The Deadhouse (37 page)

We strolled through the stunning exhibit, on loan from the Prado in
Madrid. When we had seen our fill of royal portraits, we reclaimed our
things from the cloakroom and walked around the corner to Madison
Avenue for a cup of hot chocolate. We had almost reached home when my
beeper went off.

I saw the complaint-room number and stopped in the doorway to take
out my cell phone. The supervisor answered and I identified myself.
"It's Alexandra Cooper. What's up?"

"There's a woman looking for you. Her name is Sylvia Foote. Says
she's a lawyer for King's College. Claims she even has your home number
but can't find you anywhere, so I thought you wouldn't mind the beep."

"Not at all." I had given Sylvia all my contact numbers before the
window was broken at my apartment, and had forgotten to check my
machine in two days. I could have kicked myself. "Did she say how long
she's been trying to get me?"

"Just an hour or two. She left a number." I recognized her office
phone. "While I have you, Alex, can I ask you something about a case
that just came in?" "Sure."

"Cops in Central Park made an arrest this morning around ten
o'clock. Locked up a guy in one of the bathrooms for public lewdness
and endangering the welfare of a child. Turns out he's a commercial
pilot for an international carrier. Supposed to fly to Geneva at six
tonight."

"Glad to know he's resting up for the long night ahead of him."
"Yeah, the cop told me his penis was on autopilot till they nabbed him.
Anyway, the lawyer for the airline is down here kicking and screaming.
Wants the case jumped ahead of all the other docketed matters so the
Red Baron can be out of here and make the six o'clock flight. They're
European-based so there's no backup for him; if he's not out of jail in
time, they'll have to put all the passengers on other flights. Can I do
it?"

"Does he have a residence here? Any roots, any reason to return?"
"Nope."

"Anybody interview the victim yet?"

"Only the cop. Says the kid is terrific, and that there's an adult
witness, too. Strong case."

"Don't go through any hoops for the pilot. I hate to inconvenience
all those people, but I imagine he won't be in very good shape to
rocket that spaceship back home to Switzerland. A day in the pens and a
few hours in the courtroom—"

"Not to mention that the press got hold of it already. Mickey
Diamond's down here trying to get a photo for the
Post
to go
with his headline story about the pilot and his juvenile joystick.
Diamond's usual good taste."

"Just let it take its normal course. And ask for some reasonable
bail. If they reroute him to the Far East, we won't ever see this guy
again."

I put my phone back in my shoulder bag. "Let's go home. I'll give
Sylvia Foote a call." We went back to the apartment and Jake hung our
coats, then followed me into the den while I returned Sylvia's message.

"I'm terribly sorry to hunt you down on a Sunday afternoon Alex, but
I knew you'd be displeased if I didn't respond to the requests you and
Detective Chapman made."

"That's very gracious of you, Sylvia. I didn't expect you to give up
your holiday weekend to get those things done."

"I'd like very much to clear this all up before we start a new year.
I hadn't any plans for the day anyway. Now, I found out a few hours ago
that Claude Lavery is back in—"

"Yes, Sylvia. We actually dropped by to see him yesterday afternoon."

"Oh." Her voice dropped and the enthusiasm she had mustered went
with it. "I don't suppose you'll accept the fact that I
am
trying
to cooperate with you. I came over to the school a while ago to write
up some reports and I ran into Thomas Grenier, the biologist you've
wanted to meet. So we've got almost everyone you need now, haven't we?
I gave Grenier the detective's number and told him to call there on
Monday."

"Where is he now? Right now?"

"I believe that he's in with the president."

"In Recantati's office?"

"Yes. They've been arguing with each other for the last ten minutes.
I can hear them all the way down the hall."

"Can you hold them there for me? Ask them to stay until I get there?"

"Today?"

"Yes, Sylvia. I can hop in a cab and be there in twenty minutes."
There was no point waiting until tomorrow to pin down Grenier. At the
rate things were happening in the case, I would need all the time
available to schedule interviews and examine any files that we might be
able to get from Sinnelesi's office. Something had sparked the interest
of a few of Lola's colleagues to have them back in the college building
when I had not expected to find them there.

