“I'm sorry. Mr. Bradbury, I'm not sure I'm following you.”
“It's that Natasha just, you know, she helped me see how much I've been screwing up. Of course my wife's pissed I came in so late, and I ended up sleeping most of the day, but when Liz was getting people to look for Natasha last night, I was right there. I'm in even bigger shit with my wife because of it, but finding Nat was more important, you know? She's a friend. I'm just glad we found her.”
“So you were home alone sleeping for most of yesterday?”
“Yeah, that's right.”
“Anyone to verify that?”
“Verify? Well no. I mean, it's a married student residence. They're those tiny little cottages. It's just me and Tamara and she was in class. I guess she'll be able to verify that I left a mess.”
Lewis and Wolfrom exchange glances and Quentin is starting to feel as though he's just pinned a bullseye to his chest. Shit. He knows better than to talk to cops. Hell, his brother is a cop. He's heard the stories. James would be some pissed he knew baby brother was babbling like a fool. James always said never talk to cops. Especially if you're innocent. But he needs to help. Natasha's a friend.
“What about Boris?”
“Boris is a great guy.” Taking in their sceptical faces, Quentin is now just as certain that they're fitting Bo up for this. Hell, he can't let that happen either. Bo is a friend, too.
“No way man, Jake told me about the fight, but it doesn't matter, no way Boris is good for it. He might be pissed at her but he's not gonna lift a hand against that girl. He treasures Natasha. I mean, I didn't see him yesterday, but I know Boris, and he is no creep. Those two are tight. They have a closeness, well, if my marriage was that solid it wouldn't be in trouble, okay?”
“That's all for now, Mr. Bradbury. Thanks for your help. We may have more questions later,” Wolfrom ushers Quentin to the door.
After closing the door, Lewis says to Wolfrom, “What did you think of that?”
“Hey, I think that had the ring of truth, don't you?”
“What, all they have to do is fess up to their little misdemeanors and they're off the hook? We gotta look at this guy, Wolfie. His marriage is in the toilet and he's out all night with the vic? Crying on her shoulder, he says. We check it out. Nobody's in, but nobody's out yet either. Except the ones with iron clad alibis.”
“You mean like a room full of people swearing you were in class with them? Yeah, that works for me, too. But isn't it time we turn the boyfriend? Funny, he's the only one we haven't seen yet.”
“Yeah,” says Lewis, “he 'treasures'her, so where is he? He's gotta know we wanna talk to him.”
“Not at the Res, hasn't been in class.”
“Think, Wolfie. He's in the same place whether he did it or not.”
Wolfrom's grin spreads. “The hospital, right?”
Lewis nods. “That's where he ought to be, either way.”
“We pick up the boyfriend and haul his ass downtown.”
“Yeah, we need to get that one in the box.”
chapter 78 . . .
30's jazz plays softly on the radio while Amelia sits perched on the tall bar stool behind the cash register. Other than Billie Holiday's timeless music the store is quiet, and like any dedicated reader Amelia is entirely oblivious of her surroundings.
Until the cuckoo clock erupts in a cacophony of whistles and chirps. It's nine p.m. time to close up. The mood is broken. Amelia smiles as she slips a bookmark in the book before closing it and laying it on the counter. With a feline stretch she glances around the store to see who she'll have to hurry along so she can close up. But she doesn't see anyone. Nobody's here.
She starts the ancient register cashing out and it provides a rhythmic musical score as it spits out the tape. Amelia leaves it to do its thing as she slides off the stool and takes a quick walk around, checking the blind spots.
The place really is empty. Absolutely no one here; that's a first. Funny, it's a little disconcerting to realize she's the only person in the store. The only one. She's never been able to lock up without having to shoo out late browsers before. She goes to the front and slides the bolt into the floor.
