“Breaking and entering? What if I get caught? I could be expelled.”
“Then you can continue your studies at Glasgow University, where you should have gone in the first place.”
Campbell picked up his backpack by the desk. “I knew it,” he joked. “This is just one big conspiracy to get me back home, right?”
“Kidnapping would have been easier.” Rex gave his son an affectionate “nuggie,” hooking his arm around his neck. “Good luck with your test.”
He followed Campbell out of the room and headed for the hospital, hoping against hope that Moira would be fit enough to travel the next morning.
As Rex approached the hospital room, a somber-clothed couple hurried out the door. Moira’s face, by contrast, looked illuminated. A copy of The Watchtower lay by her bedside.
“I’ve brought you a hamburger,” Rex told her cheerfully. “I thought some red meat would be just the thing.”
“That’s grand—I’m starving.”
“You have more colour in your cheeks today. You must be on the mend.” He took a seat. “I see you had company.”
“Jehovah’s Witnesses. Did you know they’re against blood transfusions?”
“Is that a fact?”
“I tried to reason with them.”
No wonder the couple had looked so harried. Moira could talk the hind leg off a donkey when she got into her stride.
“I can tell the case is coming along,” she said. “You have that look you get when you’re about to pull one over on the defense.”
“There might be a breakthrough. I’ll know more after lunch.”
“So you canna stay long?” She set aside her wrapped hamburger as resolutely as though she were going on hunger strike.
“I only have two more days until I take Campbell to the Keys.”
“Can’t I come along?”
“I need this time with my son, Moira. Besides, the Charitable Ladies are expecting you. I was not supposed to tell you this, but they’re planning a welcome home party in your honour.” It had been his mother’s idea. “They want to hear all about your work in Iraq, and Heather Sutherland wants you to stay with her for a few days.”
“That’s nice of her. I’d hate to have to go back to my lonely flat.”
“No need for that. She has plenty of space at her house. She’ll meet you off the plane.”
“Am I leaving tomorrow?”
“If I can arrange it.”
“All right, then, I’ll go, but you have to promise to visit me when you get back to Edinburgh.”
If it meant getting Moira on the plane, he was willing to grant her wish. “I promise,” he said. “I’ll want to see how you’re doing. Now, are you going to eat that hamburger?”
He filled her water glass as she unwrapped her burger and chatted with her while she ate it. His mind was on other matters and it was only with the greatest difficulty that he covered his impatience to leave. When he finally did, he got on the phone and made arrangements for her flight. Then he called his mother with the new arrival time, so she could relay it to Mrs. Sutherland.
“Can ye be sure she’ll be on this plane?” his mother asked.
“God willing. Unless she suffers a relapse.”
“How is she?”
“She seems stronger, both physically and mentally. But she really should see a specialist when she gets home.”
“Heather has one lined up who was recommended by her brother. How is the weather in Florida?”
Rex did not tell his mother he had barely had a chance to enjoy it. Not wishing to worry her, he had omitted to mention the case of the boy found hanging in his dorm, though no doubt she would find out about it soon enough once Moira was back in Edinburgh. “It’s sunny every day,” he told her, and assured her he would be in contact again at the end of the week.
Aware he was running late and that there was little enough time before the memorial service to accomplish everything that needed to be done, he sped back to the university. Letting himself into Campbell’s room with his son’s spare key, he saw that his son had gone ahead with the plan. The desk had been moved and the grill was propped inside the opening to the air vent.
Rex stepped from the chair onto the desk. Placing his head in the opening, he called out softly, the cold dry air carrying his voice up the chute. A string wound around a nail trailed into the darkness. He could not follow it. If he pulled himself into the shaft he might get stuck. Campbell was lithe and athletic. Rex wasn’t.
He thought about posting himself by Dixon’s door, in case someone came to take the computer while Campbell was in the room, but decided that would only draw attention to them. He sat swiveling on Campbell’s chair, straining his ear for sounds from the ceiling. He gave the Enter key on the laptop a little tap, and the surf photo screensaver gave way to an essay question that Campbell was working on. Rex took a peek.
“Many biologists claim the earth is not a living organism. However, I agree with James Lovelock that the earth is the largest living thing in our solar system. Earth is living, just like you and me.
“All aspects of the earth have biotic traits. The oxygen in the atmosphere, which we breathe and exhale as carbon dioxide, benefits the trees, which in turn benefits us. The planet has water, which gives and supports life. Earth has many similar characteristics to living organisms. It even scars and bears wounds from the damage we have caused … ”
His cell phone rang, interrupting his reading, and he fumbled in his haste to open it.
“Dad, where are you?” Campbell asked in a hushed voice.
Rex wanted to tell his son he was sitting at his desk, moved by the passion and poetry in his essay response. However, this wasn’t the moment. “I’m in your room. What did you find out?”
“I reviewed the list of the last three hundred sites Dix visited. No history of access to any suicide site. R.J. could’ve downloaded the how-to instructions from his own computer and brought them with him. Dix accessed StudentSpace.com plenty, though. I saved his files on a CD-ROM. Now that they’re safely stored, I can use my WipeDrive 5TM program to erase everything off the hard drive. That way the college won’t be able to use any of the information against the Clarks if they decide to sue.”
