The Cat's Paw

by Louise Clark

  "So she can be easily replaced," Quinn said.

  Christy looked at him, wondering if he was searching for more details or trying to get under Peiling's skin.

  The professor's mouth tightened and his throat worked as he swallowed. "Not true," he said finally. "I had great respect for Brittany. As I said, I will miss her." He leaned forward and drew a file folder from a neat stack on the corner of his desk. Apart from the telephone and computer monitor, the folders were the only things that marred its smooth steel and faux-wood surface. "I'm afraid I don't have much more I can tell you."

  The words and the action were clear: we're done here. Christy moved, ready to rise from the uncomfortable metal chair. Quinn stayed put.

  "It's November. Won't you have difficulty recruiting someone to take her place?" He sounded curious, even sympathetic.

  Peiling frowned. "There is no doubt that her death will set the program back somewhat. However, I have an excellent team and I know they will put in the extra hours that will now be necessary. The real problem," he said, his voice filled with the disgust of an academic for the administration, "is filling her teaching assistant position. Until she is replaced I will have to run the lab as well as do the lectures."

  Quinn pounced on that. His eyes brightened and a hopeful expression dawned on his face. "Brittany was a TA? Did she share an office?"

  Peiling's frown deepened and he said, "Well, yes, but..."

  "Great. We can talk to the other TAs then. Where did you say the office was?"

  "On the third floor, but..."

  Christy stood up. "Thank you, Dr. Peiling. It was very good of you to see us today. I know you have a busy schedule." She eased away as Quinn shoved out his hand and shook Peiling's. They escaped from the office before the professor thought to forbid them to visit Brittany's former office.

  "What did you think?" Christy asked as they moved off down the hall.

  "He doesn't strike me as being capable of the kind of stealth used by the person who broke into Ellen's apartment. Nor do I think he would be able to convince Brittany to come along on a break-and-enter so he could kill her on the terrace."

  "Put that way, it's unlikely anyone would be guilty."

  They reached a stairwell. Quinn paused, his hand on the door. His expression was compassionate as he looked at her. "It's a possibility we have to consider."

  "I can't believe Ellen might be guilty of murder," Christy said. Her voice hitched and she sighed. "She not a nice woman, but murder?" She shook her head.

  Quinn bent to brush a quick kiss along her lips. "Come on, let's go talk to the office mates. Maybe they'll give us more information than Peiling was prepared to offer."

  Chapter 5

  The third-floor hallway was a long, straight corridor that ran the length of the building. On either side of the linoleum-covered floor were office doors, some open, some closed, all painted a depressing dove gray. The dismal decor carried through to the walls, which sported an ivory shade that had faded to a yellowing cream. The numbers for each office were inscribed on small black plaques, which were affixed to the wall on the handle side of each doorjamb. Below the number sign was the name of the occupant and a small corkboard, apparently used to indicate office hours, or occasionally a change in office hours.

  Most of the doors Christy and Quinn walked past were closed, even though the corkboard indicated that the professor lodged within should be available. Occasionally one was open, showing a busily working individual who didn't even look up as they passed.

  When they reached their destination, room 317, the door was ajar. The nameplate indicated that the residents were Lorne Cossi, PhD candidate, Rochelle Dasovic, also a PhD candidate and Bradley Neale, a lowly MS student. The title of the program they were registered in was there as well. Brittany Day's name was nowhere to be seen.

  Quinn took the lead, pushing open the grim gray door and walking boldly into the room. Christy followed in his wake, looking around curiously.

  The room was about the size of her bedroom, perhaps sixteen by twenty feet. Four desks were crammed into the space. There were no partitions to separate the work areas and provide privacy. Everything that happened in this room was out in the open.

  The desks were standard office style: double pedestal, steel-frame construction, a gunmetal gray that was a couple of shades darker than the door. They looked as if they had perhaps once been issued to secretaries or other support staff but had been discarded, considered too battered to use any longer. Now they were hand-me-downs suitable only for the lowest of the low—students.

