Failure is Fatal (22 page)

“Is this how you found the box when you opened it?” said Der.

“Yes, the note was on top. I read it, gave it to my sister to read also, then we placed it back in the box and headed out to see Dr. Murphy,” Tanya said.

Der read through the note slowly, handing it to me. Carefully removing newspaper and then a wool sweater, Der uncovered a laptop. “We'll get to this later,” he said. He took out the clothes, books and papers beneath the computer. At the bottom of the cardboard box was a wooden container, about the size of a notebook, but five or six inches in depth. There was no lock on the latch that held the top on, and the lid was easily lifted off. The box was almost empty with the exception of several envelopes in the bottom. They were addressed to Ryan, and Marie Becca's address appeared as the return. Der opened the envelope with the earliest postmark, several weeks before Marie's death, and extracted the single sheet of paper inside. He and I read the note:

Dear Ryan,

I got your letter today. It was a surprise, but a very pleasant one. I really have only one real friend on campus. It's hard for me to trust anyone, so if we're going to be friends, I need to go a little slowly.

Thanks for being so understanding the day we met. I really didn't mean to almost run you down on my way out of the building, but I was trying to get away from someone I consider one of the most disgusting and sinister people I've ever met. He's threatened me on more than one occasion and is insisting that I meet him alone somewhere. I don't want to see him, but I'm afraid he'll make trouble for me. You were so nice to me, helping pick up my books and all, taking me out for coffee and calming me down. Most frat boys don't seem to care much for anyone but themselves. I enjoyed our talk. I must say that I didn't much care for your friend, who tried to join us, but I thought you handled him very well. You said you had business with someone in the English Department. That sounds mysterious. Can you tell me about it?

I think you're right. It would be better if we correspond through snail mail. My roommate isn't reliable with getting phone messages to me, and I don't want to call you at the fraternity house. And I don't think email is at all secure. Let's try to meet every Friday afternoon around four at the mall as you suggested.

Your friend,

Marie

“What does it say?” said Tanya. Der handed the letter to Tanya and Rachel.

“You were right, Murphy. Ryan and Marie knew each other and were developing a friendship that they kept from everyone else. Why, I wonder?” said Der.

“I think they both found it hard to trust anyone, Marie because of all the losses in her life and some more recent events, I suspect. Ryan had no friends at the frat house, just guys he hung out with.”

“We went through all of Marie's stuff, but never found any letters from Ryan to her. Sounds like there were a few, but what happened to them?” Der said.

“I'll bet she destroyed them. She and her roommate didn't get along well. Would you leave anything personal in a room shared with someone you didn't like or trust?” I said.

“There's only one more letter here. It's postmarked several days prior to her death. It's shorter than the first one. I'll just read it to you.” Der removed the letter from the envelope and extracted the paper inside.

“Dear Ryan, I know you think you should do what the fraternity tells you, but I also know you have doubts about what they're doing. Sometimes you have to give up something you really like and resist someone's influence to do something better for yourself. I know I did. It's not easy, especially when you feel you have nobody on your side. The price you pay to do the right thing can be high. In my case, I think I'm still paying and will for a long time. I'm on your side, Ryan,” Der read. “It's signed, Marie.”

“Can I see that?” I held out my hand for the letter. “She mentions giving up something and resisting the influence of others. I'll bet she knew that the fraternity was planning on inserting those stories in my research. Ryan must have told her and also indicated he was having doubts about the plan.”

Der turned his attention to the twins as I continued to ponder the letters. “We'd like to examine the contents of this box more fully at headquarters if that's all right with you.”

“Oh, no, go right ahead and take the box. If it can help in finding out what happened to Ryan and to Marie, it's all yours,” Tanya said.

“Oh, and I'd prefer you didn't talk about receiving this box nor about the contents, the letters,” said Der.

Tanya and Rachel nodded their heads in consent. “We won't tell a soul,” they said in unison.

*

Der and I sat staring into the fire. I knew Der was worried about my ankle and my state of mind. I had said little since the twins left.

“How's the foot?”

“Oh, it's fine. Pretty good, actually. I was just thinking.”

“Want to share?”

“Okay, but I'm not promising anything. Here goes. Ryan and Marie become friends, kind of two lost souls find each other. It's not romantic, just friendship. They tell each other a lot about their lives. Marie finds out through Ryan or maybe through her work-study program in the English Department about the stories to be planted in my research. Ryan wants to stop the stories, but he's too heavily involved in the fraternity and in the prank. Besides, he's afraid of Adam. And the fraternity is all he's got, aside from Marie. Marie encourages him to do the right thing, saying she has been in a similar situation. She sacrificed to do the right thing. I think she was referring to giving up Barnett College, leaving the college she liked and standing up to someone, resisting someone's influence. She admitted the price was high and that she thought she was still paying for her decision. The letters give us only part of her story. I think it began at Barnett College and followed her here, resulting in her death. Ryan knew some of it, but did he know who killed her? I doubt it, but he surely suspected.”

“Murphy, you're leaving out the obvious. Ryan didn't have a lot of charm, looks or girls hanging on him. And I question whether he had any real reservations about what the frat was doing to you. Remember he was the one who was working with a ghostwriter to create those stories. Doesn't sound to me as if he was going to blow the whistle on the frat.”

“So what are you trying to say?”

“The simplest scenario works. Marie pushed him too hard to do the right thing. He refused. They argued, and he killed her. Then he split.”

