I nodded. “And how about Emily’s feeling that it wasn’t Upton?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Fine, I’ll tell the dean that too. But Emily’s conviction that it wasn’t Upton isn’t based on anything factual. Any more than your failure to recognize his guilt.”
She turned on her heels and stomped off.
Leaving me wishing that I could just agree with her about Upton. And that I’d been open with her last night about yesterday’s results being a collaboration with him.
And that I could follow her home.
14
I watched Karen disappear into the crowd of staffers leaving for the day. It was just after five, so these were the university employees with regular nine-to-five jobs. Administrators, maintenance workers, technicians, and so forth. The scientists, both faculty and students, didn’t work such regular hours and would mostly still be at their desks or lab benches.
So what to make of the roller coaster Karen had me on? Roller coaster wasn’t even the right word. It was more like some weird wave function that my colleagues in physics could derive, with oscillations continuously increasing in both amplitude and frequency. The abrupt change between last night’s passion and today’s rejection was as quick an up and down as I’d ever experienced. I had to admit I understood it. Karen’s job was on the line, and my hesitancy in laying the blame on Upton was threatening her career. Not to mention my collaboration with him and the fact that I’d been too stupid to come clean with her. I could kick myself for that!
Okay, so I’d been a horse’s ass not to say the results I was excited about last night were collaborative with Upton. But admitting that and understanding the pressures on Karen didn’t make me feel much better. Nor did I care for the idea of twisting in the wind until the case somehow resolved.
I sighed audibly, and a young woman hurrying by looked at me as if she were the subject of my unwanted vocalization. All right, enough of standing here thinking about Karen. It was too early to go home, so I decided to return to the office. At least I could use the next hour or so to clear my desk of some of the routine paperwork that never stopped piling up.
Kristy was still there when I got to the office. “Burning the midnight oil?” I asked.
“Just trying to put together a couple more pieces of our search for the missing twenty thousand,” she said. “But I’m surprised at what you’ve been up to. Do you guys really think Steve Upton assaulted one of our students?”
I jerked back in surprise. How could she know about that? Not from either Karen or me, I was sure. “What do you mean?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know about your meeting in Dean Houghton’s office earlier. You guys think Upton assaulted Emily Jackson.”
So that was it. A leak from the dean’s office. I knew Kristy was close to the dean’s administrative assistant, so I took a shot. “Ah, did Dede tell you about it?”
Her blush was confirmation enough. “That doesn’t matter. But don’t you realize it couldn’t have been Upton?”
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s gay. Why would he rape a woman?”
That was a new one on me. Although I’d never heard of Upton being involved with women, I hadn’t thought of his being gay before.
“I’ll bite,” I said. “Why do you think he’s gay? Another tidbit from your friend in the dean’s office?”
“No, firsthand knowledge this time. Nancy and I ran into him at Sebastian’s one night when we went out to celebrate our anniversary. He was with another man.”
I frowned. “So what? Could have been a business dinner or whatever. Doesn’t mean he’s gay.”
“You obviously don’t know Sebastian’s. It’s a hangout for gay couples, both male and female. Upton was holding hands with his partner, and he came over to our table to chat after he spotted me looking at them. He’s gay all right.”
Interesting. Although I didn’t think being gay ruled Upton out. Rape was an act of violence against women, not necessarily for sexual gratification.
“Thanks, that’s important to know,” I said. “I’ll pass it on to the investigator handling the case. In the meantime, don’t say anything about any of this, okay? I don’t want things leaking from here like they seem to do from the dean’s office.”
“Of course, you know I don’t gossip like Dede. Anyway, she said that Emily’s starting to remember things, so you’ll know the truth of what happened soon enough.”
I thought about calling Karen with this news, but it didn’t seem worth it. A call from me would only piss her off even more, and the revelation that Upton was gay wasn’t urgent. The key was going to be what Emily could remember. If we were lucky, maybe enough would come back to her so that we could finally resolve what had really happened.
In the meantime, I tried to put the case out of my mind and tackled a couple hours’ worth of meaningless paperwork. Then I headed home, picking up some sushi along the way.
By the time I’d had my usual drink, eaten, and walked Rosie, the lack of sleep from the night before hit me, and I zonked out on the couch in front of the TV. Only to be jolted awake by my phone ringing. I surfaced from a dream in which Karen had been about to pull the mask off a dark figure looming over her and looked at my watch. After midnight. Some kind of emergency?
I answered and felt a thrill of excitement when I heard Karen’s voice. “We’re downstairs and need to talk to you. Can you buzz us in?”
Suddenly I was wide awake. Had she reconsidered her earlier dismissal? “Of course, come on up.”
I waited at the door for her to climb the stairs, ready to greet her with an embrace. But that dream was smashed when I saw that she wasn’t alone. A tall, thin man dressed in a coat and tie was with her. She really had meant we. And the professional dress suggested that it was some kind of business call. In the middle of the night?
