“She’s a student. I’m a student advocate”
“So your relationship with Karmen Bennett was strictly limited to the college.” I nod. “Like your relationship with Professor Trachtenberg.”
What the hell does that mean? I say nothing and Hinton pulls a manila envelope from the box. “Professor Trachtenberg gave you gifts.”
“He lent me a book.”
“He had a gift for you on his person when he was murdered.” Oh yeah, the rosemary. Hinton opens the envelope. “Did Karmen ever give you any gifts?”
“No, why would she?”
“Nothing?” Hinton asks with her hand in the envelope. “No little tokens, pieces of artwork, nothing like that?”
You’ve got to be kidding me. “She gave me a few doodles she’d do while she was at my desk. She’s a very talented artist.”
“Doodles, like . . . what? Sketches? Of what? Of you?”
It sounds weird in this context but I nod. Hinton pulls out a torn sheet of sketch paper and slides it across the desk.
“Like this?” It’s a charcoal rendering of my profile.
“I guess, yeah. Nothing big.”
“And this?” Another sketch, this time a more detailed full-face shot in colored pastels. “And this?” Pen and ink. “Or these?” Sheet after sheet, Hinton lays out versions of my face in an array of mediums, a spectrum of colors and treatments, a variety of styles with only two things in common—my face as the subject and the scrawled “KB” in the lower corner.
She waves her hand over the gallery. “What did you say your relationship is?”
“Not this.” I can only shake my head at the array. “I have no idea what this is.”
Hinton’s expression is impossible to read. She reaches into the box again and pulls out a plastic bag holding a thick book that I recognize. She holds it up so I can only see the back cover. “Is this the book Professor Trachtenberg gave you?”
“It looks like it.”
She turns it over and lays it on the table. The front cover is smeared with brown stains that I know were not brown at first. “Does it still look like it?” My stomach sours and the detective keeps talking in that nice voice of hers. “This was one of the weapons used to kill Ellis Trachtenberg. We believe he was struck with this first to disable him, then he was beaten to death with a wrench that we found on the floor. A third weapon was used for other injuries. We haven’t found that weapon yet.”
She’s talking about whatever cut his hands off. I cover my mouth just in case my stomach continues to rise in my throat. Hinton leaves the bloody book in front of me.
“How tall are you, Ms. Ray? Five-ten?”
“Five-nine.”
She nods. “Professor Trachtenberg was six-one. He was tall. Judging from the angle at which he was struck, we know the killer couldn’t have been over five-six.” I guess this should make me feel better but all I can do is look at the blood stain. “Whoever killed him was able to get very close to him, so it was probably someone he knew, someone he would have no reason to fear. It would be someone he wouldn’t be surprised to see carrying the book he lent you.”
I tear my gaze away from the tabletop. “I didn’t grow three inches last night.”
“No, of course not. I don’t think you killed Ellis Trachtenberg or Robert Alistair. But I do think you’re involved.” I decide it’s time to find an attorney when Hinton holds up her hand. “Let me finish.”
I nod and sit up straighter.
“Have you told anyone around here about your past?” It takes a great deal of strength to get my head to turn back and forth. “Nobody? At all?”
“It’s not much of a conversation starter.”
“No, I wouldn’t think it is. I would imagine those are details you would like to keep private, but we have reason to believe someone knows a good deal about you.” She’s watching my face. I wonder if she can see that I’ve drawn blood biting the inside of my lower lip.
“Why would anyone care about that?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. When we asked around about Professor Trachtenberg, several people mentioned his interest in you. A few confirmed what you told us about not reciprocating that interest. Turning down a date is not a very good motive for murder. There were plenty of other people with better motives. Trachtenberg failed a lot of students every year. And he didn’t just fail them. He had a reputation for demoralizing them, insulting them, and generally being a condescending prick to them.” She doesn’t hide the anger in her tone. “Most dropped out and left town. Karmen Bennett was one of the few that stuck around.”
“She was talented,” I offer.
