“Poor old Dix must have lost out in the gene pool. Not that he was bad-looking, but Melodie … wow.” Campbell bit thoughtfully into his bagel.
Rex wondered if this meant the swan song for Consuela and the Cuban mob. “What is BU?”
“Boston University.”
“That’s rather far, isn’t it?”
Campbell thumbed a glob of strawberry cream cheese off the side of his mouth. “It’s in Massachusetts.”
“Like I said. Far.”
“It’s not as though I was going to ask her out.”
Rex slid him a look. “I just wondered because you have that dreamy look in your eyes.”
“I admit I was smitten, but she’s in mourning. Even if I wanted to—and Consuela wasn’t in the picture—it would be totally inappropriate.”
Water trickled soothingly from the fountain behind them as they sat in companionable silence for a while, watching industrious squirrels forage among the blooms of a tall red maple.
“This place is overrun with squirrels,” Rex noted.
“Raccoons too.”
“It’s grand that the Clarks are letting us have the cottage. It simplifies our weekend plans no end. I just hope this investigation isn’t going to interfere with your studies.”
“It won’t. What do you want me to do to help?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll probably just be sounding you out about things. We’ll see how it goes. First, I’d like to speak to the faculty member who would know Dixon best.”
“Try Astra Knowles, the school registrar. You’ll find her in that building back there. She knows everybody. Can you ask her about the school bereavement policy while you’re at it?”
“What do you mean by a bereavement policy?”
“It’s when they make academic concessions for the students who knew the deceased …” Campbell seemed embarrassed, as well he should be, Rex thought. “The boys were discussing it.”
“The lad’s dead, and you lot are trying to find ways of taking advantage?”
“I know … but most colleges have some sort of policy. We’re just curious.”
Growling in disapproval, Rex stood up. “Say we meet back at your room at five?”
“Sounds good. I have band rehearsal this evening so we won’t be able to have dinner. At least, not until late.”
“That’s okay—I wouldn’t mind going back to the motel and having an early night.”
Much would depend on whether he got hold of Ms. Knowles, and what he could find out about Dixon. His parents had entrusted him with an important task and he was determined not to let them down.
Fortunately, Astra Knowles was available and able to see him right away. A statuesque woman of middle years, she wore a white blouse billowing over a long batik skirt, and silver hoop earrings.
“I understand you want to see me about Dixon Clark,” she said with a puzzled look on her smooth brown face.
“I’m here in loco parentis. Mr. and Mrs. Clark asked me to look into possible motives for their son’s suicide.”
“You’re a friend of theirs?”
“I was referred,” Rex said evasively. “I’m a lawyer back home in Scotland. But I do investigative work on an ad hoc basis.”
“You like Latin phrases, huh?” Ms. Knowles smiled in amusement.
“I have the Clarks’ number if you wish to verify,” Rex said, a trifle discomfited that she might find him pompous.
She gestured for him to sit down. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll try and be as helpful as I can without stepping outside my job description. Love your accent, by the way. It’s cute.”
“Er-hm, thank you.”
He settled into a metal-legged chair across from her desk. Tall file cabinets of monotonous gray surrounded the desk on three sides, many of them punctuated by incongruously decorative fridge magnets depicting all manner of things from fruit to fish, some of them appended with notes.
“These file cabinets are my babies,” the registrar said, following his gaze. “I been at Hilliard twenty-three years. Ain’ nothing I don’ know about scholastic policy. You ask me for a student’s academic record, I can put my hands on it in under a minute. Now, you probably looking around thinking, ‘Bureaucracy! I’m gonna be stonewalled by rules and regulations ’til I can’t see straight!’ But see here?” Astra Knowles pointed to a plaque on the wall. “ ‘Efficiency NOT Bureaucracy!’ That’s the code I live by.”
Rex felt not so much stonewalled as marshmallowed. He was getting nowhere, but in the pleasantest possible way. “Did you have much interaction with Dixon?” he asked.
“Some. This is a small college. I know most students, if only by sight. Most of the boys I know by name. They’re the ones I see most.”
“Do you know a Ray?”
“Got a last name?”
Rex shook his head.
“Yeah, boys are the worst offenders,” Ms. Knowles remarked, shaking her tight black curls. “They come in here all the time begging to drop out of classes if the going gets tough. Give them an easy way out and they’ll take it. They find a class where they don’t have to write papers, they jump into it like lemmings. When a website called StudentSpace.com went live, listing the softest graders and the easiest courses to pass, there was an epidemic of transfer requests. But I do have a special place in my heart for boys, having two of my own—grown men now. Lazy as the day is long, they were, but they doing all right for themselves now.”
“Was Dixon a good student?” He would start with the basics and see how far he could get.
“Average. He definitely benefited from the small classes we have here at Hilliard. But he was a D bordering on F in math.”
“Did he request a transfer?”
“Sure did, but I couldn’t get him out of his class as David Green’s was full.”
“So he stayed with Mr. Cormack.” Rex leaned forward in his chair. “How can I reach his math professor?”
