A Timely Murder

by Max Parrott

  "I just need to see the Dean," Jasmine said to the room, ignorant as to which woman in particular she needed to talk to.

  "He should be free right now," one of them said, never taking her eyes off her computer screen, her fingers moving at lightning speed. "You can go on up."

  Jasmine thanked the secretaries and approached the edge of the room, where a staircase led up onto the second level. The stairs were bolted to the wall, and followed its curvature, like those inside of a lighthouse.

  The second level was home to a few offices. Some of the professors had separate workspaces here, but they were rarely used. The doors were locked. A heavy silence lay over everything, nearly as thick as the layer of dust that had been gathering for untold weeks. Jasmine continued to the third and final level, where an extravagant and huge waiting area played as antechamber to the inner sanctum of the Dean of Wildwood College.

  She approached the polished mahogany door and knocked.

  "Yes, who is it?" the familiar shrill voice called out.

  "Dean DuPont, it's Jasmine Moore. A new student here."

  All sounds from within the dean's office ceased, other than a prolong creak from his disk chair which soon faded into silence. Luffy's tail wagged nervously, tapping against the wall.

  Finally, with another creak and a sound of two pieces of metal smashing into each other, DuPont came walking across his office to open the door. But he only opened it by a small amount at first, just enough for his large face to be framed within the gap.

  "Yes, I know your name," he said. "Unfortunately, I'm a bit busy at the moment."

  "No you aren't," she said. "Unless you're busy updating your own fan page in there."

  He laughed at that, more out of shock than humor.

  "Um, well, I suppose I could accommodate you in my schedule," he replied, his cheeks going red. He stepped back and pushed the door open. "Come on in."

  She stepped through, nodding graciously at him.

  "But not him," DuPont remarked, pointing at the dog. "I'm allergic."

  "To dogs?" Jasmine asked.

  "That's what I said. It was I who approved your request to bring little Luffy along, but that doesn't mean I want to snuggle up to him and inhale all that dander. I'm sure you understand that being able to breathe properly is important to me."

  Jasmine stared at the man. He smiled, and she smiled back. She almost applauded him, and the way he had thrown her own snark back at her with good humor. Also, he had somehow remembered Luffy's name. Maybe he was better at his job than she thought.

  "Did you hear that, Luffy?" she asked, glancing down at him.

  He whined a bit, backing away into the hall. Jasmine shut the door slowly, making sure she wouldn't pinch his paw or tail.

  "He won't get into any trouble out there, will he?" DuPont asked. "There's some expensive furniture in the waiting area that I'd rather not see covered in bite marks."

  "He'll be fine," Jasmine said. "Luffy isn't like most other dogs."

  DuPont nodded. "Yes, you made that clear in your letter, which is why I decided to let him become something of a student himself. Although I'm sure the only thing he's learned here is the rotation of lunch items. Would you like to sit down?"

  They crossed the room to DuPont's desk, which was just as large and extravagant as Jasmine expected. It could have doubled as a table in a mead hall; its surface was mostly empty. As she sat on one side and DuPont sat on the other, the impression was of a vast gulf of emptiness between her and him, a gap bridged by an expanse of polished wood.

  "So," DuPont said, folding his hands before him, "what can I help you with?"

  "I have some questions involving Oliver Bridges," Jasmine said. She had learned a lesson from Blackwood Cove; sometimes it paid to hide your course of inquiry behind pleasantries, and sometimes it didn't. With DuPont, she felt like she'd get better results by being forward.

  There was the faintest change in the Dean's body language. He shifted forward a little, going lower in his seat.

  "I've already spoken to the police about that," he said. "I told them everything I know, which isn't much."

  "Maybe you could reiterate what you told them," Jasmine suggested.

  "To you, a student?" he asked. "I don't know about that."

  She shrugged. "You said it wasn't much. What's the harm."