Sylvia was clearly annoyed. "They're grown men, Alex. I can't hold
them here. I suppose if they want to talk to you, they'll wait."

"Well, will you tell them I'm coming?"

"Of course. I'll be here."

I turned around to look at Jake. "Do you mind terribly if I scoot up
to the college for an hour or two?"

"I was just getting hooked on the domesticity of this scene. Reams
of newspapers to read, sweat suits and slippers, me cooking, you doing
the dishes, The Temptations singing 'My Girl.' I was even beginning to
fantasize that one of my secret-recipe spicy Bloody Marys could lead to
an afternoon nap that might turn into enough of a personal workout that
I wouldn't have to get back on that damn machine for my daily exercise."

I went over and sat on his lap, my arms around his neck. "You do
understand, don't you?"

"Absolutely. Want company? You're like a fish out of water without
Mike and Mercer."

"Not necessary. I'm only going to the administration building.
Recantati walked out on us the other day, so I'd love a few minutes
with him, away from the presence of my not-so-gentle grand inquisitor,
the ever-tactful Detective Chapman. And this Grenier guy has been
completely unavailable to us until this very moment. Maybe that's just
because of the holiday, but we do need to speak to him." I kissed his
mouth and he kissed me back, deeply and lovingly.

"When you put it that way, I can't object to a thing you do. And the
faster you get out of here to do it, the sooner you'll be back." Jake
raised his knees to bump me off his lap and patted me on my bottom.
"Dinner at home tonight."

"Radical idea." I was brushing my hair and putting on lipstick.
"You're not expecting any help from me, are you?"

"Hey, I was thrilled to see you set up the Christmas tree stand the
same way I do. Hot water in the pot to let the sap flow out That's
devotion, Alex. I was even set to invite you to move in with me before
I was certain you could boil water."

"Just luck that you've got a whistling teapot. I'm not entirely sure
how to know when it's boiling otherwise." I not only loved Jake's
companionship, but also the fact that he never griped about my
inability to cook anything more complicated than an English muffin.

"Eight o'clock. I picked up some salmon on my way in last night.
I've got a delicious recipe stuck in the back of a cookbook somewhere.
That'll keep me busy till you get home."

The doorman helped me hail a taxi and I huddled in the back of it
while I tried to explain to the driver, whose Urdu was incomprehensible
to me, that Claremont Avenue was a block west of Broadway, near the
campus of Columbia University.

A security guard stared at my face to match it to the photograph on
my DA's identification card. Grudgingly, he admitted me to the building
and I ran up the staircase to Sylvia Foote's office. The usual crusty
expression on her face summed up her attitude about my arrival.

"They're not pleased about your coming here today. Neither one of
them. But it did stop them from screeching at each other." She slammed
her door shut behind us as she pointed me down to President Recantati's
suite of rooms.

"What were they arguing about?"

She flashed another sour look at me. "What we're all on a short
tether about. Lola Dakota. Nobody wants to be dragged into this mess."

"You're her colleagues and—"

"That doesn't mean that we wanted to be involved with her dirty
laundry."

Foote knocked when she reached his office. "Come in."

Recantati had appeared so mild-mannered when Mike and I first met
him the day after Lola's death. Now he scowled to see me, as much
because of what we had asked him as for the fact that I knew at least
one thing about him that he wished to keep a secret.

"Thomas, this is Ms. Cooper, from the Manhattan District Attorney's
Office."

"Good afternoon. I'm Thomas Grenier."

The biology professor was slightly built but rather wiry-looking. He
had thinning dark hair and glasses that sat tightly on the bridge of
his nose. He was no more anxious to shake my hand than was Recantati.

Foote turned to walk out of the room. I had one more question for
her, which I wanted both of the men to hear. "Before you go, Sylvia, I
was wondering if you had any recent contact with Charlotte Voight?"

"What?"

"A call that she wanted to register for class in the new semester,
perhaps? Have any of the faculty or students heard from her, that she's
back in town?"

