by Doug Allyn
“Okay, this one,” Haliday said, pointing to a paper.
“Psychodrama and Other Games,” Janice said. “Easy. He taught personality types out of Jung, had them role-play characters, and go into the fallacies of the method, and the strengths.” She straightened up. Apparently they had been at this for some time. “That’s how he taught. By involving them in every possible way. Demonstrations, role playing, participation.” She pointed to the same paper. “Like this one, Psychohistory and Myth. He had them choose an historical subject from a list he provided and then research that person thoroughly and psychoanalyze him or her. Afterward, he extracted quotes from their papers, ran the list down the side, and had them try to link the quoted words to the proper name. Most of them failed entirely, which was his point. What people do and what they say are often at variance.”
“Good teacher. That’s your point?” Haliday said.
“Good! My God, I’m good, everyone who stays here is good. Philip was the most brilliant teacher I ever knew.” She leaned back in her chair. “Do I get to eat?”
Haliday laughed. “Sorry. I forgot. Let’s, before Blair finishes it all off.”
They got up and took sandwiches from the tray; Haliday poured milk. Janice got coffee from the automatic machine on the other table. Eating, Haliday returned to the list. He put his finger on an item, glanced at Janice, who was taking a bite, waited, and then said, “What about this one, Shamanism and Modern Cult Figures?”
She finished chewing and took a swallow of coffee. “What it says. He was convinced that with the proper buildup, normal healthy people would believe whatever the cult leader wanted them to believe.” At the other end of the table Ellen stopped eating. “He had an experiment he was anxious to try and couldn’t, for obvious reasons. He believed he could convince a group of pretty random people that a totally inert substance was a powerful hallucinogenic, and that they would then hallucinate exactly as if they had ingested LSD.”
“You believe that?” Haliday asked.
Ellen got up to pour coffee that she didn’t want, and stood at the window with her back to them. It was raining again. She was remembering Patty’s answer to her question, what had they done with the mushrooms. We ate them and went to sleep. He had been playing a game with them, she thought, and listened to what Janice was saying.
“I didn’t, but now I’m not so sure. Some people have power naturally, we call it charisma. Philip had it. I’m sure every good shaman had it.”
“Why couldn’t he try it?”
“It’s a very dangerous game to put anyone under your spell, Lieutenant. It’s dangerous to teach anyone how to hallucinate, to start a process you may not be able to control.”
There was a long pause; Ellen didn’t turn from the window to look at them. He had been playing a game that he had known could be dangerous...
“What about the book he was writing? Did he show you the manuscript? You know what it was about?”
“I never saw it,” she said, “but he talked about it from time to time. Part was about his work with his students. He was very innovative, and honest about his failures and his successes. He said I was in it, and did I mind? He wanted a reaction. I laughed and said if he used my name, I’d get a hefty cut of the Seymour millions.”
“He was using his love affairs as material?”
“Everything he did was material one way or another. What you have to understand, Lieutenant, is that the whole world was a petri dish for Philip, and he found everything in it interesting.”
“While he stayed on the outside,” Haliday said. “Did you love him, Dr. Ayers?”
She laughed. “No. I might have come to love him, but I woke up. Have you ever watched a snake feed?”
Ellen felt her whole body tense with the words. Why was she talking about that particular experiment, talking about snakes?
“It unhinges its jaw and swallows its prey whole,” Janice was saying. “You can watch the lump that was a living creature as it moves down the body, slowly diminishing. I was fascinated by Philip, but after you’ve seen the snake feed a time or two, the fascination also diminishes. I preferred to stay on the outside, and after a time I didn’t care to remain a Philip watcher; we became friends in a way, I suppose.” There was a rustle of motion. “Now I’m going back to my own world. It’s been fun.”
Ellen heard her movements, then her steps, the door opening, closing.
“You can come back now, Blair,” Haliday said. “You haven’t finished your sandwich.”