“I’ll see if I can get him for you.” Referring to a typed pull-out list of names on her desk phone, she punched in a number. “Al? Astra here. There’s a gentleman in my office named Rex Graves who would like a word with you about Dixon Clark … Sure thing, hon. Thanks.” She replaced the receiver. “He’s on his way.”
“Thank you. I also wanted to ask you about another student, Kris Florek, a nursing major.”
“I have the School of Nursing files right here. Has this something to do with Dixon Clark?”
“She was his girlfriend.”
Ms. Knowles hesitated at an alphabetized file cabinet. “I ain’t authorized to give out information on just any student. Dixon Clark’s case is different, since you are acting for his parents and the poor kid is dead.”
“I understand.” Rex decided not to risk pushing his luck. “What is the policy regarding students who were close to the deceased?”
“You mean a bereavement consideration?”
“Aye—credits for non-attendance and such.”
“We have guidelines, but each case is judged on its own merit.”
“Have you had many cases of suicide?”
“Only one other in my time here. It happened off campus. A student jumped from a building. Usually, concessions are only made for a roommate or a girlfriend or boyfriend. But we have grief counselors available for all affected students.”
“What sort of concessions would those be?”
“A passing grade for the semester if needed. We don’t want to add to a student’s duress and have to deal with another tragedy.”
At that moment, a young man in pressed jeans and a blue striped shirt entered the office.
“Al, this is Mr. Graves. I have an errand to run down the hall. Take my chair, hon.”
Mr. Cormack sat opposite Rex and smiled pleasantly. “How can I be of help?”
“I’m here at the request of Dixon Clark’s parents who, understandably, are trying to comprehend the reason or reasons behind their son’s suicide.”
“And you thi
nk it might be because he was failing in math?” Cormack asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I want to determine what sort of pressure he might have been under in general. Studies, girlfriend, peers, finances, anything at all.”
“Well, I don’t think blame can be put on me. I try to be fair. If I see a kid struggling but coming to class and turning in his work, I bend over backward to give him or her a passing grade, or at least a bit of latitude with regard to retaking a test.”
“Did Dixon try?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“And yet he was a borderline F.”
Cormack’s face reddened. “Okay, but he got the grades he deserved.”
“Meaning?”
“Where are you going with this?”
“I’m simply trying to get at the truth.”
“The truth is Dixon Clark got another student in trouble for something he didn’t do, and he wasn’t man enough to own up to it. I don’t reward bad ethics.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
Cormack fidgeted with a cube container of paper clips on Astra Knowles’ desk. “Another student of mine got busted for dealing drugs and was suspended. There was no proof beyond Clark’s camera phone video. Turned out it could not have been R.J. on it. But he was expelled anyway, mainly on Clark’s say-so. And because he was unable to explain why he couldn’t get his hands on the hoodie he owned, supposedly the one on the video.”
“But wasn’t it Dixon’s job as a resident assistant to report drug activity?”
“It’s part of his job, sure, but R.J. was acquitted by a jury, and I felt the university should’ve gone with the verdict. Instead they sided with Clark. R.J. Wylie was an A student in math, although he was actually a chemistry major. I strongly opposed the university’s decision and almost got fired.”
Cormack was practically hyperventilating now. He looked at his watch and excused himself. “I’m meeting my girlfriend. Good luck.”
After he left, Rex sat in his chair pondering the professor’s reaction while he waited for Astra Knowles to return. The Nantucket ditty began to make more sense as he mentally recited it.
There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all his stash in a bucket,
A student named Ray
Got framed one day
And the man from Nantucket said fuck-it.
Cormack had said Dixon got R.J. in trouble for something he didn’t do, and wasn’t man enough to come forward.
If one went with the facts, as one must, there could be no doubt that Dixon had taken his own life, since the door and window were locked and instructions on how to commit suicide were found on his desk. There was no sign of a struggle in the room or on the body, and no one in the corridor had seen or heard anything suspicious, except that the RA was playing his music louder than usual.
So what had driven Dixon to end his life? Remorse for getting another student in trouble?
After getting nothing further out of Astra Knowles, Rex crossed the campus and returned to Keynes Hall to meet Campbell. He did not have a key to the building, but a student who was entering the main entrance let him in without hesitation when he explained he was a parent. Despite his size, Rex did not present a threatening figure. Helen had described him as cuddly. This reminded him of his resolution to exercise each day that week, regardless of how busy he was. He would do his laps as soon as he got back to the motel.
In the meantime, he ran energetically up the first flight of stairs, walked the next two, and made his way slightly out of breath to his son’s room, where he opened the door and found Campbell and Red waiting for him. The gangly redhead was beating a pair of drumsticks against Campbell’s desk.
“You must be the drummer in the band,” Rex said.
Red nodded and sent one of the sticks cart-wheeling into the air, catching it with a nonchalant twirl of his wrist.
“What did Ms. Knowles say?” Campbell asked.
“Not much, except that a roommate or a really close friend of a deceased student would receive a passing grade for the semester if they needed it.” Rex joined Campbell on the bed.
“Lucky for Kris then,” Red remarked. “She was flunking out of Nursing School.”
“She’s got to be taking it hard,” Campbell said.
