Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 104, No. 4 & 5. Whole No. 633 & 634, October 1994

by Doug Allyn

  She could imagine the questions: Six people saw you leave with him; where did you go? Did he seduce you? Have sex? Did he hit you? Did you hit him? Did he drive you home afterward? Did your father see you messed up, bloodied maybe?

  What happened back at the fire? She closed her eyes against the pictures that surged in, and after a moment she thought, what happened to his van? Someone must have driven it away; someone else followed in a different car. They must have driven it off a cliff, into a gorge, maybe up the Columbia River, into the river somewhere. Then they came back.

  They would get away with it, she thought dully. They wouldn’t tell on each other, and she couldn’t tell. Eventually the police would have to accept the idea that Philip had picked up a woman, fought, got killed, and she had driven his van away. What else could they think?

  Lists of instructors who had been at the school the two years Philip had taught, follow-up lists: when they left, where they went, who was still here. Lists of his students, more follow-up lists. Lists of his subjects, course descriptions.

  “What about the maintenance people, the cafeteria workers?” Ellen had asked bitterly, and Haliday had grinned. “Them, too.”

  Now she stood in the doorway to the archives room with Winona Kelly, who was to assist her. She was a middle-aged woman with dyed black hair and gold-rimmed glasses. Earlier, Haliday had given the orders: When they found the files, Kelly would copy them, Blair would double-check, initial them, and restore the originals to their proper place. “That should satisfy your Dr. Melton,” Haliday had said. He had waved them out as Janice Ayers entered the conference room. The drapes were open.

  “Okay,” Winona Kelly said. “Let’s get at them.” She chewed gum.

  The recent files were in good order, Hilde Melton would have seen to that, but Dr. Pryor had been lax in his oversight, or had had inept help in archives. Ellen was sitting on the floor scanning one paper after another from a cardboard carton, laying them aside one by one. Winona Kelly was at a file cabinet pulling personnel files. Ellen glanced up to see Lieutenant Haliday in the doorway.

  “How’s it coming?”

  “Slowly,” Ellen said.

  “Well, let’s break for lunch,” he said. “I thought that down here in the catacombs, you might not realize what time it’s getting to be.” He said to Winona Kelly, “You can go over to the cafeteria, no one’s going to pester you with questions. And you,” he said to Ellen, “can come up to the conference room with me. I’m having stuff sent in. They’re lying in wait for you, I’m afraid. Reporters.”

  She saw what he meant as soon as they emerged from the library building. A clump of strangers rushed forward, along with Beverly Kirchner. A few flashbulbs flared. “Hey, Ms. Blair, what are you looking for down there?” “Did he really teach witchcraft?” “Are the files intact?”

  Haliday took her arm firmly and walked through them.

  “Is she a suspect?”

  His hand tightened and his pace quickened as they moved along the path toward the administration building. She was out of breath when they reached the building and went inside. An officer at the door barred the reporters.

  “See what I mean?” Haliday said cheerfully. “You’ll want to wash up a bit. See you upstairs.”

  Hilde Melton appeared at her door. “Come use my washroom, Ellen.” She moved aside to let Ellen pass.

  Ellen thought Hilde was going to question her again, and steeled herself, but all Hilde said was, “We’ve brought in security to keep them out of the buildings and away from the dorms, but we can’t keep them off the grounds altogether.” She looked very tired. Her phone was ringing. “It’s been like that all morning,” she said, going to pick it up. “Parents.”

  Rita would be shunting other calls to other departments, Ellen knew, but only Hilde could deal with upset parents. She nodded sympathetically and went into the washroom.

  When Ellen got to the conference room, Haliday was eating a sandwich. He waved toward a tray with more sandwiches, a carton of milk with glasses, and fruit. She helped herself to a sandwich and sat down opposite him.

