bullshit. He wasn’t a fan, and Christopher wouldn’t like the reaction if he tried to hold out on Tommy Watts. The boy was glum when we hung up and I didn’t blame him. If he had any secrets, my dad would find them.
I texted Dad the basics and he replied with, “On it.”
Cortier stepped into the room as I finished and stood there, looking at me with a puzzled expression. She was an older lady with auburn hair, no makeup, and smile lines that made her appear jolly despite the serious look on her face. “Well, I’ll be damned. It really is you.”
“It is,” I said.
“Alright. Run it down for me.”
I told the detective everything, except the things I didn’t want to tell her. I sort of forgot about Faith. She just slipped my mind. Derek stood there, watching our interview and wisely said nothing. I was beginning to really like that guy. He backed me up on everything and we watched as Cortier bagged the cupcake wrapper and the rest of the trash.
“You don’t know if the Berry kids ate it?” she asked.
“I will in about a half hour.”
“Why a half hour?”
“I told my dad.”
She smiled. “Ah. I give it fifteen.” Then she raised an eyebrow. “Anything else you want to tell me?”
Want is a no. Should is a yes.
“What are you looking for?” I asked, giving her the big eyes.
Cortier chuckled. “You are your father’s daughter.”
Derek lifted his lip in scorn and she chuckled again. “In attitude, not looks. You two may as well tell me what you’re hiding. I’ll find out anyway.”
I’ll keep my head start. Thank you.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.
“Your father isn’t the only one who has feelings.”
“No one is as accurate.”
“I can’t argue with that, but this investigation just kicked into high gear. Withholding information isn’t going to look good.”
I smiled. “You want me to do all the work for you?”
“You want to do all the work, unless I miss my guess. Your father’s the same way. Control freak.”
That wasn’t the first time I’d heard Dad described that way, but it was a first for me and it stung a little. I was the good one when it came to control. Years of being ordered around will do that, but this was my job first. Mine. Mine. Mine.
“There’s nothing I can do that you can’t,” I said.
“Have you seen you?”
“You’ve got the badge.”
She switched her gaze to Derek. “What about you?”
“I wasn’t here that day. One of the other guys might know who brought in the cupcake.” Derek neatly moved the conversation away from us to the investigation. Nice. Cortier didn’t miss that, but she decided we were hopeless. I’ve been thought of that way many times.
“Who would’ve been here that Friday afternoon?”
Derek listed the most likely candidates as I edged closer the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Cortier.
“Lunch. I’m starving,” I stuck with the truth, at least a partial one.
“You expect me to believe that you eat?”
She thought I was skinny. I didn’t get that very often. She should talk to Mrs. Palladino. That woman didn’t ea
t.
“I eat plenty. And it’s time to head out. You need anything else from me?”
“I do, but I’m not going to get it.”
Correct.
“I’ll do anything I can to help,” I said.
“No, you won’t,” she said with a hint of bitterness.
I crossed my arms. “I gave you the murder weapon and the intended victim. You had nothing until I showed up.
She glowered at me. “Get out.”
And I did with a big fat grin on my face.
Chapter Seventeen
DEREK KNOCKED ON Faith Farrell’s dorm room door and we waited. Getting into the dorm was easy. Everyone knew Derek, and a girl let us in with no questions asked. Probably not the best idea for security reasons, but great for me.
“Are you sure this is her room?” I asked when no one answered.
“That’s what Olivia said,” said Derek. “You could leave a note.”
A note about rape. Not going to happen. A couple of girls came down the hall, carrying heavy loads of books and weary expressions.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Is this Faith Farrell’s room?”
Both girls wrinkled their noses slightly and the one on the right said, “Not anymore.”
“She moved?”
“I guess.”
“Any idea where she moved to?”
The girl on the left rolled her eyes and unlocked her room, disappearing inside without saying anything. The other girl shrugged. “She was just gone after Christmas.”
“And you didn’t care to find out where she went.” I couldn’t keep the edge out of my voice. Maybe nursing school was different, but I knew everyone on my floor right down to their shoe size and preferred alcohol.
“Why would I?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
“She lived three doors down.”
“That didn’t make us friends.”
“Does her roommate still live here?” I asked.
“Sure.” She edged into her room. Interest over. “Nice makeup, by the way. Are you like a pro or something?”
“I’m not wearing any makeup.”
She frowned and stepped back out to get a closer look. “Holy shit. You’re not. So how did you,” she made a sweeping gesture, “do all that?”
“It’s the family face,” I said. “Who was Faith’s roommate?”
“Anne Marie Murphy.”
She was still peering at my face. Looking for what, I had no idea, but it was odd and uncomfortable. I snapped my fingers and she refocused on my eyes, instead of my lip line. “When will Anne Marie be back?”
She called into the room and the other girl said Anne Marie had back-to-back labs, and then she would be working at the school paper. She’d be back late. Interesting how they knew everything about Anne Marie and nothing about Faith.
“What’s her shoe size?” I asked.
The girl popped out an eight without hesitation. Faith’s shoe size? She had no clue. Weird. She did know the name and room number of their resident advisor. Peaches Skelton on the third floor. I didn’t know girls got called Peaches anymore.
The girl went in her room hastily before I could ask any more questions. I stood there for a second, mulling the encounter over. It wasn’t what I would’ve expected at all. Girls are gossips in my experience. Why didn’t she want to spill it all about Faith, a girl who accused a popular frat boy of rape? If that wasn’t ripe for the rumor mill, I didn’t know what was.
“That was kinda weird,” said Derek, picking a pimple on his chin.
“You don’t know either of them?”
“They haven’t been to any of our parties.”
“Well, let’s go visit the RA and see what Peaches has to say.”