“She was pissed. Karmen has a history of violent outbursts. She’s been in trouble since middle school. Her parents have the money to send her anywhere but they made her stay close to home and made her pay her own way. They hoped it would keep her out of trouble.”
My headache has blossomed from a pinprick of pain into a full-skull cap. It’s blending with the ache in my shoulders and I can’t hold up my head any longer. I wonder if the police invest in special mind-melting lights. I collapse forward on my elbows, holding my chin up in my palms. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I think Karmen Bennett is obsessed with you. I think she was angry and humiliated by Trachtenberg. When you began working in the Advocate’s Office, you were kind to her, encouraged her, and I think she became attached to you. She wanted to be like you. She wanted to matter to you.”
“It doesn’t mean she killed anyone.”
“There are two bodies in our morgue. Evidence points to both men being killed by the same person. One of those men was pursuing you; the other was making your life unpleasant as a neighbor.”
“You can’t be serious.” I rub my eyes. “How many people live in Gilead? Seven hundred? Two thousand when school’s in? Surely Ellis and Bobby share more connections than their proximity to me.”
“They sure do. They share one big connection—Karmen Bennett. We already know she hated Trachtenberg; she’d written him several nasty e-mails and had threatened him publicly. Maybe she found out he was asking you out. Maybe she was jealous.”
“Don’t you need some kind of evidence?”
Hinton points to the bloody book. “Her fingerprints are on the book.”
“So are mine. Are you going to arrest me too?” I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth. “Karmen picked up the book when it was on my desk. I saw her. Surely there are other prints on there as well. It’s an old book.”
“There are other prints. We’re running them but so far we’ve only identified three sets—yours, Karmen’s, and Trachtenberg’s. There is something, Ms. Ray, something we’ve been keeping out of the public record. Something about the crime scene.” She reaches into the envelope and pulls out a photocopy.
“Do you recognize this?”
It’s a sketch of a human hand, anatomically correct, with notations and scale markings.
I see the “KB” signature at the bottom.
I shake my head. I know where Hinton is going with this but she has it all wrong. “This is for her submission to the Rising Tide Exhibition. She’s doing sculptures of different body parts. Any artist knows you need to learn the anatomy to sculpt it correctly.”
Another photo. This one a close-up of the bloody stump of an arm.
Then another photo of another arm without a hand.
Then a close up of the scene I witnessed over the dumpster, focusing on Bobby’s arm.
“You’re handling this very well, Ms. Ray,” Hinton says in that nice voice of hers. “That would have surprised me if I hadn’t seen this.” I close my eyes when I hear her reach into the envelope again. How many pictures can that fucking envelope hold? At least one more. I hear it slide across the table. I open my eyes.
It’s copy o
f a newspaper article printed out on copier paper. I don’t need to look at it to know it. I don’t need to squint to see what part of the picture has been circled in red marker. I think my neck must creak with the tension shooting down my spine. When I swallow, I think my throat might crack open.
Hinton folds her hands and watches me. “This article was found in a plastic bag left under the windshield wiper of a patrol car the evening after Professor Trachtenberg’s body had been discovered. It was left after the first snow had stopped but before the second snow started. That’s a pretty large window. Our officers were busy, understandably distracted by the murder.”
She holds the paper up by the edges. “I’m assuming you recognize this picture.” Wisely, she doesn’t wait for me to respond. “You say you didn’t tell anyone about your past and yet someone knew enough to give us this article. There are several interesting things about this piece of paper, Ms. Ray. Would you like to know what they are?”
I would not.
“For one, this was downloaded from the Bakerton Herald newspaper from Bakerton, Missouri. Do you know why that’s interesting?”
Because I accidentally hit my head and have woken up in hell?
“It’s interesting because it wasn’t downloaded from Wikipedia. You do know you have a Wikipedia page, right? It’s not under your name; it’s under Plasti—”
“Please don’t say it.” My mouth is very dry. “Please don’t say it out loud.”
Hinton nods. “I understand.”