“Do it,” Rex said. “It’s a bit late for the college to be intervening now. They had their chance to close down the site before it all ended in tragedy. How long will it take?”
“I’m doing it now.”
“Make sure you leave everything in the room exactly the way you found it.”
“Don’t worry. I even wore gloves to get through the vent.”
“A real pro.”
“Okay, the data’s been deleted. I’m closing down. See you in a few minutes.”
Rex, unable to bear the suspense, took a stroll down to the second floor to make sure the coast was clear. Aiding and abetting a break-in was the most illegal thing he had ever done. He had not so much as run a red light since he passed the Scottish bar exam. A few students paused in respectful silence in front of Dix’s door. No one was ascending from the first floor. Rex hurried back upstairs without being seen.
“We’re golden,” Campbell exclaimed as he reappeared through the ceiling, head first.
Rex helped him onto his feet. “So you found your way okay,” he said, replacing the grill.
“I memorized the plan before I set out and rolled out a string so I could find my way back.” Campbell’s face was flushed from exertion and excitement.
“You did grand, lad.”
Campbell pulled a rope and a CD-ROM from under his sweat shirt, which he had tucked into his jeans, and removed his latex gloves.
“Where did you get those?”
“I use them for dissections.”
“I should never have asked. Anything else of interest on the PC?”
“I skimmed his personal emails. There were some nasty ones from Kris accusing him of screwing on the side. She said he made her sick. Nice, huh?”
&n
bsp; “I think she may have meant that literally. What was the date on those emails?”
“She sent them shortly before Spring Break.”
“Anything else?”
“There was a draft email to Cormack that Dix hadn’t sent yet, blasting him for favoritism and denying having posted the picture of Ms. Johnson. He threatened to complain to the dean if Cormack didn’t put up his grade.”
“Let’s get this desk back into place,” Rex said.
When the furniture was back to normal, Campbell stripped out of his clothes. “Do I have time for a shower before the memorial service?”
Rex glanced at his watch. “Aye, if you’re quick.”
He had brought a dark jacket and tie with him that morning. While he waited for Campbell, he made a list in his notebook of people left to question. The memorial service would provide an opportunity to have a word with some key players in Dixon’s life.
“Why so glum?” Campbell asked upon re-entering the room.
“It’s a right depressing case. I keep thinking, ‘There but for the grace of God.’”
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’m not going to go and do anything stupid. How do I look?”
“Verra nice.”
Campbell did indeed look extremely handsome in his black slacks and ironed white shirt. His tall body made for an elegant clothes horse. He put on a pair of dress shoes over his black socks and applied gel to his hair, preening in the mirror inside the closet door. Rex was under no illusion as to whom his son was going to all this trouble for.
“We’ll be late,” he reminded Campbell, tapping his watch.
“Did you order the flowers?”
“A big purple wreath from the both of us,” Rex said as they left the room and strode down the corridor. “Do you have the address of the church?”
“I know where it is. It’s not far.”
“You drive while I put on my tie.”
As they reached the parking lot, Rex felt hollow. Memorial services made him more uneasy than hospitals. The April sky was overcast, threatening rain, in sympathetic mourning for the twenty-year-old boy from Nantucket.
The paired, narrow-arched windows of the Gothic Revival church were paned with stained glass, indenting the smooth beige façade. A group of people stood on the steps beneath the red-tiled porch roof. Rex saw Campbell’s gaze lock onto Melodie, who was in conversation with her parents. She wore a simple black dress and diamond drop earrings, looking the very picture of decorum and class. Kris Florek entered the church with Mike, the business major from Indiana. Rex looked around for the other students he had met. Red and Justin mingled with their peers on the lawn. The mood was somber.
Shortly afterward, Dr. Binkley, cloaked in his black gown, arrived on a bicycle. “Isn’t that the dean of students?” Rex asked Campbell.
“He lives on the campus perimeter and bikes pretty much everywhere.”
Members of the faculty joined the dean as he strode up the path. Campbell greeted Mrs. Clark with a hug and a kiss on the cheek and received a warm handshake from her husband. While Campbell said hello to Melodie, Rex took the parents aside and informed them he was making progress in the case, without divulging that he was now almost convinced their son’s death was a murder. He wanted actual proof before dropping the bombshell. That Dixon had not downloaded the suicide instructions, at least not from his own computer, was not enough evidence.
Removing the CD-ROM from his pocket, he told them that Campbell had saved the data from Dixon’s PC. “If you give me permission to look at it, I can then forward it to you, unless you’d rather have it now.”
“It’s too painful right now,” Katherine said. “But please send it on when you’re done with it.”
The church bell rang in the tower, and people started moving toward the entrance. The Clarks invited him and Campbell to sit with them, but Rex declined, saying he preferred to observe from the back. He detained his son before he could follow Melodie down the central aisle as organ music burst from the chancel.
“Who’s that lad behind us?” he asked in a fierce whisper, recognizing the boy who had sworn a lot and tried to break down Dixon’s door on Sunday night.
“Klepto,” his son replied. “Dix’s ex-roommie.”
