The Inferno Collection

by Jacqueline Seewald

  “Guess I haven’t been freed yet, just a creature of habit and training.”

  “Screw that. It’s never too late to start thinking for yourself and cast off the old shackles of conformity and oppression.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Kim said with a wry smile. She glanced down at her watch. “Whenever Sandy comes back, ask her to give me a call.”

  She left feeling hungry, and was soon passing students buying food from the lunch wagons on College Avenue, which only increased her hunger pangs. Many students with little time for lunch were grabbing chilidogs or tacos and drinking coffee out of white foam cups; others were nervously smoking cigarettes or swilling cola out of cans. It was another brisk, bright autumn day, the kind that made you feel good just to be alive. Kim couldn’t forget a similar day just a short time ago when Lorette had first asked for her help. She felt depressed, knowing that she’d let her friend down.

  Before buying herself lunch, she decided to persevere and look for Sandy at Kinley Hall. There was always a chance that Sandy had forgotten about their meeting and was somewhere in the building. In her sensible oxfords, Kim strode quickly down the main corridor to the graduate student lounge. It was crowded at this time of the day. Many students who brown-bagged their lunches were sitting or standing, drinking the corrosive coffee that Pat Norris routinely left out in a small urn for them at lunchtime. Sandy was nowhere to be seen. The students all looked so young. And suddenly Kim felt out of place here.

  “Hello, Kim.”

  She turned and there was Jim Davis. He gave her a friendly smile. She could see that he was looking better.

  “How are you doing?”

  He shrugged. “Surviving. I miss her a lot. Probably will for a long time.” His eyes were solemn.

  An attractive young woman sashayed up to him. “Hi, Jim, are you free for lunch?” She turned to Kim momentarily, as if some explanation were necessary. “This is my first semester here and I really need advice. You’re almost finished with your coursework, aren’t you, Jim?” She gave him a deferential look, her doe-like eyes heavily outlined with dark eyeliner.

  “I guess I could spare some time to help you,” he said in a casual, noncommittal tone of voice.

  She took Jim’s arm possessively as they left the lounge together, and Kim couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take him to forget Lorette. Or had it happened already? But no one was irreplaceable in the scheme of things; that was both the good and the bad about being mortal.

  About ready to give up on Sandy, she took a quick look in the student mailboxes, saw that Sandy’s was full and walked down the corridor toward the front of the building. Dr. Barnes passed her in the hall. When he saw her, he increased his pace and looked away.

  After having a quick lunch of yogurt and a fresh apple at the student union, she remembered Lorette’s library books still in the trunk of her car. She walked back to the parking deck, removed the books, and carried them with her to the library. As she placed the books in the return, the final volume caught her eye. The author was Lionel Forbes. She decided to hold on to it. There were still a few minutes before she had to return to work. Kim sat down at her desk in the library office and examined the book more closely.

  There were handwritten notes and underlining. Many students wrote in or highlighted passages of books, whether they belonged to the library or were personally bought. Had Lorette made any of these markings?

  The telephone on her desk began to ring and she picked it up.

  “Hello, Ms. Reynolds.” The deep, masculine voice at the other end was very familiar now. “This is Lieutenant Gardner. Do you happen to know a student named Sandra Lorson? Like your friend Lorette Campbell, she was in the English graduate program at the university.”

  “Yes, I know her. Why?”

  “Her body was found in the woods today not far from campus housing.”

  Kim’s mouth was suddenly very dry. “Dead?” she said dazedly.

  “You got it. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be involved, but this is an odd coincidence, wouldn’t you say? There’s also a matter of your name and home phone number appearing on a slip of paper in her jacket pocket.”

  “We were supposed to get together for lunch today.”

  “She’s been dead at least since last night.”

  “Another accident or suicide, Lieutenant?” she asked archly.

  “Doesn’t look like either one,” he conceded. “Right now, it looks like she died from a skull fracture. Funny how you just happen to be connected with both women.”

  She didn’t like the tone of his voice or the implication of his words. “Are you suggesting that I’m a murderer?”

  “Didn’t say that, but you have to admit there’s some interesting coincidences, if you believe in that kind of thing.” Which he obviously did not.

  “If you will recall, I’m the person who told you to investigate the circumstances of Lorette’s death in the first place.”

  “So you did, which leads me to think that you know more than you’re saying. So I’ll be seeing you very soon.” He hung up as abruptly as he’d begun the conversation.

  She was shaken. How could he possibly imagine that she had anything to do with Sandy or Lorette’s death? The phone rang again. She stared at it nervously, as if it were a cobra ready to strike while it rang twice more. Was Lieutenant Gardner calling back? He’d dropped one stone tablet on her; maybe he had another shattering revelation in hand. She forced herself to pick up the receiver again, relying on the same self-discipline with which she managed many tasks she’d rather not do.

  It was Don Bernard, she noted with some relief. “I was just starting my office hours and thought of you. Maybe we could have lunch tomorrow.”

  “That sounds very nice,” she said.

  “You sound a bit off.”

  “Oh, I’m just a little shaky. Something happened. I had a phone call from the policeman investigating Lorette’s death.”

  “What did he have to say?”

