Every Breath You Take
Page 15
*
"Excuse me, is Professor Drummond in?" Chin asked.
The elderly woman looked up slowly. She had wary eyes, lips pressed in a straight grim line, and a pinched expression on her face. Chin thought she'd probably been happy-once.
The woman looked down at a calendar on her desk, making a big show out of the fact that they'd interrupted whatever she'd been doing. "Do you have an appointment? Professor Drummond only sees students by appointment."
"I'm not a student," Chin replied, flipping open her badge. McTavish stepped up from behind her and flashed his badge as well. The woman scrutinized the badges closely, and then looked them both up and down, as if she was sizing them up.
"You'll still have to schedule an appointment." She turned back to her computer and flicked her fingers in their direction.
"Excuse me." Chin wanted to reach across and grab the old bitch by her lapels, but restrained herself according to correct police procedure, although her voice was firm enough to draw the woman's attention once more. "This is a police matter, and I think Professor Drummond would find it in his best interests to talk to us right now." Chin leaned in, put her hands on the edge of the woman's desk and looked down at her.
"Well, I'll have to see if he's available." The woman got up from her desk and minced across the room, knocking at a heavy-looking wood door. The sound echoed in the cavernous room.
McTavish and Chin had traced Professor Drummond's whereabouts to the sociology department in University College, one of the oldest and most distinguished buildings on the campus. Made of stone and heavy timbers, with a weathered slate roof and floors made of ageless polished marble, the place seemed to breathe academia.
They'd climbed a grand old wooden staircase to the second floor, where they found a wall placard directing them to the sociology department. A number of offices with the professors' names on the stately wood doors faced the main corridor running the length of the building. Behind the door bearing Professor Drummond's name, they'd encountered the warden, who had now disappeared into the professor's private office. She returned a moment later and stood in the doorway, her face pinched.
"The professor will see you now."
Chin led the way, McTavish right behind her. As they entered the room, the professor stood up from behind his desk, taking off his black plastic-framed glasses with a theatrical flourish. He faced them with an expression that looked both arrogant and curious at the same time.
As Chin approached the professor's desk, McTavish hung back for a second, looking around the room. The professor's office walls were lined with wooden bookshelves laden with heavy tomes, the books stacked almost to the rafters. His numerous framed diplomas were displayed behind his desk for all visitors to see-obviously, humility was not a word in the professor's vocabulary. His desk was huge, and littered with papers. His computer monitor was on an L-shaped projection at the side. On one corner of the desk was a small bronze made up of numerous rings of various sizes, like orbiting planets, with an arrow pointing upwards at a forty-five degree angle through the centre of the concentric rings. Two heavy chairs covered in rich red leather faced his desk, with a small circular table and four hard-backed chairs set off to the side-perfect for intimate conferences. The same could be said of the small leather couch resting against the wall next to the table. The deep red leather was the same as the two visitor's chairs, and looked warmly aged and teasingly comfortable. With what they knew about the professor so far, McTavish wondered how many intimate conferences had been held on that couch. He took a glance over the whole room again, thinking that Hollywood couldn't have designed a more stereotypical room for a professor. He bet that if he dug around amongst the papers on the desk, he'd find an old-fashioned fountain pen, with one of the desk drawers hiding a pipe and a Persian slipper full of rich-smelling Indian tobacco, like something straight out of Sherlock Holmes.
McTavish raised his eyes and looked past the professor, the large window right behind his desk broken into smaller panes by leaded glass that looked ancient. The mid-day light cast its glow into the richly adorned room, illuminating the professor from behind.
Chin walked up to the desk, hand extended. "Professor Drummond, I'm Detective Chin." Chin could see what Ashley Devers meant when she said the girls found Professor Drummond to be attractive. Around 40, he was tall, broad in the shoulders and narrow in the waist-like a swimmer. His pale blue oxford-cloth button-down shirt fit snugly across his torso, his trim body emphasized by a form-fitting navy vest. From across the desk, she could see he was wearing jeans as he stood up. What appeared to be a purposely-loosened navy and red striped tie completed his outfit, giving him the look of the approachable hip professor that Chin was sure he cultivated. He had an attractive face, with sharp angular features and a slim nose. His dark wavy hair had a dusting of grey at the temples. He sported a perfect three-day growth of beard, and Chin was willing to bet next week's pay cheque that the professor had an electric shaver set at the perfect length to maintain the look. The corners of his full mouth were turned up in a slight smile that seemed practiced. Between that subtle smile, and the doe-like brown eyes, Chin knew exactly why young girls would fall for him. He gave off an aura of innocence that would make young women want to protect and mother him, while at the same time there lurked a sensuality about him that she knew would make girls shiver.