  He licked his lips. "I guess there probably isn't any. Basically, I told them there's no way Oliver was murdered. The notion struck me as completely ridiculous. To most people, Oliver was invisible. He was quiet and he liked to read. To anyone who actually knew him, he was kind and soft spoken. Not the sort to make enemies."

  "There's no one who could have wanted him dead," said Jasmine. "Is that pretty much the rub?"

  DuPont nodded. "Pretty much."

  Jasmine smiled. "Of course, some might say you have a bias here."

  "Would they?" he asked, returning the smile.

  "Yeah, they would. If this death is classified as a murder, it taints Wildwood. Instead of being known for its academic achievements, it'll forever be seen as the school where Oliver Bridges was killed."

  DuPont sat back, relaxing a little bit now. "But you wouldn't say that I have that bias."

  "I don't think so," Jasmine replied. "Because the alternative is worse. We have to think of what is implied if Oliver's death is ruled as an accident. He fell from your clock tower. He fell through a section of iron fencing that obviously wasn't anchored properly. It should have been pulled out and refitted, but it wasn't. So, instead of being known as the school where Oliver Bridges was murdered, Wildwood would be known as the school where Oliver Bridges was allowed to die due to negligence."

  DuPont suddenly looked very uncomfortable. His relaxation had been short-lived.

  "So," Jasmine went on, "you clearly have no reason not to fully cooperate with the police. Their investigation is the best chance of saving the school's reputation. But in the end, the truth will win out. Won't it?"

  "That's the goal," said DuPont. "But you forgot the third possibility; that Oliver committed suicide."

  "Did he seem like the type to you?" Jasmine asked.

  "No, not at all. He seemed like a young man with a bright future who couldn't wait to get started on it. But mental illness is an insidious disease, Jasmine. It can infect anyone, even the most successful and seemingly happy among us. It doesn't discriminate."

  "So, you think he might have killed himself. But not by simply jumping off the tower. No. He decided to throw himself straight through the weakened railing."

  DuPont shrugged. "I hate to even imagine all this, it's quite nasty, but... consider this. He might have been climbing over the railing to jump, or vaulting over it, and it came loose as a result of his weight and force. Or perhaps... It is a sad fact, Jasmine, a very sad fact, that a lot of suicide victims who survive their attempts report a strong feeling of regret when they were passing the point of no return. It's possible that Oliver had such a feeling and reached out to grab the railing as he fell. His weight jerking suddenly on it may have been enough."

  "Not if the railing was properly maintained," said Jasmine.

  "Such a structural weakness may not have even been noticeable until it was too late," DuPont suggested.

  "So, it's damage control time, isn't it?" Jasmine asked.

  "For me, it's always damage control time," said DuPont. "I have a job to do, and I can't stop doing it just because something tragic has happened. As you said, the truth will come to light in the end. The police are working on it, and I am cooperating with them. There's nothing else I can do to aid the investigation. All I can do is to protect the school, insofar as it can or should be protected."

  Jasmine nodded. "And I'm going to keep looking around. If that's fine with you."

  "Actually, I'd prefer that you didn't," he said. "In fact, I would advise strongly against it."

  "Well, that's nice. But I'm going to do it anyway."

  DuPont grinned. "I can have you slowe
d down."

  "You wouldn't dare."

  "Why's that?"

  "Because I know a man who's more powerful than the local police, and I have no problem calling him in if I need to."

  She unzipped her bag now and pulled out her wrinkled copy of the Cove Herald. The front-page headline read LOCAL GIRL SOLVES MURDER. She slid the paper across the desk.

  "Take a glance at the photo there," she said. "Does that girl look familiar?"

  DuPont frowned at the page. "Yes, I'm well aware of your exploits, Miss Moore. Don't think I accept any students here without knowing their backgrounds. I don't make decisions arbitrarily. Now, if you insist on taking this path instead of using your time at Wildwood as it was intended, I suppose I won't stop you. I just wish you would have more respect."

  "I respect the truth," she said in response.

