“Look, I'm sorry Ethan. It's been a little rough lately.”
“Yeah, I know that Liz. I've been here too, remember.”
“Yes you have, and you've been great.”
“But.” supplies Ethan quietly.
She nods. “But I don't know. I don't really think . . .” she looks at the bereft expression on his face and softens a little.
“Look. I don't know if I'm ready. I like you a lot,” she looks down modestly, not quite able to meet his eyes, “No guy has ever made me feel like you do. But I don't know that I'm ready, or even if I want to be anybody's 'girlfriend.'There's implied ownership.”
“I don't want to own anybody, Liz, I want to be with you.”
“Then what's with this walking to class stuff? It's like you don't think I can take care of myself.”
“You know what they said. Until they catch that guy nobody is supposed to be going anywhere on their own.”
“Nobody isn't what they mean, or what you mean, either. It's just women. Put women in a cage instead of the predator and our menfolk protect us. Maybe we should wear burqahs too. I don't want to live in protective custody.”
Ethan stops a moment, furrowed brow, thinking. “We live in the same residence, we're go to a lot of the same places. It makes sense for us to go together.”
“But It doesn't. It might make sense for me to buddy up with Jake, or Natasha. But you're a T.A. so you're always in class way before and much later than me.”
“Sometimes yeah, but not all the time.”
“I'm an adult. I'm used to taking care of myself.”
“Liz. forget the rapist a minute. It's not about him, it's about me and you. I want to spend time with you, even if only walking to class. But I guess you'd rather not be seen with me.”
“It's not that at all.” She steps closer and slides her arms around his neck. “I'm used to being on my own. My problem is the people everywhere. All the time. On campus, in class, out shooting, where I live, in the shower for god's sake. I need alone time, not a boyfriend to boss or a babysit me.”
“Boyfriends don't have to be bossy.” Liz can't help but melt into the moment as Ethan pulls her down into a lingering kiss. Coming up for air he adds, “I'd be honoured for the opportunity to join you in the shower anytime.”
Liz can't help but giggle and the nuzzling resumes on a much friendlier note, even beginning to get hot and heavy until ostentatious throat clearing from the doorway breaks the clinch. Liz looks embarrassed, turning self consciously to the counter stirring her cold coffee while Ethan treats Maggie to a goofy grin.
“Hey Maggie. We're going to be heading to class in a few minutes. You're welcome to join us.”
“Thanks, but my classes don't start 'til eleven. I'll head over then with Mouse and Amelia.” Pouring herself a tumbler of grapefruit juice Maggie can't resist adding, “Besides, looks like you've got the buddy system figured out.”
chapter 92 . . .
Wolfrom hangs up the phone and grins at Lewis. “Looks like the bicycle lead paid off.”
“We got something! It'll be great to get out of here. I'm just so damn tired of talking to college students. I don't know what's worse, the ones that wanna hang out with us or the ones that read Boingboing.”
Lewis starts shutting down her laptop. “What've we got?”
“Turned up a good possibility at one of the white shoe law firms downtown.” Wolfrom is packing up the stray bits of paper and file folders into a waiting banker's box.
“A lawyer? Please don't be talking about M&Ms.”
“Well, yeah, Molony and Mulroney.” Wolfrom frowns. “Terri, is there anything you want to tell me?”
“I should have known. Of course a designer bike is gonna belong to some lawyer. Real people can't afford to blow that kind of cash on a bicycle.”
Lewis busies herself with wrapping cables and stowing the laptop in the case. She looks up to see Wolfrom staring at her, expectant. “I've got some history with the head honcho.”
Wolfrom whistles. “One of the M's. How on earth did you manage that?”
Shaking her head. “It's a long story.”
“Which M?”
“I doubt it matters, but it was Mulroney.”
“When his wife went missing?”
“Yeah; I was on missing persons. Nobody knew she'd taken a powder. They thought it might be kidnap for ransom. The guy sends a minion in to report his wife missing.”