  Opposite the door, the exterior wall was mainly windows. There was little view to speak of, but lots of light. A dark-haired woman sat at a desk pushed into the corner made by an inside and exterior wall. She was hunched over a laptop and didn't look up as Quinn and Christy entered.

  Kitty-cornered from the woman, at a desk just inside the door, a young man was seated. He straightened and said politely, "Can I help you?"

  Quinn nodded crisply, his tone no-nonsense. "We're friends of Brittany Day. Dr. Peiling told us she worked out of this office."

  The young man's friendly expression closed. He nodded, pointing to the desk across from him. "She sat there."

  The woman looked up, her attention caught. She shifted in her seat to view them without craning her neck.

  Quinn's gaze flicked to the desk, took in its blank, empty look, then returned to his scrutiny of the young man. "I'm sorry. I didn't introduce myself. I'm Quinn Armstrong, and this is Christy." He left off her last name. They were searching for information about a woman who had provided an alibi related to Frank Jamieson's death. Christy figured Quinn didn't want either of Brittany's office mates to hold back because of her relationship to a murdered man.

  "Bradley Neale—Brad," the young man said. "I'm one of the chemistry students working on Dr. Peiling's project." He pointed to the woman. "That's Rochelle Dasovic."

  Quinn nodded acknowledgement. Christy said, "If you have a few minutes, we'd like to ask you some questions."

  Rochelle stood up. She was tall and heavy-boned. The jeans and cable-knit sweater she wore gave her body a bulky look. "Sorry. No time. I have a lab that starts in fifteen minutes and it's clear across campus. Maybe Brad will help."

  "Glad to," Bradley said. He shot Rochelle a disapproving look.

  "Will you have time later in the day? Or tomorrow?" Quinn asked Rochelle.

  She hesitated, then shrugged. "I have office hours at four o'clock this afternoon. You could come back then."

  It was on the tip of Christy's tongue to say four wasn't possible, but Quinn smiled that gorgeous smile of his and said, "That's great. We'll talk to Bradley now and I'll come back to see you at four."

  Rochelle's eyes widened, then she swallowed and nodded. She pushed her laptop into a bag and followed it with a collection of books, then slung the strap over her shoulder. "Okay. See you later." She blew past Christy and Quinn, shooting Quinn an appreciative glance as she went. Then she was gone, leaving them alone with the young man.

  Bradley Neale had thin dark hair, gray eyes all but hidden behind thick lenses in metal-rimmed glasses, and a straggly beard that gave his face a surprising boost of interest. Christy thought he looked like an open, honest person. She hoped they'd have better luck extracting information about Brittany from him than they had from Dr. Peiling.

  Quinn gestured toward the empty desk. "I didn't think Brittany was such a neat freak. Her desk looks like it's been cleared out."

  The gloomy expression on Brad's face deepened. "Peiling had Lorne clear it out as soon as he heard about Brittany's death. He said it was because he needed to send her things to her parents, but I think he wants to have it ready for whoever replaces her in the project."

  "That's harsh," Quinn said.

  Neale nodded. "I don't think Dr. Peiling meant to be hurtful, but Brittany was a real asset to our group. We all miss her like crazy."

  Quinn smiled as he raised his eyebrows,
inviting further confidences. "That says positive things about Brittany, considering the small size of this office space."

  Brad snorted. "It's an easy place to get on each other's nerves, all right. I can't tell you how many times Brittany had to step in and ask Lorne to tone it down."

  "Lorne likes to bitch about stuff?"

  "Lorne finds fault with a sunny day," Brad said.

  There was an edge of bitterness in his voice and Christy wondered why. Had the apparently cranky Lorne Cossi bullied his younger colleague? Or was Neale just an envious sort who clashed with those further up the ladder than he?

  "Lorne had a thing for Brittany," Brad continued. His hand tightened on the pen he was holding. "She made use of it to keep him in line." He shrugged, but there was nothing indifferent in the rest of his body language.

  It looked to Christy as if Brad had forced himself to make the casual gesture, but she couldn't be sure.

  "How about the other person, the woman who just left—Rochelle, wasn't it?" Quinn asked. "How did she get along with Brittany?"