Like hell.
“Anyway, my point is this: It wasn’t hard to find information about you online. Unfortunately there are plenty of people in the world who are fascinated by grisly stories like yours.” There’s that word again. “Lots of people are comfortable with search engines. That doesn’t point to Karmen, though it’s true she did get a job in the library’s research department after Trachtenberg cost her the scholarship. With her skills and resources, she might’ve sniffed out the archives of a small Missouri newspaper more quickly than a casual user, but it’s true, anyone can get online. But there is something even more interesting about this copy. Do you see these stains in the lower corner?”
I do not. I will not.
“At first we hoped it would be fingerprints, but no dice. It’s rare to get that lucky. So we examined the stains and it turns out they’re grease stains. Cooking grease. Just plain old vegetable oil, the same kind of oil that the cooks use to fry the pickles at Ollie’s where Karmen Bennett also works. Where she serves you drinks. Where she asked you about helping her out with Professor Trachtenberg. Where she asked to borrow the book so that she could maybe get some extra credit from a professor with the reputation of never giving second chances.”
This is too much to take in. “What about Bobby? Why would she kill him?”
“Funny you should ask that, Ms. Ray.” She steeples her fingers together. “There are plenty of reasons someone would have killed Bobby Alistair. He was a punk and a dealer. He owed money and ran his mouth. He didn’t have a lot of friends. He was tough to like. After all, even you said, and I quote, ‘I hope someone beats the shit out of you.’ I heard you. We all did, including Karmen.”
Her steepled fingers tip forward, pointing at me. “Ms. Ray, dismembering a human body is not your average crime. It takes a certain mindset. It’s not shooting someone or beating someone over the head in a heated moment. It’s a very singular act that requires planning and precision.
“Ellis Trachtenberg was not hacked at. Whoever removed his hands did so carefully, precisely, and with an understanding of how to do it. They had the knowledge and they had the proper tools. Knives sharp enough to cut like that aren’t just lying around in a maintenance room. Whoever killed him knew they were going to take his hands. We know this, not only because of the precision of the cuts, but because there was no spattering or dripping of any kind around the body. Whoever cut off Ellis Trachtenberg’s hands had a plan—not just to remove the hands but to remove them from the crime scene. We believe whoever killed Ellis Trachtenberg brought with them the knife and a container to store the hands in.”
I haven’t blinked in so long my eyes burn. I shut them hard. It’s easier to talk without seeing Hinton’s serious face.
“And was it the same with Bobby?”
“No. Well, same type of head trauma. And we think it’s the same knife. But the knife-work was rushed, messier. Only one hand was taken. It looks like a rash decision.”
My eyes stay closed. “Why would she make that decision?”
“To impress you. Maybe to warn you.”
I open my eyes at that.
“Ms. Ray, the murder of Ellis Trachtenberg required more than planning. It required rage. Not hot, sudden rage or passion. It took a deep, long-burning rage to carry out a plan like that. Someone was incredibly angry. That kind of anger usually comes from loss—lost love, lost pride, lost reputation. Someone blamed Trachtenberg for that loss and I believe you are the catalyst for them to act upon that rage. Maybe they love you; maybe they resent you. Maybe both. Maybe they were literally telling Ellis Trachtenberg to keep his hands off of you.”
“How does any of this tie back to Karmen? Why would she kill her own boyfriend?”
“Think about it, Ms. Ray,” Hinton says, like I’d be thinking about anything else. “Trachtenberg pursued you. You rejected him. She kills him. You voice your obvious disapproval of her boyfriend, so he dies the same way. Two women, two unsuitable dead men. Now you’re the same.”
“That is such bullshit.” I shake my head, feeling like I’m waking up from a dream. “So what’s the logic behind leaving that newspaper article or using the book Ellis lent me? She loves me so much that she frames me for the murder?”
Hinton watches me like she’s expecting me to come to some conclusion she has. I don’t and she picks up the newspaper article, holding it up facing me. “She wants to be like you.” That twitchy finger of hers taps on the photo. “Maybe she wants you to know that she is like you.”
