More Bitter Than Death (28 page)

“He shoved you in?” He looked at me sharply. “He wasn’t already inside?”

“What do you mean?”

“There have been several other…incidents. Rooms have been broken into, and there have been some thefts—”

I recalled suddenly that my down-the-hall neighbor Becky had said, “It’s happened again!” It’s as if I had too much information at the moment and had shut down some reactions, just to deal with the trauma of being attacked.

“—but no one was ever attacked or hurt. People were either asleep or out of their rooms. And you say that he shoved you
in
?”

“Yes. Definitely. So I don’t think this is related.”

“I know it isn’t. We arrested the thieves who’ve been breaking in during the banquet.”

I looked at him. “What?”

“Nightcrawlers. One of every hotelier’s nightmares. Thieves who come in and try the rooms until they find one that isn’t locked—you’d be surprised at how easy it can be for them. Anyway, they were caught during the banquet, emptying someone’s room.”

I thought about the odd phone message I’d had, about “crawling,” and that made a lot more sense now. But it didn’t seem to have anything to do with the graduate students’ room being vandalized. “And they were responsible for the book room theft too, right?”

“Yes.”

I finished, “Because they stole the things that looked valuable—the replicas—and left the things we would think of as valuable, the actual broken artifacts.”

“I think that’s right,” he said, nodding.

“So my attacker wasn’t one of them.” He didn’t have a gun either, so perhaps the people who shot at Widmark—and me—weren’t the same as whoever murdered Garrison? I didn’t think there could be two significant, unrelated crimes at the conference, though.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” At least there was a wry grin on his face this time.

“I guess not. Anyway, he wasn’t that good, and I managed to chase him off pretty quick. That’s when the racket—”

“Your screams.” He wasn’t about to let me get away with anything; I didn’t like it, I wasn’t sure I liked him, but he was right. And I did appreciate where he was coming from.

“—woke up my neighbors. And they called you.”

“Yes. The police said that they’d get their man down here to talk to you, just as soon as they finish checking out your room and the floor. My assistant is with them with the keys.”

I blinked. “They’re already here?”

“Yes, there’s been someone here since this afternoon. Although they weren’t too happy about sparing someone during the snow emergency, they admitted it was probably necessary.”

“Ah.”

He looked past me. “Here we go.”

The officer came over, told me there’d been nothing to see upstairs, that I was probably right to assume that someone
had come out of the stairwell, though the possibility of someone coming in from another room couldn’t be ruled out. I told my story and mentioned that maybe someone had peeked out, and seen where he’d gone.

There wasn’t much else to do, but the officer did walk me back up to my room and looked through it with me, and then even walked me down to the ice machine to fill my bucket, before I let him out. I promised to file a report in the morning.

By the time my door was shut, locked, and dead-bolted, most of my shaking had stopped. The nausea persisted, though, and I became acutely aware of it as I shoved a chair in front of my door. I set the two thick glass water tumblers on top of it, right next to each other, so that they would clink together if anyone tried to open the door.

I sighed and went into the bathroom with my bucket of ice. I washed my face, noticing a couple of reddish rug burns on my hands. When I examined my face, I saw that on my left cheek there was the merest graze on top of a far more interesting lump in addition to the earlier scratch and the scrape on my chin. I put a little antiseptic on it, wincing, then found the little cardboard envelope with the plastic shower cap. I filled the cap with ice, twisting the elasticized opening as closely shut as I could to keep the melting ice inside, and sat down on the lowered toilet seat. I fiddled with the ice and a facecloth, and was finally able to rest the pack gingerly on my cheek. Glancing over in the mirror, I could see that on my left side, I looked, well, not exactly okay, but not as bad as I thought I might. The thorn scratch, of course. I had bags and lines under my eyes. The skin of my face was drawn and a little grayish under the unflattering lights and around my eyes was puffy and reddish: just about normal for the Saturday night, the fourth day of a five-day conference. The things that were really worrying me were all on the inside.

This had nothing to do with the other break-ins, I told myself. You know that. The M.O. was completely different and the cops already caught them.

