by Louise Clark
Roy sat up straight. "Brittany Day?"
Quinn nodded. "He used the excuse of Brittany's death and the resulting confusion to ask for an extension."
"Did he get it?"
"Apparently."
"Well, well, well." Roy leaned back in his chair and stared thoughtfully at his son. "That's very interesting. I'd say it gives Dr. Peiling plenty of reasons for being happy Brittany is dead, but does it provide him with enough of a motive to kill her?"
"Yeah, that's the question. A lot of his other funding is tied into the government grant, though, so it's important. If he loses it, he loses the others."
"Which ones?"
"The most important is a substantial grant from the university that comes out of their general funding. Then there's a provincial grant that is tied into the federal one. He also has sizeable grants from Roger Day's company and from Nathan DeBolt's company. Those are not reliant on the government funding, but they aren't enough to keep the program operating at the current level. If he doesn't secure the Science Council grant he'll lose at least two grad students, plus lab space."
Roy looked startled. "He only had four to start with. That would cut his program in half."
Quinn ate some more chips, then chugged half a glass of water. "Since the Science Council grant stretched over four years, the research is expected to produce significant results. The other grants are annual, but also achievement-based. He's got the Day and DeBolt grants for this year, but if he doesn't provide suitable outcomes, he could lose them next year."
"What happens to his grad students if he loses all his grants?"
Quinn shrugged. "The master's degree students like Brittany and Bradley Neale would have to look for a new program, possibly at another university, if they wanted to continue to the PhD level. I expect the PhD candidates would continue, but would have to find other funding. But they'd all be graduates of a failed program. Not much help if you're trying to build a career."
"So the TAs have good reason to be happy over Brittany's death, too. But like Dr. Peiling, is the funding issue enough to provide motive to kill her?"
"Probably not. There's also the problem of the location where Brittany was found."
"Ellen's apartment." Roy sighed and pushed the chip bag away. "How would Peiling get a key to her apartment to let himself in? And why would he kill Brittany there?"
"Spite over the cancellation of the Jamieson donation?" Quinn suggested. "The Trust provided the grant, but Ellen Jamieson was the trustee who networked with the university. Until the grant was discontinued, she was on Peiling's steering committee. We know the Trust had to cancel the grant because of the embezzlement, but maybe Peiling didn't. If he and Ellen had ever disagreed over committee issues, he might have imagined she had it in for him."
"And so he decided to get back at her in a way that would really stick it to her." Roy contemplated the idea as he sipped his water. "I like it. Makes Peiling seem just a little off-kilter. Gives him edge and makes us wonder what he might be up to next."
"This isn't a novel, Dad." There was amusement in Quinn's voice.
Roy managed to look indignant, but his eyes were alight with humor. "Is he a wimpy guy? Mild mannered and self-effacing?"
"I wouldn't call him a big personality," Quinn said, eying his father and eating more chips.
Roy pointed an emphatic finger. "Definitely an edge. Wimpy guys like him are unstable. They take it and take it and take it some more until they blow. What makes this guy tick?"
"His research," Quinn said without hesitation.
"There you have it." Roy raised his hand. "Threaten his program and you give him motive."
"Maybe," Quinn said, unconvinced. "I dug up another interesting fact, though."
Roy did his "give" motion again as Quinn, grinning, stretched out his announcement. "Nathan DeBolt is on Peiling's steering committee."
"Is he now?" Roy breathed out the statement. "That is very interesting. Brittany Day provides an alibi—a false alibi!—for Nathan's son, Aaron. Nathan's wife, Natalie, is a close friend of Ellen Jamieson, in whose apartment Brittany's body is found. Both Ellen and the DeBolts are involved with Jacob Peiling." He ticked off the points on his fingers as he itemized them, but by the time he was finished he was shaking his head. "There are links there, but I don't see how they connect."
