Dr. Schneider smiled broadly, his crystal blue eyes crinkling. “Yes, of course I know him. I serve as an adviser on his doctoral committee. So does my counterpart from Lincoln, Dr. Baral. ABG is proud of our relationship with Morton College. I’m happy we can contribute to the advancement of research.”
He became more animated when discussing his role with the college. Cassandra enjoyed teaching graduate students, too. Summers asked, “Can you explain what contributions you mean, Doctor?”
Schneider’s hands raised like he held an invisible football. “Sure. They’ve identified an enzyme that naturally occurs in our bodies called Superoxide dismutase. It’s attached to proteins in red blood cells and some people have a higher concentration of SOD enzyme in their blood than other people. Probably this is linked to diet and heredity. Basically, SODs are antioxidants that defend DNA. Luke Peterson’s dissertation focuses on SOD’s ability to shrink brain cancer tumors in rats. At ABG, we test each donation for a variety of markers and distribute proteins or blood products to various places, as I’ve already described. We send the blood containing higher concentrations of SOD to the Morton facility to use as one of the control groups in his treatments.”
Cassandra usually advised educational administration majors and the lab’s research was nowhere close to her specialty. She struggled to grasp the science.
To her surprise, Summers had followed the explanation. “So this enzyme that we all have naturally could treat brain cancer?”
Schneider shook his head. “We’re still in the animal testing phase. But that’s the crux of the hypothesis.”
Summers asked, “Would people who have a naturally high amount of the enzyme be better protected from developing those types of cancer?”
Schneider became the professor again, his hands resting in his pockets. “That’s a question for further research, if this is successful. But in essence, that would be our hope. Eventually we could develop an injection or oral supplement. Sadly, most of the patients stricken with this cancer are children under age 14. This is one of many similar tests happening around the world.”
Cassandra hadn’t heard about the grant during her interview process. Deputy Tate was also impressed. “Fascinating. Pediatric brain cancer!”
Proudly Dr. Schneider agreed, “Exactly! I attended Morton for my undergrad and I’m thrilled to be able to give back to my alma mater by mentoring students and serving on the board. Our synergistic relationship between the private and public sectors is a shining example of how academic and private institutions can benefit the larger community.”
They all shook hands, thanked him for the tour and information and left together. Deputy Tate didn’t stay to talk.
Cassandra turned to Andy Summers on the sidewalk as they returned to campus, “I see now how Austin got the needle marks on his arms.”
“You can find one of these places near lots of college campuses. Poor college students provide a steady supply of blood and plasma to the surrounding community hospitals. It’s easy part-time “work” if you don’t mind the needles.”
Cassandra shuddered. “I prefer waiting tables like I did through college, but to each his own.”
Andy’s phone buzzed and he checked the message. “The results came back on Austin Price. His blood did show abnormally high levels of the enzyme used in the research lab. Guessing that’s what was in the syringe. Assuming he had a reaction to the enzyme, maybe his death wasn’t violent. Still, I’ve hired a few extra off-duty guys this week to watch the Homecoming activities and patrol the campus. Even if there’s no danger, it’ll help the students feel more safe.”
She really wanted it to be an accident. The alternative was scary. “There’s probably some explanation for where he left his devices.” She couldn’t think of one yet. “But if you think the students will feel better, then I agree with your plan.”
They arrived at the path where their offices were in different directions. Andy said, “All you need is a couple of wigged out parents to blow everything out of proportion. You have enough to worry about this week.”
* * *
She’d barely sat down in her chair twenty minutes later, when Dr. Nielson checked in with an instant message from China. Cassandra calculated the time difference. Gees, he’s awake early.
Cassandra responded: “Hello! So far we’re ok. Do you recall that contract between the farmer Hopkins and the food service department?”
Nielson’s message said: “Yes. It’s a win-win plan. College uses healthy lean locally produced beef at a fair price. Why do you ask?”
