True Grey (33 page)

The city cop must have nodded, because Dulcie saw Rogovoy relax a bit. His hand remained heavy on her shoulder, however, and she realized this was the time to talk.

‘I didn't read Melinda's manuscript,' she said. ‘Yes, I saw it in the suite library. Last Saturday, the day . . . the day . . . Anyway, I saw it, before it disappeared. But then two pages showed up, both from my desk. At first, I thought they were student papers. They were full of hyperbole, overwrought writing and such. Only there was one quote – one quote that she kept going back to. And it was the same quote I had found, in a handwritten manuscript.

‘Still, I didn't get it. I thought, gee, she must have gotten there before me. Then I went back to the Mildon.' She was talking to Rogovoy now. He probably didn't understand the vagaries of research, but he nodded for her to continue. ‘Melinda Sloane Harquist had dropped by, for an hour before a lunch date. A lunch date with her father.' Dulcie stared at the dean. ‘And she had gone right to the material I'd been working on.'

‘Of course she did.' The dean's voice was dismissive. ‘Despite your psychotic imaginings about her identity, you knew she was writing about the same subject you are. No wonder you attacked her . . .'

‘No, she was checking on something. Checking on a quote.' She paused. ‘A quote that she already had typed into her manuscript, but that she couldn't have seen before.'

‘That's nonsense. As crazy as your claim—'

Rogovoy raised one large hand and the dean shut up.

‘A quote from a handwritten draft. A quote from a manuscript that only exists in our library, and that she could only have known about if someone had hacked into my laptop for her.'

Dulcie paused, partly to catch her breath and partly to consider how to continue. Dreams didn't fit into this, nor did fiction. She had to be logical and clear, entirely in the here and now. ‘And the other side of it was how much the dean was involved. We found out Dean Haitner had Melinda thoroughly investigated. Not just her academic history, but also her family, her background. Everything.' In the corner of the room, Andrew nodded. ‘We all thought he was – ah – interested in her romantically. But he has a sweetheart, an adjunct professor of semiotics over at BU.' Now it was Trista who was nodding, disbelief on her face. ‘We all thought that, because we all know his reputation as a ladies' man.'

The dean reared back and opened his mouth to respond. Rogovoy's paw came up again, silencing him.

‘But the one thing he cares more about than the ladies is his reputation.' Dulcie looked around, as both Trista and Andrew nodded. ‘His legacy. Melinda Sloane Harquist was his hope for the future. That's when I realized—'

‘Dulcie!' She turned around. Everyone did. Standing in the main doorway stood Chris, soaking wet. ‘What are you doing here?' he asked as he dripped on the rug.

‘Chris?' Dulcie took a step toward him, but the hand on her shoulder restrained her. She turned. ‘Does anyone have a towel?'

Andrew ducked back into the passage and came back seconds later with a small hand towel.

‘I'm here to see the dean,' said Chris, drying his face. He looked around for a place to put the towel and, as he handed it back to Andrew, saw the puddle collecting at his feet. ‘Oh, I'm sorry.'

‘Chris, what are
you
doing here? You didn't know I was . . .' She paused. Had her boyfriend come to rescue her? Or was he that desperate to break things off that he'd tracked her down to University Hall?

‘I'm sorry, Dulcie. I wanted to talk it over with you, I really did. But I just couldn't live with it any longer.' He had a desperate look, pale and drawn. The drop of water collecting on his nose didn't help. ‘I simply can't do it.'

It was the latter. Dulcie felt herself swaying. Here, in front of all these people, this was the final straw. She closed her eyes, hoping for the dizziness to pass and waiting for the awful words. What she heard next made her jerk them open. Chris had turned from her to the man behind the desk.

‘Dean Haitner, I can't take that job,' Chris said. ‘I'm sorry. I really appreciate the offer, and I know I said I'd give anything to get off the overnight shift. But, really, this has been Darlene's job, and she needs it too. You should keep her. I can train her to do anything she doesn't know yet. But, please, give her the job back. I couldn't live with myself otherwise.'

‘Wait – job?' Dulcie shook her head to clear it. ‘This was about a job?'

