The Blackbird Papers

by Ian Smith

  “Come and have a seat, Mrs. Potter,” Sterling said, helping the feeble woman to a chair at the small table. “Tell me what's happened.”

  Mrs. Potter rested her trembling hands on the table. A look of desperation turned down the corners of her mouth. “It's a most confusing affair. A few days ago Heidi was heading off to class like she does every morning. She fixed my breakfast and served it to me in my bedroom. Then she left.”

  “Did she say what her plans were that day?” Sterling asked.

  Mrs. Potter looked out the window. “We didn't have much of a conversation. I don't like to talk much in the morning, especially before I've finished my breakfast. She simply said that she'd see me around dinnertime. She has exams coming, so she was spending a lot of time studying in the library.”

  “Do you know which library she studied in?”

  Mrs. Potter shook her head. “I'm sure she's told me before, but I can't recall the name right now. I think it began with a K.”

  “Have you noticed anything different in Heidi's behavior the last couple of weeks?”

  “Not really. She was studying a lot more, but like I said, she had exams coming.” Mrs. Potter looked back out the window and sighed. “She still kept up with her chores around the house. She is good for that, you know.”

  “Did she have a boyfriend?”

  “She never brought a boy home,” Mrs. Potter said. “But kids are kids. She is an attractive girl, so I'd expect someone took a liking to her.”

  “Do you remember her talking on the phone to anyone who might've been special?”

  “I don't know. I couldn't have heard most of what she said anyway, with my bad hearing.”

  “Try to think back, Mrs. Potter,” Sterling insisted. “Can you remember anyone that might've called her?”

  Mrs. Potter squinted hard. “Well, there was that one time we answered the phone at the same moment, and I heard her talking to a man. He had never called her before. At least not from what I remembered. She called him Clipper.”

  “What did they talk about?”

  “I don't know. She took the phone upstairs and closed her door. She did that often. These kids like to have their privacy.”

  “Are you sure that was his name?”

  “Positive. I laughed when I heard it. My grandfather's nickname was Clipper.”

  “Mrs. Potter, we found a body a couple of days ago,” Wiley said. “It had been squeezed in a freight box and tossed in a dumpster.”

  The old woman leaned forward with an expression of anguish. The veins swelled under her thin pale skin. “Was it Heidi?”

  “We don't know,” Sterling said. “It was a woman, but she had been decapitated, and we haven't located her head.”

  Mrs. Potter fell back in her chair and buried her chin in her chest. Her shoulders twitched as she began to sob. She moaned words, but they were indecipherable.

  Sterling waited before speaking. “Some of the officers are going upstairs to Heidi's room to take a look at things,” he finally said. “We need some pictures and some strands of her hair to run genetic tests.”

  “What do you mean, genetic?” Mrs. Potter asked between sobs.

  “Samples of her hair or from her toothbrush will give us cells to analyze in the laboratory. We can run special tests to see if they match the corpse. It's new technology. Pretty standard procedure nowadays.”

  “Which room is hers?” Wiley asked gently.

  “The big one at the end of the second-floor hallway. Take the front steps and turn right.” The sky had turned an angry black and rain thrashed against the old house. “Dear God, I hope it's not Heidi,” she cried to the backs of the officers.

  Everyone else in the room already knew that it was.

  As word spread that the headless body found in the Grand Union dumpster belonged to graduate student Heidi Vorscht, fear paralyzed the small town of Hanover. The customary safety and innocence of the quiet mountains had quickly become a mere memory. A stream of concerned parents arrived in expensive foreign cars and marched to the front door of President Mortimer's mansion. They demanded proof that the campus was a safe place for their children.

  Meddlesome reporters and aggressive cameramen from around the country descended on Hanover, renting every available room in the closest three towns. The journalists were relentless in their interrogations of the unassuming townspeople. Small children, the elderly, it didn't matter. Everyone was a potential source and equally liable to have a mike thrust in their face. Photographers snapped endless rolls of film for their scandal-hungry editors. Two gruesome murders in such an unlikely setting were sure to sell papers.