Because somehow Austin Price was interested in that contract, Cassandra thought. She told him: “I don’t completely understand the farm contract’s connection to the research lab. Police are asking questions and I don’t know the answers.”
After a few minutes Nielson replied: “Deflect suspicions. Can’t afford to lose this contract or the NIH grant. Research dollars are key income for college. I really appreciate your support in my absence. Keep up the great work!”
Cassandra looked at her phone skeptically. Keep up the great work? She shook her head. She’d never understand Dr. Nielson.
Chapter Sixteen
Cassandra texted Meg: “Hey. FYI tox report says A had high enzyme levels in blood. Call me.”
She’d barely refilled her water cup and returned from a bathroom break when Cassandra’s phone chirped with Meg’s call. “Austin was sick?”
Cassandra said, “No, I don’t think he had been sick. Andy said they tested Austin for other substances because of the needle poke and rash on his hand. The marks on his arms were from plasma donations and the campus blood drive. At the plasma center I learned about the SOD enzyme they use in the science lab. It’s interesting, but mostly over my head.”
Meg laughed. “Yeah, I remember the campus blood drive. Worst 45 minutes of my month.”
Cassandra vaguely recalled notices about the blood drive, but she hadn’t paid much attention at the time. Not like she’d be rushing over to be first in line. “Why?”
Meg explained, “I went in to donate and the nurse-tech-vampire-lady couldn’t find my vein right away. She dug around in my left arm for like two minutes. Finally, she called her supervisor over. The head nurse switched to my right arm and slid the needle right in. Ten minutes later, the vein just stopped. I hadn’t given a whole pint yet, so they stuck me again to fill the rest of the bag. Only good thing about the whole experience was the orange juice and M&M cookies afterward.”
Eyeing the faint blue line in her own right arm, Cassandra flinched. “Ouch.”
Meg said, “They had a pretty good turnout for the blood drive. Austin helped coordinate it, and he did a good job recruiting people. I remember waiting in a line and it seemed like there were 8 or 10 stations all around the multipurpose room in the Student Center.”
Cassandra remembered something she’d overheard. “Oh yeah . . . the student workers in my office said his fraternity won the pizza party prize.”
“Right. I interpreted a chapter meeting for Lance and Austin’s fraternity a few weeks ago. Austin must’ve hustled a lot the last week to get so many more registered. Of course, Austin was the Associate Member Educator so he had a ready supply of freshmen to encourage. Those guys can be pretty persuasive when they’re competing with the other houses on campus.”
Alarm bells rang in Cassandra’s head. “They aren’t hazing those freshmen over there, are they?”
Meg sounded nonchalant. “Not that I’ve seen. Of course those types of activities are not done—if at all—in front of adults.”
Frowning, Cassandra jotted a note to check into possible hazing. Although opening that can of worms now would take up time she didn’t have available. “I’ll ask Marcus Fischer who was the judge on that contest. He might know more details.” As she ended the call, she fired off a quick email asking what he knew about the blood drive, contest, and potential conduct issues.
One of the student workers peeked her head around the door frame. “Dr. Sato? Are you off the phone? I didn’t really mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you talking about the blood drive contest in September?”
Cassandra’s eyebrows raised. Had she been speaking loudly? “Yes I was, Haley.”
“My dorm floor was mad about that, you know? We were that close to winning the pizza party, but the stupid AOO fraternity won instead. Almost every girl on our floor donated for us, plus our off-campus friends too. Those cheating frat boys get all the fun stuff. Last year at the Spring Fling we had a charity dance marathon. AOO won that, too. Pull—eeze.” Haley rolled her eyes and drawled out the word into two long syllables. “They called THAT dancing? Bunch of farm boys shuffling side to side and snapping their fingers for 26 hours. Somehow they find a way to work the system. All those contacts they make.”
Why was she still upset about something that’d happened a month earlier? Haley apparently wasn’t a fan of the Greek houses. “What makes you think they cheated?”
Haley said, “I don’t know . . . how many guys live there? Thirty? I saw Austin talking to the blood drive head guy. I bet he did something.”
