by Liz Bradbury
Please reconsider your employment of Miss Gale. Those are my feelings, I do not want to further discuss them with you .
I stared at the note, rereading parts. I looked at everyone else at the table, who were all looking at me. Then spun to Bouchet who was still standing by me.
“Where is she?” I said with undisguised fury.
“Out there, but I don’t think...” said Bouchet glancing over his shoulder toward the reception area toward Kathryn, who was standing there with her coat on. Before Bouchet could finish, I was on my feet striding out the door.
Amanda Knightbridge, in an attitude of deep concern, watched my purposeful approach to Kathryn. Dr. Knightbridge craned her neck when I stepped into her sight line, blocking her view. I held the email hard copy in one hand. Dr. Knightbridge could see Kathryn taking it from me as I raised my voice in anger.
Amanda Knightbridge heard me say to Kathryn, “What the hell is this? What do you mean by this?”
Everyone in the small conference room was listening now. They heard Kathryn murmur an answer. She took a step toward the stairwell but I got in front of her, blocking her path. She was shaking her head at me.
Kathryn’s severe voice ripped back, “As a matter of fact this is the way I feel and I’m not at all sorry you’ve seen this. You don’t have any right to question my motives. You’re being stupidly rude. You’re making a mistake and because of it you’re putting yourself and the college at risk! I can’t support it and I certainly can’t support the way you’re acting now!”
Amanda heard me respond to Kathryn, “Who do you think you are? You have no right to criticize me or my work at all...” My voice dropped to a lower tone so that the people in the conference room couldn’t make out my words, but my expression and gestures conveyed my ire. I was furious.
Kathryn’s fury was equal to mine. She hauled off and slapped me across the face. She pushed past me and made for the stairs at top speed. I didn’t even bother to look after her. I unconsciously lifted my hand to my face. It hurt like hell, in many more ways than one. I could have cried, but I was too pissed off. I stormed back into the conference room.
Amanda Knightbridge was on her feet, staring at me in horror. She scanned my eyes. I looked fiercely back at her and she sat down.
“President Bouchet, don’t bother to call this meeting to order. I’ll do it,” I said in an angry authoritative voice, “I was hired to investigate Carl Rasmus’s murder...” There was a gasp around the table, like my role was a surprise. For Christ sake, the place had been bombed. Skylar Carvelle had been whacked to death in the comfort of his own home, but these people still insisted on hiding in their ivory towers. Even Bouchet had thought it was a game. And now all this with Kathryn! It was too much. I was at the edge.
“Yes, it was murder...” I said savagely. I opened Carl’s laptop. The screen lit up. “This laptop has duplicates of Carl’s desk top programs and files. I copied them several days ago.”
I stopped to survey the room. I pulled Carl’s high sensitivity microphone out of my shoulder bag. One end was already plugged into the laptop. I went on in a more controlled voice, “Carl had a program that allowed him to speak text into the computer. It also read text back to him. I’ve entered my voice into the program so it can understand me as well. The program also has a macro function, which allows the user to say a keyword that cues the program to write a designated set of lines.” I turned Carl’s laptop so it faced everyone in the room.
I picked up the mic and flipped on the switch. I took my cell phone out of my pocket, pressing a button that made it ring. Holding it to my ear, I looked around at everyone and then said clearly, “Carl Rasmus.” Immediately words began to appear on the laptop screen. They didn’t stop until the whole text of Carl’s suicide note appeared.
The effect on the room was formidable. I tried to view everybody’s reactions, but Jimmy Harmon pushed himself up and stumbled out of the room. I grabbed Kathryn’s email and followed him out.
Jimmy ran down the stairs and was going top speed to the music building. I ran after him. I saw him haul the door to the music building open and sprint up the stairs. He didn’t know I was behind him.
He rushed to Carl’s office door, grabbing the padlock in his hand, he yanked on it fruitlessly. He pounded the door with his fist and kicked it. Finally, he sank to the floor, sobbing.
“Jimmy, get off the floor and get a hold of yourself,” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Listen to me and answer... what’s the deal on the music Carl gave you to show to your agent?”