  They ate in silence. He poured milk, poured for her when she nodded, and then he said, “Problem here is there’s just too much coming and going. Take a corporation now; people get hired and they stay put. But here you’ve got a couple hundred new students year after year, couple hundred old ones hitting the road, gone. Besides those who drop out. And the teachers drifting in and out on one- or two-year contracts. Makes for a real problem.” He looked at her appraisingly. “I take it the files are another problem.”

  “The old ones are,” she said. “And the old temporary-instructor files are jammed into boxes every which way. I don’t think they were sorted at all.”

  “When you come across his student lists, think you’ll recognize names of locals?”

  “Maybe. Some of them anyway. But I’d have to double-check. Thirteen years is a long time; most of them have left the area. Besides, I don’t really know everyone from around here.”

  “Dr. Melton seems to think you do,” he commented. “She thinks pretty highly of you. Grooming you to take her place when she retires?”

  Ellen felt her face grow hot. “No, of course not. I’m nothing more than her gofer.”

  “Isn’t that what she was for the last president?”

  “It’s not the same. She had a doctorate already, and I have a bachelor’s degree. She was more like a vice president.”

  “So how’d you land your job here?”

  Ellen curbed her exasperation. “I happened to be in the right place at the right time. She mentioned in the store one day that she was looking for an assistant. I had just lost my job, and I was available. She hired me. Since it’s a private school they don’t have to go through the procedures the public universities do. It was that simple.”

  He held up his hand, grinning. “Peace, Blair. I’m making polite conversation like they taught me in charm school. Not looking for sore toes to step on.”

  Unexpectedly she laughed. “I think you must have flunked the course.” Then she watched as he reached into his pocket and took out a dollar and transferred it to a different pocket. “What are you doing?”

  “Made a bet with myself that I’d get a laugh out of you before you went back to work.” He bit into an apple. “What do you think about the hitchhiker theory?”

  He was working all the time, she told herself. She had to remember that, no matter how much fooling around he did. She said slowly, “I don’t see any other way to account for the missing van.”

  “Yeah, that’s the problem. The goddam van. But you see, it compounds the other problem. The missing personal stuff. And the fortune in gold. Tell me, would a hitchhiker go to his apartment and steal a manuscript and private letters, and leave that gold behind?” He shook his head. Then he asked, “What’s it like around graduation? What’s the usual schedule?”

  She told him. Finals week, senior dance, parties, the commencement exercises on Wednesday.

  “And they take off right after Wednesday?”

  “Most of them. All the parties are the week before, then the parents show up, and they leave.”

  “How about the teachers?”

  “They have their celebration on the Friday night after commencement. A dinner dance. Some of the trustees attend. It’s a big formal event.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I keep hearing. So Seymour was at the party Friday night, and no one ever saw him again. And no one gave it a thought that they didn’t see him again. Does that make sense?”

  “I think so,” she said. “He would have cleaned out his office, ready to leave any time. The permanent staff hang around another week or so usually, or even year-round, but the temporaries just take off.” She frowned. “But you’d think someone would have noticed if he didn’t tell them goodbye.”

  “Exactly,” Haliday said approvingly. “Dr. Melton says she and her husband went to the coast early Saturday, and when she got back on Thu
rsday or Friday, he was gone. So she didn’t even think about a goodbye. Pryor and his wife went to Hawaii on Saturday, stayed three weeks. So far that’s all I’ve been hearing; they took off for a little vacation, or went fishing or something. So no one told him so long and no one thought it was strange.”

  There was a tap on the door. He called out, “Come on in.” Winona Kelly and a uniformed officer entered. Haliday glanced at his watch and stood up. “Back to the grind,” he said. “See you later, Blair.”

  She walked back to the library between the uniformed officer and Winona Kelly, with reporters shouting questions every step of the way. She felt like a prisoner.

  That afternoon Winona Kelly delivered several packets of copied files to the lieutenant, and Ellen began to feel that perhaps the job was not as hopeless as it had appeared.