Pulling the cash drawer, she drops the register tape in the bottom, then locks the drawer up in the fire safe in back. Good. Walking the aisles she doesn't notice anything gapingly amiss. Also good. What on earth was she thinking, reading something for enjoyment. That's one of the seven deadly sins for an English major. You're not supposed to have free time to read for enjoyment when you're an English major.
Christ, it must have been over an hour ago when she started reading. There were half dozen students scattered through the store then. She didn't notice any of them leave.
Please God don't let them have swiped half the merchandise. Not on her watch. That would be bad. Very bad indeed; she needs this job. Yes, the money's important but what other job lets you read on the job? She'll have to be careful, this can't happen again. Keep track of customers from here on in.
Nothing is wrong that she can see. Good. Sigh of relief. A bit of shelf straightening. Maybe she can hang onto this job at least 'til exams. She re-shelves a couple of misplaced books.
It's a little bit eerie to be the only one here. She's glad to be done. She tosses the paperback book in her backpack, and slips on her jacket. Yup. She needs this job. Student loan money doesn't stretch to luxuries like winter coats. It's not even winter yet, but she's felt half frozen for weeks.
Letting herself out the back door into the service hall she locks the deadbolt with the key and starts walking down the hall toward the back entrance.
Amelia wonders why the store was so quiet tonight. Her heels echo on the tiles as she passes the huge trash compactor, happy the garbage here is just paper and dust. It positively reeks in the cafeteria's back hall.
Suddenly, it hits her. The store was quiet because of the attack. Shit. She hasn't seen a lone woman walking anywhere all day. Only her. Shit. Shit. Shit.
The exit door opens out into the faculty parking lot. The empty faculty lot. She opens the door and stops. Oh. Of course, all the faculty are long gone. Leaving an empty lot. And trees. Shadows. Amelia stares at the shadows. She does not want to step out there. Uh uh.
If this was a movie she'd be yelling 'Go back you idiot!'But it isn't a damn movie. No music warns her Jason hides through that doorway. If it was a movie the music could tell her if it was safe. Scary music, go back. Happy music, take the usual route.
Stay on the Road. Keep clear of the moors. Moors. Wait a minute. This is Ontario, there are no moors.
Oh, right. American Werewolf in London. She smiles to herself. Too many horror movies when she was a kid, Mom said. Maybe Mom was right?
Mom also told her to listen to her instincts. What are they saying? Hammering heart, clammy hands. Instinct says don't go out there.
Or is that imagination?
Who can tell?
Amelia withdraws her hand and allows the door to swing closed. She leans her head on the cool door, feeling stupid. What to do? Is this a panic attack or is it just being smart?
The place is deserted. The only way to know if there's a rapist out there is to go out there. Uh uh, no how, no way. She could live not knowing.
But that means spending the night here.
Here.
She looks around. It isn't as though there are any soft surfaces to sleep on. It's a book store. There is just no way she would be able to even fall asleep. In a bloody deserted building. If some psycho rapist wanted to get in it wouldn't be too hard. And it's not like there would be witnesses like there would in the Res. There may even be rats. Like Ben. Stop it now.
Get real. She can just imagine the scene if she stays. When the boss opens up in the morning and finds her flaked out in a corner it will surely be the end of the job. Not a good plan.
She has to decide. This is silly. She is a grown woman. She's got her cell phone. If there's anything out there she can always call for h
elp, right? She can do this. Damn it. Deep breath, push the door open. Step out. Walk confident. Don't look like a victim. Cross the parking lot. There's no one. Actually not so bad. No cars means no hiding places for bad guys. Bonus. Sometimes this imagination shit is more trouble than it's worth. She can always see twenty different outcomes for any scenario. Especially bad ones. Well, since she has at least as many demons as Stephen King. of course she'll be a best selling novelist.
That is, if she lives through the walk home tonight. Okay, thinking about being scared is certainly not helping. Change tacks. Use the brain. Rational thought is good.
Try not to notice you're walking along the wood chip path.