They reached my door, and Karen introduced her companion as Detective Farrell from the Boston police. “Can we come in and sit down?” she asked. “We have some news and need to talk to you.”
That sounded ominous in the wee hours of the morning. I let them in and took a seat at one end of the couch I’d been sleeping on. Karen sat at the other end, and the detective pulled up a chair across from us.
I waited to see what merited a visit at this hour. Had Upton confessed? Or had Emily remembered something new?
Karen glanced questioningly at the detective. He nodded, and she licked her lips nervously. Then she turned to me. “Brad, I’m afraid we have bad news. Emily’s dead.”
It hit me like a punch in the stomach. The room started spinning, and I felt the bile rise in my throat.
“My God, what happened? She was fine this afternoon.”
The detective answered. “I’m sorry. She was raped and murdered earlier this evening. We think around eight.”
I tried to maintain control, but I couldn’t. I ran to the bathroom and just made it to the toilet before I vomited. They mercifully left me alone, and I finally felt able to get up and wash my face. Then I breathed deeply for a minute and went back to the living room. It had stopped spinning.
“Sorry,” I said. “I think I’ll be okay now.”
Karen reached over and touched my hand lightly. Nothing more than friendly support. “That’s all right—we understand. It’s a shock to have something like this happen to someone you know.”
I nodded. “Do you know what happened?”
The detective answered. “She left the lab around seven thirty and was attacked in an alley on her way home. It was brutal. She was beaten, raped, and strangled. The medical examiner and crime-scene techs are going over everything now.”
I closed my eyes and fought down the nausea again. Successfully this time. I turned to Karen. “Do you think this is related to the initial attack on her?”
“It has to be,” Karen said. “It’s too coincidental for this to happen right when she was starting to recover her memories of that night.�
��
A chill came over me. It made sense, but there was a big gap. “So you think whoever assaulted her the first time killed her because she was starting to remember? But how would he have known that?”
Then I remembered what Emily had said about Upton. Just as Karen said, “Don’t you remember? Emily told Upton she was starting to remember.”
Another piece to add to the pile of circumstantial evidence placing the blame on Upton. “Yes, I do remember. That’s what she said.”
Karen said, “Right. And the only people who knew besides us were the dean, the lawyer, and Mike Singer. That solidifies Upton even further as the prime suspect. This time for murder. The cops are holding him now.”
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t be sure the list is so limited. The dean’s office leaks gossip like a sieve. My administrative assistant even knew what was going on when I got back from our meeting with Emily.”
Karen’s eyes widened, and the detective said, “What the hell!”
I told them about my talk with Kristy. And that Upton was gay.
“So were you going to tell me about all this?” Karen asked with obvious annoyance.
I shrugged. “Of course, but there didn’t seem to be any big rush.”
She sighed. “You’re right. It’s not a big deal that Upton’s gay. It certainly doesn’t exclude him from something like this, although I guess it does make it statistically less likely. But the fact that Dede in the dean’s office told your administrative assistant about Emily blows me away. God knows who else she told!”
The detective was scribbling in his notebook. He looked up with a scowl. “We’ll interview her first thing tomorrow morning and find out. But if she’s been a source of gossip about this, the news could have spread, and it’ll be hard to limit our list of suspects.”
Karen looked grim. “Shit! I’m going to have the dean can her for this. It’s ridiculous. How about your assistant, Kristy? Did she tell anyone?”
“I really don’t think so. I’ve never known her to be anything other than discreet. Go ahead and ask her about it, if you like. But in the meantime, you still think it was Upton who killed Emily?”
“He’s certainly our prime suspect,” the detective said. “He was top of the list for the initial assault, and he knew that Emily was starting to remember what happened that night. Meaning that he had plenty of motive to get rid of her before she remembered it was him. We’ve talked to him, and there’s no firm alibi. Just says he was home watching TV.”
“Even with the news leaking from the dean’s office, it’s hard to imagine that Derek heard Emily’s memory was coming back,” Karen added. “And just to be thorough, we checked out Mike Singer. He was at the lab, talked to some of his students, and was busy in his office as usual. We’ll check with the students to be sure, but I’ve already verified his email activity.”
The detective closed his notebook. “Bottom line is that Upton smells guilty as hell. We’re hoping there’s evidence at the crime scene that’ll nail him. In the meantime, thanks for your help. We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.” He got up, and Karen followed him to the door.
I watched them leave in silence. It made sense that Emily’s initial assailant and her killer were one and the same. And it seemed all too likely that Emily had trusted Upton with the information that led to her own death.
A chill ran through me. Had I been defending a rapist and a murderer? Maybe I was just being too damned stupid to reach the obvious conclusion. Or too stubborn.
15
The dean called me into her office early the next morning. “You look like hell,” she said.
So I guess a sleepless night showed. “Thanks. You do too,” I replied.