We headed down the hall and I heard the door to the stairs slam. I whipped it open and sprinted down the stairs with Derek close on my heels. I caught a glimpse of brown hair on the stairs below us. I leapt down the rest of the flight, cornering with the help of the metal handrail, and caught the guy at the entrance where he got tangled up with some other students trying to come in. He attempted to squeeze between two girls carrying multiple pizzas, and I snagged him by the grey hoodie.
He shot out one arm and hit a stack of pizzas, which tumbled to the floor.
“Hey, asshole,” the girl yelled, diving down after them.
“You are such a freak, Grayson,” said the other girl.
Grayson made a break for the door, but I’d wrapped his hoodie around my hand and he was going nowhere fast.
“Let go,” he yelled.
“Forget it, Grayson,” I said, pleasantly. “We’re going to have a little chat.”
“Tell him to stop being a freak,” said the girl who’d dropped the pizzas.
The girls stomped up the stairs after giving Grayson venomous looks and Derek got in front of him. He towered over our captive, but Derek wasn’t all that large. Grayson was pretty small for a guy. He was barely taller than me, maybe five foot five, and delicate with slender wrists and narrow shoulders. I felt hefty next to him, not something that happens with guys very often. He could be the one Jonas and Bea saw on Nana’s garden wall. Size was hard to gauge from a distance and personal feelings about size do factor into a witness’s impressions.
I gave Derek a don’t-let-him-get-away look and let go of Grayson’s hoodie. “Why are you following me?”
Grayson’s brown eyes lost their fear and went blank. “I wasn’t following you.”
“Oh, really. Why’d you run?”
He looked at the well-worn Vans on his feet and said softly, “I’m not supposed to be up there.”
“Up where?” asked Derek.
His voice got even softer. “On Faith’s floor.”
Derek raised his eyebrows and flushed with excitement. “Why not?”
Grayson tried to dart away, but Derek caught him by the arm easily. He squirmed and said, “Peaches told me not to. Okay?”
He wasn’t my guy. I guess that would’ve been too easy. “What did you do to Faith?”
“Nothing. I just liked her. Okay?”
“Apparently, it wasn’t okay. What did you do?” I asked.
“I just talked to her. It was no big deal.”
It was a big deal if the RA had to intervene, but that wasn’t my concern at the moment. “So you were listening to us talk. What’s up with that?”
“I heard you mention Faith before you went inside. I thought you might know where she is. That’s all,” said Grayson, a bit defiantly.
“Why didn’t you ask around?”
“I did. Nobody will say anything about Faith and I’m not exactly popular, in case you didn’t pick that up.”
“I picked it up just fine. Why is everyone protecting Faith?” I asked.
Grayson snorted. “Protect Faith. Nobody protected Faith. If they did, she’d still be here.”
“Then why don’t they tell you where she went?”
“Because they like me even less than they like her.”
“What were they supposed to protect her from?”
We stopped talking as a group of guys came down the steps. They casted curious glances at us and left.
“You already know,” said Grayson when the door closed.
“I do,” I said. “Did you want to protect Faith?”
“Of course I did. Faith was the only one around here that understood me or anything worth understanding and that fucking frat boy…” He turned away, his eyes reddening.
“Would you like to kill him?” I asked.
“Yeah, I would. He’s the son of a bitch who—” Then he stopped. “Did something happen to Chris Berry?”
“Do you know him?”
“I’ve seen him. Did something happen? Is that why you’re here? Who are you?”
“You don’t know?” asked Derek, clearly astonished. “She’s Mercy Watts. She’s a famous detective.”
Grayson jerked backwards, knocking against the wall. “He’s dead. I’m fucked for sure.”
/>
“He’s not dead.”
He stuck his finger in my face. “Then he should watch his back. I’m going to beat the shit out of him the next—”
Derek started laughing. “Come on, man. You couldn’t beat up a twelve-year-old girl.”
Grayson shoved me into Derek and darted past us, slamming open the door. I lunged for the door, but stopped. Grayson was small, but quick, and already out of sight.
“I’m sorry,” said Derek, hanging his head. “I shouldn’t have laughed. It was just so stupid.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“He really is a freak, isn’t he?”
“I suspect so. Let’s go see Peaches.” I went up the stairs, and I could practically hear the wheels turning in Derek’s head. Grayson was a very nice suspect. He knew about the rape and something was off about him, but he hadn’t been hanging around the frat house. He’d been at Faith’s dorm.
“Derek, do you know his last name?”
“That guy? No.”
I stopped on the stairs and faced him. “I need you to go find out. Try the girls we talked to before.”
“What makes you think they’ll talk to me?” he asked.
I smiled at him in my most winning way. “Nothing, but you have to start interviewing sometime if you’re going into law enforcement.”
Derek grinned up at me, full of confidence, just like a guy who’s never been spit on, drugged, or chased by dogs. That would be me. He’d be safe with girls who carried A Handbook to Literature and French dictionaries.
“What else should I find out?” he asked, not doubting that he could.
“Where he lives? The problem with Faith? Anything and everything. Call me when you have it?” I said and trotted up the stairs to the third floor. Derek would probably get the basics, but mostly I needed to get rid of him. As helpful as he was, I didn’t think an RA was going to say squat to me about a rape with a guy from his frat there. She’d have to be the world’s worst RA and stuck with a name like Peaches, she couldn’t be.
I was right about Peaches, sort of. She was a good RA and a careful one. It took me ten minutes to talk my way in. I’m sorry to say it was a video of Dad on Dateline that did the trick. Peaches loved that Lester Holt, and she was about as big as the anchorman at a good six two. I assumed when she opened the door, and completely filled it, that the name Peaches was one of those cruel joke things that stuck. It turned out Peaches was her real name and she was thrilled to be wide, a real advantage in the crease, whatever that was.