“Dunno about that. They had a big bust-up before Spring Break and she wasn’t talking to him.”
Young love, Rex thought as the boys debated the question of Kris’ feelings for Dixon. He considered mentioning what the math professor had told him, but didn’t want to advertise the fact that he was talking to faculty members about Dixon’s suicide. “Anyway,” he said, getting up. “I’ll leave you lads to it. Good luck with band practice.”
“You should come and listen one evening, Dad.”
“I’d like to. Have you got a name for the group?”
“Dirty Laundry.”
“’Cause we play down in the basement where the washers and dryers are,” Red explained.
Rex grinned. “Must make for some interesting background accompaniment.”
“It’s hell,” the boy replied. “It really throws you off.”
“Campbell, can I take the Glenfiddich with me? I thought I’d have a wee drink out on the motel balcony. I’ll replace it if necessary.”
“Help yourself.”
“Ta. Bye now.”
He descended to the car park and, getting into Campbell’s SUV, drove to Jacksonville Beach, managing to miss the worst of rush-hour traffic. The glowing orange sign welcoming him to the Siesta Inn beckoned with the promise of a quiet night in a clean and comfortable bed.
By six-thirty, he had been for a swim and was ready to leave the motel room for a solitary dinner pondering his notes on the case when an urgent knock sounded at the door.
“Moira!” he exclaimed upon opening it, scarcely believing his eyes. The woman he had left on Arthur’s Seat stood on the walkway with a small suitcase, dressed in a cotton print frock and a knitted bolero cardigan, in spite of the warm evening air. The clothes looked like they came from a thrift shop, but somehow suited her gamine-like figure. Waiflike was the word that had often come to mind in the days he had thought about Moira.
“Are ye not going to let me in?” she demanded as he stood there in shock.
Without conscious thought, Rex stepped aside so Moira could pass. She deposited the suitcase on the carpet and sat on the far bed looking out at the view of the ocean through the balcony rail. Rex watched speechless as she slipped off her clunky-heeled shoes and lay prostrate on the zigzag patterned bedspread.
“I can hardly believe I made it all this way and found you so easily.”
Neither could Rex. “So how did you?” he asked, perching on the other bed and wondering what he was to do.
“The young man who devils for you told me where you were staying. I told him it was an emergency. And so it was.”
It had never occurred to Rex to tell Angus to screen his calls. He had left him the number of the Siesta Inn in case a colleague needed to contact him. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought Moira would follow him across the Atlantic. “Why did you come?” he demanded.
“I told you before. I have to talk to you. I’m trying to put my life back together.”
“Well, I’ve moved on. I thought I had made that perfectly clear in Edinburgh.” He gave a heartfelt sigh. “I’m afraid you’ve wasted a trip.”
“I dinna think so. This is an ideal opportunity to clear things up. I prepared a speech, but I’ve forgotten it.” She smiled ruefully at him, displaying sharp little teeth.
“It’s not as ideal an opportunity as that,” he protested. “It so happens a student at Campbell’s university hanged himself, and the parents have asked me to look into it.”
“Why you?”
“I was first on the scene.”
“You always were dependable and steady, Rex. I always appreciated that about you.”
“Not that much, evidently, since you ran
off with the first man who looked at you twice!” Rex was surprised at the resentment that still smoldered within him. He thought he had long since put his feelings toward Moira behind him.
“That’s not true!” She jumped up and paced the room. “There was a car bombing at the Sunni-Shiite neighbourhood market where I was buying provisions for the refugee center. I canna describe the deafening explosion, all the glass shattering everywhere.”
“Moira …”
“People were screaming. Blood was spattered all over the dirt streets and across the buildings. Two pickup trucks arrived to carry away body parts.” Moira paused, clutching at her cardigan.
“’Tis a terrible experience to live through,” Rex commiserated.
“Aye.” She lay back down on the bed, seemingly exhausted, and took a deep breath. “Neil was with a reporter shooting a documentary. They ran to the scene and helped excavate the victims. A shop front collapsed and buried me under the plaster. Neil lifted the door off me. I escaped with minor cuts and bruises, but what I saw that morning won’t heal. I keep reliving it in my mind. There were babies, Rex, catapulted out of their mothers’ arms. Oh, God!” Her legs curled into a fetal position and she began to cry pitifully.
Rex poured a glass of whisky from the bottle he had appropriated from Campbell’s room. Moira was teetotal, but he felt she could benefit from it for medicinal purposes as she was clearly distressed. “Have you sought psychiatric help?” he asked, handing her the glass.
To his astonishment, she sat up and downed the whisky in one gulp. “I thought I’d be fine once I got home, but everything’s changed. I want us to get back together, Rex. I need stability.”
Moira had no family to speak of, and had not seen her abusive alcoholic father in years. Her main support group was the Charitable Ladies of Morningside, where she had met his mother and with whom she used to play bridge. She was persona non grata with his mother now. No wonder Moira was clinging to him as to a life raft. She had no one else.
“I’m sorry I caught you at a bad moment, with that student hanging himself,” she murmured. “I know how he must have felt. I’ve had despairing thoughts too.”
Phi Beta Murder Page 5