“You're kidding!”
Shaking her head. “Nope. Apparently the minions even went shopping for gifts for his kids.”
“Get out!”
“So I paid him a little visit.”
“Shit. You kicked up a fuss?”
Stowing cables in the bag, Lewis says, “When a wife goes missing we've gotta look at the husband.”
“But Terri you gotta go on tippie toes if it's an M!”
“I don't do politics very well, Wolfie. See, I don't much care if it's an M. Everybody's supposed to be equal under the law.” Lewis zips the case closed, and glances around the broom closet sized office. “I think that's everything.”
“So what happened? You bearded an M in the tower.”
Shaking her head. “Yeah. That was me.”
“And you got in his face?”
Shaking her head. “You might say that.”
“And the wife saunters home a couple of days later with her tail between her legs.”
“Yeah, that's my kinda luck alright.” Lewis nods as she slings the laptop over her shoulder. “You know, Wolfie, it's not too late to put in for a new partner.”
Wolfrom laughs. “You kidding? I'd miss all the fun.”
Lewis grins and shakes her head. “Just tell me that we're not going to interview anybody named Molony.”
“Source says the guy's not a lawyer, just a gofer, guy from the mail room or IT department, something like that.”
“Praise the lord and pass the biscuits.”
Wolfrom glances at her as they head out the door. “There's a lot I don't know about you, huh?”
Lewis laughs as she switches out the light.
chapter 93 . . .
Mouse says, “This feels so stupid. People have been attacking people as long as there have been people.” as she accompanies Maggie and Amelia on the path between Fyfield House and the central cluster of school buildings, which is now charmingly known as the 'rape zone.'“There was just as much need to be careful yesterday as today. This is not the first rape that has happened in Canada.”
Amelia tells her, “Actually, there is no rape in Canada.”
Maggie snorts dismissively. “What? Of course there is. What do you think happened to Natasha?”
“Under Canadian Law it's not called rape. It's called “sexual assault,” Amelia explains. “And it covers the whole range of sex crimes.”
“That's just semantics.” says Maggie.
“It is important.” Amelia says, “It's the legal definition.”
“It's only important to English majors and lawyers, not to normal people.” Maggie says, “It doesn't change the facts.”
Amelia says, “Actually it does. That's why they try for precise language in framing laws. To cover every eventuality.”
“People will still be confused. Besides, 'sexual assault'doesn't sound as bad as rape.” says Maggie.
Mouse interrupts. “What does it matter what you call it if we have to give up our own freedom and cower in our beds?”
“Come on. It isn't that bad,” says Maggie.
“I am already tired of travelling in a pack.” says Mouse.
“All I care about is not ending up like Natasha.”
“Maybe we could go and visit Natasha.” suggests Mouse.
“That's a good idea,” Amelia nods. “We could find out what really happened. Exactly. All I heard is she was found in the woods. Is that where she was attacked or what? Did she know him? Was he wearing a mask? If we know what actually happened we can all take better precautions.”
“Not at the moment. I'm not a journalist, Maggie. But I probably will write something eventually,” agrees Amelia. “That's what I do. I'm a writer.”
“That's sick. This is somebody you know.”
“Yes, I do know Natasha, which is why I want to visit her to see with my own eyes that she's OK. If she wants to talk about it, fine. We're friends, I'm there for her. If I were to write it, it wouldn't be her story anymore. It won't be tomorrow, and it wouldn't be her life, it would be a story. Fiction.”
“That sounds even worse. It just doesn't sound right.”
“You're looking at it all wrong. Think about it like . . . you know when you guys talk about how an operating system is built around a kernel? Like that. Fiction is built around kernels of truth. Mixed up with imagination and reassembled as something completely different and new. Even fantasy and science fiction need to ring true or no one would read them.”
“It still sounds creepy. Like you're being a vampire, sucking out all her pain and suffering to use in a story.”