Quinn shot his father a thoughtful look. "Maybe Peiling imagined he could settle a score and put the DeBolts into his debt at the same time, ensuring that the DeBolt funding would be guaranteed to continue. So he was the one who arranged for Brittany to make the false alibi statement. And when she decided to recant it, he realized that not only would DeBolt no longer be in his debt, but the man would be infuriated by the reversal. If that happened, DeBolt would ensure that Peiling lost the grant. So Peiling killed Brittany before she could make the change."
"And put her in Ellen's apartment to pay Ellen back."
Quinn nodded.
"I like it," Roy said, nodding. Then more enthusiastically, "I like it a lot!"
Quinn ate another chip. "There's still the problem of the key and getting into Ellen's apartment."
Roy waved his hand in dismissal. "Easy. All he has to do is filch a key from the super or the housekeeper, take it to a hardware store, and get a new key cut. He could do it in half an hour. The super or housekeeper would never know it was gone."
"Which would make the whole scenario very hard to prove."
"Yeah," said Roy, gloomy now in contrast to his enthusiasm from a moment before. "Still, Three says the defense doesn't have to prove who did the murder, it just has to throw enough doubt on the prosecution's case to convince the jury that the defendant isn't guilty."
Quinn nodded. "I'm going to continue to pick at the university connection and see if I can find any dirt on the TAs. The further we can push this away from Ellen, the better."
Roy nodded. "Good idea." He jiggled the laptop, shaking his head as the screen come alive. "I've had enough of this computer editing stuff for now." He saved the document, then clicked off the program and closed the computer. Then he beamed at his son. "What would you like for lunch?"
* * *
"Want to come out to EBU with me tomorrow?" Quinn was leaning against a tree in the wooded area above the townhouse complex. His hands were on Christy's waist and her hands were on his shoulders. They were standing very close together. So close he could feel the heat of her body.
So close his body was screaming out for hers.
She was smiling at him, her expression dreamy, her eyes not quite focused. He'd finished kissing her about thirty seconds ago and she was still locked in the pleasure of it.
He knew that because desire was thrumming through his body with an intensity that demanded more. Much more.
Hence the question. He needed to get his mind off the physical. Off the impossible and back onto something sensible.
Murder.
She blinked and looked confused, but she didn't pull away. "Do you have something specific in mind?"
She looked so gorgeous he wanted to kiss her again. Instead he reached up to stroke the hair at her temple. "I want to sweat the good Dr. Peiling."
She laughed and said, "Sweat him? That sounds ominous."
"It is for him," Quinn said. He could hear the lazy seduction in his voice. They might be talking about the murder investigation and a field trip to the other end of town, but his body—and certain parts of his brain—were still filled with desire for the woman he held in his arms.
And he didn't care. Hell of a thing, that. He was working on two levels, physical and intellectual, at the same time. He could still plan a cold-blooded interrogation of a reputable university professor who apparently had a lot to hide, while he contemplated the pleasure to be had kissing—and more—the woman in his arms.
Who seemed to be working on the same set of principles.
She nestled in a little closer and her smile deepened.
She had to feel his arousal. She
had to know how much he wanted her. Maybe her movement meant she wanted him just as much. Now that was something to contemplate. The problem was, where did they go to take what they both wanted one step further?
"What did you find out?" she asked.
Her mouth was inches from his. The urge to close the distance, join with her and let nature take its course beat through him. The woods were thick here, relatively quiet at this time of the day. They could slip through the underbrush, find a private place—
A dog barked.
Maybe not. On this path, a barking dog meant a human walking it and at this time of day humans were likely to let their dogs off leash, even though technically it wasn't a no-leash zone. A dog off leash was likely to investigate interesting sounds and smells in the trees bordering the path.
He sighed, kissed the corner of Christy's mouth—chastely—and used both hands to ease her away from his body.
She laughed, her siren's eyes telling him that her thoughts were drifting in the same direction as his until the damned dog barked. "You were researching the people Brittany knew at the university. Any interesting connections?"
She stepped back and he took her hand in his. They resumed their walk down the path. The early December afternoon was chilly, with that crisp edge that signaled the damper, colder weather of winter was on its way.
