“It might turn out to be nothing at all,” Wes noted.
“Or it could be something really good. Regan has good instincts when it comes to subject matter. She’ll know if it will work.” Nina looked out the window.
“When is she coming back?”
“She wasn’t sure. She thought maybe Sunday or Monday.”
“Maybe we could have dinner again tonight. I enjoyed being with you the other night.” He stared straight ahead, as if afraid of what he’d see if he looked at her.
“What a coincidence.” She turned back to him. “I’d love to go to dinner tonight.”
“Great.” He nodded. “Let’s see what time we finish up with Mrs. Owens. Maybe we’ll go right from there.”
“I’d probably like to change for dinner.” She looked down at her khakis and button-down shirt.
“You look pretty good to me,” he told her.
“Thanks, but I’d really like to go home and change if we’re going out. We should have time.”
“We would have had more time if I hadn’t had so damned many reports to turn in this morning. The chief has a bug up his butt, wanted a copy of every report and every interview on the Mulroney case.”
“How many interviews?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“That’s a lot of typing.”
“You’re telling me. Fortunately, I didn’t have to type them all this morning. I’ve been doing them as I go along, so all I had to do was finish up the reports from yesterday.”
“You keep a daily log?”
“Yes. It’s easier to keep track of what’s gone on, and it’s a lot easier and faster to type up a couple of reports at the end of the day than it is to type up a couple dozen at the end of the case.”
“The Owens house is the white one with the blue shutters on your side of the street,” Nina told him.
He parked across the street and turned off the ignition.
“Ready?”
“Sure.” She opened the passenger door and got out. She walked around to the front of the car and waited while a trash truck rolled past, then crossed the street with Wes.
From the end of her driveway, they could see Mrs. Owens raking the leaves in her backyard. Halfway up the drive, Nina called to her, rather than startle the woman, who was in her early seventies. She wore tan slacks and a gray cardigan sweater that was at least four sizes too big for her.
“Mrs. Owens?”
The woman turned and squinted. “Who is there?”
“Nina Madden, Mrs. Owens.”
“Nina . . . oh, for heaven’s sakes.” Mrs. Owens leaned her rake against the side of the house and walked toward her visitors. “Well, haven’t you grown up nicely? I never would have recognized you.”
The woman stopped ten feet from them and studied Nina, then said, “Well, maybe I might have known you. You’ve grown up, but now that I’m a little closer, I can see that you haven’t changed all that much. You look wonderful, dear.”
“So do you, Mrs. Owens. You haven’t changed at all.”
“Now, aren’t you a smooth thing,” she replied with a laugh. “But I appreciate the thought. And who’s this here with you?”
“This is Detective Powell, from the Stone River Police Department,” Nina told her. “He’s looking into a murder case at the college, and had some questions about my father’s case.”
Mrs. Owens’s face changed slightly as she appeared to evaluate Wes. “You the one who called me earlier today?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“Why’d you drag Nina along?”
“Because I figured you wouldn’t talk to me otherwise.”
“Well, that’s probably true enough. I really don’t have much to say about any of that.”
“Any of what?”
“Any of what goes on around the college. I can’t see where you need to talk to me, anyway. I haven’t worked at St. Ansel’s since . . . well, in about fifteen years or so.”
“Why’d you leave?” Nina asked.
“It was time to retire.” Mrs. Owens grabbed the rake and started on the lawn again.
“Mrs. Owens, you loved that school. You loved working there,” Nina said.
“I did, at one time. It just seemed that after . . . “ She looked at Nina apologetically. “After your father was arrested, and there was that trial and everything, things changed. It just wasn’t the same anymore. That was such a terrible time for everyone. The school. The kids. The whole faculty. And of course, it must have been horrible for you.”
Nina nodded.
“I will never forget that day they came and arrested your father, took him right out of his office. I was at my desk, right there in that small office between Dr. Madden’s and Dr. Overbeck’s, and all of a sudden that small space was filled, wall to wall, with police officers. They all had their hands on their guns, the holsters unsnapped so you could see what they had there. As if they were going into some den of thieves instead of an academic environment.” She shook her head. “Dr. Madden had his faults, but he wasn’t a violent man.”
“And yet he was convicted of four murders,” Wes reminded her.
“Yes, well, I have my own theory on that,” she told him.
“I’d like to hear it.”
“I just don’t think he was guilty, that’s all. Dr. Madden was no saint—good Lord, the things that came out about him and those young girls at the trial! But he wasn’t the only sinner in the department, and that’s all I have to say about that.”
“I have the feeling there’s plenty more you could say.” Wes took off his sunglasses and put them in his jacket pocket. “And we’ve got all day.”
“We might as well sit over there at the picnic table, then.” Mrs. Owens led the way. “The arthritis in my knee is acting up today.”
“So who were the other sinners in the department, besides Dr. Madden? Oh, and Dr. Overbeck, of course,” Wes said as they took seats on the benches that were attached to the old wooden table.
“Oh, that one.” Mrs. Owens waved her hand as if to dismiss him.