This was because you’ve been talking to people. You’ve brought this on yourself. The manager is correct; you shouldn’t have to be worried about being attacked in the hotel under normal circumstances. But you are changing your circumstances, doing it willingly. And that invites trouble, no matter how undeserved.

I know.

And are you prepared to continue with this, just as willingly? How much does this mean to you? What does it mean to you?

I’m changing. I think this is all part of it. Tonight was bad, but not impossible. I was as ready for it as anyone might be.

Anyone who isn’t a professional, perhaps. You could cause more trouble by helping, you know.

I know. That’s part of what I need to think about.

Yes, you need to think about it, the tired face in the mirror reprimanded me. And you need to think about it hard, and soon.

Later, when I’ve had some sleep. I promise.

After another five minutes, I dumped the ice out into the sink and carefully dried off the shower cap and set it aside on the sink. The swelling had gone down a bit, but I didn’t want to take any aspirin on top of the drinks I’d had. I had taken a couple of antacids, but my stomach was already calming down, though I didn’t feel I could sleep yet.

There was a knock at the door. Warily, I looked through the peephole.

It was Duncan.

I sagged, but curiosity got the better of me. What mood would he be in now? I took a deep breath, moved the chair away, and opened the door a crack. “What’s up?”

“Got time for that drink now?” he said. “I was keeping an eye out for you.”

“Uh, sure.”

Feeling a little like I was going to a firing squad, but determined to make the most of any effort I could to finally put this all behind me, I let him in. I wondered what he’d say to me, whether he’d mention Josiah Miller or Garrison.

Besides, he had a bottle of single malt and two glasses of ice. Not that I was willing to drink with him.

“At least you brought the good stuff,” I said.

“Need something to end a day right,” he answered automatically.

“You used to say just the same thing in college,” I said. It was the first time I’d made any reference to our shared past that wasn’t couched in accusations, and I felt like I was sidling onto a pond that had only looked frozen.

“Did I? I guess so. Still a good way to put the aches of fieldwork behind you.” He poured two drinks and took a good swig of his own. “Not so much of that these days, eh, Em? All paperwork and bureaucracy and meetings.” He glanced at me. “How about you?”

“No, I still get out into the field pretty regularly. Got more work than is good for me, sometimes.”

“Well, good for you. I always knew you would be the one who’d keep the faith.”

The way he was talking to me was more like some kind of interview or something. There was a level of patronizing, avuncular pride that I found particularly annoying, like he’d always known how brilliant I was. And maybe he had, but he’d also thrown it away without a second thought.

I decided to poke him, see what was going on. “Yeah. Making some changes soon, though, I guess.”

He stiffened, ever so slightly, a microscopic hesitation before he recovered. “Oh, yeah? Time to start a family?”

“Hell, Duncan. Like that’s the only sort of change that I
could possibly be contemplating.” He’d put ice in my drink too, but I’d gotten in the habit of drinking it neat ages ago. I fished out the cubes on my way into the bathroom and threw them into the sink.

He shrugged. “No? I always thought you would, one day. You’d make a great mother.”

Again with the patronizing crap. It was bordering on proprietary nostalgia this time, and that sickened me. “Who knows? But what I’m talking about is professional—”

“I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you on getting tenure, by the way,” he broke in quickly. “Good job, that. Good thing, too, the job market being what it is. It’s really tight out there.”

“Yeah, thanks, it was a massive relief to get that over with,” I said. I understood one thing: He wanted something, was definitely trying to pull the conversation around to broach that. I was equally determined to keep it going my way, at least for a few more minutes. “But I’ve been thinking about branching out a bit.”

Again, he stiffened, as though getting ready to start a fight. “You’re not thinking of leaving Caldwell?”

I saw that there was real fear in his eyes. “Not at all. I’m looking into studying what I can do in forensics.”

He actually laughed, he was so relieved. “Good God, Emma. Why on earth?”

“Just seems like the next natural step.”