Jimmy twisted his body around so that his back was against the door and his legs were straight out in front of him. When he raised his head, he was smiling. He hadn’t been sobbing, he’d been laughing. It was damn creepy.
“Don’t fuck with me Jimmy,” I yelled grabbing him by the shirt collar. He was staring at me, his eyes bright. I said fiercely, “You’re acting like a rabid squirrel. Stop being an asshole and answer me. What the hell is going on? This isn’t just because you’re on some sinus medication.” I shook him by the collar, his head snapped back and forth. “Did you push Carl off the balcony... is that what it is?”
“What! No, no, I didn’t, I didn’t. I’d never do anything like that. Don’t you see, it wasn’t my fault. All along, I thought... I thought he killed himself because of what I’d done...”
“What did you do!?! I yelled.
“I took his song... and other tunes... and I showed them to my agent and he liked them and said he’d get them published. But that morning, the morning when Carl died... when he got killed, I told him that my agent said his stuff was crap. I was such an asshole. I don’t know why, but I just didn’t want to admit Carl was good, but he was, everybody loved his stuff. People who are totally hard nose were saying it was the best work ever. I was jealous. I was going to tell him... but, well... he died. I thought he killed himself because I told him... because he thought everyone was against him.”
“You stole his work?” I asked incredulously.
“Huh? Oh no, it wasn’t like that. His name was on it. It’s not like I told people it was mine. It’s just that I wanted it to fail... and when it didn’t, I told him it had. I’d have to tell him that all his stuff was going to be published... but I was just so annoyed and I guess insecure... paranoid... and then when he died... I thought he’d done it because of what I’d said. It was so cruel... ”
I understood this. I’m an artist. I’ve lived and worked around artistic types for years. People whose creative work meant everything to them... and who felt the pain and insecurity of rejection to their very soul. While I couldn’t condone, in a million years, the mean trick Jimmy had played on Carl... I knew of a dozen parallel instances and clearly Jimmy’s meds had added to his insecurity and paranoia.
“Jimmy, why did you run out of the meeting and come here?”
“Because it must have all been fake, not just this one note. All those emails. They must have all been sent by someone else... by the person who put the note on his computer! I came over here because I wanted to see... there must be some trace of the person who did it!”
“Jimmy, read this.” I thrust out the copy of the email Bouchet had shown me earlier. I was buying Jimmy’s story, most of it rang true, but I had to be sure. The killer had sent me a tool. Now, I had a test for Jimmy. If he passed, then he was in the clear.
Jimmy took the paper and glanced at it.
“No read it... carefully, right now,” I insisted.
He looked at it more seriously. “It’s from Kathryn? This is the thing Bouchet showed you today? No wonder you were pissed.” He read it over again... “Do you really think she wrote it?” He asked trying to hand the paper back to me.
“Why do you say that?” I asked curiously.
“Because...” he flipped the paper back and read some of it again, “...because Kathryn’s an English teacher. I’ve never heard her make a grammatical error, she’d certainly never write one...”
“So?”
“Well... laying on the floor... it’s incorrect... she’d never...” his head snapped up, “Oh shit, you think the killer wrote this?”
He was right; Kathryn didn’t write the note. The person who wrote it didn’t know the difference between lie and lay. The note was from the killer and the killer wasn’t Jimmy.
I got out my keys and unlocked the door to Carl’s office. I thought maybe Jimmy could find a clue in Carl’s computer system, but there was something else happening in my brain. Jimmy struggled to his feet. He bumped against me. The contact irritated the bruise on my hip. What was happening in my brain now felt like the beginnings of a tsunami, but it hadn’t hit the shore yet.
I turned on the light. Carl’s office was just as I’d left it. No papers and tons of equipment. I idly opened some of the drawers. The little stash of Devil Dog 3-packs was still in place. I looked at them. Devil dogs had been in my dream... I thought about my dream. I froze. Jimmy was watching me. I flashed on the wound in my side in the dream. I touched the top of my hip. It hurt. Rowlina... the fox... the red blood... The Tsunami crashed on the beach.