“You left the college right around the time he became head of the department, didn’t you?” Nina asked.
Mrs. Owens nodded.
“Any particular reason?” Wes rested his arms on the table.
“I just wasn’t going to work for that man. He just annoyed me so bad.” She shook her head. “Always acted so pious and righteous, and all the while he was . . . “ She stopped in midsentence.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Owens. I know he was having an affair with my stepmother,” Nina told her.
“Well, that man just couldn’t get enough of what your father had. If Dr. Madden had it, Dr. Overbeck wanted it. That’s how I saw it.”
“That’s an interesting observation, Mrs. Owens. Can you be more specific?”
“I think I’ve been specific enough. If Dr. Madden taught the class on Poe, Overbeck had to teach it the following year. Dr. Madden set up a discussion group on Thoreau, Overbeck had to take it over after Madden left.”
She turned to Nina. “Your father was a fine teacher. He was well respected by his peers. Some of the younger faculty members used to attend his lectures; were you aware of that?”
Nina shook her head, unable to speak suddenly as an unexpected lump formed in her throat.
“He was widely published—the most published member of the faculty—and was in demand as a guest instructor at foreign colleges and universities. The offers started coming in by November every year for him to teach the following summer. And his students loved him.” She added drily, “Some apparently more than others.”
“I remember that he did go away every summer,” Nina said.
“Just a week or two before he was arrested, he’d received requests to lecture at two very well known English universities.” Mrs. Owens’s smile turned sly. “It drove Dr. Overbeck crazy.”
“What do you mean?” Wes asked.
“He’d been applying at one of those schools for yea
rs and he’d been passed over every time. And here his rival is being courted by the same dean who’d been turning him down. He was furious.”
“Really.” Wes exchanged a long look with Nina. “And you’re sure this was just a few weeks before Dr. Madden was arrested.”
“Positive. I remember because the dean from England who’d made the offer to Dr. Madden called when he hadn’t heard back, and it was left to me to explain that Dr. Madden wouldn’t be guest lecturing anywhere that year.”
“So you’d say that there was no love lost between the two.”
“None at all, Detective. Though I would say it was more on Dr. Overbeck’s part than on Dr. Madden’s. He seemed more amused by it than anything else.”
“How many years did you work in the English department, Mrs. Owens?” Wes asked.
“Oh, eight or nine. Father Candelori hired me, and I stayed on until he retired.” She pulled the oversize cardigan closed in the front as a cool breeze blew through the yard. The fingers of her left hand worried the buttons, and the fingers of her right traced the pattern of the ribbing that edged the sleeves. “My husband died right after Father Candelori left, and I would have stayed on if Dr. Madden had been here. But I wasn’t about to work for Dr. Overbeck.”
“I heard somewhere that Dr. Madden was Father Candelori’s first choice to take over the department,” Wes recalled.
Mrs. Owens nodded. “He was. That’s another thing that drove Overbeck nuts. He tried everything he could think of to curry favor with Father Candelori, but Father wouldn’t have none of it. He actually stayed for another year after Dr. Madden left, because he didn’t want to turn over the department to Dr. Overbeck. But finally, he’d gotten so sick, he couldn’t go on anymore.”
“Why didn’t they give the position to someone else, if everyone disliked Dr. Overbeck so much?” Nina asked.
“Because he had tenure, and he had seniority, after Dr. Madden. And them being about the same age, there was no way he—Dr. Overbeck—was ever going to get that job once Dr. Madden took over. He wasn’t going anywhere, he’d made that plain enough. He liked St. Ansel’s, always said he’d retire here.”
“So just another reason for Overbeck to resent Madden,” Wes observed. “Sounds like a lot of professional jealousy.”
“On Dr. Overbeck’s part, certainly. As I said, the whole thing seemed to amuse Dr. Madden.”
“Mrs. Owens, earlier you referred to Dr. Madden as Dr. Overbeck’s rival.”
“I don’t know what else you’d call it, Detective. Like I said before, if Dr. Madden had it, Dr. Overbeck wanted it. Pure and simple. Just like a child.”
“I think you said you were aware that Dr. Overbeck was having an affair with Dr. Madden’s wife. How did you know?”
“She’d come in, supposedly to see her husband when she had to know he’d be in class, then go behind closed doors with Overbeck. I’m not stupid.”
“How often did that happen?”
“At least once a week.”
“Before or after the killings on campus started, do you remember?”
“Before.” She nodded. “Definitely before. And it continued on for a while, too. They were still seeing each other right up until the time Dr. Madden died, and for a time after.”
“You said something earlier that gave me the impression that you were unaware of Dr. Madden’s involvements with several of his students.”
“Never suspected a thing.” She shook her head adamantly. “I never would have stood for that. Disgusting, to take advantage of those girls like that. It was a big shock to all of us there when that news came out, I can tell you that. No one I knew had an inkling. He was discreet, I’ll give him that much.”
“One other thing. Did Dr. Madden leave his office unlocked?”
“He never locked that door. He’d have students coming and going all the time.”
“Did you ever see Dr. Overbeck going in or coming out of Madden’s office?”