  The Dartmouth Security office issued new guidelines that closed the sprawling campus to anyone without a direct affiliation with the school. The entrances to most of the academic buildings were guarded by security personnel who manned sensor machines and checked the identification of each person entering and leaving. State troopers had taken up posts around town, their presence comforting to some, a disturbing reminder of the recent tragedies to others.

  The students had in a way created their own curfew, restricting their travel after dark. Even the menacing-looking football players moved in pairs after the sun faded. Hanover evenings, typically energized by students crisscrossing campus to the library or the Hop or Murphy's Bar and Grill on Main Street, were unnervingly quiet. Overnight, the Upper Valley had been transformed into a ghost town.

  Fear hung in the air. Sterling heard it in the hushed tones and saw it in the eyes of the local police officers. The entire town was on edge, and so far there was no good reason to believe that things would get better anytime soon.

  32

  One trick to surviving long, exhaustive investigations is to find a reliable strategy to relieve the tension. For some, it's big dinners and plenty of liquid refreshment; for others, rented late-night movies. But for Sterling it was running. And this he did relentlessly—up at six, on the road for a five-mile run, then over to the Bagel Basement for his morning fare of juice, bagel, and the New York Times. The small shop was crowded this morning, so he decided to walk to the green where he could sit outside and catch up on matters around the world. Wilson had a satellite dish that captured all of the television stations and even some international programming, but that wasn't enough to make Sterling feel in touch. Like any New Yorker, he needed his copy of the Times.

  As Sterling sat down, he looked around and noticed how quiet the campus had fallen since the discovery of Heidi Vorscht's body. He opened the paper to the sports section, always his first stop. He enjoyed a lengthy article on Barry Bonds of the San Francisco Giants, then read through the box scores of the baseball games, before he turned to national news. He glanced at the headlines. Then at the top of the second page he saw an article: “Yankee Clipper Sets Sail.” Sterling closed his eyes and put down the paper. It wasn't the ship that had caught his attention but the name—Clipper. He remembered where he had heard it before. Mrs. Potter had said that a man with that name had called Heidi days before her death. But he had also seen the name somewhere else. He thought back over the last several days. It had been written on something he had seen in passing. He checked his notes. He could find only the reference from Mrs. Potter. Then it came to him—President Mortimer's office. At least, that's what he thought.

  He dialed Mortimer's office and got the world's happiest receptionist.

  “It's Agent Bledsoe,” Sterling said.

  “Good morning, Mr. Bledsoe. It's Vivian Sinclair. How can I help you?”

  “I think I might've dropped something in President Mortimer's office the other day.”

  “Are you sure? No one turned in anything to me.”

  “It was a special silver pen that a friend gave me. It's very small. Someone could've easily overlooked it. Is President Mortimer there?”

  “No, he and the rest of the staff will be gone all day. They're over at the business school for a big fund-raiser. Lots of VIP alums are up for some events. Gotta
keep the money coming in.”

  Perfect, Sterling thought to himself. “I'll stop by and take a look myself if you don't mind. It's so small, someone could've stepped on it or kicked it without even knowing.”

  “Are you sure you want to come all the way over here? I can go check and call you if I find it.”

  “I know you're busy there by yourself, so I don't want to bother you. It's just as easy for me to come over. I'm only a few minutes away.”

  Vivian agreed and Sterling wasted no time getting to Parkhurst. She greeted him with her permanent smile as he entered the office. How could anyone be so damn cheery all the time? She showed him back to the office and got on her hands and knees with him as he pretended to search for the pen.

  “I was sitting here,” he said, walking closer to the desk. “Maybe it rolled under.” As he leaned back toward the floor, he found exactly what he had come for. There it was—the picture of Serena Mortimer in her cheerleading uniform and the inscription To Clipper with love. Serena. What were the chances that this was the same Clipper whom Mrs. Potter overheard speaking with Heidi?