She made sure her hands were steady before she left the window and returned to the table.
“How’s it coming in the catacombs?”
“We’ll finish this evening, I think. Then there will be the current files in the records office downstairs. They won’t take long.”
“Good. What do you think, Blair? Did Ayers love him?”
Ellen set her cup down hard. “She said not, Haliday. What else can I tell you?”
He chuckled. “She can’t recall the name of a single woman he had an affair with. Curious, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I didn’t think you would,” he said mildly. “Eat your lunch.” But before she could take another bite, he pushed a paper toward her. “Have a look at that. Tell me, as a reasonable person, if you saw an apartment with all that stuff in it, would you assume the occupant intended to come back?”
Philip’s apartment, she realized. This was a list of what had been found. She had thought it was just a few odds and ends at the time, but this was a long list. Suits, outdoors clothes, other clothes, books, the typewriter, a stereo and records, television, photographs... She read it over again and shook her head. “I’d think he was coming back,” she said. “I never realized it was this much.”
“I’m getting that from everyone except Ayers. Seems word went out that he left a few things and took off.”
“But his family should have raised objections,” Ellen said.
“Sheriff Craxton says there was a lot of infighting going on at the time. They seemed to accept that he took off to annoy them. They deny anything of the sort now.”
She pushed her unfinished sandwich away and drank the rest of her coffee. It was bitter and cold. “Why do you keep telling me things like that? You’re implying that the sheriff knew, or should have known, it wasn’t a case of a man driving away. Why are you doing this?”
“You think the sheriff would deliberately hide something like this?”
“No. I think he’d bend a lot in little ways. No students get arrested for drunken driving, or searched for possession of substances, things like that. This serious? No.”
“That’s why I tell you stuff, Blair. I’m sort of using you as a sounding board, find out what people around here are thinking. You do just fine.”
That was part of it, she thought, but not the whole truth. She stood up. “I’d better get back to work.” At the door she paused and looked at him. “Why are you concentrating on the college? There are a lot of town women who might have become involved with him.”
He reached for the last sandwich. “I have people asking questions all over town, believe me. But, Blair, this started and ended right here on this campus.”
“Thanks, Haliday,” she said. “That’s really reassuring.” She could hear his chuckle as she left.
It was after four-thirty when she and Winona Kelly finished the files in the archives. “You can go on ahead if you want,” Ellen said when she finished checking the last batch of copied files. “I’ll just put this stuff back first.”
“I’ll wait,” Winona said.
Ellen shrugged and began to refile the records. “Did he tell you not to leave me here?”
“Not just like that. He was sore because a reporter or someone got to you yesterday.”
Ellen bit her lip and continued to replace the records. That bastard, she thought savagely. He was keeping an eye on her. But why? There wasn’t anything to connect her to Philip Seymour. Someone surely had
told him about the age parameters Philip had set; he must know she had been well out of them. Or maybe he believed Philip had made an exception in her case.
Today Winona held an umbrella over both of them as they walked back to the administration building. “Can’t wait to get to my motel and get a shower,” Winona said. “You wouldn’t believe files could be so dirty, would you?” She chattered and popped her gum, never expecting a response apparently. “I grew up over in Bend,” she said. “Just can’t get used to this rain. Everything I have on feels clammy.”
Ellen nodded. Shower, change of clothes, something hot to eat and drink... Her needs seemed very simple at the moment. Then she began to think about the list of things Philip had left in his apartment. Clothes, outdoor wear... She was frowning slightly when they entered the administration building, where many people were milling about, students, work-study students, office workers. She saw Rita coming from the records room and went to her.
“Will you give this to Dr. Melton?” she asked, handing her the list of files they had copied that day. “I have to see the lieutenant. She may be gone before I’m through upstairs.” It was close to five; she hoped Hilde would go on home at five.