The professor paused before extending his hand, his dark brown eyes appraising her. "Detective Chin." His handshake was sure and confident. He gave her a full-bore smile. He looked over her shoulder, his eyebrows arching up questioningly as he looked at her partner.
"Detective McTavish," the detective said, stepping forward and shaking the professor's hand as well.
"I hope you don't mind if I ask to see some identification," the professor said. "Students have been known to play elaborate tricks on their teachers from time to time." He closed up the eyeglasses he had in his hand, setting them down on the desk in front of him. Chin wondered if they were made of clear glass, a prop to make him look more professorial.
"Of course." Both detectives produced their badges. They were surprised when he took the offered badges and scrutinized them closely, and they were even more surprised when he pulled out a pad of paper and wrote down their badge numbers. McTavish took notice that the pen he used wasn't the fountain pen he'd expected.
"What can I do for you, detectives?" Drummond handed back their badges and sat back in his desk chair, swiveling slowly from side to side, the elbow of one arm on the armrest while his hand casually propped up his chin, index finger pointing to his temple.
Knowing what they did about the professor's history at this point, McTavish and Chin had already decided that Chin would lead the questioning. His fondness for the female sex would perhaps work to loosen his tongue a little more. She started. "Professor, we underst-"
"Please, call me Robert."
His voice was like running your fingertips over velvet, Chin thought. She paused, wondering how many young female students had sat in the chair she was sitting in right now and had listened to that voice. She knew better than to give him the edge he wanted. "Professor, we understand you attended a party some students had on Broughdale Ave three nights ago."
"You understand, or you know? What exactly does that mean, 'we understand'?"
Chin sat up straighter. "We've talked to some people who attended that party and confirmed that you were there."
"So basically, you know I was there."
"So you're not denying that you were there?"
"Why should I? After all, you understand that I was." He continued to slowly swivel his desk chair from side to side, like a hypnotist's watch.
"How did you come to know about the party?"
"I overheard a few of my students talking about it, and one of them asked if I was going to go."
"Who was this student?"
"Just a young woman in one of my first year classes." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand.
"I probably got there a little after nine, and left around eleven-thirty. Pretty early by the standards of those parties, but I had an eight-thirty class to teach the next morning."
"You go to a lot of these student parties?"
"I wouldn't say a lot-I've attended a few."
"Do many other professors attend these student parties?"
"I couldn't say."
"My guess would be that most don't." Chin paused and nodded towards McTavish before bringing her eyes back to the professor's. "We're wondering why you do."
"I like to maintain a good rapport with my students. I feel that's essential to a good teacher/student relationship. I don't think caring about your students needs to stop at the classroom door."
"And so you'll attend these student parties-for the students' benefit?"
"If a student is having trouble in my classes, I want them to know I'm here for them. If they're having trouble with other professors, or even their friends or parents, I'm willing to listen. I want them to know my door is open to them anytime-even if they just need a shoulder to cry on." He took the hand he'd been resting against his cheek and extended it towards them before bringing it back to his cheek, as if, Chin interpreted, to say, "I've been chosen by the Almighty to do this, what else could I do?"
Chin looked at the professor, the conceit dripping off him like honey from a smashed bee-hive, sweet and dangerous at the same time. "How many of these students that need a shoulder to cry on are male students?"
The professor leaned forward, elbows on the desk, hands peaked prayer-like, fingertips tapping against each other. "Well, Detective, I thought with your police training you'd know a few things about the differences between males and females in this age group. From a sociological standpoint, boys at the university level deal much better with personal and social interactions than girls. Boys will externalize their problems, and end up getting drunk or into fights, or some other form of juvenile behaviour-but from a sociological point of view, it quickly resolves any issues they may be having. Don't get me wrong-I'm not dismissing the extreme cases by any means."