“Every chance he got, if he thought I wasn’t looking.” She nodded.
“Thank you so much for speaking with us frankly, Mrs. Owens.” Wes rose. “We won’t take any more of your time.”
“Time is one thing I have a lot of these days.”
“It was good to see you again, Mrs. Owens.” Nina hugged the woman. “Thank you for . . . for reminding me that my father did have his good points.”
“Your father was a good man in many respects. But he had one serious flaw, and it was his downfall.”
Mrs. Owens walked with them to the end of the drive, and stood there until they drove away.
“She certainly had a lot to say,” Wes said when they reached the stop sign at the end of the street. “And none of it flattering, as far as Overbeck is concerned. I’m liking him more and more. Motivewise, he’s got it over everyone else.”
“So my stepbrother is no longer at the top of your list?”
“He’s still right up there.”
“She misses her husband so much,” Nina said. “Did you see the way she kept touching the sweater? I’ll bet it was his.”
“I didn’t notice,” he admitted.
“They were married when they were eighteen, she told me once. She said they’d gone all through school together, from third grade on, and they’d always known they’d be together,” she told him. “I always thought that was the most romantic story I ever heard. Coming from a broken home, it seemed like fiction to me. Like an unattainable ideal.”
“Not completely. My parents are still married after almost fifty years. And they’re still talking to each other.”
“They’re lucky.” She turned to him. “You’re lucky that you have that experience in your background. You understand relationships that work.”
“Excuse me, you’re talking to a man whose marriage lasted exactly twenty-two months. And most of them weren’t particularly happy ones.”
“But you’ve seen close up what it’s like when it works.”
“Which is how I knew it wasn’t working for me.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes, then he asked, “Were you ever married?”
“No.”
“Ever come close?”
“No. Not really. Once or twice I thought maybe . . . but no.”
“Still looking for Mr. Right?”
“As opposed to Mr. Right Now, as they say?”
“What’s wrong with right now?”
“It smacks of settling for something less.” She stared out the window. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at settling.”
His cell rang.
“Powell.”
He listened without comment for several long minutes, then said, “It’s going to take me about an hour. Secure the scene and I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
He hung up and dropped the phone into the empty cup holder.
“Earlier this morning, a student taking a shortcut from the parking lot behind the maintenance building at St. Ansel’s stumbled—literally—over a body that was left near the Dumpster.”
“Oh, my God . . . “
“Yeah.” His eyes were on the road and he hit the accelerator. “Dinner might be a little late tonight . . . “
Twenty-three
Nina stood on the deck off Regan’s kitchen, snipping the dead blooms off the few hardy geraniums that managed to survive this far into the fall. The first real frost would do them in, but for now, all-day sun and regular watering would keep them going. She’d just finished watering all the big pots, and had to remind herself to avoid the overflow from the pots she’d overfilled.
It was almost dark, and the light-sensitive lamps on the posts around the deck would be coming on automatically any time now. She was dressed for dinner, in heels and a short skirt topped with a light jacket, and was hoping Wes wouldn’t be too much longer. She’d been disappointed when their Friday-night dinner plans had to be postponed, but was happy to be seeing him tonight instead. He’d called late on Friday afternoon, all apologies, but he just
wasn’t going to make it. She’d understood, certainly. A young woman was dead. That took precedence over a dinner date any day.
“Thanks for not making me jump through hoops,” he’d told her.
“Why would I do that?”
“Most women don’t like it when you break a date because of work.”
“This isn’t like normal overtime.”
“You’re telling me. Thanks for being so understanding.”
He’d called two hours ago to tell her that he’d be a few minutes later than he’d hoped, but he’d be there.
“And I do have some news you might be interested in.”
“What’s that?”
“A package was delivered from the FBI this morning, but I wasn’t here to pick it up. When I came in this afternoon, it was on my desk.” He cleared his throat. “Mitch was able to uncover eight more murders over the past sixteen years in the Delaware-Pennsylvania area. All young women, all stabbed. Raped. The bodies all posed the same way.”
“Eight . . . “ she whispered.
“There could be more. He’s still looking. And I also had a message from the Maryland State Police, on my inquiry regarding Kyle. I tried calling back the trooper who called, but he’d left for the day. I probably won’t get him until Monday.”
“You must be exhausted. Are you sure you want to drive down here? Why don’t you let me drive up to meet you halfway?”
“I appreciate it, but I’ve already made reservations at the Clam House. I’ve been looking forward to some tasty seafood and listening to a great jazz band in the company of a pretty woman. I could really use a little R and R right about now.”
“If you’re sure . . . “
“I’m positive.”
“Wes, do you think this murder is connected to the others?”
“Right now, it’s tough to tell. Allison Mulroney was found in her apartment, and as you know, the similarities were striking to the earlier four cases. Could that have been the work of a copycat? Sure. But this girl yesterday—Lanie Jacobs—lived in a dorm on the opposite side of the campus, not an apartment as the others all had, and she wasn’t posed at all.”
“So you think this is a different killer?”
Dark Truth Page 20