"I told you about Peiling and the funding issues around his program. Bradley Neale, the TA who usually covered for Brittany, seems to be a straight-up guy dedicated to his studies. He's career-focused and has virtually no social life. He was smitten with Brittany, though."
"Smitten?"
Christy's brow wrinkled into a frown that did nothing to minimize her gorgeous looks. Man, he had it bad if he thought a frown was enticing.
"Neale asked her out a few times, managed to get her to go to dinner with him once. Then she took up with Aaron DeBolt and Bradley was sweet out of luck."
"A good reason for him to go after Aaron, not Brittany."
"That's what I thought. The other male TA, Lorne Cossi, is not very well liked by the female undergrads he supervises, but I couldn't get anything specific. It seems to boil down to he's curt sometimes, charming others."
"So he's moody. Not an easy guy to work for or with."
The dog they'd heard earlier came barreling around a curve in the path at a full gallop. Its tongue was hanging out, big ears flapping. It skidded to a stop in front of them and barked. Christy crouched down to eye level and shoved out her hand for the big golden dog to sniff.
Quinn reached for her. He wanted to grab her and pull her back behind him out of harm's way, even though there was no evidence that the dog was unfriendly or dangerous.
The dog inspected her hand, barked again and wagged a long, hairy tail. Christy laughed.
Quinn redirected his reaching hand to pat the dog. Christy bestowed a bright, approving glance at him. He scratched behind the dog's ears, his hand close enough to grab the animal's collar.
Just in case.
The owner trotted around the curve, huffing as she attempted to catch up to her unruly dog. "Bruiser!"
The dog barked and its tail wagged harder, setting the animal's whole hindquarters in motion. He licked Christy's hand and she laughed again.
When the owner came level, she clicked a leash on the dog's collar and apologized profusely. "Most people are at work at this time of day and the kids are in school, so Bruiser and I usually have the path to ourselves. He loves to run and, well, he's too fast for me to keep up. He's harmless, though, as you can see."
Christy said, "He's beautiful." She stood up. "Good-bye Bruiser. Nice to meet you."
The dog woofed. His mistress tugged at the leash and headed off in one direction while Christy and Quinn went in the other.
Christy laughed softly. "You never know who you'll meet on the path. Or when you'll meet them."
It was acknowledgement that their earlier, unvoiced, decision to put distance between themselves was the right thing to do. So her mind was working on the same level as his.
Interesting.
Reassuring. He tightened his hold on her hand and she squeezed back. Something—not sexual, but deeply intimate, nonetheless—flooded through him. He looked down at her and smiled. The laughter in her face deepened into tenderness. His heart began to pound.
He wanted to kiss her.
Again.
And take her into the woods.
And that would be as bad a decision now as it was ten minutes ago.
He dragged his gaze away from hers and drew a deep shaky breath. "Rochelle Dasovic is by far the most interesting of the TAs."
"Why?" Christy asked. Her voice sounded husky, as if she was thinking about the woods too. Well she would be, wouldn't she, if they were both on the same wavelength?
"Rochelle Dasovic is a fraud."
Christy stopped. Now fully engaged in the conversation, she stared at Quinn. "In what way?"
"She plagiarized her way into Peiling's program."
"Whoa! Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I found some Twitter chatter between Rochelle and another woman. The woman claimed she and Rochelle roomed together at the University of Victoria and that they were in some of the same classes there. In their third year, they worked together on a project that became the basis for the woman's fourth-year research project. She took the idea and ran with it, while Rochelle stuck to an easier path. When it came time to apply to grad school, Rochelle took the woman's fourth-year paper and submitted it to EBU with her name on it. It was the other woman's work that got Rochelle her place with Peiling."
"Was Peiling aware of the Twitter controversy?"
Quinn shrugged. "I don't know. That's why I want to go out to the university and grill him."
Christy looked thoughtful. They resumed their stroll, their feet making no sound on the layer of fallen leaves, already soggy with November rain. "If Peiling knew and didn't say anything, he could be in deep trouble. What if Brittany found out and the blackmailing she talked about was her blackmailing Peiling, not someone blackmailing her?"
