Ricochet

by Paula Gosling

  ‘Some people call you a lot?’ Muller asked, curious.

  ‘Oh sure. That’s what we’re here for. Some people need a lot of help just to get through the night.’

  ‘Are most of your calls at night?’

  ‘I’d say so, yes. That’s why there are only two of us on at the moment. Afternoons are slower. It picks up around supper time, then just keeps going.’

  ‘You do a good thing.’

  Chris shrugged. ‘If it helps one person to stay alive it’s worth it. It breaks your heart, but. . .’ He leaned forward. ‘They helped talk my mother out of suicide, encouraged her to get help. I do this for her. I should have been listening to her myself, but I wasn’t. None of us was. But the Suicide Hotline listened, so . . . she’s still alive.’ He drank his coffee with every evidence of enjoying it. ‘Here I am. I’m sorry I can’t help you more.’

  ‘You’ve been very forthcoming,’ Neilson said. ‘We appreciate what you’ve told us.’

  ‘It wasn’t much.’

  ‘It was a start,’ Muller said. ‘A good start.’

  ‘This changes everything,’ Neilson said, as they clattered down the stairs and out into the breezy morning. They both buttoned their coats – it was a cold wind and a mischievous one. ‘He said a girl called.’

  ‘One of her students?’ Muller suggested.

  ‘Who else would be at her house?’ Neilson asked. ‘We’ll have to talk to them again. I suggest we start with the Chinese girl.’

  Muller sighed heavily. At least Neilson was consistent.

  They managed to track down Chan Mei Mei at the university, away from the dour supervision of her parents. She was drinking coffee in the Student Union with a group of friends – none of them the Mayhew graduates – and when they appeared she looked apprehensive. ‘This is harassment,’ she said, standing up. Her friends looked interested and ready to object strenuously if she did. She was wearing a GSU sweatshirt and embroidered jeans. Her long, shiny dark hair fell down over her shoulders and her slightly tilted eyes were dark as molasses. Neilson fell in love all over again.

  Muller seemed immune. ‘Could we speak to you alone, Miss Chan?’ he asked, indicating an empty table in the corner.

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said cautiously. ‘But I can’t tell you anything else.’

  ‘Let us be the judge of that,’ Neilson said and could have kicked himself. Especially when she gave him a quizzical and slightly pitying look.

  When they had settled at the round table, the girl said nothing, but waited. She had the gift of silence and used it. Both men were slightly disconcerted by the sense of patient waiting she exuded.

  ‘We’re still looking into the death of Professor Mayhew,’ Neilson began.

  ‘And you haven’t solved it yet?’ she asked. There was no judgement in her voice, just curiosity.

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t go back to her home later on Sunday night?’ Neilson asked.

  She smiled. ‘Well, I would hardly tell you if I had, would I? What I told you was the truth – I was at home, with my parents, all evening.’

  ‘But they are your parents,’ Muller pointed out.

  ‘And so would lie for me? Of course they would,’ she agreed, quite unperturbed. ‘But the fact remains, I was at home. I did not go back to Professor Mayhew’s house. I did not kill her. I had absolutely no reason to kill her. She was my mentor and my friend. She understood the conflict of cultures in my life, she made allowances, she was interested. She gave me confidence.’

  ‘As a good teacher should,’ Muller said.

  ‘Exactly,’ she agreed. ‘And now I am without her, I feel a bit lost. We all do. They have assigned us a new graduate tutor, but it is not the same. There is no friendship there, just what you might call technical support. By the book. No relationship.’

  ‘And you had a relationship with Professor Mayhew?’

  ‘We all did,’ Chan said. ‘Some of us were more dependent than others, but we felt she was in our corner all the way, interested in us as people.’

  ‘You say some were more dependent than others—’

  ‘Galumph was in love with her,’ she said flatly. ‘He didn’t make a pass at her or anything, but it was plain how he felt. She treated him gently, never referred to it as far as I know. But she knew. Lois is just a dependent kind of person – clingy, needy, pathetic. Jerry Hauck . . .’ she paused. ‘His mind met hers, somehow. There was no physical thing . . . but they thought alike. She admired his brain. We all do. It’s him we can’t stand.’ She grinned suddenly, showing slightly uneven teeth and a dimple. Neilson was completely lost. His mouth fell slightly open.