Foote and Recantati exchanged glances. "Not a word. Why do you ask?"

"Her name came up in an interview we did yesterday. I just wondered
whether anyone mentioned to you that they had seen her recently."

"I told you I'd let you know if I did. It's almost five o'clock,
Alex. If you don't need me here, I'm going home." She pulled the door
shut behind her and left the three of us standing in Recantati's
office. He asked Grenier to step out into the anteroom while he had a
few words alone with me, and I sat in the chair facing his large desk.

"Ms. Cooper, first I'd like to apologize for my walking out on you
during our interview the other day. It must have created a terrible
impression of me and I'm simply mortified—"

His voice broke off and he stopped talking.

"Nobody enjoys talking to the police, Professor."

"I don't really understand all about DNA and what kind of evidence
it leaves behind. Thomas knows a lot more than I do. I learned from
talking to him that a person can simply touch things—doorknobs and
drinking glasses—and it can leave enough skin cells behind to develop a
DNA pattern."

"That's quite true." There was enough genetic material in the skin
cells that were sloughed off in just minutes of normal contact that it
was becoming possible to solve even nonviolent crimes, like burglary,
with the use of this technology.

I tried to put Recantati more at ease. "In England, they use DNA to
solve property crimes, like car thefts. Detectives figured out that in
order to jump-start a car, the thief usually touches some place on the
steering column. So the Brits just wipe that part of the car down once
they've recovered it, and put the profile in their computers. They
solve cases they never used to be able to any other way. No blood or
semen necessary."

He wasn't listening to my evidence-collection lecture. He was trying
to find a way to convince me that he had never had a sexual
relationship with Lola Dakota. "I don't want to deal with Detective
Chapman anymore. But I'd like
you
to believe me, Ms. Cooper.
I was not—I was never involved with Professor Dakota. She was a friend,
she was a colleague"—he hesitated before he went on—"and she was also
guaranteed to be trouble. I don't look for trouble."

"But you had spent time in her apartment, right? That's why you
think we might have something with your DNA on it."

"I, uh—no, never alone. I had been to Lola's apartment, but only for
coffee, or when she had a few of us in for cocktails. That's not what
I'm concerned about.

"My position here is tentative. I'm just here in the role of acting
president. And if I don't get the permanent appointment, then I'd like
to be able to go back to my job at Princeton. Without a scandal. They
won't take me back if there's any scandal."

"Then, I don't understand your concern." "Ms. Cooper, I saw your
Crime Scene Unit men when they came to Lola's office the day after the
murder. I don't know what they're capable of determining with DNA, but
they were processing the room for fingerprints, too. I've been a
nervous wreck, that's why I walked out on you and the detective." "Why?
What are you afraid of?"

"The morning after Professor Dakota was killed I, uh—I went into her
office. I didn't take anything, I swear to you. But I went in there
quite early, before anyone else was in the building." "How did you get
in? Why—"

"I'm the president of the college, for the time being. When I asked
the janitor to open her door for me, he would never have refused. I . .
. um, I touched everything. I was a bit frantic. And then your
policeman noticed that things seemed out of place, and the other men
were called in to do all that scientific processing. I've just been
beside myself." "But
why
did you go in?"

He lowered his voice even more and bent his head in the direction of
the door. "That's just it. I had been reluctant to tell you until I
could talk to Thomas face-to-face. He's just back from the West Coast
this morning, on the red-eye." Why was he being so evasive?

"My wife called me from our home in Princeton at about one o'clock
in the morning. I'm talking about the night after Lola was killed. She
said that Thomas Grenier had called there from California, looking for
me. Said he didn't have my number at the apartment in the city, which
is just a sublet, so the phone isn't listed in my name. It all sounded
so logical, I—I—I ..." "What did he tell her?"

"Thomas told her that it was urgent that she get a message to me.
That I
must
get into Lola's office before the police did.
That there was something in her desk that would, um, well—that it could
prove to be an embarrassment to the college if anyone found it.