The Sheriff asked, “Did you go up there and touch him? Did you move him or see if he was hurt or breathing?”
“I ran up the steps, and got close to his face, but . . . he wasn’t breathing at all,” Evan reported. “We called 911, and . . . yeah.”
Sheriff Hart’s hand rested on his thick black leather utility belt. “Can anyone identify the student?”
Evan said, “I’ve seen him on campus, but I dunno his name. He’s a sophomore or junior.” The others nodded, but no one volunteered a name.
Cassandra looked right and left in surprise. Morton was so small, Cassandra had just assumed others recognized him, too. “I know him. I’m pretty sure that’s Austin.” Saying his name out loud had made it real. “His roommate, Lance, is a work-study student in my office. He’s deaf . . . both of them are,” she added.
Loud voices drew Cassandra’s attention to the far end of the two-story Media Center where a small crowd had gathered. A wide sidewalk, bordered by shrubs and ornamental trees, connected it to the Edgerton Center. Even 20 yards away they chattered animatedly, but one student wearing a knitted hat was more agitated, pointing at the staircase and yelling.
Cassandra looked back over her shoulder at Austin’s body. As bad as she felt for him, he was the police’s responsibility now. Her job was with the students. No one covered this in New Student Orientation. Frowning, she moved towards them and noticed Dr. Nielson doing the same thing. When she came close enough, Cassandra heard shouting. “My lab’s in there! I need to check the rats! Who is that?”
They wouldn’t be able to disclose Austin’s name until his family had been notified. She answered, “No one is allowed in Edgerton until the police are finished.”
But the kid wouldn’t take no for an answer, and he pushed against Nielson. Nielson held his hands out towards the student’s shoulders to restrain him. “What’s your name, son?”
“Let me go! What the hell is happening?” he shouted.
Cassandra stepped back to avoid getting hurt if this thing came to fists. “We can’t help you until you calm down. Please stay back and listen,” she urged.
Momentarily they were joined by Andy Summers, Sheriff Hart, and the brown-shirted deputy. More than a head taller than the freaked-out student, the Sheriff bent over and spoke close to his ear for long seconds. Once he seemed to regain self-control, the deputy led Knitted Hat to his county car and opened the back door.
Cassandra’s eyes followed the cruiser as it eased from the curb and drove away. Tempting as it was to call a lawyer for Knitted Hat, she had to follow federal privacy laws.
Sheriff Hart told Summers, “The deputy will bring him into the office as a person of interest. Let’s organize the Frisbee players to get their statements.” He walked to the staircase holding his shoulder radio up to his mouth.
These students were all adults with the right to give a statement without their parents’ knowledge or consent, although back home they would certainly have asked an elder for advice. Mainland students were much more independent. Cassandra told Nielson, “We should get back to the office.”
His lined face looked older, tired. “You can help me make some calls.”
“Sure, go ahead,” Summers said. “After the students’ statements, we have to wait for the forensics team from Lincoln, and then the coroner.”
Nielson headed back toward the quad, but Cassandra felt a gentle touch on her arm from Summers. Nielson didn’t notice her absence, so she paused.
Summers’ forehead leaned close enough to Cassandra that she could see perspiration forming along his buzz cut hairline. He said quietly, “Do you know if Austin did drugs? He had some bruising and old needle marks on his arms. Mostly his left arm, but there’s a couple on the right side, too.”
Meaning he suspected a drug-related accident or overdose? “What, er . . . ah, I don’t really know. I’ve never heard his roommate say anything like that.” She wouldn’t be the first person Lance would tell anyway. People assumed she was the one who suspended or dismissed students from school.
One question lingered. She hesitated but decided to ask anyway. “Could you send me a couple of photos of Austin after you’re done here?”
Summers’ light brown eyes sharpened. “That would be totally out of line. I used to work for the sheriff’s office. You should know I can’t do that.”