He took a big drink. “Well, I suppose there is a kind of boom in that right now, what with all the television interest in the scientific aspect of criminal investigation or whatever. Lots of dramas specializing in it, not to mention all the documentaries, regular series on the science channels and what all. Could be a lucrative sideline, I guess. I don’t know whether it would be the best thing for you, in terms of career advancement, though. It might be a little late for you to start breaking into the scientific subdisciplines. You’re much better off in this tidy little niche you’ve created for yourself.”

“What little niche is that?” I said. I could feel my jaw tightening.

“You know, you practically dominate the early contact stuff in the Northeast. And the feminist stuff too, for other periods. You’re becoming the go-to girl for a lot, and I think you might be better off staying where you’re established. Consolidating your position, if you like.”

“I don’t think of it that way,” I said.

“No? Not building off Oscar’s foundation? Not building your own little Fielding empire?”

I frowned. “Really not. My interests have always been varied, and now I’m in a position to follow through on more of them, is all. And if I’ve been working in the field for longer than most people our age, that’s not calculation or empire-building, or anything else. It’s interest, passion, a vocation. You’re bound to rack up some pubs, some data, some information after twenty years or so.”

“Suit yourself. But I think this forensics thing is probably more of a fad. You’re better off staying out of it.”

I felt myself stiffen and felt an attack of Yankee-grade iciness coming on. What Brian called my “arctic front.” “I wasn’t asking for your advice, Duncan. I was telling you of my plans. And it has nothing to do with fads or advancement. It’s what I can do with my skills. How I can put them to good use.”

He was looking around the room. “Whatever, Em. Why would you want to, though? Doesn’t quite seem your suit.”

“My suit might have changed since you knew me last, don’t you think?”

“I think people stay fundamentally the same,” he said.

I found myself losing my temper with his comfortable arrogance, but decided I would find out what he wanted and then kick him out. No point in making things worse when I was trying to make them better, especially now that I was pretty sure that he couldn’t have been the one to attack me.
“Well, then maybe there was some germ of this in me earlier on, and it’s just coming out now.”

He shrugged and poured himself another drink, ignoring my raised eyebrow. “Well, I’m thinking of making changes too.”

“What, are you pregnant?”

“Very funny. No, I’m thinking that I’ve gone just as far as I can go with the stuff here in New Hampshire. I’m looking into the Connecticut job.”

At last. “Really.” So that was what was behind all of this.

“Really. I think it might be fun to shake things up a little.”

Get your hands on some of that new funding, I thought to myself. Get a piece of a high-profile department. Another upgrade. No wonder he was worried; he was thinking that I might be going for it myself, perhaps, with the leverage my recent promotion had brought me.

Funny, I didn’t have all these thoughts when I was talking to Brad, but then, I was convinced he was in it for the work and not the exposure. But was either reason more or less the right one?

“I think the competition won’t be much of a problem,” he continued. “I was just hoping that I might get a letter of recommendation from you.”

It came out, just as smooth as that, and suddenly I understood just how naïve I really was. He had less interest in mending fences with me for its own sake, for the sake of maturity, than he wanted my support. How typical. How traditional, if you like, of him. I almost laughed.

“Do you mind?” I said, holding out my glass. He rushed to top up my untouched drink, and for a moment, I hated myself. It was just the same sort of manipulative shit Duncan would have pulled himself. So I put an end to it quickly.

“Sorry, Duncan. You asked too late.”

“Why?” I was surprised that he seemed more curious than
hostile or resentful. “Because of…because of what happened between us?”

“No. That’s done. It’s because I’ve already been asked to write a letter. I wouldn’t feel comfortable, it wouldn’t be ethical to do a second.”

“Oh, yeah?” He drank, unconcerned. “Who’s it for?”

“I don’t know if that’s any of your business. I don’t know if it matters. But good luck anyway.”

“Well, certainly you can change your mind.”

The utter audacity of it made me blink, and I almost couldn’t believe that he said it, almost went into denial that anyone would be so presumptuous. That’s why he wasn’t more upset; he didn’t believe I would refuse him.