“Oh shit! Oh no!” I gasped. I grabbed my cell phone and frantically hit Kathryn’s office number. She picked up on the third ring.
“Kathryn, this is an emergency...” I said.
“I’m sorry,” she said cutting me off shortly, “I can’t speak to you now. I’m busy with someone in my office.” She hung up.
Chapter 40
“Shit, shit,” I gasped. Fear clutched my stomach. I scrolled to Amanda Knightbridge’s office number and punched it in.
“What is it, what’s wrong?” yelled Jimmy seeing the terrified look on my face.
“It’s Kathryn. There’s something wrong in her office.”
“Why? Just because she won’t talk to you? No offense but you had a pretty big argument with her today.”
“It was a sham. We were acting. I told her to slap me. I knew the email was a fake...” Puzzle pieces crashed into position like ice floes slamming together at a dam. “I know who the killer is, and he’s been trying to kill Kathryn all along.” Articulating the last part made my heart ache physically, but sharpened my senses.
Amanda Knightbridge’s secretary answered. I told her to put me through to Dr. Knightbridge immediately.
When Amanda Knightbridge came on the line I said rapidly, “This is Maggie Gale. This is urgent, Dr. Knightbridge. I need you to go to the second floor of your building and see if you can see into Kathryn’s office window... now!”
Thank the gods that Amanda Knightbridge could grasp the concept of urgency. She hurried up the stairs carrying the phone with her. In a minute she was out of breath, but at the second floor window.
“What am I looking for, Ms. Gale?”
“Leo Getty... is Leo Getty in her office with her?”
Jimmy said “Leo!?!” but Amanda Knightbridge said nothing. She was looking.
“There is someone... I can see Kathryn’s back... oh thank you Millie... I have some binoculars, just a minute... yes, yes, it’s Leo Getty with her.
“Keep watching them Dr. Knightbridge. I’m on my way there.”
“Shall I arrange to call the police?”
“No, yes... um...” I said as I ran down the stairs with Jimmy hot on my heels. “Call Lt. Ed O’Brien. Tell him that there is a hostage situation, use my name. Tell him that everything must be calm and quiet. A swarm of sirens will make Leo... Oh God,” I said in anguish.
“I understand, I will communicate your directions and concern. I will also call Max Bouchet, and tell him to keep the security people at bay, and I will stay on the line with you.” She was a calm spot in the storm but I wasn’t paying much attention to her. I was running faster than I ever had in my life.
Why hadn’t I seen it before? It was all so clear now. Leo Getty was the killer and he’d already tired to kill Kathryn twice. There was nothing to stop him from trying again. And this time he was in her office, face to face with her and probably holding a gun.
I’m not a religious person, but I found myself trying to make a deal with unknown powers: Please don’t let him kill her... Please don’t let anything happen to her... Please don’t take her from me.
When I got to the door of the Language Arts Building I slowed and opened it quietly. When it squeaked, I winced. Leo was obviously nuttier than squirrel crap, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. He was in her office, and I had to stop him.
When Jimmy and I got to the fire door at the top of the stairs, I spoke to Amanda Knightbridge again as softly as possible, trying to keep the edge of desperation out of my voice.
“Have you seen anything else? Is she still all right?”
“Ms. Gale, get a hold of yourself... you must have all your wits.”
Amanda was right. I sounded hysterical... I needed to control myself.
“Yes,” I said in a calmer voice into the phone, I took a deep breath, “What do you see?”
“They are talking... she is behind her desk with her back to the window. Leo is sitting across from her. I’m going to tell you this to let you know his state of mind, but you must not overreact, do you understand?”
“What?”
“He just hit her. It was a backhand slap, but she seems to be all right. She has her hand to her face, but they are still talking.”
He hit Kathryn. I filed that away but processed the implications. I’d trained in hostage negotiations. Hitting was bad, but on the other hand, he had a gun, he could have shot her.
“Can you see a gun? Is Leo holding a gun?”
“I believe he has a shiny metal object in his right hand. It could be a gun. He does not seem to have it directly trained on her.”