Mouse silences their bickering by telling them, “Do you think Boris did it?”
Maggie says, “That's just silly. It must be somebody else.”
“Why?” asks Mouse. “No one but you has seen the flasher but Boris is here all the time.”
“And why not Boris?” adds Amelia.
Maggie is exasperated. “Boris is the last guy who'd harm Natasha. He loves her.”
“I've done enough research to know women are usually hurt by their nearest and dearest. Cops always look at the husband or boyfriend. Boris has to be the prime suspect.” Amelia sighs.
“It could be random, you know. It could have been any man hiding in the trees.” says Mouse.
“Like my flasher.”
Amelia says, “Yes, like your flasher. But it could be any guy. A teacher. A janitor. A security guy. But odds are it's another student, because predators almost always go after their own.”
Maggie glares at her house mates. “But I don't want it to be somebody we know. Stop trying to scare me.”
Amelia says, “It's smart to be aware. But being careful doesn't mean we have to run scared and hide. But being a little on edge can keep us from doing stupid things.”
Mouse nods, “The world is wonderful but dangerous too.”
Maggie says, “I just want to feel safe again.”
chapter 94 . . .
Detectives Lewis and Wolfrom cross the expanse of concrete outside the ostentatious Molony and Mulroney office tower and enter the M&M lobby.
On the left are yogurt shops and boutiques while the right funnels visitors past the wide expanse of security desk before culminating at an impressive bank of elevators. As the detectives make their way to the security desk, Lewis pulls out her ID wallet to present to the guard. He nods after a cursory glance then looks expectantly up from scrutinizing the bank of security monitors spread out before him.
“Help you officer?” he asks.
“We're looking for the owner of the red Schwinn bicycle chained up outside there. If you can direct us to the owner, that'd be fine. If not just point us to the personnel department.”
The guard looks a little shifty, glancing back at the monitors so as not to meet anyone's gaze. “Uh, well, I'm not really sure.”
Wolfrom crosses his arms, not a sidekick anymore, but a stern representative of the law. Menacing even. “We need sure.”
Bereft of his usual power to mess with those on the other side of the desk, the security guard knows he's out of his depth. And when he thinks about it, really, the little creep isn't worth running afoul of the law over.
“I don't know one bike from another, but I know Neil comes in on a red bike. I can't swear it's that one.”
Wolfrom asks, “Where will we find this Neil?”
“He's on twenty nine, in marketing.”
“And that would be Neil who?” she presses.
The guard drops his gaze, sighing. This had been such a good gig. “ Molony. Neil Molony.”
Lewis tenses, then writes it in her book. She thanks him then they head for the elevators.
“Must be your lucky day,” says Wolfrom, pushing the buttons. “Gonna get a shot at the other M.”
chapter 95 . . .
The police on-site incident room is vacant when Ethan and Liz stop in. “They can't be done. What's happening?”
A quick look around reveals the police file boxes are gone. “I guess they talked to everybody already.”
“They were ready to arrest Boris. How much can they have learned since then?”
“I don't know. Maybe the security people have an idea.”
“Yeah, maybe. Lets check their office.”
“Uh,” Ethan looks uncomfortable, “I have to get to class.”
“Yeah, I know. Go ahead. I just want to find out what's happening and then I'll head over too.”
“OK. See you there.” He starts for the door, but then turns back, gathers Liz in a big hug, gives her a kiss and a wink, then he's out the door and gone.
Liz smiles, touching her lips. Maybe this boyfriend thing will be okay. She heads down the hall toward security. Like most students, she's never been there but she knows where it is. The door is ajar so she walks in, noting a duty schedule on the board beside the desk.
Behind the desk the swivel chair is vacant. Keys hang from a rack, monitors span the desk. Liz peers over trying to get an idea of what areas are covered by cameras. It's hard to see from this side, so she slips around the desk and into the chair.