Chris nodded, his dark hair still plastered against his forehead. ‘The dean set up a special project, and hired Darlene to do it. Data mining, surveillance – lots of fun programming. And I guess Darlene was having some problems, so he sought me out. I am her adviser, after all. And, Dulcie, I know how hard it's been with me working nights. I know we never see each other. I just couldn't take her job, though. She's living on grants and fellowships, too, and I'm supposed to be her adviser, not her competition.'

‘Oh, Chris.' This time the cop let her go, and she embraced her sodden beau.

‘But Dulcie.' Chris looked around as if seeing everyone else in the room for the first time. ‘What are you doing here? What's going on?'

‘We've been sorting through some issues,' said Rogovoy, with a look at the city cop. ‘As always, your girlfriend has brought some interesting insights to the conversation.'

‘Dulcie?' Chris stepped back and looked at her, then looked over at Rogovoy. ‘If she's in any trouble, I demand to hear about it.'

The burly detective shook his head. ‘This is for us to worry about, Mr Sorenson. That said, if you could tell us a bit more about this data mining you were asked to do for the dean?'

‘You should really talk to Darlene about that. I'd given her a few pointers, but that was it. Then again, the dean would be able to tell you more. Dean Haitner?'

They turned. The dean was standing by the side door, where Andrew had been only minutes before. His face was ghastly white against the unnatural black of his hair, his eyes wide. Without a word, he faced them – and then turned and ran.

‘Damn,' said Rogovoy, and motioned the young cop to go ahead. Following him to the doorway, the detective turned. ‘Hey, kid,' he addressed Andrew. ‘What's back here?'

‘Private bathroom. Storage closets.' Rogovoy visibly relaxed. ‘Of course, at the end, it does open up again on to the main stairwell. I think there's a fire door.'

With a muttered curse, Rogovoy peered into the dim hallway. As he leaned in, a loud cry from outside made everyone turn. Dulcie joined the others at the window. Dean Haitner, flat on his back, lay on the pavement at the base of the stone steps. Leaning forward to catch his breath stood the young cop. Neither of them looked happy; the dean was holding his knee. Only Dulcie noticed a small movement, a few feet away on the wet grass. A squirrel, grey and so large as to be almost cat-sized, sat up on his haunches and watched the proceedings. As he turned to look up at the office window, Dulcie was almost sure he winked. Then he bounded toward the nearest elm, scurried up, and was gone.

D
ulcie was a little disappointed that she could not follow suit. However, Rogovoy himself escorted her down to the Cambridge Police Headquarters, and had no objection when she called Suze on the way. Chris had insisted on coming along, too, despite Dulcie's stated objections.

‘You're soaked, Chris,' she'd said. ‘I'll be fine. You should really go home and change.'

‘Come on, kid.' Rogovoy had held the door for him, as they both ignored her. Once they'd gotten to the station, Dulcie laid out her theory for the record, which took the form of Rogovoy and the young Cambridge police officer. Chris then tried to explain about computer access, about how his student had been told she was ‘testing security', as she breached Dulcie's private files. Rogovoy didn't look like he got it, entirely, but he let them talk, until Dulcie, finally, asked if it might be possible to break for lunch.

‘I don't even know if I can think straight.' Dulcie didn't feel like she was exaggerating. From the look Rogovoy gave them both, neither did he.

But something must have clicked, and by the time they had finished with their sandwiches – Rogovoy had sent the young cop to the deli next door – the paperwork was nearly done. Somehow, between Rogovoy and the uniform, whose name was James, Dulcie was free to leave.

‘We have copies of all that Mildon stuff, which supports your testimony,' said James. ‘But you know the routine: we may need to speak with you again, and we would appreciate it if you did not leave town without checking with us first.'

‘I've got it, Officer . . . James.' She paused, not sure what to say. ‘And thanks.'

Esmé greeted them both as soon as they were in the door, letting loose with a chorus of chirps and mews that soon had Dulcie laughing.

‘What is it, kitty?' She scooped up the purring cat. ‘You'd think she knew what had happened today.' Chris only smiled. ‘What?' she asked the cat. ‘Were you and he trading notes?'

Esmé didn't respond, but Chris did, taking the two of them into his arms. Before long, the young cat had wriggled free, determined to follow her own plans for the afternoon and leaving the young couple to their own pursuits.