  “I guess it's not here,” Sterling finally said. “Maybe I dropped it in the car.”

  “I'm sorry, Mr. Bledsoe. Do you think you can get another one?”

  “Probably not,” Sterling said. “I've had that pen for fifteen years.”

  As Vivian walked Sterling to the heavy glass doors, an idea popped in his head and he took a gamble. “I'm sure you really miss Heidi around here,” he said.

  “Words can't describe,” Vivian sighed. “She was such a beautiful girl in every way.”

  “What did she do?”

  Vivian thought for a moment. “A little bit of everything, I guess. She really didn't have an official position.”

  “Did she work directly with you?”

  “Not really. She spent most of her time with the president.”

  “Sort of his personal assistant?”

  “I guess you could say that. She was one smart cookie. I know he thought the world of her. She was so ambitious. Most of the students that are lucky enough to get a job here must go through the whole application process. But Heidi just walked in one day and asked to meet the president. Didn't even have an appointment. I normally would've turned her away, just showing up like that, but she said she'd wait all day if necessary. He agreed to meet with her for a few minutes, and she's been around ever since.”

  This surprised Sterling. Why hadn't anyone from Mortimer's office called when the body had finally been identified as Heidi Vorscht? If she had been so beloved, then why had everyone, including Vivian, remained quiet about their connection to her?

  “Do you know if she spent a lot of time at the Mortimers' home?” Sterling asked.

  Only the two of them stood in the room, but Vivian still looked around nervously. She grabbed Sterling by the arm and led him into an empty office. She didn't speak again until the door was closed.

  “I don't mean to talk out of school,” she whispered. “But Mrs. Mortimer was not one of Heidi's fans. I never could really figure it out, but those two were like oil and water.”

  “How did you know something was wrong?”

  Vivian shook her head. The smile was gone. “You had to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to notice. This is an awful thing to say, and I don't want you to get the wrong impression. I really don't make a habit of listening to other people's conversations, but I happened to be walking by one day and the president's door was open just a little. He was talking so loud I couldn't help but hear. He wasn't saying very nice things to Mrs. Mortimer, and I kept hearing him mention Heidi's name.”

  “Was Heidi in the office with him?”

  “No, she had just stormed out crying minutes before. I asked her what was wrong, but she said she was too upset to talk about it. The president and Mrs. Mortimer must've argued for another twenty minutes.”

  “Did anyone else hear it?”

  “No, everyone had left for the day but me. It was an awful afternoon. Of course, I've heard him yell before, but that day it was something altogether different.”

  “If Heidi and Mrs. Mortimer had such bad blood, why would he keep Heidi around?”

  “Heidi was a special girl,” Vivian said. She was still whispering and holding on to Sterling's arm. “Heidi had an irresistible charm. The president tried his best to soothe things over between her and Mrs. Mortimer. Nothing worked.”

  “An unfortunate situation,” Sterling said, opening the door. They walked back to the reception area. “Give me a call if anyone knows about that pen,” he said.

  “I'm sorry we couldn't find it.”

  Sterling shrugged. “Don't worry. It always shows up when I least expect it.” He walked out the door certain he had found something much more valuable than a silver pen.

  Sterling walked back to the green and found a quiet bench. He scribbled some notes into his book, then dialed Sean Kelton's number. Sean was standing next to Heidi in the picture on Wilson's desk. His wife answered the phone, and Sterling could barely hear her over the screaming baby in the background. Exactly why Sterling wasn't ready to walk down the aisle. She told him that Sean had left an hour ago to run some errands in town. She gave him his cell phone number.

  “What can you tell me about Heidi Vorscht?” Sterling asked when he reached Sean.

  “Not much. I didn't spend much time with her.”

  “Was she one of Wilson's lab assistants?”