I motioned for Jimmy to follow me, and opened the door to the hallway. It creaked as we slipped in, but not very loud. At the first deserted office door we passed, I took out the set of passkeys Bouchet had given me and tried them in the lock. I found the passkey that opened these doors. All the other keys were the wrong shape or size.
We padded down the hall, making no noise. I cupped my hands to Jimmy’s ear and whispered, “Put the key in the knob and turn it to the right. I’ll kick the door open and rush in.” I reached in my shoulder holster and took out my gun, removed the safety, moved a shell into the chamber and held it ready.
“But... but... should we wait for the cops? If you rush in, he could shoot,” whispered Jimmy back into my ear.
“He’s too hinky, Jimmy. He’s here to kill her. We’re on borrowed time as it is.”
We could hear Leo ranting things like, “You’re the one... bitch... the world’s better off... you should all be dead...”
I put the key in the lock myself indicating that Jimmy should turn it.
This was it. I motioned for Jimmy to stand clear. Jimmy reached over and turned the knob. I kicked with all my might, flying low into the room, aiming my gun at Leo. He’d turned his gun on me and was beginning to squeeze off a shot, but Kathryn reached over her shoulder, grabbed the bronze figure on the shelf and roundhoused Leo in the head. Leo’s shot hit the bookcase five feet above me. He was knocked to the floor but he still had the gun in his hand, and he was swinging it around in an arc that would end at Kathryn. I threw myself at his arm knocking the gun spinning over his head. It slid into the far corner as Leo scrambled to get it. I right hooked him, which isn’t easy to do when you’re on the floor, but it did its job.
Instantly cops were pouring into the room. I rolled out of the way and they took charge of Leo, jumping on him, pressing him to the floor and cuffing his hands behind his back. I scrambled to my feet. Kathryn was standing behind her desk, still with the bronze statue in her hand, staring at what was going on. I holstered my gun and made my way around the desk to her, gently taking the statue from her and leaving it on her desk. I circled my arm around her waist and guided her into the hall.
Bouchet was running toward us. He was shouting, “What happened, what happe
ned?”
I just shook my head and he had the good grace to leave us alone. Kathryn’s cheek was red where Leo had hit her, which made me sad and sorry, but way glad I’d punched him in about the same spot.
“He had a gun. I hit him with the statue,” sputtered Kathryn. Her eyes rolled back, her knees gave way and we sank down to the floor together.
She was conscious, just dazed. We sat there leaning against the hallway wall, me holding her and stroking her hair, her arms tightly around me. After a few moments, Amanda Knightbridge was speaking to us in a calm but commanding tone.
“Kathryn, Maggie, listen to me now,” we both turned to her voice, “it’s time to go. President Bouchet will take care of the rest of this.” She looked at me intently... “The press is coming. It would be best if...” She glanced at Kathryn who was really quite pale. “Take her home now, Maggie.” Amanda Knightbridge fixed me with the kind of stare that birds of prey use to compel their victims. In this case, it simply made me take Kathryn and go.
*********
During the short drive to the loft Kathryn was talking at full throttle. Words spilled out of her like a Texas livestock auctioneer two fisting espressos. Everything made sense, but she was jumping from topic to topic at warp speed. I’d seen this kind of adrenalin rush before. It happens to rookie cops after their first car chase or stand off. I’d had it to a lesser degree after the fire.
Kathryn said that after she’d left the administration building she went directly to her office. She’d felt horrible after hitting me, even though I’d insisted in a whisper that she must.
She paused for the sixth time in the story to say, “I’m so sorry, does it hurt? I’m so sorry.”
I gently told her yet again that she should stop worrying about it. I didn’t mention it had hurt like heck, because it didn’t matter. I was so proud of her. I’d known at once that Kathryn hadn’t written the email. She and Bouchet had already conferred about it in his office. When I stepped up to her, she fell into the necessary role immediately. It was complicated. She’d had to be angry at what I was saying without admitting she’d written the text, because the killer would suspect her if she pretended she had. She’d managed splendidly. My part was easy. It wasn’t hard for me to act annoyed. I was violently angry at the killer for using Kathryn in this way, but I hadn’t understood that the killer was actually after Kathryn. Not at that moment anyway. Not consciously.