Cassandra gave her the long, chilly stare that in Hawai’i is called Stink Eye. “Haley you’re accusing Austin of something, and he’s not around to dispute it. How about we just leave it alone, ok? Next time maybe your floor will win if you keep trying.”
Haley said, “Whatever,” and disappeared back into the main office.
Cassandra closed her door. Next time she was on a sensitive call, she’d need to be more aware of privacy.
Minutes later, Cassandra’s heart made a large thump when she saw an email response from Marcus Fischer appear in her inbox. Which was a ridiculous reaction to an everyday business occurrence. Meg and Cinda’s teasing had gotten to her more than she’d realized. The email said, “There was a Student Housing Blood Drive in September. The residential hall floor or Greek house with the most pints donated won a pizza party and the winning coordinator got a $500 scholarship. Later, MAF.”
Five hundred dollars was a nice-sized scholarship. She’d check on who won that. She also wondered what the A meant in Marcus’ initials.
* * *
Cassandra was mid-search trying to find the scholarship winner’s name when she heard a knock on her door. Lance poked his head inside and asked, “You have time?” She waved him forward towards the seat in front of her desk.
Placing his backpack on the floor, Lance unzipped the top and started to remove something, but stopped and looked at her uncomfortably. His face reddened slightly, like he struggled to find the best way to start. When he spoke, Cassandra didn’t understand him and shrugged in frustration.
Lance held up a finger, bent over, and rooted around in the side pocket. Pulling out his cell phone, he opened an app and scrolled down until he found the right conversation. He handed over his phone and waited for her to read it.
Friday, 1:25 p.m. from Austin: “Hey hide my laptop. Will explain later.”
Friday, 1:37 p.m. reply from Me (Lance): “OK. Let me know. L”
Cassandra’s jaw hung partially open, and she stared at the screen a few seconds longer. She pointed at Lance and asked, “Austin sent you this text?”
He nodded. She asked, “When?”
He spoke and signed, “The afternoon he died.”
Cassandra’s eyes widened as the facts slipped into order in her head. Twenty more questions were on the tip of her tongue, but her ASL signing ability was not up to sentences longer than three words. She grabbed a yellow legal pad near her keyboard and flipped a couple pages until she found a blank sheet. Quickly she scratched, “Did you hide it? Where? Did you tell the police that he sent you this text?”
Leaning forward, he read while she scribbled. Lance pointed at the page. “Yeah,” he responded, a blush reddening his cheeks. “No. I didn’t tell police.”
Cassandra stared at him. Her mind reeled. Are you kidding me, she wanted to shout! Austin’s laptop hadn’t really been missing. All along Lance had it hidden somewhere. She shook her head. He was a smart kid. Working to control her emotions, she wrote, “What’s going on?”
He used his own pencil to respond on paper. “Wait. Need to know how he died. Do you know?”
After a few heartbeats, she told him what little she knew. “Died from hitting his head on concrete steps probably. Police told me no drugs or alcohol in his system. Had a rash and needle poke from work? Blood showed elevated level of an enzyme.”
She stopped writing and pointed to her first question again. “What’s going on?”
Lance’s mouth tightened and he wrote, “He asked me to do him a favor. I didn’t know why. I just did what he wanted. I thought he would explain to me later, but then . . .”
Cassandra nodded and gave him the keep going gesture. He continued, “I figured out his password. I looked for hidden files or something wrong on his laptop.”
She was still mad, but curiosity won out. “What did you find?”
“He used the same password for Gmail and login. I read some emails. He didn’t use his calendar to write test and paper due dates. Mostly blank. Except I saw an appointment last month that said Meet in Lincoln @7 p.m. He never told me he went to Lincoln.”
There had to be a reason Austin asked Lance to hide the laptop. She signaled him to continue.
He looked like he was debating how much to tell her. “Found a Bitcoin account. Same password. Saw weekly deposits beginning at semester. Six for $100. Not huge. His parents don’t send him money. Don’t know where from? Selling something??”