  When they quit for the day the archivist, Mr. Rosenthal, was waiting for Ellen. “He questioned me,” he said. He sounded quite happy. He had been on the spot here when the first brick was laid, Ellen thought; of course he would be questioned. “Not that I had anything to contribute,” Mr. Rosenthal said. “Frankly, I don’t even remember the man.” He started to walk away, then stopped. “Oh, the reason I interrupted you. Dr. Melton sent word for you to report to her office. That’s it.”

  Shit, Ellen muttered under her breath. When they left the library no reporters were in sight among the swarm of students on their way to the cafeteria. A light rain was falling. It was the kind of rain that locals paid no attention to; if they carried umbrellas, they usually didn’t bother to unfurl them for this kind of mist, but Winona began to run with her purse over her head. Maybe her dye would wash out, Ellen thought sourly. Suddenly Beverly Kirchner fell into step beside her.

  “Slow down, Ellen. A couple of us want to talk to you. Tonight. About nine or a little after, your place.”

  “There’s nothing to say,” Ellen said. “I told you, I’m not talking. Not to anyone. You think I’m crazy?”

  “Why are you spending so much time with the cops? Are they putting pressure on you?”

  “I’m an acting file clerk, for God’s sake! Leave me alone, Bev. You, all of you. Just leave me alone!”

  Beverly clutched her arm. “You realize that some of them are desperate? If they thought you’d wreck their lives... They’re really desperate, Ellen. Believe me!”

  Ellen stopped walking, pulling Beverly to a halt with her. Students moved around them on both sides. “Do you think I’m not desperate?” she demanded. “I’m not crazy, and I’m not stupid. Now bug off.”

  She began to walk again, swiftly this time. Bev did not keep up. And no nine o’clock rendezvous, she should have said.

  Winona was waiting for her at the administration building entrance. “They’re in the president’s office,” she said. “And I’m off. See you tomorrow.” She had found an umbrella somewhere. It was the only one in sight when she left.

  Ellen knocked on Hilde’s door. Rita was already gone from the outer office, her computer covered. The door opened and Janice Ayers stepped aside to admit her.

  Hilde was standing behind her desk, both hands palm down on it. She was speaking in a low, vehement voice. “Lieutenant, this is lunacy. What difference will a few days make now? You have to take your people off this campus, at least until next week when the students will be gone for spring break. Everyone knows what must have happened to Philip Seymour, and it has nothing to do with this school. Mary Grayling was in tears this afternoon. She had to cancel her classes. The students are in a turmoil. Parents are threatening to remove them entirely. And for what? A senseless disruption that is utterly fruitless.”

  Haliday had glanced at Ellen when she arrived, then turned his attention back to Hilde. Now he said in a respectful tone, “I understand, Dr. Melton. Believe me, I do. We’ll be as discreet and fast as we can, I assure you.”

  Hilde slapped the desk hard and turned to Ellen. “Is that what you’ve been pulling from the files?”

  “Yes,” Ellen said. She crossed the room and handed Hilde a file folder. “If that’s all, I’d better be going.”

  Hilde waved her away and started to scan the notes Ellen had prepared. “For God’s sake! His entire student roster from fifteen years ago!” She closed the folder and sat down.

  “Is this the student newspaper?” Haliday asked suddenly. He picked up the newspaper from a table. “How often does it come out?”

  Hilde glared at him. “Biweekly.”

  Haliday said to Ellen, “When you finish in the archives, think you could round up copies of the paper for the time Seymour was teaching here?”

  This time Ellen glared. “I don’t know.”

  “Try,” he said placatingly. “That’s all we can do, isn’t it? Try.”

  “They’ll be on microfiche,” Janice said then. “In the journalism department. They keep everything.”

  Ellen could feel rebellion rising — microfiche! — but before she could voice it, Haliday said, “You ready to leave? I’ll walk you to your car. You did drive, didn’t you?”

  She darted a glance at Hilde, who was pale with fury. It was very clear who was in charge, who was deciding when to call a halt to the meeting, when to dismiss Ellen. She had never seen Hilde so angry, and was relieved to escape before she gave voice to her anger. Janice could take it, she thought, but at that moment she didn’t think she could. It was all just too much, she decided, hurrying to the door. Too damn much.