Or that the lights are almost useless because the heavy foliage hasn't fallen from trees that have grown as tall or taller than the light standards. What does Christie have all those lawnmower guys for? Who cares how long the grass is, they need to get their asses out here pruning the frigging trees so that the light could get through. It doesn't feel safe in the dark.
Come on, no being a victim. Be rational. Think about the situation. Reality is much easier to take than any nightmare. Look it in the eye damn it. Who attacked Natasha?
People are saying that it had to be Boris. Up until the attack nobody had a word to say against Bo, a nice guy. But you can't tell from looking if someone has psychological scars or deviant tendencies. Could be Bo is a monster. She doesn't think so, but she doesn't know. You can't prove a negative. Bo sure seems like a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy. Why would Boris attack Natasha?
Amelia can't see it. Natasha popped him good, and he took it. That had to hurt. If Bo was gonna hit back he would have done it then and there, in hot blood. Boris wouldn't have stalked her.
Amelia can't imagine Bo raping Natasha, either, but who really knows anybody else? It could as easily be any other guy in the Res. Now that's a creepy thought. Maybe a co-ed Res isn't such a cool idea after all. Surely nobody she knows could . . . The cops have to catch the guy, that's all there is to it.
It's more likely that Natasha was attacked by a serial rapist. A stranger. A predator. The kind of bastard who would lay in wait for unsuspecting victims, in the bushes, under cover of darkness.
Like now.
Except the rapist would have no earthly reason to be out right now. There's nobody out here. All the students are in the library or the pub or the dorm. They sure aren't hanging around deserted parking lots or the paths at night. Natasha was attacked in broad daylight. That's when a college rapist will be out on the hunt. A serial predator would pick a time and a place where there would be available prey.
That's it. She's gotta dump the psych minor. She knows too damn much about this motivation stuff. What an insane minor for someone with an imagination like hers. Stick to writing sci fi and forget about noir. She's got to change minors.
Maybe she could take shop class.
Do they have shop class in university? Maybe not but something, anything that doesn't fill her head with information about sociopaths and serial rapists.
Jesus what is she doing out here alone?
Seriously, if the rapist was going to go hunting here, logically, the best selection on campus would be during the day when there is a pool of victims, lots of choices. There's a reason that's when Natasha was attacked.
No predator is gonna sit out here freezing his nuts off in the dead of night on the off chance some girl is gonna wander by. Stop being silly.
Amelia is just starting to breathe easily when it occurs to her: unless it is an organized predator.
One who selects his victims in advance. Does research. A predator like that might know there was one stupid and totally oblivious bimbo that closes the campus book store late at night. By herself. A girl with no social life and so never the slightest variation of routine.
Somehow nine p.m. didn't seem late before there was a rapist running around loose. Her pattern has been to lock up and walk the exact same route home, every night.
Walk with confidence. Yeah. Right.
chapter 79 . . .
Lewis and Wolfrom take a peek in Natasha's room, but she's still out like a light. They make their way to the waiting room behind the elevators. Visiting hours are long over so there's only one occupant, and he's asleep, his bulk stretched out across a couple of miserable plastic waiting room chairs.
“How do we play it?” Wolfrom asks.
“Softly, Wolfie, always go in light first.”
Lewis shakes Boris'shoulder and his eyes snap open.
She says, “That double shiner means you're Boris.”
Boris asks, “What's wrong? Is Natasha okay, Doc?”
Lewis shakes her head. “We're police. Nothing has changed, but we'd like you to come down to the station with us, answer a few questions.”
“Oh. sure. Anything I can do to help. Let me just go say goodbye . . .”
Lewis smiles and shakes her head. “We just came from there. She's asleep, and I think that's gotta be the best thing for her right now, don't you think?”
Boris nods, “Oh yeah, sure. Let's go do it then. I wanna be back when she wakes up.”
Boris starts for the elevators and Wolfrom gives Lewis an appreciative salute as they follow him.
chapter 80 . . .