  She told him the little she knew about Sandy’s death and how the police were suspicious of her. “So if you happen to know the name of a good criminal lawyer, do write it down for me.”

  “I can’t believe anyone would think you had any connection to murder.”

  She felt guilty for having unloaded her worries on him.

  “From what you’re telling me, it seems like whoever killed Lorette—assuming she was, in fact, murdered—also killed the other girl.” His mind worked like a grandfather clock, precisely and methodically; she could practically hear the ticking. Somehow, it calmed her nerves. “What do you think this Sandy was going to tell you if you’d been able to meet?”

  “Something about Dr. Forbes, I think. She had a friend named Nick who was one of Dr. Forbes’ chosen, a disciple or whatever. I believe she might have picked Nick’s brain for information.”

  “Forbes—what did Lorette have to do with him?” He sounded disapproving.

  “She was taking his class. She admired him. He even invited her to his home.”

  “Odd. I always thought Forbes asexual, not really interested in women. He lives alone in that huge, old house of his.”

  “I believe his interest in Lorette was an intellectual one.”

  “He is something of a genius by reputation,” Don said. “Lorette would certainly feel honored to be included in his group.”

  “It appears he has an interest in occultism. I also noticed that he has a fascination for horror literature. He wrote an introduction to at least one horror anthology that I know about.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been doing some research.”

  “Just what I could find out here in the library. He’s listed for quite a few works in the on-line catalog.”

  “So you think Forbes might be responsible for harming Lorette or Sandy?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “There are other possibilities. I spoke briefly to Professor Barnes. He supposedly wanted to help Lorette write a paper for publ
ication. He claimed to be very fond of her.”

  “But?”

  “He seemed uneasy, evasive. He’s a very angry, hostile man if you get beneath the surface.”

  “So you think he’s hiding something? It could be. Last year, I recall there was some gossip about him. Something of a ladies’ man. Supposedly, he’s been married two or three times and lost his congregation because there were some serious doubts as to his ethics. Some sort of sex scandal, I believe. Again, that could just be idle chatter, but the source of the information was fairly reliable.”

  “Dr. Barnes is an ordained minister?”

  “So I hear. He didn’t come on to you, did he, Kim?”

  She found herself smiling. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly a Playboy centerfold.”

  “You could be if you wanted.”

  She was glad he couldn’t see her face just then, because it had flamed. “What I was getting at is that Lorette had these books on satanism. I wondered if Dr. Barnes might somehow be involved.”

  “You think he’s perverted in his religious practices?”

  “I don’t know; I’m just speculating, but it is peculiar. All the man thinks about is religion. If he were the person responsible for blackening Lorette’s reputation so that they wanted her to leave the program, she might have retaliated by threatening to expose whoever was responsible.”

  “Blackmail or revenge. Interesting notions. But did she know who was responsible?”

  “I’m not certain. I think the last person she talked to before she died was probably Jim Davis. But Lorette didn’t seem to want to involve him in her problems.”

  “Why was that?”

  “I can’t be sure. I can’t believe that he would hurt her though.”

  “He did seem like a very decent sort of fellow,” Don agreed. “Either that or he’s a very talented actor. Is there anyone else who might want to harm Lorette?”

  “Well, she told me that Professor Packingham was hitting on her. Lorette had managed to keep him at arm’s length, but it’s possible she might have changed her mind and decided to file charges of sexual harassment against him.”

  “Lorette used men, not the other way around.”

  His comment and tone of voice troubled her. He’d passed judgment on Lorette. Obviously, Don Bernard had been intimate with Lorette, and in some ways knew Lorette a great deal better than she did. She also remembered that Don had been clearly hostile to Lorette the evening they’d come to dinner in her apartment. What did Don really have against Lorette? He too was a professor who’d had a sexual relationship with a student. She felt an odd chill enter her bones. Maybe he knew a lot more than he was telling her, pretending to be her friend and confidant, while protecting himself and his fellows, engaging in a conspiracy of silence. How far could she really trust him? His personal interest in her had magnified since he’d found out about her friendship with Lorette. That in itself was suspicious. Maybe she ought to be careful what she said around him. Still, it hurt her to think she couldn’t trust Don.

  “I’ve got to get back to work now.” She tried to keep the uncertainty out of her voice.

  He promised to phone her the next day and the conversation ended abruptly.

  No, she did not want to be suspicious of Don. Of all people, not him! But couldn’t murderers appear to be charming, caring individuals? How many murderers did she happen to know? How could she judge? God, she wasn’t going down that road; such thoughts led to madness. If she let herself, she could imagine almost anything. She’d tamped down her awareness for so long that it didn’t seem to be working anymore.

  She stared once again at the volume of Dr. Forbes’ book. It bore the title The Demon Lover: A Literary Exploration. She thumbed through it, observing that it had been read by many students over the years; ketchup stains detracted from its scholarly aura. Pages were dog-eared and yellowed. A poem entitled “The Sick Rose,” by William Blake, appeared early in the book with an interpretation, and later the medieval ballad “The Demon Lover” turned up. Comments were written in the margin. The notations did not seem particularly significant.

