Failure is Fatal (15 page)

“Yeah, I saw that too. You go ahead and work your charms on our Mr. Cleates. When you finish tomorrow give me a call.”

I must have beamed with this sense of accomplishment at Der's willingness to let me take on this task because Der grinned back at me. I looked carefully at him to assure myself there was no hidden agenda on his part, but I saw only a man who was overworked and dead tired and who was counting on me to help him. I'd better not blow this one.

He arose from the couch. “I'm beat.”

“Thanks for not asking too many questions about my visit to the frat house last night.” I walked him to the door.

“That was you? I thought we agreed it was a bag lady who was looking for a phone.” He laughed, gave Sam a pat on the head and tucked his head into his coat collar to face the windy night.

Chapter 13

I was up before the sun, a situation that was happening far too often for my liking, but I wanted to be fully awake with a few shots of caffeine in my system. As I drank my second cup at the kitchen table, I watched the day begin, cold, clear and sunny. With the exception of the snow on the ground, there was little evidence of the two days of storm just past. I watched Sam running around in the yard, knowing that I would have a very wet dog on my hands. I grabbed an armful of bath towels from the closet outside the downstairs bathroom and called Sam into the kitchen.

After a vigorous rubdown and a little work with the brush, Sam was dry and her golden hair gleamed in the sunlight streaming in the kitchen window. I gave her a hug and shooed her off to her rug in front of the wood-burning stove. I felt so good about the day that I allowed Sam to bring a large stick into the house, which she now began to devour on the rug. I didn't care that I'd have to clean up bark and shreds of wood later. Sam seemed content and, fortified with a hearty breakfast, peanut butter out of the jar (the bread was green). I strode to the SUV and prepared to take on Mr. Russo.

I arrived at Mountain Motoring Company right at eight o'clock, but was disappointed to find that Mr. Russo was not in. The sales manager informed me that Mr. Russo would not be in that day or in the near future. He was taking a much-needed vacation, the sales manager confided.

“Oh, I rather counted on dealing with him. I thought we worked well together. And my dog seemed to like him.”

“Yes, Mr. Russo told me of your dealings over the weekend. And about the dog. Uh, your dog isn't with you now, is she?” The sales manager looked anxiously in the direction of the SUV, which I had parked just outside the showroom.

“No, but I did clear the purchase of the SUV with the leather interior with her. I think she'll miss the old car less if I take the leather option on the SUV. She was crazy about that little car you know. Loved to ride in the back seat with her head out the window in the summer.” I removed my coat, unwound my red wool scarf from my neck, and looked prepared to remain in the showroom for an extended period of time.

“I appreciate how attached one can get to a car, but that wreck, um, little jewel you're driving isn't worth a whole lot.”

“Not to you it isn't and maybe not to me, but it sure means the world to Sam,” I said. “My dog, you know. Mind if I take off my boots? It's kind of warm in here. Let me tell you about the time the two of us went up to the St. Lawrence. You're gonna love this story. We were….”

The sales manager sighed and dropped his head into his hands. “Just how much can we give you for your car?” he asked. There was desperation in his voice.

That was certainly easy and efficient, I thought, as I drove my SUV up the hill to the campus. The paperwork was completed in record time. It was now only eight forty-five, and I could grab another cup of coffee before my class. That dealership certainly did hire people who have a difficult time working with the public. I shook my head. I was certain I saw the sales manager with his head down on the desk as I left the dealership. Reminded me of Mr. Russo. A strange lot of people.

Following my morning classes I made a quick trip across campus to the Registrar's Office to obtain a copy of Ryan Cleates' schedule. Immediately after lunch he had a class in social psychology taught by one of my colleagues. I managed to catch him in his office as he was preparing to leave for class and asked him to give a note to Ryan.

The note was short, to the point, but guaranteed to get Ryan's interest:

Please meet me at my lab, room 29 at 4:00 today. I know you have some things you'd like to tell me.

It was signed, “Dr. Laura Murphy.”

Between now and then, I had papers to correct and a meeting with my research assistants and, oh yeah, the most important thing, lunch. I considered leaving the office and going to the Student Center for lunch but decided I needed to continue working and should eat at my desk. I ran down the hall and got a bag of pretzels from the vending machine and began munching them as I read and corrected student papers. Students needing to see me came and went throughout the afternoon. At three, I put down my work, closed the office door, and scooted off to the lab. All of my assistants were there when I entered: Karen, Paula, Jeff, Rachel, and Tanya. Jeff seemed to be especially fond of Paula, and she of him. I saw them together in different locations on campus. If I were a young college woman, I would find Jeff's intelligence and understanding and support of women's issues appealing, as were his cool green eyes, auburn hair and quiet manner.

Rachel and Tanya were newcomers to the group. They were twin sisters who so looked alike that very few people were able to tell them apart, a fact they often used to play jokes on their friends. They both wore their long brown hair in a braid down their backs, but, from my point of view, that was their only similarity. Rachel was quiet and preferred rimless glasses to the contacts worn by her more outgoing sister, Tanya. I never had any difficulty telling one from the other, unless, they were playing their twin game on me too. I wondered about that.

All of the assistants wanted to know how the murder investigation was proceeding. Karen seemed almost her usual sunny self. I didn't want to dwell on the murder. I had no information for them, so I encouraged the group to focus on the results of our work, and we began to discuss ideas for another project in the spring. Paula asserted a strong interest in exploring sexual harassment in yet another investigation, this time student-on-student harassment. The others also liked the idea, so I told them to work out a design and get back to me with it the next week. As the meeting was breaking up, we were interrupted by a knock on the lab door.

