Failure is Fatal (9 page)

Students began to whisper to one another. Others seemed stunned by Der's reference to a “recent crime.” A hand shot up from one of the young men sitting in a small group in the corner of the room.

“So you mean, if we got the story from someone else, like plagiarized it, you can arrest us? What if we just don't say a thing? How can you tell who the person is? Aren't we supposed to be subjects who are unanimous?” he said.

“I think you mean ‘anonymous.' And we'd like to keep it that way. We're really not interested in the particular story you created in response to the lead you read on your paper. But if that story wasn't yours, then we need to know that and talk to you about it,” I said.

“Dr. Murphy has gone to great lengths not to let anyone know who wrote which story, and she stands firm on protecting each one of you. That's why she insisted we hold this meeting and ask you to volunteer any information you may have,” Der said.

“And if we don't volunteer?” the same student asked. He crossed his arms and settled back in his chair, his pose defiant.

“We can question each of you individually, we can get a court order allowing us to attach names to the stories, and we can charge you with criminal conspiracy, if you are found to be complicit in withholding information,” Der said.

He and I were playing our version of good cop, bad cop—good psychologist, bad detective.

“I've given each one of you my card. I hope to hear from you.”

“Yes,” I said. “We hope you will help us with this.” I then dismissed them.

As the students filed out of the room, the young man who asked the questions passed by me announcing to his friends in a voice loud enough to be heard by everyone that he was going to call his dad and “get a lawyer.”

“Why would you do that, son?” Der stepped in front of him blocking his exit from the room.

“You're harassing me,” the young man said. He turned to solicit confirmation from his friends, who quickly turned away, making a fast retreat from the room.

“Bring on the lawyers, then.” Der smiled that smile of his. Why is it when Der smiled he looked more menacing than when he frowned?

*

Over the next few days, Der and I met with the students who were unable to make the earlier group session. Most seemed interested in what we were saying, startled by Der's reference to a crime, but unable to provide any additional information. One student failed to show for an individual meeting. When I called to schedule another time, her roommate told me she had gone home because of a family emergency and would be returning in a few days. I asked the roommate to have the student return my call.

Der and I waited. The good part of waiting was that each day brought no reports of any missing coed, an anxiety created by the two most recent research descriptions. Neither Der nor I wanted to talk much about this possibility, but I knew we both worried that these descriptions would prove as prophetic of a crime as we feared had the murder description. And, unfortunately, no students from the testing session got in touch with Der. At the end of the week, Der called me to let me know he was proceeding with a court order to connect names to stories. In a final effort to elicit cooperation from the students, I convinced Der we should try individual contacts with them before he took action. He agreed, knowing how loath I was to sacrifice the anonymity protection of research. We decided to make the calls the following Monday.

*

Friday night found the three of us, Guy, down from Canada for the weekend, Der and I sitting in the living room of my house watching the beginning of a snowfall through the windows overlooking the lake.

“If the snow continues as the forecast predicted, you may find it difficult to get out of here on Sunday evening, old man,” Der said to Guy.

“Guess I'll have to call in sick then and snuggle up here for the duration.” Guy drew me closer to him on the couch.

“Don't think you're going to have too much of my attention this coming week if you do stay,” I said. “Der and I are going to be making those calls, I've got papers to grade, and I should be making up the next to the last exam for my courses. In some ways this semester is going by too fast.”

“Nights,” Guy said. “What will you be doing nights this week if I stay?”

“Sleeping.” I got off from the couch. “Anyone want more coffee?”

Sam raised her head from the floor where she was napping and thumped her tail once as I left for the kitchen. She seemed prepared to hibernate for winter and offered little interest in either observing the snow outside or running out to play in it. It was one of the few times I saw her not in motion for less than ten minutes. She was growing out of puppyhood, something I welcomed in a way, but I would miss her frenzied play and enthusiastic exploration of everything that moved.

I returned to the living room with the coffeepot. Guy offered his cup for a refill, but Der shook his head no. He seemed distracted this evening and had said little since he arrived. Neither one of us had much hope the upcoming calls would produce much. Whoever the students were who wrote those unusual stories, they seemed content to sit back and let Der and me struggle with their identities. Der considered letting the students know about the earlier description of the murder, but decided the existence of the description and its details constituted information that only the authorities and the murderer could know. It was his ace in the hole.

The three of us continued to stare at the falling snow, a fire crackling in the woodstove making the room warm and cozy. Conversation lagged, and we were falling asleep when the phone rang in the kitchen. Sam jumped up and ran to the phone as if she would answer it.

I laughed and hurried to the kitchen to pick up the phone.

Guy and Der watched curiously through the doorway as I merely nodded and said a few words into the receiver.

“Investigator Der is here right now, but with all this snow predicted, I don't think it's wise that you try to get out here unless you've got four-wheel drive. We could meet you in your room. Oh, okay, I understand. My office it is then. Yes, in about fifteen minutes.”

Der entered the kitchen at the mention of his name and was standing near me when I put down the phone.

“That was one of our subjects, the student who failed to show for an individual meeting because she was home. It seems she wrote one of those unusual endings, and she wants to explain why. She seemed anxious not to meet where anyone might see us, so it's my office. The building should be deserted now.” I grabbed my coat out of the closet and began to frantically dig around on the closet shelf for the gloves I knew had to be there but that I hadn't used since last winter. I wanted them because they were my warmest pair. I finally pulled out two gloves, not matching, of course, but close enough to pass for a pair in the dim light of evening.