  Muller had to carry on, recognizing his new partner’s state of mind. Everybody in the squad room knew about it, even rookie detectives. It had happened before and it would happen again. Neilson was a good officer, a good detective. But every once in a while a woman would get to him and he became useless, totally useless. Muller, with his whole week of experience, was disdainful of this unprofessional attitude, but could see Neilson was beyond redemption.

  ‘Do you think Mr Garrison could have been jealous of Elise Mayhew’s husband? Taken advantage of his absence to make his feelings known to her? Been rejected? Lost his temper?’

  Chan’s eyes widened. ‘That’s an interesting scenario,’ she said slowly. ‘All possible, of course. Except if you knew him you would never believe it. I don’t believe it.’

  ‘But it is possible.’

  ‘Well, anything is possible,’ she agreed with a sideways glance at Neilson, who had closed his mouth but still wore a slightly vacant expression. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked him suddenly.

  Caught out, Neilson jerked upright. ‘Sure. Sure, I’m fine.’

  She turned back to Muller. ‘I guess you could make up all kinds of stories of what might have happened. About any of us. But they wouldn’t be true.’

  ‘Tell us about Lois McKittrick,’ Muller said, glancing at his notebook, where he had quickly jotted down details of that interview when Stryker briefed them earlier.

  She shrugged. Neilson coughed, tried to get himself in order. ‘She is a strange one,’ she admitted. ‘Very, very intense. But kind of silly, too. Personally I can’t stand her, but she’s part of the group so I do the best I can. She drives me nuts. I think she had a crush on Professor Mayhew, too. In a gorpy, teenagery kind of way.’

  ‘And Jerry Hauck?’

  ‘Is in love with Jerry Hauck,’ Chan said firmly. ‘He makes a perfect couple, all by himself.’

  When Muller finally was able to drag Neilson away, he practically had to frogmarch him to the car. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ he demanded. ‘Couldn’t you think of anything to ask?’

  ‘No,’ Neilson said. His head was full of oriental magic.

  ‘Jesus,’ Muller muttered. He leaned against the car and looked at his notebook, taking in all that had been gathered about the four graduate students. One stuck out, of course. The only other woman. And the caller to the Suicide Hotline had been a woman. Or a girl, the guy had said. A girl. It seemed pretty obvious that was Lois McKittrick. But before they talked to her, Muller said he thought they ought to check out her alibi. McKittrick had said she had been with a friend – Nan Prescott. They’d located her home address but had not followed up the alibi yet. Nan Prescott was a student nurse, which meant she might be at work or at home, depending on what shift she was on.

  They were closer to Prescott’s home address than to the hospital and, as luck would have it, she was there, sleeping, when they rang her doorbell. After quite a while, during which they had almost turned to leave, she opened the door and stared at them blearily. ‘This had better be good,’ she said.

  It was.

  Abbi Waxman had prepared a delicious meal, and they were now replete and happy. They sat round her dining-room table, a council of war – Kate,
Liz, David, Dan and Abbi. Dan was staying with his brother and sister-in-law while recuperating.

  ‘What do you plan to do?’ Abbi asked.

  Kate and Liz looked at one another. ‘We’re not quite sure,’ they said, almost together.

  ‘We could go and punch the guy out,’ Dan suggested. Since his beating he had become very aggressive. He wanted very much to hit back. Someone, anyone, would do. But it was only a whim – underneath he was still a healer, not a hitter.

  David drank some of his wine. ‘We’re still not absolutely, positively sure,’ he said. ‘You could go off at half-cock and have the wrong guy – followed by a nice big lawsuit.’

  ‘I know,’ Kate agreed. ‘That’s the trouble. The evidence – the matching that you did – is not admissible in court. They would only accept the evidence of a qualified technical expert.’

  ‘It takes three years to qualify, by the way,’ David said. ‘I asked my friend.’ But the friend, a qualified expert, had more or less confirmed David’s nominee, although he would not go into court to testify unless he ran further comparisons himself.