Jose is slouched across the table opposite Eric in the Christie library, an array of texts spread between them. They work companionably on their respective essays, sometimes reading, sometimes making notes, sometimes passing texts back and forth.
Quentin is in a corner study carrel, watching a movie under headphones. Every now and again he'll snort, laugh, or tap the desk, prompting chuckles or remarks from Jose or Eric.
Oscar and Krystal occupy carrels to the left of Quentin's. Oscar is curled around the partition more often than not, explaining things to Krystal, who is not really paying attention since she's focused instead on Jose over Oscar's shoulder. Oscar loses patience.
“You need to get your mind on this or moon over the lad, one or the other. Just now your sharp little brain is reduced to jelly and I am wasting my time because the carpet understands more of what I say than you do.”
“I'm sorry Oz, it's just that . . .”
“I know what it's just. Ask him out? He'll say yes or he'll say no. Either way you'll know and you get on with your life.”
She turns away, “It's not that simple, Oz. Besides, you're one to talk.”
Suddenly a ringing cellphone disrupts the hush of normal ambient library sound. The librarian glares from the front desk as Eric dives for his laptop bag and mutes the phone. Jose is chuckling as Eric gets up and walks away from the table trying to find a good spot to have a private phone conversation.
“Hello. Yes, I'm in the library so of course texting would have been better. We were together almost two months and you don't know I'm in the library every Thursday? And that doesn't tell you anything?”
Eric paces, obviously uncomfortable as he listens. “No, you look. It's done. There isn't anything to talk about.” Eric angrily snaps his phone closed and pockets it.
Returning to the table, in a foul mood now, Eric stares unseeing at the material spread out, then he gives his head a shake and starts packing up.
Jose shoots him a questioning look. “I didn't think you were done yet.”
“Oh I'm done alright. My concentration is screwed. I'm going to grab a beer at the pub. Coming?”
“Sure.” Jose stuffs his stuff into his bag. “You ever hear me turn down a beer? Never happen.”
Eric grins. “Yeah.” noticing the librarian is still glaring lasers at him across the room. “Lets get out of here before the dragon lady has us barred for life.”
They pass by the main desk, Eric smiles winningly at the glowering librarian as they walk by. “Sorry Mrs. Jones, I didn't realize it was turned on.”
The librarian nods, looking a little mollified. “Just make sure it's not next time, young man.”
From across the room Krystal wistfu
lly watches Jose's abrupt departure.
Once outside in the crisp night air Jose tells Eric, “I can't believe you man. What you wanna suck up to the old bat for?” Shaking his head, “Man I thought you had balls.”
Eric stops and looks at Jose. Then he jumps up and down. And again.
Puzzled, Jose asks, “What are you doing man?”
“Just checking. They're still there.”
Jose just stares at Eric. “What are you talking about?”
“Don't tell me you didn't hear 'em clanking.”
Jose breaks out laughing. “You're too much, man.”
They start walking again and Eric tells him, “She's just doing her job. And I know how much I want to kill the asshole whose cellphone goes off in the library and screws up my concentration.”
Jose laughs. “Yeah I know what you mean. Some people are just assholes, eh?”
“Hey, let's swing by the Book Store. It's around closing time so maybe Amelia will come get a beer with us.”
Jose looks at him. “I didn't know you and Amelia were getting it on. Bit of a comedown after Elsie though, uh?”
“Naw, she'd be a step up if you ask me.”
“That mousie little thing? After clouds of kinky red hair? I dunno, man, I could've gone to town with that redhead of yours.”
“Elsie wasn't worth the aggro, tell the truth.” They walk in silence for a bit before Eric just has to ask. “You mean you didn't?”
“What?” Jose looks over at Eric and immediately understands. “You're asking did I boff the red when you were with her? No way man.” Jose shakes his head. “No way.” “Don't tell me she didn't come on to you.”
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