She hadn’t realized her request would be unwelcome, but she really wanted a photo from the scene. She needed to figure out what was familiar about the way Austin’s body had landed, and her memory wasn’t enough. She held her breath, calculating how far off the mark she’d missed. “I just want to check out a question I had about Austin. If I’m right, I’d let you know immediately. If I’m totally off-base, I don’t want to waste your time.”
Arms crossed in front of his chest, Summers gave her a long, appraising look. “I can show you a couple of photos. Unofficially. But you can’t keep them.”
Chapter Three
Cassandra’s trademark clear thinking failed her. Normally, her airy office with its soft, tranquil gray painted walls freed her mind to focus on important tasks. Instead, her three framed degrees, all from the University of Hawai’i, hanging in the narrow space between two large bookshelves seemed inadequate training for handling the death of a student.
Her planner lay open on her desktop, and she penciled in follow-up questions as they popped into her head. “Call Austin’s parents.” She hoped Nielson was able to contact them immediately. “Tell Lance, student workers, directors.”
Poking her head around the doorway she called, “Annie, can you text all the work-study students from our office? We’re meeting here ASAP. Lance is still in class, but anyone who’s available should come over now.”
She gathered a few files and walked them to the outer office. Placing them in the To Be Filed bin, she retrieved the plastic watering can she kept behind a cabinet door. She wrote, “Fell down stairs, jumped, or pushed?” She drifted out to the hallway water fountain to fill the can. “Were security cameras on the floor where he worked?” Each time she passed through the outer office, she overheard three student workers bantering among each other, their ordinary conversation a soothing balm to her frayed nerves.
“I should’ve never let my grandpa friend me on Facebook. Now he comments on every photo someone posts of me. The old people shouldn’t know so much about us. If I don’t respond, he emails me to tell me he commented. I’m gonna block him.”
“My grandma likes to watch cat videos on YouTube. Worst thing is when she sends them to me. I don’t know how to tell her. Just. Stop.”
Cassandra balanced the full watering can and dutifully fed her college-issued large palm tree. The leaves’ edges had already turned crispy brown from neglect. Apparently, these needed water more than once a month.
Annie told Cassandra, “The gang’s on the way, boss.”
Good. Once she got confirmation that next of kin had been notified, she could make it official to the students.
Devon held up his phone, “What’s going on over at Edgerton? Is some class filming a project for YouTube?” Annie and Bridget checked their phones for more details.
Cassandra slowed to glance at Annie’s phone while she held up a photo from the Edgerton scene. Crap! News was already getting out to the students!
“Maybe my Anthropology professor is doing another YouTube tutorial, I watch those multiple times. He’s easy on the eyes,” said Bridget.
Annie said, “You mean Professor Hottie? Um, what’s his real name again?”
Cassandra carried a medium-sized postal box with brochures for a national committee she was working on and placed it in the outgoing mail pile. She half-listened to snippets of their conversation while she went back to her office.
Bridget laughed, “Isn’t that the name on his birth certificate? Professor Jason Hottie?” Cassandra recalled his wire rimmed glasses and Indiana Jones wardrobe. Yeah, he was hot by any standa
rds.
But Devon scoffed, “Oh, give it up. He’s married and has little kids.”
“Still hot,” insisted Annie.
“No one’s answering my texts about Edgerton. I can’t tell if it’s real or a class,” said Devon.
“Who’s not hot?” Annie pointed to the picture. “No-Nonsense Nielson. Kind of a dorky Professor Lupin. Does he even know what YouTube is? He probably has a flip phone.”
“Right,” Bridget agreed. “What’s with those tweed cardigans he wears? They just scream, ‘I was bullied as a child.’”
Even as Cassandra chuckled inwardly at the Lupin comparison—she’d thought the same thing—their chatter had probably wasted enough time and crossed several boundaries. Paused in her doorway, arms crossed over her chest, she glared wide-eyed at the three students facing her, chairs together and thumbing through their phones as they talked across each other. Cassandra remained there quietly, her jaw twitching with stifled laughter, allowing the conspicuous silence to stretch.