  ‘It seems a shame, after all the trouble you took,’ Abbi said. She stood up, went to the kitchen, and came back with a large cheeseboard and another bottle of wine. After putting them in the middle of the table, she went back again and got the coffee. ‘I mean, I suppose David saw it as an interesting exercise, but even so—’

  ‘I called him back,’ Kate blurted out. They all stared at her. She shrugged, knowing it was another example of her recent changes of mood. ‘I just wanted to make sure.’ She flushed suddenly. ‘I snapped, OK? I’m sorry. I called him a stupid old fart. And then I hung up.’

  ‘Oh Kate,’ Liz said in a disappointed voice. ‘You warned him.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t explain and I didn’t say who I was. I just called him that and hung up, like I said.’ She grinned with an air of defiance. ‘It felt good.’

  ‘So now he has an obscene caller,’ Dan pointed out.

  Kate shook her head. ‘I could have been a student. Students do stuff like that sometimes. He probably just dismissed it. But the voice was the same. I am sure it was the same. I was sure when I first rang him to get him on tape. But I waited until David confirmed it.’

  ‘Ricky Sanchez was Torrance’s prize pupil,’ Dan said suddenly. ‘It was Torrance who suggested to me that we give him a job.’

  ‘Who is Ricky Sanchez?’ Liz asked, curious.

  Dan explained about Ricky being killed on French Street and his private co-operation with Pinsky.

  ‘Why did Ned Pinsky ask you to do this?’ Kate asked, puzzled. ‘Jack hasn’t mentioned anything about it.’

  ‘I gather the others are working on a different case,’ Dan said. ‘Pinsky has taken leave to follow up on Ricky’s death.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Kate said. That was not good.

  ‘You know this Torrance?’ David asked.

  Dan smiled. ‘I was, in my time, his prize pupil also.’

  ‘And what is he like?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Well, to be honest, I can imagine him making those phone calls,’ Dan admitted. ‘He is a very volatile man, very passionate about his work, and since his wife died he’s got a lot worse. We used to meet for lunch a couple of times a year, but after last time I backed off.’

  ‘What happened last time?’ David wanted to know.

  Dan took a deep breath, winced slightly and let it out. ‘He was out of control,’ he said simply. ‘Practically frothing at the mouth because he was losing so many students to other faculties. Paranoid about it.’ Dan looked at Kate. ‘He was particularly nasty about the English department – not only were they poaching students from science, but their big new building cast a shadow on his office. He seemed to take both things as personal attacks.’

  ‘So he is a nut case,’ Kate said. ‘I had heard rumours.’

  ‘Could he have been the one who beat you up?’ David enquired.

  ‘Good Lord, no.’ Dan laughed. ‘He’s a little dried-up guy; you could blow him over with a paper fan. Wonderful teacher, though,’ he continued in his mentor’s defence. ‘Absolutely inspiring in the lab. Oh shit!’ He snapped his fingers. ‘I just remembered.’

  ‘What?’ they all chorused.

  ‘He mentioned Ricky at that last lunch. He used him as an example. Said Ricky was thinking of dropping out of pre-med and going into something else. Something Torrance thought was a waste of time and talent.’ Dan frowned. ‘What the hell was it?’ he asked himself. They waited. His battered face cleared. ‘Bones,’ he said triumphantly. ‘He was fascinated by bones. He was thinking of switching courses.’

  ‘To what?’ David asked.

  ‘Anthropology. Physical anthropology.’

  TWENTY

  ‘I think we should pull her in,’ Neilson said.

  ‘Tell me again what the Prescott woman said.’ Stryker sat at the table in the police cafeteria, an empty plate in front of him, a still-steaming mug of coffee beside it. He was a fast eater. Kate was out at a dinner tonight with Liz. Something about a project for the university, she had said, and he hadn’t felt like cooking for himself.

  ‘She said Lois McKittrick was agitated all through the movie,’ Muller read from his notes. ‘She kept muttering to herself and didn’t want to stop for coffee afterwards. She said she had to get something settled.’

  ‘She must have known Prescott would say this,’ Tos suggested. ‘You told her we would check her alibi for the evening. Up to eleven o’clock, that is.’