“I'll go start the car, so we can get moving,” Der said.

“And I…” Guy said.

“Oh, god, I'm sorry, but it's better you not come along. She seems pretty nervous and a stranger might…,” I said.

“And I am going to grade some papers I brought with me this weekend. I know you need to be there. She obviously wants you there.” Guy put his arms around me and hugged me to him. “Besides, Der will be along to see that you don't get into any trouble.” He was being a real gentleman about having his weekend taken away from him, but I knew it grated on him. His face was a study in contrasts—a smile on his mouth and irritation in his eyes.

I flew out the door then looked back to see Guy and Sam in the entryway wreathed by the porch light, figures made indistinct by the rapidly falling snow.

The powerful police cruiser cut through the accumulated snow easily, but I wondered how well we would fare on the way back given the rate at which the snow was falling and piling up on the deserted roads. The road crews would wait until the snow stopped, or at least until morning, and with tomorrow being a weekend day and no schools in session, driving tonight on unplowed and unsanded roads would prove treacherous. I was content to have Der at the wheel and not to be navigating my poor old beat-up Toyota through this storm. When we reached the campus, I told Der to swing into the small parking area behind my office building.

Huddled in the doorway of the building a lone figure sought shelter from the blowing snow.

“Abby? Abby Jones?”

“Dr. Murphy, I'm so glad you're here,” the young woman said. Her voice seemed washed by relief. She appeared tense and tired and something else. Afraid? The light from the building outlined her features. She was tall and slender and her hands, when she drew them from her pockets to shake mine, were graceful with long fingers and shapely nails. Her skin was
café au lait
in color. When she spoke, her accent was that of the islands. It seemed incongruous that someone whose entire persona bespoke the warmth of the Caribbean should find herself in the middle of a snowstorm in upstate New York.

I quickly took out my keys and opened the door, then led the three of us up the stairs and down the hall to my office.

“This is Detective Pasquis, Abby,” I said.

She looked at Der and seemed to visibly relax. It appeared that she was only too happy to see another dark face in this sea of white.

We sat down and Der and I waited for Abby to speak.

“I'm pledging a sorority, against my parents' wishes, you know, but I thought it might help me fit in better on this campus.” A knowing look passed between her and Der.

“The weekend before the testing session, the pledges from the sorority and the pledges from the fraternity house next door were gathered together for a meeting. We were asked if any of us signed up for your experiment, Dr. Murphy, and only two of us raised our hands. The other person was a guy. I didn't get his name. He and I were separated from the others and taken into a room with two fraternity guys. I think one was the frat president, but I'm not certain. Once in the room, the other pledge and I were told we were going to play a little trick on you by messing up your research. We were handed short paragraphs and told that we were to use these as the endings for the stories asked for in your research. I began to protest that I didn't think it was wise to intentionally falsify research results. The frat president became abusive then and told me I would be out of the sorority unless I did this. He also said they had ways of checking on whether we followed through with the plan.”

As she spoke Abby twisted her hands around one another and looked down at the floor. I could tell it was difficult for her to tell us this story, that she felt she failed herself somehow and that she was embarrassed by her behavior.

“The frat pledge seemed to think the plan was funny, and he was eager to cooperate, although he complained that his story was too long. We were told to memorize the stories and then destroy the papers they were on. I again voiced my objections to doing it. I was told you'd get yours in the end and I would too if I took your side. I was also warned not to tell anyone or the consequences would be far worse than merely being tossed out of the sorority. I was really terrified by the time I walked out of that room. I still didn't think what I was doing was right, but I was thinking I had little choice.”

“So you did what you were told and wrote the story they gave you when you were in the research session?” Der said.

“Yes, I did, although I'm not proud to say I did.” She raised her eyes to meet Der's. What she saw must have encouraged her. She raised her head and continued speaking. “I felt so bad about it that I left campus and went home to talk this over with my parents. They were pretty disgusted with me and told me I had to come to you and tell you what I did, Dr. Murphy. I know I had the opportunity to confess earlier, but I was afraid. I'm still scared, but I know I need to tell the truth.”

“You said the fraternity president became abusive with you. What did he do?” asked Der.

“It's not that he did anything, but he was verbally abusive and he used the
N
word. He said all the usual things, about my kind not being wanted here, how I was lucky to be the token in the sorority. You know the routine, Detective Pasquis.”

Der merely nodded.

“Did you see the other pledge in the testing session?” said Der.

“Yes, I did. I guess he had trouble memorizing his story because I caught him sneaking peeks at a paper on top of the books that he placed on the floor beside his desk. He was pretty devious about it, so I doubt any of the research assistants caught him.”

“Do you have the paper you were given?” said Der.

“No, I threw it away the night they gave it to me. It was short and easily memorized.”

Der and I now knew she was given the shorter of the two story endings. The other came from the frat pledge, and he tore it up and threw it in the wastebasket.

“Were there any phone numbers on the paper you were given?” I said.

“No.”

“I think that's all for now, but I'll be in touch with you again,” said Der.

“What's this all about? It's pretty unusual for police to get involved in fraternity pranks, isn't it?” she asked.