Annie raised her eyes and didn’t turn her head, but said, “He’s in our office, isn’t he?”
Bingo. Cassandra nodded slowly.
Devon’s face reddened. “He’s right behind us?”
Normally, this would be hilarious. Not today. Cassandra nodded again. “Probably now would be a good time to email appointment reminders for the next couple of days, Bridget.” They dropped their phones and scrambled back to work.
President Gary “No-Nonsense” Nielson stood in the office entrance for about five beats, apparently deliberating whether to dispute the allegations of his nerdiness or to scold them to get back to work. After waiting long enough to make it seem like the incident had never happened, he walked straight through to Cassandra’s office door. “Can we talk for a few minutes?”
She was surprised by his ability to ignore their insults. She flipped one of the cushioned student chairs in front of her desk around so it faced the loveseat and large framed Japanese print overhead, opened the mini fridge, and took out two bottles of water. Handing one across to Nielson, she sat in the chair and opened her mouth to apologize for her students’ unfortunate remarks.
He held up a hand to quiet her. “I know what they call me, Dr. Sato. If that’s the worst they can come up with, I figure it’s not worth taking personally.”
Nielson looked around her simply furnished office. He’d been there maybe once since Cassandra had started. Nodding at the sea turtle Hawaiian artwork filling the wall space next to her window, he smiled. “Did I mention already that my wife and I celebrated our 10th anniversary in Hawai’i? Beautiful women greeted us with those flower necklaces at the airport, and we stayed in Wah-kiki. We rode a tour bus to the pineapple cannery, the snorkeling bay, and the shopping mall.”
She tried not to wince at his mispronunciations. Knowing he was headed out of the country for a week, Cassandra had assumed his unexpected visit had a point. But instead of delegating tasks, he acted vaguely nostalgic.
“My wife drank frou-frou drinks with little paper umbrellas in them and bought me the loudest orange and blue Hawaiian shirt in the store. I’ve never worn it again. Nowhere here to wear something that bright. Except once when I attended the board president’s beach party at the Fremont Lakes.” His face relaxed. “Hawai’i truly is paradise. I don’t understand how anyone wants to leave that place.”
He’d taken the stereotypical Hawaiian vacation to the three or four most famous tourist spots where the couple couldn’t have enjoyed the hidden treasures outside the bustling waterfront. She tried to sound polite. “Yes Dr. Nielson, Hawai’i is a lovely place to visit. The people are warm and friendly. It was a wonderful place to grow up and live.”
She couldn’t resist her memories of bamboo forested hikes up to breathtaking lookouts and local foods the tourists never ate. She missed the beautiful colored muumuu and flowered skirts she had left in her closet back home; the traditional Aloha Friday shirts men wore weekly, tucked in or out depending on the level of formality dictated by their profession; the fragrant flower leis handed out to coworkers and friends for birthdays, promotions or any special occasions.
He said, “The timing of today’s incident couldn’t be worse. My flight leaves tomorrow morning at 6:00 out of Omaha. I need to get home soon to finish details before the trip.”
Cassandra readied her journal list and sipped water from her bottle.
Elbows resting on his knees, he leaned forward but talked as if he had no audience. “From what I saw, it looked like he fell down those stairs. But with no investigation or autopsy yet, we just don’t know. The Sheriff said Mr. Price was wearing a science lab key card name tag. I suppose they’ll have to start in the lab to back track his activity before the accident.”
Nielson was speaking too slowly and carefully, without making direct eye contact. His stalling wasn’t like someone in a hurry to get home. “I’m going to need you to take the lead on this problem. Keep me informed. Here’s the thing though . . .”
When he inhaled a long breath, she wanted to scream, get to the point before my hair turns gray! Nielson said, “Look, you may be unaware of the biology lab’s research importance. There are several ongoing studies, but the big one is the NIH cancer study we’ve arranged with our food services department. This National Institutes of Health grant is a huge feather in our caps. Not only is it research dollars for our college, but we use beef from a nearby farm in all our campus cafeterias and Greek houses.”