  "She was jealous of Brittany's looks. Rochelle is good at her work, but she's not that attractive," Brad said, with the supreme indifference of a male who wasn't interested. "She thought Brittany focused too much on appearance and not enough on math equations."

  "Sounds like a relationship with a lot of potential problems," Christy said. She smiled at Brad, inviting more confidences, even though she thought that Rochelle might have good reason for her dislike of the beautiful Brittany.

  She must have succeeded, because Brad was nodding emphatically. All he said, though, was, "Brittany and I spend the most time here. The other two come and go. Between us we made it work."

  Brad sounded like a man bragging about a relationship that wasn't. There was a wistful look in his eyes that said he wished he'd been more to Brittany than a co-worker who shared an office, particularly now, when deepening the relationship would never be possible. Christy knew she could work with both of those emotions. She pushed admiration into her voice and said, "I guess you know a lot about Brittany's comings and goings."

  She wasn't surprised when Brad preened. "We were close. When Brittany needed help, she came to me."

  Quinn, who was leaning against Rochelle's desk, said, "What kind of help did Brittany need?" His relaxed stance and position on the other side of the room was meant to be open and invite confidences. It worked.

  Brad, whose focus had been on the much closer Christy, glanced at him. He straightened and thrust out his chest. "She'd ask me to fill in for her from time to time. I was happy to do it."

  Brad's focus was chemistry. Brittany's had been math. How could Brad act as her stand-in in the rarified atmosphere of an academic community when they were not even in the same discipline? The skeptical question hovered on the tip of Christy's tongue, but she didn't voice it. She sensed that there was still more relevant information to be got from Neale and it would never come in a critical atmosphere.

  "Did she do that a lot?" Quinn asked in that same casual, interested tone.

  "Often enough. She had a busy life." Bradley shrugged. "I didn't mind helping her. She was generous and appreciative."

  Quinn's brows rose. Christy guessed that he was thinking about Brittany as she had been at the IHTF Gala. Bitchy. Mean. Snarky. Generous she was not.

  "Did you help her out the night Frank Jamieson died?" Quinn asked.

  Silence fell after he asked the question. Neale stared at him, the open, grieving expression gone from his face, replaced by a cautious calculation. "Why do you ask?"

  Quinn straightened and moved a few steps closer to Brad's desk. "Because Brittany Day provided Aaron DeBolt with an alibi for that night and I think that's why she was killed." Quinn's gaze bored into the other man's face. Brad didn't flinch. "I think the alibi was a lie and she was really here, working or teaching."

  Brad began shaking his head before Quinn had finished speaking. "You're wrong. She was supposed to supervise the project lab that night. It's open twenty-four seven and there's always one of us there. We take turns and it was hers that night. She told me she wasn't feeling well and asked if I could cover for her. Of course, I said yes." He looked momentarily downcast as he realized he'd been played. Brittany hadn't been unwell. Her affidavit said she'd been having wild drug-fueled sex with Aaron DeBolt.

  The door slammed open, hitting the wall with a bang, before it bounced back. They all jumped and Brad's expression swiftly turned from downcast to apprehensive to carefully blank as a tall, beautifully proportioned man sauntered into the room. He was wearing a leather jacket, open to show a tight T-shirt over toned abs and snug jeans that emphasized his lean hips. He moved to the desk beside Bradley's, one of the two by the windows, and tossed the backpack he carried on one shoulder onto it. Dark blue eyes under arched black brows scrutinized Quinn for a moment, then moved on to Christy.

  When he smiled at her the smile was devastating. Wide, generous, friendly, it shone out of a handsome face that was as beautifully proportioned as his body. "I'm Lorne Cossi. Are you Brad's students?"

  Christy was the one who replied. She took the lead because the gorgeous Lorne Cossi was staring right at her. His look was appreciative and all male and she figured he'd respond better to questions from her than from Quinn. "No, we're friends of Brittany Day's. We're here to find out about her EBU experience."

  Bradley closed his laptop with a snap and shoved it into a backpack. "I'm going to the lab," he said, not looking at anyone.