  But Lorette had this book in her possession, indicating that she had an interest in the supernatural. Lorette and Dr. Forbes had shared that, apparently. Still, if the volume held any answers, they were hidden from Kim. She stared at the book blankly. So much for clairvoyance!

  First Lorette and now Sandy. Who would commit such monstrous crimes and why? Maybe it was time she spoke with Dr. Forbes.

  ELEVEN

  Dr. Forbes’ office was downstairs at Kinley Hall. In fact, most of the English staff offices were located down there in the bowels of the earth. But his office was considerably larger and more luxurious than the spartan surroundings normally shared by a host of teaching assistants and adjuncts. A pretty, young student was acting as secretary.

  Kim tried to look into the inner office since the door was open but quickly discovered that it was vacant, much to her disappointment.

  “Can I help you?” The student’s cupid mouth puckered as if Kim’s presence were some sort of annoying inconvenience.

  “When will Dr. Forbes be in?”

  There was a narrowing of the eyes, as if the student was sizing her up. “Dr. Forbes is very busy. If you want to see him, you have to make an appointment.”

  “These are his office hours, aren’t they?”

  “As I said—” tossing her head of thick hair for emphasis “—you can only see him by appointment.”

  Kim left feeling more than mild irritation. Passing by the office next door, she saw Nancy Williams sitting at her desk. Professor Williams looked up and gave her a smile. On impulse, Kim walked into the office that was much smaller than that of Dr. Forbes. Here no student secretary danced in attendance. Kim had taken a course in women’s studies with Nancy; she remembered the attitude of friendliness and the fact that Nancy’s door was always open to students.

  “Dr. Williams, could I have a word with you?”

  She received a polite, courteous smile. “Certainly, Ms. Reynolds, what can I do for you?”

  “I’ve been working on a paper, and I thought you might have some ideas about what approach to take.”

  The professor played with a strand of straight blond hair cut in a Dutch-boy style. “That’s what I’m here for. Tell me about it.” She indicated a worn wooden chair beside her desk.

  Kim observed that Nancy was thinner than she remembered, a petite woman perhaps twelve years her senior. There was a certain air of self-assurance about her, suggestive of having been born to wealth and privilege. Her suit, though conservative, was well cut and looked expensive.

  “You lectured to us about some of the post-modernists. Do you believe there’s an occult trend in their writing? I remember you talking about it.”

  “I don’t think there’s really much to explore there. Have you turned something up? I recall what a hard worker you were when you took my course.”

  She appreciated the compliment. In her life experience, compliments were rare as rubies and to be savored.

  “What about satanic occultism?”

  Dr. Williams raised an eyebrow.

  “The demon-lover theme, for instance. Is there much follow-up in post-modernism?”

  “I’m not versed in that. But Lionel Forbes is a specialist in that area of writing. You really ought to speak with him.”

  “I’ve read parts of his book on the subject.”

  “Have you? He’s a brilliant man, isn’t he? A truly original thinker—although something of an eccentric.”

  Had she imagined it or did Nancy sound strained?

  “Do keep me informed on your progress. I always like to keep in touch with former students.”

  Kim took the stairs back to the main floor, well aware that she hadn’t found out a thing. But that was to be expected. If Forbes was not going to be accessible, maybe she could locate the mysterious Nick. What she needed was a student directory. She was on her dinner
break and Pat Norris was gone for the day. There were thousands of students at the university, so going through the complete student directory was impractical. Jim Davis would have a current directory for graduate English students, and he had offered his help. That was a sensible way to do things. Research had always been her strength. Maybe sleuthing was suited to a reference librarian after all.

  She was back at the library at six-thirty. Before returning to her post, she looked up Jim’s number in the student directory and was relieved when he answered the phone. Jim was friendly and cooperative. He looked through the numbers for her. There were two Nicks, and he gave her both numbers.

  She thanked him warmly. “Before you hang up, did Lorette ever mention an interest in the occult to you?”

  “You mean spooks and Halloween stuff?” He sounded as though he were trying to make a joke of it, as if to imply her question was frivolous.

  “Did she ever talk to you about Dr. Forbes or a book he wrote on the demon-lover theme?”

  “Like to help you out there but I can’t. We never discussed it.” Did she imagine it or did he seem tense, uneasy?

  “Do you know much about Dr. Forbes?”

  “Had him for a course last year. He’s okay. Real clever. Does enjoy raking students over the coals though, maybe has a sadistic streak in him, but then that’s part of the initiation, isn’t it? What’s it got to do with Lorette’s death?”

  “Maybe nothing. I’ll let you know.”

  The first Nick she called wasn’t at home. The second Nick was a first-year student in the program and knew nothing whatever about anyone named Sandy. He sounded genuine. She decided to call back the first number later in the evening.

  She was on duty with Rita Mosler and a graduate assistant, which meant most of the work fell to her. Rita spent more time complaining about how hard she worked than actually working. As to graduate students, they were just that, usually able to provide only the most limited assistance to those needing help. This girl was no different and Kim found herself doing as much instructing as assisting. It was a busy evening, with students lining up with questions until well past eleven o’clock. She was entitled to leave at ten, but didn’t have the heart.