She smiled grimly. “Yeah, it was a tough night. I guess for both of us. Do you want some coffee?”
She got up, and I followed her to a small kitchenette in the outer office, surprised that she was getting our coffees herself. Then it dawned on me. “No administrative assistant this morning?” I asked.
“I fired Dede earlier, after Karen and a Boston detective told me what happened.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be. I should have done it a long time ago. I knew she talked too much and let things leak out sometimes. But gossiping about this was too much.”
She poured two mugs of coffee and added milk to hers. “Do you take anything in it?”
“No, just black.” She handed me the mug, and I followed her back into her office.
“Do you know who Dede talked to?” I asked. “Was it just Kristy?”
She sighed and shook her head. “She swore she only talked to Kristy at first. But then the Boston cop leaned on her. Said it was a murder investigation, and she could be arrested for lying to the police. So all of a sudden, she remembered that she might have mentioned it to four or five other people. Like she was a damned broadcasting network!”
I rolled my eyes. “And who knows how many people each of them told, and so forth. So the bottom line is that a whole bunch of people knew that Emily’s memory was coming back.”
“The detective said they’d interview the people Dede told and start building up a list. But does it really matter? He told me that Upton heard it from Emily herself.” She looked at me with a quizzical expression. “Don’t tell me you still think it isn’t him?”
The truth was that I found it even harder to imagine Upton as a murderer than as simply being guilty of a drunken sexual assault. And whatever Emily had told him about remembering that night, she obviously hadn’t thought he was the guilty party. So why would he have been driven to kill her?
But I kept my answer neutral. No sense in provoking the dean’s fury again. “I don’t know anymore. I have to admit everything points to him, except my gut and the way Emily trusted him. Hopefully the investigation will turn up some solid evidence, and we’ll be done speculating.”
She steepled her hands in front of her. “I hope so. The cops apparently don’t have enough to charge him at this point. And my hands are tied while he’s under investigation, although the lawyers advised me to put him on paid leave and order him to stay away from campus. Which I did earlier this morning.”
“Okay, that makes sense. I’ll assign a couple of faculty members to serve as temporary advisors for his students.”
“Good,” she said. “And we also have some heavy pastoral work to do for the rest of your department. I’ll get us together with the chaplain to come up with a strategy for that.”
The news of Emily’s death devastated the entire university community. The death of a student always does. In a large university like ours, accidents and even suicides sometimes happened. But murder was different. The horror of a young life cut short by an intentional act of violence permeated the campus. Students talked in hushed tones and no longer walked alone at night, suddenly afraid of what might be lurking in the dark.
The members of my own department were hardest hit, of course. Many of the faculty had taught Emily in their classrooms. Others had been on her thesis advisory committee or attended her departmental seminars. And the students were shocked and dismayed by the loss of a colleague many of them had studied or worked with. Not to mention those who had been Emily’s lab mates or friends.
The university chaplain and the dean helped me lead the department through it. The chaplain and I held separate meetings for faculty, students, and staff to talk about the grief process, as well as about safety precautions. The dean made a bevy of grief counselors available full time, and the university police put on extra details that gave everyone at least some sense of security.
The dean and I met Emily’s parents at the airport when they arrived from Chicago and did our best to make them comfortable. They held themselves together with a quiet strength, much like Emily herself had displayed. The body would be returned to Chicago for private burial once the medical examiner was finished, but the dean arranged for a university-wide memorial service to be held a week a
fter Emily’s death.
The service took place in the large Gothic chapel that was the university’s official center of worship. All three-hundred-plus seats were filled for the memorial. Both of Emily’s parents broke down as they spoke but bravely managed to get through their remarks. They were followed by her older brother, a lawyer from New York, who recounted her childhood interest in science. Then Emily’s friend Carol went to the podium. She tried, but she couldn’t make it through her speech, eventually breaking down in tears and being helped from the stage by the chaplain.
The last speaker was Mike Singer, whom the dean had asked to represent the faculty in place of Upton. He began by painting an eloquent picture of Emily as a brilliant student and rising star, whose life had been tragically cut short but whose work would live on in the scientific contributions she’d made. Unfortunately, he couldn’t resist the temptation to shift his focus and transition to talking about how important her work with him on Immunoboost was going to be. I could feel the audience grow restless as he dwelled on what amounted to his own accomplishments rather than on Emily’s. It was in ridiculously poor taste, but I wasn’t surprised that Singer was unable to resist an opportunity for self-promotion. Finally he stopped, and the chaplain concluded the service by inviting the audience to a reception in the large meeting hall adjacent to the chapel.
I spotted Karen maybe a dozen people ahead of me in the line of mourners waiting to pay their respects to the family. My stomach tingled as I watched her slowly moving forward. I couldn’t keep my eyes away from the soft skin on the back of her neck. Or stop my imagination from envisioning the rest of her naked body. Had it only been a week ago? And where did things stand now?
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