Bitcoin . . . the untraceable online payment thing. Tension crept up from her stomach to her shoulders. She wrote, “I’m calling an interpreter. Meg.”
He nodded and stood up. “I’m going to get water and to bathroom. Be right back.”
She gave him the thumbs up as she waited for Meg to pick up the call. She also texted Fischer thinking he might be a good person to ask for advice on what to do next. If they didn’t answer, she’d try Cinda.
Ten minutes later, Lance, Cassandra and Meg sat around the low table in Cassandra’s office. While Meg silently read the conversation from Cassandra’s legal pad, Fischer knocked and Cassandra invited him to join them.
Fischer’s expression was cautious at being summoned for a private meeting. Although technically his boss, Cassandra wasn’t involved in daily housing operations. He worked with the Facilities and Maintenance VP more frequently than with her unless there were Code of Conduct issues or budget requests that needed her attention.
He sat in the last open chair, placing his reusable water bottle, black leather notebook and mechanical pencil on the table and waited expectantly. Meg passed him the notepad then Cassandra briefly explained, “Thanks for coming over. We have a student conduct situation here, and I was hoping you could help decide options for our next steps.”
He frowned slightly as he read the conversation between Lance and Cassandra. Looking up he asked, “Lance, want to explain to me why you hacked into your roommate’s laptop? Wait, why do you even have his laptop at all? I thought police were looking for it. Hasn’t it and his phone been missing since Friday?”
Meg spoke while Lance responded in sign, “He texted me on Friday before he died and asked me to hide his laptop. I put it in the trunk of my car, but didn’t know why he wanted me to hide it. After I found out he died, I was curious. If his death was an accident, why did he want me to hide the laptop?”
“If his death wasn’t an accident, then you know that laptop would be evidence, right?” asked Fischer.
Lance shrugged, “He wanted me to have it for a reason.”
Cassandra asked, “What makes you think Austin’s death wasn’t an accident? Do you know something more than what you’ve told the police?”
“I don’t know for sure. Look, we’ve been friends since middle school. I just did what he asked me. He’s dead
now. I don’t want his family to worry if he was selling drugs or doing something bad on the side. I don’t want people judging him when it doesn’t matter now.”
Flabbergasted that he’d hidden it, but glad he trusted her enough to tell the truth, Cassandra said, “It might matter if he was involved in something that got him killed. You hid something important, Lance. We can’t protect you if the police decide to arrest you.”
Lance’s signs became more animated. “I didn’t know I was doing anything wrong. When your buddy asks you to do him a favor, you do it and ask questions later. I know Austin wasn’t the best student. He could be a screw up sometimes. He’s struggled in some of his classes. His parents don’t give him much money or support. But he’s been my friend a long time.”
He stood and paced from the window to the door and back. “I remember one time . . . maybe freshman year in high school. We were out at the mall in Omaha with a few friends. Some jerks saw us signing and mimicked us by waving their hands around. When we ignored them, one asshole came up to me and did it to my face. I told him to leave us alone. So he made fun of the way I spoke.”
Cassandra’s heart ached for those happy, scrawny boys from the photo she’d seen in the fraternity bedroom. Lance shrugged. “As though it was the first time that had happened. Not. Anyway, Austin strutted up and bumped into him and said, ‘Back off, prick!’ Austin could speak better than I can. When the guy shoved him, Austin hauled off and slugged him right in the nose. Must’ve broken it. Blood spattered everywhere.” Lance smiled at the memory. “It was awesome how he stood up for me and for us.”
His eyes glistened with sadness. “Some days you just don’t feel like letting it pass, you know? It’s like I owed him one.”
A hard lump formed in Cassandra’s throat.
Fischer’s face was kind, but stern. “I’m sorry for your loss, Lance.” He waited while Lance composed himself. “Let’s focus on trying to figure out what happened to him. Suppose it wasn’t an accident?”
Death by Dissertation (A Cassandra Sato Mystery Book 1) Page 10