  "Good. I'm glad to hear that. Now please leave. I have no more time for you right now."

  He slid the paper back to her.

  Jasmine stashed it away and headed for the exit, feeling a surge of confidence. This was going better than she had expected.

  But when she was halfway toward the door, a familiar feeling washed over her. A rush of heat over her skin, followed by a bursting of cold seat and a sudden increase in respiration. She stepped faster, taking a slow, deep breath. Fighting it with everything she had, she gripped the door handle. Focusing harder than she ever had in her life, she forced her hand to move.

  Please, she thought. Don't let me collapse in this man's office.

  Maybe if she fought hard enough, she could block it out. Like ignoring a sneeze. The approaching vision would wash past her, never finding root, and it would disappear somewhere down the alleyways in her mind, never to be seen. Never to be known. Maybe she could take control, refuse these fits of premonition that kept assaulting her. But if she did, she knew it would mean throwing way invaluable evidence.

  The door opened. She walked through it and pulled it shut behind her. Luffy was there, but she only saw for half a second before her eyes rolled back and her mind was swept along.

  A tall blonde woman... bleached blonde, not her natural hair color... tan and well dressed, looking over her shoulder shiftily. Trying to hide, or watching out for someone. She approaches a small house where ivy clings to the brick, and she enters through the front door. Rain is falling... it is dark outside and getting darker...

  Jasmine came back to herself, back to the waiting room at the top of the North Tower. Her legs shook violently, her knees knocking together, and she was aware of a strange choking, rattling noise coming from her own throat. She stopped it immediately, like waking up from a nap to hear yourself snoring for just a moment. Her hand was still gripping the door handle hard, and she was still standing.

  "You did it again," Luffy said. "You managed not to fall over. How are you doing that?"

  She released the door handle and stepped away fast as though it were a venomous snake. Crossing the waiting room, she lowered herself onto a seat as far from DuPont's door as she could get.

  "I'm scared, Luffy," she replied, hugging him to her. "That's how I'm doing it. I'm just so scared of what might happen if..."

  "Nothing will happen," he said. "You have me to look out for you. And if it comes to it, I won't let the bad people get away. I didn't in Blackwood Cove."

  "I know," she said. "But I don't want to leave you alone. I want to learn how to fight this."

  He licked her face a few times, then just sat there with his tongue hanging out, patiently waiting for her to be ready.

  "There was a woman," she said. "She went into a house. I've never seen her or the house in my life, but I'll know if I see them."

  "Good," said Luffy. "Maybe you should take a break for a while."

  She shook her head. "I feel fine."

  "You can call Brandon, or Sheriff Lustbader, or maybe our friend at the FBI."

  "I'm not going to bother any of them," Jasmine said. "I don't need their help on this one."

  "You mean, we don't," said Luffy.

  "Of course. Always. We can do this, Luffy. The two of us. We'll beat those cops to the punch. How much you wanna bet? All the treats you'll ever get for the rest of your life?"

  "Well..."

  "Come on," said Jasmine. "You can be more confident than that."

  "I can be, but I don't want to. Are you ready to go yet?"

  Jasmine looked at the time. "We have some time to kill. How about we go for a little walk?"

  ***

  It felt strange, not being in class. But Jasmine felt no guilt for it. In her heart, she felt that what she was doing now was more important. More vital. At least for now. She kept telling herself that she could get back to work on her degree in earnest once this mess was wrapped up. But if she didn't do this, if she didn't try and figure this out, she would never have been able to focus on her work anyway.

  Nerves had gotten the better of her earlier. Luffy had had his snack, but not her. When lunchtime came, she was ravenous. She quickly stuffed a biscuit into her mouth as she was walking away from the food line with her tray. And that was how Charles saw her, with her cheeks bulging out and bits of bread falling out from between her lips. He pursed his lips and turned away from her.

  "Just try not to choke to death," he said as she sat down with him. "And if you insist on doing so, kindly move to another table."