"And the girls?"
"For girls, the interpersonal and social aspect of university life is paramount-it's everything to them. It's been that way for them since they hit puberty, and social pressures on them continue to increase until they reach young adulthood, and find their place in the world. For most, they 'find themselves' at that time and let go of those pressures they've been feeling for years. For others, they continue to struggle-for some, for their entire lives. University-age girls often feel intense pressure to succeed from a social perspective. The pressure from family and friends to be a certain way, or act a certain way, is more than many of these girls can handle. They're vulnerable, and sometimes they just need someone to talk to."
He sat back, and started swiveling back and forth again, hand on his stubbly chin, index finger tapping his lips.
"And that's where you come in," Chin said. "You're that someone these girls can talk to." Again, he waved his hand dismissively. "So Professor Drummond, you never did answer my question-how many of these students that come to see you are males?"
He stopped swivelling, and looked from Chin to McTavish, and back again. He leaned forwards with his elbows on his desk once more, one fist covered by his other hand as he looked towards them. "All right, Detectives, why don't we get down to why you're really here?" Chin and McTavish paused. The professor continued. "I'm sure you have a picture of her there with you. Why don't you just bring it out now and we can get on with it?"
"A picture of whom?"
"The Redmond girl that was killed the other night. That is why you're here, isn't it?"
Chin and McTavish glanced in each other's direction before McTavish opened the folder they'd brought with them and took out Yvonne Redmond's picture, sliding it stiffly across the desk in front of the professor.
"Pretty girl," the professor said, his eyes lingering over the photo.
He reached down to the picture and traced the tip of his index finger along the line of the girl's lips, sending a chill down Chin's spine. She had to clear her throat before continuing. "So Professor, do you know this girl?"
"I was introduced to her at that party you asked about, yes."
"And you know who she is?"
He slid the photo across the desk to McTavish before sitting back in his chair. "Yes. I watch the news. Terrible thing. Her family must be devastated."
"So you say you were introduced to Yvonne Redmond at that party. You never knew her before that?"
"I'd seen her occasionally on campus with a student I had last term, but no, I'd never met her."
"And who was it that introduced you to her at that party?"
"Ashley Devers introduced us. Ashley was the one I'd seen the Redmond girl with on campus. Ashley was in my first-year sociology class this past fall."
"And what did you and Yvonne Redmond talk about?"
"I asked her about her classes, how she liked being at Western, who she was at the party with-just typical topics of discussion."
"And how long did you talk to her?"
"Oh, it was only about five minutes or so. Someone else came up and started talking to me about something, and I noticed the Redmond girl go back and join Ashley and her other friends."
"And did you talk to her at any other time during the evening?"
The professor shook his head. "No. It wasn't really too long after we'd spoken that I left."
"And you went straight home after the party?"
"Like I said, I had an eight-thirty class to teach the next morning. So yes, I went straight home."
"Are you married, Professor Drummond?" Chin asked.
The professor looked at her intently, fingertip once again tapping is lips. He turned his wrist, looking down at his watch. "I think we're done here, Detectives. I've got a class to get to." He nodded towards the door, like he was dismissing a student who'd had to stay for detention.
McTavish nodded to Chin, both of them getting up from their chairs. McTavish spoke for the first time. "I was noticing your piece of artwork here," he said, pointing to the bronze statue of the arrow piercing the series of concentric rings. "It's some kind of compass-type thing, right? It's very nice."
"Uh, thanks. I like it."
"You know, Professor, you're an educated guy. I get that the circular rings are kind of like planets in orbit, but what does the arrow mean?"
"Symbolically, an arrow can mean a lot of things. It can mean courage, power, and then of course there's Cupid's arrow, which means love." He paused and nodded towards the small statue. "And then again, it is an arrow, so it could simply mean death. Power, love, death-that just about covers everything, don't you think?"
McTavish looked the professor in the eye and nodded. "Yes, that's very interesting." he said, tapping the tip of the arrow before turning toward the door.
"Detectives," They were just about to go through the door when the professor's voice stopped them. "It's too bad I didn't get to speak to that young girl again. She was very sweet." He stood behind his desk facing them. "It's strange to think I was probably one of the last people she spoke with before her death."