“Fuck you.” The words slip out on air but get stronger as I repeat them. My mind is spinning out brilliant arguments but my mouth only forms one phrase over and over as I push back from the table. “Fuck you and fuck you. Are you charging me with something? Are you arresting me? No? Then fuck you and fuck you.”
She rises and stands between me and the door. I can’t be sure what will happen if she forces me to move her. “Ms. Ray, aren’t you curious why I’m telling you this?”
“Because, fuck you, you’re a fucking cop and a fucking ghoul.”
My tirade doesn’t faze her. “I’m telling you this because we cannot locate the missing hands and we believe that Karmen will reach out to you.”
“Fuck you.” It’s all I have to say.
“I’ve upset you.”
“Fuck you!”
“Karmen Bennett is dangerous.” She shouts over my profane chant. “Don’t be fooled by the fact that she is young and small. She’s smart, she’s strong, and she’s focused. She is angry and unstable and she is dangerous. Listen to me.”
I stop yelling.
“Whoever is doing this and for whatever reason they are doing this, I don’t think they’re done. I don’t think they’ve accomplished what they set out to do. We believe you are in danger. I think we both know that you are aware of how dangerous people can be.” She lowers her voice to its usual nice tone. “But, Ms. Ray, believe me when I tell you this. If it turns out that you played any role in these murders, if you encouraged Karmen Bennett in any way for any reason, if you used your influence over her to incite her to violence, I will take you down, too. Believe me.”
I take a deep breath. “Fuck you.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I call Jeannie as soon as I’m outside. Detective Hinton gave me my phone back and offered to have a squad car drive me home and I responded to both with my interjec
tion du jour. I like to keep my rides in cop cars to a minimum. I get Jeannie’s voice mail, which I ignore. Instead, I text her. If she’s on the phone, she’ll text me right back—Jeannie is a master multi-tasker—but no text comes back. I start walking home. The police station is on the far end of town from EAC but thankfully Gilead’s downtown takes up less than two miles at a straight shot.
I pass the Sheetz and Tudor’s Biscuit World. Speedway’s pepperoni rolls must just have come out of the oven because I can smell them from the sidewalk until I walk into the smell of Kroger’s fried chicken. A wintry Saturday in Gilead and all anyone seems to be doing is eating.
It’s so normal. People are probably watching football and making chili, drinking with their buddies or playing with their kids. Down here at the bottom of Gilead, it’s hard to imagine that two people were murdered up on that hill. But Hinton is right. I know how dangerous people can be, even in normal towns. I look across the street at Ollie’s Tavern. It’s still impossible for me to believe that Karmen Bennett is one of those people. But what the hell do I know?
If Karmen Bennett didn’t kill Ellis and Bobby, who did it? Surely Ellis Trachtenberg knew plenty of people and in a town this size surely some of those people knew Bobby Alistair, so surely there are other directions for Hinton to be looking. There have to be other theories she is entertaining, right?
But it doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing.
Why am I fighting so hard against the idea of Karmen as the killer?
I focus on not falling through the ice and filthy snow stacked up along the roadside. I check my phone—still no word from Jeannie. She picked a hell of time to be MIA. I’m halfway up the big hill to campus when I almost regret not taking Hinton up on her offer of a ride home. There’s no way I would have agreed to it, no matter how worn out I feel. Hinton is sharp. I won’t let myself call her dangerous, because I have to remind myself that she isn’t dangerous to me. I’m not hiding anything from her.
I catch the flaw in my logic—just because I’m innocent doesn’t mean she believes me. I’m not a little kid anymore. If the police think I’m letting someone take the fall for me, they won’t let me off the hook. If Hinton thinks Karmen is covering for me, if she thinks I’m somehow pulling her strings, if she believes I am involved in the deaths of these two men, Hinton will never stop. I know the type. She’s smart and she’s patient and she believes she is on the side of justice.
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