“How do you explain the story ending describing her death?” I said.

“Ryan planted it to try to place the blame on the fraternity, but then he got scared as we began to follow up with the fraternity, so he decided to split.”

“And his message to me and the box with its note?”

“Drama, the college kid kind, that's all. This looks like a wrap to me, although I wish I had more physical evidence to link Ryan to the murder scene. The letter indicated they were meeting each Friday in the mall, and I've got a slew of prints from her car. I can match the prints on his computer with prints in her car.”

“So what? You don't suspect everyone whose prints you found in the car, do you? Try matching some prints to Adam's,” I said.

Der ignored this remark, saying, “There is something that bothers me still.”

“What?”

“Who tried to run you down in the parking lot? Ryan doesn't have a car.”

“Yeah, that bugs me a lot too, since it was my ankle and my life in danger here.” I wandered off again in thought for several minutes. “So you think that Ryan planted the story about Marie's death in my lab, broke into the lab and left another note for me or for you and me. That he's behind everything, even trying to run me down with a car he borrowed from someone. Who? But then he left the phone message and a box of his possessions for me. That sounds more confused than murderous.”

“You said he was a pretty smart guy. So he makes the call to you and sends the box to put us off his trail. With the letters from Marie, he looks innocent, but he's not. Maybe Ryan didn't try to run you down. With your personality and the way people feel about you, I've got a lot of suspects on the list of those who would like to see harm done to Dr. Laura Murphy.”

I knew he was joking a bit, but I thought he was being mean.

“And just what is wrong with my ‘personality' as you put it?”

“Nothing, really. I like it, but lots of people don't. You've got a lot of enemies. Most of them think you stick your nose into things you don't have a right to. Any of them might have seen an opportunity to scare you a bit.”

“The guy almost killed me! I don't understand you. Before you picked Ryan for the murderer, you thought the hit-and-run was connected to the case, and you were worried. Now that you've named your man, my misfortune is due to one of my longtime enemies taking the opportunity to run me down.”

“Okay, okay, you're right. I need to think on this one longer, but I'm going to have to pull the trooper car from making passes by your house anyway. We're low on manpower right now. Sorry. But I'll check in periodically. You know I wouldn't want anything to happen to you. I wouldn't pull the car if I really thought there was any risk to you, you know that. Ryan is long gone, probably to a warmer climate.”

“Right. Well, why don't you get out of here now and let me work. I've still got major revisions to accomplish on my manuscript.”

“Gee, I know you're a little pissed at me, but I thought the least you could do is invite me for dinner. I did bring the food, you know.”

“It's too early for dinner. Come back later, around eight or so. You can cook, and I'll think about forgiving you.”

“You mean you only need several hours to forgive me for solving this crime instead of you?”

“No, I mean, I'll think about forgiving you for your attitude, your smugness that you've solved this one. You're dead wrong, you know.”

Chapter 19

I looked at my watch after Der left. It was only four-thirty in the afternoon. I hobbled over to the phone and dialed the college.

“Registrar's Office,” said the voice at the other end of the line.

“Cathy, hi. It's Laura. I thought I might catch you in your office on a Saturday afternoon. Don't you ever take time off?” Cathy Nelson let forth a hardy laugh into my ear.

“And when would all this work get done? And who would do it? We're trying to meet an early December deadline for conversion of our record managing system. I don't want to be recording grades in one system, then have to convert them into the new system. It'll take all my time over intersession. I'd like to be able to celebrate Christmas like normal folks.”

“So I gather you'll be in your office for a while?”

“Sure will. Until this evening. What do you need?”

“I'll tell you when I get there. I won't take up your time now on the phone.”

“Hey I thought I heard you'd hurt your ankle and had to stay off your feet.”

“Oh, it's just a little bump. Nothing serious. See you in a bit.” Geez. Everyone at the college knew about my injury.

*

When I pulled into the parking lot in front of the administration building, there were only two other cars there—a sporty Miata convertible—it had to belong to someone having a midlife crisis—and a more practical Kia Cube. I thought the latter must be Cathy's. The building off to my right housed the English Department. I noted light coming from only one office window. Leaving my crutches in the car, I directed my steps away from administration and toward the other building. I had a hunch who was working this late Saturday afternoon, and I knew a visit might shake things up a little. I paused in front of Dr. Chaffee's office, knowing I wouldn't be welcome. All the better. I knocked, and Chaffee called “come in.” He looked irritated even before it registered his visitor was me.

“Now what do you want?” The usual friendly greeting. He arose from his desk chair and strode toward me, stopping only when he was hovering over me, invading my personal space.
What was it about these guys that they thought they had to confront me physically? Words weren't enough?

“Not even a ‘good afternoon, Dr. Murphy?'” I asked.

“I don't need you to teach me manners.” He flicked his hand to the chair across from his.

“That must be your lovely convertible in the parking lot. Not very practical for this weather.” I sank into the chair with a gratitude I made certain to hide from Chaffee.

“I love it. A little gift to myself for getting promoted this past spring.” Arrogance was written all over his face. “Now, enough of the chit-chat. What do you want?”

I paused a moment to consider. Just what did I want?
Oh, what the hell.
I took the plunge. “Did you know Marie Becca?”

The look on his face told me I grabbed the brass ring. He looked shocked. Or was that fear I saw on his face?

“What if I did? Everyone in this department knew her. She was majoring in English, you know.”

“Okay, then, how about this one? Did she know you?”