By the time they'd had dinner, Dulcie opening up the last of the dumplings for Esmé to lick at, Dulcie was ready to call it a day. Trista had been calling, however, and she and Jerry came over soon after. Curled on the couch, Dulcie declined the offer of a beer, and listened as her friends tried to piece it all together.

‘I get it,' said Trista. ‘Andrew wasn't stalking her. He was on assignment for the dean. But what happened? What went wrong?'

‘He was in too deep,' Dulcie said. She'd had a lot of time to think this through, and the knowledge brought her no joy. ‘I don't know if she really was his daughter or not, but he wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe he had a brilliant scholar for a child. He gave her access, he broke the rules for her, but I don't think he realized just how little she had – and how much she was planning to steal from me. At some point, he must have confronted her, but by then it was too late. He had no choice. If he didn't play along, she could blackmail him. Maybe he found out she was playing him, that she wasn't the result of one of his old affairs. We'll have to hear what Andrew says. All I know is he wanted to maintain his legacy, and he realized that she was not going to do it for him.'

She looked at her friends. ‘I still like to think it was an accident. He shoved her against the bookcase, maybe, and the statue fell.' She remembered seeing the dean, flustered, as he hurried across the courtyard. ‘But he left her there. He left her alone to die.'

The friends sat in silence for a moment, even Esmé seemingly considering the import of what Dulcie had just said. Then Chris got up to get another beer, and handed Dulcie a diet Coke. Taking a deep swig, she continued.

‘Once he realized what he'd done, he realized he had to destroy the manuscript, too,' she said. ‘I think that's why he went back to the suite library. Only, when he saw me there, he realized that he could use her perfidy to shield himself. Instead of revealing how she had begun to plagiarize my work, the pages could be used to make me out as the plagiarist.'

‘So what happened to the manuscript?' Trista didn't like ambiguous endings.

Dulcie shook her head. ‘I don't know.'

‘And how did those pages get in your desk, anyway?' Again, she had no answer. Besides, there was another question on her mind. One concerning a red-haired man and a woman. A woman who might have had reason to commit murder.

T
he next day, the abrupt resignation of Dean Haitner was the talk of the university. Or so Dulcie thought when, grateful that her last section was over, she could retreat to her office.

Lloyd looked up as she walked in. ‘Dulcie! Are you OK?'

‘Yeah, why?'

‘You look a little tired, that's all. Working late?'

Dulcie smiled. Count on Lloyd to be the sole scholar not to have heard the latest scandal. Unless, of course, he was part of it.

‘Lloyd,' she turned to her balding friend, ‘I didn't want to ask you the other day. But has anyone been in here? Has anyone searched my desk?'

‘Well, yes.' He nodded. ‘The cops came. That's why I called you.' He swallowed. ‘Tried to, that is. They told me I wasn't allowed to.'

‘No, I mean before then.' He looked puzzled, so she tried again. ‘Has anyone at all been here besides our students or Raleigh?'

‘Only Dean Haitner.' The way Lloyd said his name, Dulcie knew he hadn't heard the news. ‘He was here early on Monday. Only, he didn't come for you so I didn't say anything. He came to ask me about the new security procedures.'

‘What?' This was unexpected.

‘You know, the new card reader, the swipe machine? I guess someone had passed my complaints along to him,' said Lloyd. ‘He came here, to our office, and he sent me out to try it, a couple of times, to make sure it worked.'

‘The card reader?' Dulcie knew she was repeating what he'd said. She couldn't help it.

‘Yeah, it just wasn't working right. I thought it was pretty impressive that the dean came himself to check it out. Why, Dulcie? What's up?'

‘Nothing, Lloyd.' She smiled at her friend. Her good and honest friend. ‘I'm just glad you're so conscious of our security.'

S
eptember wound to a close and as the first semester headed into midterms, Dulcie was still spending too many nights alone. If anything, Chris was working more overnights than before, but Dulcie couldn't blame him. His junior, Darlene, had only been reprimanded for her work, breaking into Dulcie's system; nobody could actually blame her for following direct orders from the dean. However, she'd been so shaken up by the experience that she was taking the rest of the semester off. From what Chris told Dulcie, she was earning so much in the corporate sector, he doubted she'd come back. Academia, they both knew, wasn't for everyone.