  At the entrance to the building they paused. It was raining harder. “What were you so hot about when you came in?” he asked.

  “A reporter,” she snapped, and zipped up her jacket.

  “Ah. Well, let’s do it.”

  He intended to go to the car with her, she realized, and began to run across the parking lot. When they reached the Mazda, he said, “You have time to do me a little favor?” He had stopped at the passenger side; she ran on to the driver’s side and opened the door.

  “What?”

  “A little spin around the campus, that’s all.” He pulled the other door open and got inside before she could respond. She slid in behind the wheel. “See, I’ve been all over it in daylight, but not at night. I thought it might be a good idea to do it with someone who knows what the different buildings are. Okay?”

  Silently she started the car. She drove slowly on the narrow road that wound through the campus; many students were walking here and there, many with umbrellas now. Each building was screened by trees and bushes; paths with yellow lamplights led up and down from the road. There were many terraces, many stairs. She pointed out the buildings they passed; the science building, the library, gym. The math building showed many lights. “Computer freaks,” she said. She drove past the dorms, the highest buildings on campus, and on to College Road.

  “Left,” he said.

  With resignation she made the turn, and almost instantly there were deep woods on both sides of the blacktop road. When they came to the juncture with Staley Road that led to Jordan’s property, he told her to turn left again, and she realized he wanted to make a circuit of the perimeter of the college grounds. The deep woods continued on the left; there were fields on the right now. At Washington Street she turned again without waiting for his instructions, but she came to a stop when they reached Crystal River Road. Town was to the right, the campus to the left. He said left, but then he had her turn again at the first road, which curved around the faculty housing.

  “Who actually lives there?” he asked.

  “Temporaries, visiting lecturers; some of the instructors stay on even though they’re permanent. They’re cheap and they’re convenient.”

  The houses, like the other buildings, were well separated, surrounded by mature trees and shrubs; the school brochure described them as “modest,” but in fact they were tiny with tiny garages, but very private and quiet. There were nine of them.

  “I understand Philip Seymour turned them down,” Haliday said. “He opted for privacy, an apartment in town, j
ust a few blocks from your dad’s place, I understand. Ayers lived here a while; Melton lived here with her husband for nine years.”

  “They had a house on the coast,” Ellen said. “Since he was gone so much, I guess this was a good deal for her.”

  “Okay,” he said then. “Good job, Blair. Let’s go to town. You can drop me at your place and I’ll walk.”

  What was he after? she asked herself later. She had taken a shower, put on a warm robe, and was scrounging in her refrigerator. Just what was he after? Why was he focusing on the college and not the town? There must have been a dozen women in town then who were still around, and who might have been involved with Philip. Only those between twenty-one and forty, she recalled Patty’s saying years before. Those between the age of consent and the age of desperation. Plenty of women in town would have fallen in between, she thought bitterly, remembering his chaste kiss on her forehead. She scowled and slammed the refrigerator door. Such arrogance! Such egotistical arrogance! She had loved him at seventeen, and two weeks later she had hated him at eighteen. How many other women had done the same kind of abrupt about-face?

  Later, she watched the clock hands edge to nine, nine-thirty, a quarter to ten... At ten-thirty she went to bed. Bev had not come by; no one had come by. If they had called, she didn’t know it because she had not listened to the calls. She realized she had not checked her mailbox since Monday, had not read a newspaper all week. Neither had she called Jordan, she remembered, still wakeful and twitchy after midnight. There had been nothing to say to him.

  Thursday was a repeat of Wednesday; she and Winona Kelly pulled files until noon. She was invited to lunch in Conference Room D again, but today Janice Ayers was there, too.

  Haliday was at the end of the table, Janice at his elbow, with papers spread out between them and on down the table.

  “Help yourself,” Haliday said, waving toward the tray at the other end of the table. She took a sandwich and sat down at that end.