Cassandra’s pen paused on the page. This seemed more like background information than action items. He said, “It’s prime meat—very lean and healthy. Even though it’s a small pilot project, it’s great PR for our school. I’ve asked Bergstrom to highlight our successes during Homecoming next week when visitors want to see what’s new on campus. Do what you can to make sure they don’t close the lab or the area around the building to visitors.”
She wrote, “Keep lab open—critical.”
He stood and planted one foot near the door. “I’ll check my email as often as possible, but you’ll have to keep this contained. Liaison with the investigation, but focus on college business as usual. A smooth Homecoming Week should be your top priority. Many alumni and benefactors are visiting. It won’t do for them to be constantly reminded of this tragedy. Keep it out of the news as much as possible.” Without waiting for a response, he yanked the door open and left.
This was not the way she’d planned to start her week as temporary administrator in charge. She added to her list, “contact media relations office,” and “keep out of news.” He’d hardly given her any details, yet expected her to liaison with police and the media.
She eyed the little Buddha shrine subtly displayed on her credenza under the window. Most visitors looking at the arrangement would think it was a generic Asian display of statue and artifacts. She prayed a quick nembutsu, “Namu Amida Butsu.” Her plea was interrupted by the ringing of her desk phone. It was Nielson’s assistant, Julie.
“Hello Julie, have you spoken to Dr. Nielson?”
“Yes I have, Dr. Sato. What would you like me to do first?”
Cassandra slipped into administrator mode. Her voice was clear. “Has anyone called Board Chairman Schneider?”
“Dr. Nielson called him after he talked to Austin Price’s parents about 20 minutes ago.”
She was grateful he’d made those calls, but dismayed he hadn’t even mentioned it while in her office. “Good. Can you contact the directors and other administrative staff, please? Anyone who’s still in the office today can meet me in your conference room at 5:00.”
Chapter Four
Cassandra faced the six student workers gathered in the Student Affairs’ front office. Haley perched on the beige metal reception desk where Annie worked, one leg dangling off the edge. Logan and Rachel squished into a wide plush chair, her head resting on Logan’s shoulder. Creases lined her face like someone had roused her from a nap to attend the impromptu s
taff meeting. Devon and Bridget slouched in modern shaped foam chairs thumbing through the apps on their phones and mumbling low to each other.
Rachel whined, “What are we doing here? I need to get ready to go to the Theta Psi formal in a couple hours.”
There was no easy way to say it. Cassandra ripped the Band-Aid off quickly. “Have you heard that there was a body found over by the Edgerton building?”
Heads nodded and a couple of the kids gestured towards their phones. “Yeah we heard, but no one knows who or why.”
“I wanted you to find out in person. It was Austin Price.”
“WHAT!” they shouted in unison.
“I just saw him at breakfast!”
“Does Lance know? They grew up together.”
“What happened?”
Cassandra reported, “When I got there he was already gone . . . er, dead. He was found on the stairs outside the building. It looked like he’d fallen somehow. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. They’ll do an autopsy to find the exact cause of death.” When they all just stared at her wide-eyed for a moment, she continued, “Did any of you know him very well? Did Lance tell you anything about Austin that would help us figure out how this happened?”
“We’re from the same hometown,” said Haley, “but we didn’t really hang around together.”
Cassandra wondered who were Austin’s friends besides Lance. Noting their blank stares, she remembered Summers’ concerns. “Was he in trouble? Did he drink or do drugs? Anything would help right now.”
They spoke over each other. “His work study is over in the research lab with the rats.”
“I just can’t believe this.”
“I don’t think he did drugs.”
Annie frowned, “You’d be shocked if you knew what some people do.”
Devon bellyached, “Oh man, if my mother hears Morton has a drug problem, she’s gonna make me transfer back to community college near home.”
Death by Dissertation (A Cassandra Sato Mystery Book 1) Page 2