“Good, I wanted a word with him.” Rex had imagined Klepto as a furtive-looking individual, but this boy was of average build and sauntered confidently up the path, hands thrust into the slit pockets of a brushed leather jacket.
“See you later,” Campbell said, hurrying after Melodie.
Rex buttonholed Klepto before he could step through the door. “I remember you from Sunday night,” he said, guiding him back into the emptying vestibule. “Sorry—I didn’t get your name.”
“Ty Clapham. I go by Klepto.”
“That’s a bit of an unfortunate nickname, isn’t it? Or is it well deserved?”
The slim-fitting zippered jacket featured an array of pockets, perhaps useful for hiding items. Rex could not help but wonder how Klepto had come by such an expensive article of clothing.
“Do I steal, d’you mean? I prefer to call it appropriation of assets. You have no idea how careless some of these kids are with their stuff. I’m not a kleptomaniac in the clinical sense. I do what I do for material gain, not because of a morbid condition.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Rex said curtly. “Ever been in trouble with the law?”
“Never.”
“Perhaps ‘not yet’ would be a better answer. And, remember, kleptomania is not generally accepted as an affirmative defense. I understand you were Dixon’s roommate last year?”
“That’s right.” The boy made direct eye contact. “What’s with all the questions?”
“I’m looking out for Dixon’s interests. The Clarks are nice people. I said I would try to find out more about the circumstances surrounding their son’s death.”
Through the door, Rex could see that the sanctuary had filled up to almost full capacity. A minister began speaking at the flower-laden altar, too far away to be audible.
“Did you write that ditty on StudentSpace.com—the one about the man from Nantucket?”
“I’m a psych major, not an f-ing poet.”
“It’s not much of a poem. I noticed that you seem to have a predilection for the f-word, which appears in the ditty, interestingly enough.”
“The word has gained wide currency in our illiterate society.”
“You seem far from illiterate yourself, except for your overuse of the expletive.”
“It’s a verbal tick. My dissertation’s going to be about vocal mannerisms and how they can reveal as much about a person as facial expressions.”
They were way off topic. Rex was sure the psych major was messing with his head. “About the ditty …”
“Dix was my friend, so why would I post a nasty poem?”
“Why indeed? I’m simply trying to arrive at the truth. Isn’t that what psychology is all about?”
“To paraphrase: The truth is rarely pure and never simple. Actually, psychology has more to do with perception.”
“For someone who claims not to be a poet, it’s a wee bit surprising you can quote Oscar Wilde.”
“Just because someone can quote someone else, doesn’t make them a poet.”
Rex realized he was not going to be able to flatter any information out of Klepto. The boy was too astute. “You know something, don’t you?” he said.
“What makes you think that?”
“Because you’re beating around the bush. There’s something you want to say, but you’re not sure I’m the person to tell.”
For the first time in the conversation, a flicker crossed Klepto’s inscrutable gray eyes. Rex knew he was right.
“Spit it out, lad. Or we can speak after the service, if you’d rather.”
Klepto reached into an inside zip pocket and extracted a button, which he held up to Rex. “This is a button off R.J. Wylie’s hoodie. I thought it might be a vital clue in Dix Clark
’s death.”
“Where did you find it?”
“By Dix’s chair the night he was found hanged. I saw it lying there after you broke down the door. While everyone was watching you get him down from the rope, I bent down to tie the lace on my sneaker and swiped it off the rug.”
Rex stared at him. “Why did you take it?”
“I thought I might be able to use it.”
“That’s called obstruction of justice.”
Klepto looked like he didn’t care.
“Did you try and blackmail R.J. with it?”
“What if I did?”
“It wasn’t a cool evening that night. I was wearing a short-sleeve shirt. Why would R.J. be wearing a hoodie?”
“To hide his face when he entered the main entrance to the resident hall.”
“Do you mind if I hold onto this for the time being?” Rex asked, plucking the button from the boy’s fingers. “Ta very much. How do you know it’s his?”
“You’ll find it matches his hoodie.”
Rex thought this over for a moment. “We’d better go in now so we don’t miss any more of the service,” he murmured.
He took up position just inside the door, while Klepto slipped into a pew at the back. The minister was coming to the end of verse 3 of Isaiah 61: “… that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.” Rex drifted off in thought as he fixed his eyes on the floral arrangements and only came to again when he heard the opening words to his favorite psalm, “The Lord is my Shepherd.” He bent his head and recited the soothing passage to himself. Psalm 23 had been read at his father’s funeral when he was just seven years old. It was the part of the service he remembered most clearly.
The deacon took the minister’s place for the Gospel reading. “I am the Resurrection and the Life … and whosoever believeth in Me shall never die.”
Next, the haunting melody of “Angel” by Sarah McLaughlin floated down from the speakers, followed by a speech from the dean of students lamenting the all-too-short life of Dixon Clark, and how he would be sadly missed by students and faculty members alike. Justin, as captain of the soccer team and a co-member of the deceased’s fraternity, stood up and said a few words. Another boy nervously delivered a series of anecdotes to the assembly, which laughed with polite restraint.
Phi Beta Murder Page 9