  "See you," Lorne said. His tone was dismissive, though the charming smile never wavered.

  Christy looked from Lorne to Brad. Something was definitely going on between the two men. Brad couldn't wait to escape from the office and, although Lorne's expression was friendly, his eyes were cold as he tracked Brad's movements. She cocked a brow at Quinn, wondering if he was seeing the same bad blood between the two that she was. There was an opportunity here to mine the animosity, but she thought to do so they would have to separate.

  Quinn's mouth tightened as he caught her look and interpreted it, then she saw him deliberately relax. He'd got her message and he'd play along, but he didn't like leaving her alone with Cossi. Still, he was prepared to do it.

  He looked at Brad. "Why don't I walk over to the lab with you?" he said. "I've got a couple more questions and I'd like to see the lab setup."

  Bradley nodded abruptly. "Sure." He slung the backpack over his shoulder, then, head down, he hustled out the door.

  Quinn followed, leaving Christy alone with the outrageously handsome Lorne Cossi.

  * * *

  "So you're a friend of Brit's," Lorne Cossi said. He looked her over, from the top of her head to her feet. His gaze lingered too long on her breasts and then—disconcertingly—on her groin for her comfort and when his gaze drifted back to her face there was something unnerving in the depths of his dark blue eyes. "Frankly, you don't seem her type."

  Christy flushed. She'd met guys like Cossi before. Arrogant, self-absorbed jerks who assumed every female in sight was a sexual plaything there for a man's enjoyment. "And what was her 'type'?"

  Cossi smiled slowly. It wasn't a nice smile. "Silly women who'll do anything for a lay. Especially if they can get high at the same time." He cocked his head. "You now, you look disturbingly sober."

  Christy figured he'd meant that as an insult. She thought it was actually a compliment, given who it came from. Resisting the urge to cross her arms over her breasts, she leaned back against Bradley Neale's desk and stared Lorne Cossi in the eyes. "If you bothered to listen, you'd find that people act out of 'type' all the time."

  Cossi raised his brows. There was a contemptuous curl to his upper lip that said he didn't like backtalk from uppity women.

  Christy allowed herself a small smile. "Take Brittany, for example. Here she was, EBU grad student, privileged daughter of a wealthy Calgary family, and a party girl with the likes of Aaron DeBolt, a man whose reputation doesn't bear scrutiny.
Now tell me, Mr. Cossi, what exactly was Brittany's 'type'?"

  His eyes lit with temper for a moment, then he too leaned back against a desk. He shoved his hands in his pockets before he said mildly, "Brittany Day was a nasty little tease who came on to every man she met."

  "Including you?"

  "Including me."

  "Did you take her up on her offer?" Christy could hardly believe she'd asked that, but she thought that if she didn't it would tell Lorne Cossi that she was afraid of him and then who knew what would happen? As long as he believed she was immune to him, she figured she was safe. If he knew she was vulnerable, she was quite sure he would pounce.

  His mouth quirked up into a very real smile and he laughed. "What do you think?"

  "I think you did." Deep breath, Christy. Deep breath.

  "And you'd be right." He straightened. Took a step forward.

  Christy didn't move. But she wanted to. Oh, how much she wanted to.

  "If a sexy piece like Brittany Day offers me her body, who am I to refuse?"

  Another step. At this rate he'd cross the small space in another couple of moments and he'd be right in front of her. In her space. Intimidating her. Maybe even taking it further. The desire to flee was strong.

  She glared at him. But she straightened too, sending him a message. "That's pretty cold."

  He shrugged, but he stopped. "There was something dark in Brit and she pulled it out in other people too. She liked Ecstasy and Meth. She tried to get me hooked on the stuff."

  "Did she?"

  This time he shook his head. "No. No way am I polluting my brain with that kind of junk."

  The answer sounded honest to Christy's ears. Lorne Cossi was a PhD student. He probably had aspirations of entering the academic world as a professor. Frying his brain wouldn't help him achieve his goal.

  "Have you shared this office space with Brittany since she started at EBU?"