  Stryker shook his head. ‘She might have thought she was acting perfectly normally. We don’t always know what we project to other people – especially if we’re caught up in our thoughts.’

  ‘What was the movie?’ Neilson asked. ‘Maybe the movie upset her.’

  ‘Valid point,’ Stryker acknowledged.

  Muller checked his notes again. ‘American Beauty.’

  ‘Ah,’ Stryker commented. ‘About confrontation. Among other things.’

  ‘Even so,’ Neilson said. ‘It all hangs together – her alibi for after eleven is no alibi at all. And the guy at the Suicide Hotline said it was a girl’s voice saying “She’s dead – it’s my fault”.’

  ‘Yes . . . and she was very asthmatic the next day when they all met to discuss the situation, very stressed.’ Tos was thoughtful.

  ‘Well, her favourite professor had just been offed,’ Neilson pointed out.

  Stryker shook his head. ‘It hangs together – we should talk to her right away.’

  ‘The girl on the phone could have been Chan,’ Neilson said hopefully.

  Muller glared at him. ‘Can you really picture her calling the Suicide Hotline? Or panicking at all?’

  ‘No,’ Neilson conceded. ‘She’s a cool one.’

  ‘When we talked to McKittrick she was a very tightly wrapped little bundle of nerves,’ Stryker reflected.

  ‘So would you be if you’d killed someone.’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ Stryker cautioned. ‘But yes, it does look interesting. She was very edgy when we talked to her – but I thought it was just the reaction of a very timid person to being interviewed by two cops. Maybe it was more. Bring her in tomorrow morning.’

  ‘My God,’ Liz said, ‘you don’t suppose this Torrance killed the boy, do you?’ They were still seated round the dining table at David and Abbi’s home, staring at the empty wine bottles in the centre of the table, picking at the last bits of cheese.

  Dan shook his head. ‘I can’t really imagine that,’ he said. ‘Torrance is a talker, not a doer.’

  ‘He’s a talker, all right,’ Kate said. ‘But you said he was out of control.’

  ‘Only in a manner of speaking. He was obsessed, could see just his own point of view. He didn’t use to be like that.’

  ‘So he could be a killer,’ Ab
bi said, wide-eyed.

  Dan shook his head again. ‘No, I don’t believe that. There’s no physical threat to him. Or there wasn’t.’

  ‘But if there’s a chance,’ Liz said. ‘We don’t want to mess with him.’

  ‘I agree with Dan,’ said Kate unexpectedly. ‘I think this connection with Ricky is only a coincidence.’ She had been growing steadily more stubborn about Torrance ever since David had revealed his name. She knew it was unreasonable, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Knowing she was probably wrong only made her more determined, because . . . because . . . well, because. Nobody ever said she had to be sensible all the time, did they?

  ‘But if—’ Liz began.

  ‘He values life,’ said Dan. ‘For its own sake. You don’t have to worry about him attacking you.’

  ‘Not if we go together,’ Kate ventured. ‘I think that would do it. I think we can scare the hell out of him, make him stop the calls. Threaten to expose him.’ She glanced at Dan. ‘He’s not very big, you said?’

  Dan grinned. ‘No, small and skinny. You could handle him.’

  ‘If he’s sane, we could,’ Liz agreed. ‘I don’t like this, Kate.’

  ‘Oh, pooh,’ Kate said dismissively. ‘I vote we go to see him and nail him once and for all.’

  ‘Better you than me,’ Abbi contributed. She had drunk less wine than the others and was listening with a sceptical ear.

  ‘I’d be careful if I were you,’ David said.

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ Dan volunteered.

  They all looked at him.

  ‘Well, why not? A male presence might strengthen your case. And I know him, remember. He likes me.’

  ‘God knows why,’ David muttered. ‘You’re not in very good shape to confront anyone, Dan – not even a small, skinny old guy.’

  ‘I’ll take a big stick.’

  ‘How about a baseball bat?’ Abbi suggested mischievously.

  ‘Um – I think that would be against the law,’ David pointed out, helping himself to more goat’s cheese. ‘Carrying a weapon with intent to do bodily harm.’