  "Come on, you wouldn't do the Heimlich on me?" she asked with a smile.

  He stared at the bits of dough still stuck to her teeth. "If need be, I suppose I could give it a go. Please don't force my hand." His eyes moved to her tray. "You're not a very large person, Jasmine. How on Earth are you going to eat all that?"

  "I have my ways," she replied.

  "And she has me as a garbage disposal!" Luffy piped up.

  Charles nodded as though it all made perfect sense and went back to his own food, cutting up a piece of plain chicken breast with a knife and fork and eating it very politely, dabbing a napkin against his mouth after each bite.

  "Anyway," he said, taking a tiny sip of water. "I assume you didn't ask to meet so that we could discuss our dining habits."

  "No," Jasmine said. "I won't try and hide my motives, Charles. You're too smart for that to work. I wanted to ask about Oliver."

  The knife and fork stopped sawing at the dry bit of chicken. Charles set them down and reached for his napkin again.

  "Why would you want to talk about him with me?" he asked.

  "Because I'm talking to everyone who..."

  "Who had a connection to him, yes?" Charles asked. "Who had a reason to murder him. That's what you're implying."

  "I'm just looking at connections," she said. It was a half-lie, but she had always been good at those. Sometimes they were the only way to keep the peace.

  "Then you're barking up the wrong tree," he replied, his hand shaking as he brought the water glass to his lips again. He took a much longer drink this time, and finally set the glass down.

  "Weren't you angry at him?" Jasmine asked.

  "Why should I tell you anything?" Charles shot back.

  "Because I'm a friend and you want to help me."

  "I want to help you, do I? Now that I know I'm a suspect in your little investigation? I'll tell you, Jasmine. I'll talk about Oliver Bridges this one time, but never again. He wasn't the lovely, innocent little sweetheart that everyone makes him out to be. He liked to read, yes, and that somehow means he was harmless. What a foolish sentiment. Oliver was a bulldog. He went after his position on the school council viciously. He wanted it, and he got it, but he didn't need it. Not like I did."

  "Why did you need it so badly?" Jasmine asked.

  Charles sighed. "What am I doing here? Digging my own grave. That's what I'm doing."

  "Just tell me, Charles. If you didn't kill Oliver, you have nothing to worry about."

  He nodded. "That's right. I have nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. Well, Jasmine, that council position was the last thi
ng I needed. If I was able to display leadership capabilities, I would have received a summer internship at a publishing house I've wanted to work for since I was ten years old. Considering my connections, an internship would have guaranteed me placement there after graduation. Now, because of that Bridges git... I was this close." He demonstrated exactly how close by holding two fingers up. "He won over me by three votes."

  "I'm sure you'll be fine," Jasmine said. "There's always next year, right? And Oliver is gone. I assume the council will be looking for a new president."

  Charles shook his head. "No chance. They already defaulted to the vice president. You don't understand, Jasmine. I needed that position. Oliver didn't. He just wanted it so he could spread around those weird, idiotic philosophical ideas of his. He had his head in the clouds. He filled his mind up with the words of long dead philosophers, half of whom were probably insane, and that was the basis on which he formed his ideas of reality. He didn't know anything, and somehow he stole my dream from me."

  Charles seemed quite calm as he went back to eating. He moved on from his chicken to a small pile of roast potato chunks, which he ate one at a time, chewing thoroughly.

  "Do you know anything else about Oliver?" Jasmine asked. "Did you two have any prior relationship?"

  Charles smiled at that. "I don't have much, Jasmine. But I know something you don't."

  "What?"

  "Not my story to tell. Ask Alicia, next time you see her. If she doesn't want to tell you, just pull that classic friend move and blame her for Oliver's death, like you did with me. I'm sure that will do the trick."

  "I didn't mean it that way and you know it," Jasmine said. "All I'm trying to do is learn as much as I can. Why do you think I'm here, Charles? Meeting you in the lunch room? Because I think you're dangerous?"