“Come on in,” I said. The door opened, and Ryan Cleates stuck his head into the room.

“Uh, I'm here for our meeting, Dr. Murphy. Should I just wait outside till you're finished?” He was as nervous as a rabbit eyeing a fox.

“Hey, Ryan. Here to sign up to work as a research assistant with Dr. Murphy?” Tanya said.

“I'll just wait in the hall.” Ryan began to back out the door.

“No, come on in and have a seat.” I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him toward a chair at the table. “We're finished here. See you next week,” I said as the assistants left the room.

“You know Tanya?” I said to Ryan.

“A little. She came to one of our frat parties, and we're in the same social psychology class. I'm a psych major, too.” Ryan shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“I didn't know that, I guess. You've never taken a class from me.”

“No, the frat warns us away from your classes.” Ryan's hand shot to his mouth and covered it. “Oh shit, I shouldn't have said that.”

“I think I already suspected it.” I smiled and patted him on the arm.

My friendly tone and approach did little to relax him, and he continued to squirm in the chair.

“I'm here. So what do you want?”

“I think you wouldn't be here if you didn't have some idea of why I wanted to talk with you. I know someone is tampering with my research. That's bad enough, and playing a joke on me is one thing. Criminal activity is another. I can't tell you anymore, but I can tell you that your fraternity is about to get into a lot of trouble with the authorities unless someone comes forth and tells them how this tampering occurs. Since you're the right-hand man to the president, you know everything about the fraternity. That means you're the one who will be held responsible for withholding information.” I exaggerated a bit, but I needed to put pressure on Ryan.

“But if you answer a few questions about that folder and some other things, you can save yourself a jail sentence, and even save the fraternity's reputation. Maybe help your best friend, Adam.”

“Adam's not my best friend,” Ryan said. “At least, not any more. I used to think he really liked me, thought I was smart and stuff, but lately he's acting different. He hits me and yells at me. Calls me stupid.” Ryan sniffed and was about to wipe his nose on his sleeve when I handed him a tissue.

He grabbed the tissue and blew noisily into it.

“So what about that folder and the list of suggestions?” I said.

“Those were suggested story endings for people to use if they were subjects in your research. I mean, then we wrote out the entire story ending and gave them to your subjects, at least to some of your subjects to use. It was just a joke.”

“Who was behind the joke, Ryan?”

“I'm not really sure. I think some of the guys including Adam were talking with someone on the faculty, someone who hated your work on sexual harassment. They might have gotten the idea from him. I think I better not say anything more.”

“I can appreciate how difficult this is for you, but I think you should call Detective Pasquis and talk with him as soon as you can. I know he's about ready to take action against the fraternity.”

“Well, okay, but I don't want to get into trouble with anybody at the fraternity. The only reason they took me in is that I have a high grade point average.”

And you've been such a good little doobie for Adam.

“I gotta go now,” Ryan said.

“You will talk to Detective Pasquis, now, won't you?”

“If it won't get me into trouble. Yeah, I guess, but not today. I've got stuff to do.”

With that vague promise, Ryan turned down the hall and left. I immediately returned to my office, closed the door behind me and excitedly called Der. Now we were finally getting somewhere.

“Ryan Cleates just left here. With a little persuasion and some tiny threats on my part, he said he'd talk with you tomorrow. He seems to be under the impression that the idea for sabotaging my research came from a faculty member. He didn't seem to know who. He was a little shaky on his intention to talk with you, however.”

“Well, I'll wait until tomorrow afternoon. If he doesn't call or show by then, I'll have to pay another visit to the fraternity.”

“I find it all quite probable that some fraternity guys decided to get together and use my work as the brunt of their jokes. I just find it difficult to connect their tampering with my work to murder,” I said.

“Any better ideas on leads? It's all we've got for now,” Der said. It was a reminder I didn't really need.

*

By six the following day, I was anxious to hear from Der about his conversation with Ryan. I placed several calls to his office and tried to connect with him on his cell phone, but both devices turned me over to an answering service. I tried working at home, but found that my mind wandered from my manuscript to the possible connection between fraternity pranks and brutal murder.

At eight o'clock the phone rang, but it wasn't Der. Instead I heard Guy's voice on the line.

“How's it going, love?” he asked.

I could hear the sound of papers being shuffled in the background.

“Good, but not so good.” I filled him in on the events of Sunday, my talk with Ryan Cleates yesterday, and Der's silence so far this evening. I conveniently left out my unauthorized entry into the frat house on Saturday, knowing it would worry him. “So I was kind of hoping this call would be from Der.”

“Well, very nice. Your affection for me stands second to your work with Der.”

“No, that's not at all what I mean,” I said, although he hit a sensitive note. The case seemed to crowd other concerns out of my mind now, and Guy sensed it.

“I'm just joking with you. Although I'm aware of your propensity for snooping to the exclusion of a loved one's concerns about your safety, it's not my favorite quality of yours. I guess the snow kind of cramped your style, huh? Only a major weather front could keep you from your appointed sleuthing.”

“Have you been talking with Der?” A bit of paranoia wept over me.

“Not at all. Look, if you want to keep the line free, I'll call later. I've been correcting papers all evening and just wanted to give it a break.”

“Are you being sarcastic?” I wondered if I pushed him too far.

“No, I know how worried you are about the relationship between what has happened in your research and the murder of that young woman. It's going to bother you until this case is solved. Unfortunately.” The note of joking was missing from his voice.