  “I'm not so sure I'd call her that. Supposedly she had an interest in our research, but the craziest thing is that she was getting her master's in engineering at the Thayer School.”

  “Then why was she working in the lab?”

  “We never could make the connection. And I wouldn't exactly call what she did work. She was just around. Then all of a sudden she stopped coming in.”

  “When was that?”

  “A few months ago.”

  “Did she have an argument with someone?”

  “Not that I know of. We just noticed that she wasn't stopping by and chatting up Professor like she used to.”

  “What did she and Wilson talk about?”

  “Not sure. They always closed the door when she went into the office. Supposedly her dad had committed suicide right after she arrived at Dartmouth. We just figured she was having a difficult time adjusting.”

  “This is an important question, Sean, so I want you to think hard before you answer it. Do you ever remember Heidi talking about a boyfriend?”

  There was a pause. “Never,” he said. “And I always found that strange. She was a very pretty girl, but she never talked to any of us about a boyfriend. To be honest, the other girls thought she was kind of strange. They said that whenever the conversation got too personal, she'd just clam up or change the topic.”

  “Do you know the names of any of her friends?”

  “No. She was a loner. I never saw her with anyone, even when she was walking on campus. Guys thought she was cute, but she gave off the vibes that she just wanted to be alone.”

  “Thanks, Sean. You've been a big help.”

  “Are you guys any closer to figuring this out?”

  “A hell of a lot closer than when we started.”

  33

  Spring comes much slower in the mountains than it does in the lower-lying areas. Winter slides into hibernation grudgingly, unleashing punishing freezes well into April. Sterling welcomed the morning chill. With two miles left in the run, he inhaled the crisp morning air deeply. Running in the quiet of the wilderness the last couple of weeks had spoiled him. There were no honking yellow cabs or heavy black exhaust fumes blowing out the back of city buses. Instead, he was treated to the cries of the wild and the relaxing sound of the powerful river awakening for its southern journey. This was Sterling's favorite part of the day, when he was left alone to sift his thoughts.

  The last part of the run was mostly downhill, giving Sterling a jump-start to his final kick. His strides were long now and
his breathing rhythmic. He galloped down River Road, then up Deer Run Lane, turning into the driveway and finishing the last thirty yards in a dead sprint. When he reached the front of the house, he quickly looked at his watch and slowed to a jog around the circular drive. As always, he finished at the large birch tree in the front yard.

  He hadn't noticed the small red car parked on the side of the house.

  “Mr. Bledsoe,” a man's voice called.

  Sterling jumped out of his stretch. An enormous tanned-skin man with jet-black hair stared down at him. Menacing. His features were wide and heavy, his countenance could only be described as serious. Very serious. Everything about him was big, including the clothes that draped his mountainous mass. He wore a dark leather headband that matched the turquoise-studded vest just visible under his colorful shawl.

  Sterling had already planned two escape routes by the time he spoke.

  “Who are you?” Sterling asked.

  “They call me Bigfoot,” the man grunted. He hadn't walked fifteen yards and he was already short of breath. “I've come to take you to Kanti.”

  “Who the hell is Kanti?”

  “Our leader. Ahote gave you the message?”

  Sterling remembered the paper she had slipped him the day of the memorial service. “Yes, she said that someone would come looking for me. What the hell took so long?” Sterling's attempt at comic relief was dead on arrival. The gigantic man's face never cracked.

  “Kanti does things according to his schedule,” Bigfoot said. “Now he's ready to meet with you.”

  “I'll go in for a quick shower and change. Want to come in for some coffee?”

  “No thanks,” Bigfoot said, shaking his massive head. “Your kind of coffee has become a drug in this society. I will wait out here.”

  Sterling rushed into the house. He had almost forgotten about the conversation he had had with Ahote and her insistence that he would be contacted when the time was right. Sterling finished his shower, threw on some fresh clothes, and grabbed his gun and black book. He plucked a banana off the counter, then went outside to follow the large messenger.