"If Brittany threatened to expose him, his career could be on the line," Quinn said, agreeing. "It's a thread I think we need to pull."
"Absolutely," Christy said, nodding. "What time do you want to get out there?"
"I've got an appointment with him for mid-morning. Gives us time to get Noelle to school before we have to leave for EBU and time to have lunch together before Noelle has to be picked up."
Christy gave him a little bump with her hip that made him laugh, and said, "Sounds like a plan."
Chapter 19
Dr. Jacob Peiling was a worried man. He tried not to show it, but his shoulders hunched and he refused to make eye contact when he greeted Quinn and Christy. That sparked a number of questions in Christy's mind and from the light that leapt into Quinn's eyes, he'd had a similar reaction. As they settled into chairs in front of Peiling's desk, Christy was careful to choose the one off to the side. She'd let Quinn do the questioning while she observed the professor's reactions.
"Thank you for taking the time to see us, Dr. Peiling," Quinn said after they all sat down.
Peiling nodded. "You would like to discuss Brittany's death further."
"Yes," Quinn said. "I talked to her father. He's understandably distressed, but the conversation raised more questions than it supplied answers."
Peiling nodded again. Had the worried expression on his face deepened? Or was he just dismayed by a violent, unexpected death?
"I understand from Mr. Day that you and he were at university together." Quinn smiled in an encouraging way and his tone was pleasant. Christy knew he was springing a trap, but Peiling seemed quite happy to hop into it.
"Yes. We roomed together as freshmen and later shared an apartment."
"So you were close friends."
"And continued to be after we graduated. Where is this leading, Mr. Armstrong?"
Quinn's smile widened into a self-depreciating
grin as he shrugged. "Context and color, Dr. Peiling. I tend to dig deeper than most other journalists, but use less of what I discover in my finished articles. I need to get people and their backgrounds sorted out in my mind, you see, or what I write won't be coherent."
Peiling looked dubious, but he said, "Okay."
"Mr. Day told me that his company funded your research." Peiling nodded. "Did that funding have any influence on your decision to accept Brittany as a student?"
Eyes narrowed, Peiling said, "I don't like what you are insinuating, Mr. Armstrong. You say you don't plan to use the information you're after, but I don't believe you. You're digging dirt for an exposé and I don't intend to help you." He pushed back his chair, a clear indication that he planned to end the interview.
Christy said, "I don't blame you for feeling uncomfortable, Dr. Peiling." She leaned toward Quinn and put her hand on his arm. "Lighten up, Quinn! Dr. Peiling has recently lost both a gifted student and a friend of the family."
Quinn responded by raising a brow. Christy resisted the urge to wink, but she did let a little mischief seep into her smile. When she turned to Peiling she was serious once more. "It's just that Mr. Day came up will all kinds of allegations when Quinn talked to him. Personally, I think he was sounding off, but some of what he said was, well, inflammatory."
Peiling put his hands on his desk and leaned forward. "Like what?"
Christy smiled at him. She had intended to be more of an observer than an interviewer, but Peiling had taken her bait. It was up to her now to reel him in. "He said you've lost so much funding that your program is in jeopardy and you will have to cut some of your grad students. He also claimed that the grant made by his company is all that is keeping your program from being completely canceled."
"How dare he? That is not true!" Indignation added a snap to the professor's voice and he straightened.
Christy nodded encouragingly and smiled in a friendly way. "Then I suppose that you didn't agree to monitor Brittany while she was in Vancouver, both as a favor to him and to ensure he continued to fund the program?"
Peiling shifted uneasily, making his chair creak. "Roger did ask me to keep an eye on Brittany. Of course, I promised I would, but..." He hesitated, then said, "You have to understand, I'm a full professor. I have duties. Responsibilities to my faculty and to the university. I don't have time to shepherd a friend's daughter around. Or even to keep tabs on her. When Brittany came to Vancouver I took her on a tour of the city and told her what areas to avoid and where she shouldn't walk at night."