The monitors mostly cover the school's exterior entrances, parking lots, interior views of the lobby, cafeteria, corridors of this building. Liz glances at the closed door on the other side of the desk. It's marked Authorized Personnel Only. She pulls out her camera and rolls the chair toward the windows to get a better composition. Adjusting the camera settings for the daylight she takes some shots of the monitors.
Rolling back she slumps in the chair to shoot some low angle shots over the monitors with the daylight streaming brightly around them. Messing with the settings she brackets the exposures so she'll be able to choose from different versions. She's just getting into it when a flushing sound from behind the door brings her back. Snapping off the camera Liz hustles back to the civilian side before the running water stops and the door opens.
The security guy who helped find Natasha does a double take when he sees Liz leaning on the desk. Val says, “Hey there.” Liz notes how gray and haggard he looks today. “Hi, I just stopped in to see how the investigation is going. The cops seem to have gone.”
He nods, “Liz, right?” She thinks he looked perfectly fit the other night but today he'd be a perfect candidate for one of those vampire movies Natasha likes.
“They've finished the preliminary student interviews. The neighbourhood canvas turned up a description of the flasher, so they're following up on both of those things.”
Liz says, “That's good, I guess. You look terrible, you should be home in bed or something.”
He laughs. “Not likely. Not til the campus is safe.” “Oh, well. You still look terrible.”
“I'll catch up on my z's after things settle down a bit. How's your friend . . .” he glances down at a file spread open on the desk. “ . . . Natasha?”
“Better than expected. She thinks they'll be letting her out of the hospital soon. So that's it for the cops on campus then?”
“Fingers crossed. They may re-interview people. I'm not sure if that'll be here or downtown though. We'll take it as it goes.”
“Do you think it really is the flasher guy?”
Rubbing the beard stubble, Val shakes his head slowly. “I don't know. They haven't picked up the guy yet. I'd want more information before commenting. Better to err on the side of caution. But you might want to keep an eye on your boyfriend.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I shouldn't say th
is, but the cops are interested in him.”
“Ethan? That's crazy.”
Val shrugs. “He didn't give the cops an alibi. He wouldn't talk to them at all, actually.”
“Oh.” Liz frowns. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you saying you think Ethan is the rapist?”
“I'm just saying be careful.”
chapter 96 . . .
Lewis and Wolfrom step out of the elevator and onto the gleaming golden hardwood floor. The word “Marketing” has been spelled out with a range of ornate hand carved wooden letters affixed to a stark white wall behind the wide reception desk.
Crafted from darker shades of wood, the massive desk almost looks as though it's growing into the space, dwarfing the tiny receptionist. She eyes them warily as they approach the desk. “Can I help you?”
Lewis raises an eyebrow and proffers her ID wallet. The receptionist accepts it, making a show of examining the badge before passing it back across the wide expanse of wood. Lewis tells her, “I see you've been expecting us. We're here to see Neil Molony. If you can just point us . . .”
The woman shakes her head, no, but Lewis smiles and says, “That's alright. I'm sure I'll be able to find our way,” and heads for the exceptionally dark wood panel door. The receptionist realizes there isn't any way out of it, so she comes out from behind the desk.
“I'll take you back.” The receptionist snaps as she slips in front of Lewis, and hurries through the door ahead of them. Wolfrom and Lewis exchange glances as they follow along the elegantly appointed corridor. The doors inside the corridor are plain slab doors, differentiated by the objects affixed to their smooth surfaces rather than numbers.
Lewis notes a Kewpie doll, a tambourine, and a shimmery guitar-clutching frog interspersed with unlikely objects like gears and tire pumps framed and mounted on the walls between. Stopping just short of the end of the hall, the receptionist knocks on a door distinguished from all the rest by the representation of a hand tooled cowboy boot. As she pushes open the door to admit them, Lewis realizes that the cowboy boot is actually a real leather boot that's been sawn in half and somehow attached to the door. Glue maybe.
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