Rita said sure, no problem, took the list and headed back toward her own office. Ellen went up the stairs with Winona. When they passed the door of Conference Room A she saw with surprise that the furniture had been rearranged in there, and several groups of people sat at tables separated from one another. She recognized John Wooster from maintenance at one of the tables, and two cafeteria workers at others. He really was having everyone questioned, she thought in wonder.
When they reached Conference Room D the door was open and Haliday was reading a typed sheet of paper.
“Finished?” he asked.
“Pretty much,” Ellen said. “Just one question. On that list of stuff in Philip Seymour’s apartment, there wasn’t a tuxedo mentioned, a powder-blue tux. Would anyone have just included it among the other clothes?”
“Philip watchers saw him in a light blue tux? The night of the big party?”
She nodded. “That’s what I heard.” Patty had seen him in it, had raved that he looked like a movie star.
He glanced at Winona. “You can take off. See you in the morning. Come on in, Blair. Close the door. If Kelly stays, she goes on overtime,” he said. “You’re on straight salary, aren’t you?”
“Yes. But that’s all I wanted to bring up. I didn’t know if anyone had mentioned it.”
She remained at the door; he began to rummage through papers. He motioned for her to join him. “Have a look,” he said as he ran his finger down a sheet of paper he had extracted from a pile.
“I’d like to go home,” she said.
He paid no attention, merely beckoned again, and angrily she closed the door and joined him at the table.
“Would you say anything on that list looks like formal evening wear? Two sports jackets, gray suit, three pairs of jeans... Where do you suppose he changed after the dance?”
“I don’t know. In his van maybe.”
“That would be strange,” he murmured. “Five-minute drive to a closet full of clothes. Why change in the van?”
“Maybe he was more than five minutes away. Maybe he never went home after the dance.”
Haliday straightened up and slowly he nodded. “I think you’ve got it, Blair.”
The door opened and Hilde Melton came in. She stopped when she saw Ellen, and stood for a moment studying her. Then she continued into the room. “Lieutenant Haliday, I meant to speak to you alone. I thought Ellen had left, but perhaps it’s better this way. I want Ellen to return to her regular duties tomorrow. You have enough of your own people to conduct any further searches of our files. There are people in the current-records room to give you any assistance you may need.”
Good, Ellen thought, no microfiches.
“I don’t know,” Haliday said. “She’s really been helpful.”
“Lieutenant, look at her. She’s a nervous wreck over all this nonsense. Janice Ayers has mentioned that this is too much for Ellen, doing police work on such a ghastly case. People who have known her all her life have gone out of their way to comment. That awful woman reporter who seems to think she has privileges just because she was a student here, even she has commented. It was a mistake to offer you Ellen’s help. I wish to rectify my mistake.”
Ellen grasped the back of a chair. Beverly! Bev had threatened her by saying how desperate they were, and now she was adding weight to the threat through Hilde Melton.
Hilde came to Ellen and put her arm around her shoulders. “I’m very sorry, dear. I shouldn’t have let you get this involved.” Then she said fiercely, “Ellen will return to my office tomorrow. She works for me and the college, after all, not for your office.” She tightened her arm for a moment and then released Ellen and patted her shoulder. “You go on home. It’s well past quitting time, and it’s been a long day.”
Ellen nodded. All she wanted to do was go home and try to think this through. They were desperate, afraid she would tell the police, threatening... Were the threats real? What happened that night back at the fire? She looked at Haliday, who was watching her. “I’m pretty tired,” she said.
“Come to my office when you arrive in the morning,” Hilde said. “All that work you’ve had to put off is still waiting.”
Haliday was stuffing papers into his briefcase. “Ms. Blair,” he said, “can you give me a lift to town?”
Hilde glared at him. Ellen nodded. They had to fight, she understood; Hilde had worked too hard to surrender her authority without a struggle, and Haliday acted like a man who was used to getting his way. Let them, she thought, she just wanted out.
No one spoke again until they got downstairs and said good night at Hilde’s office door. Ellen and Haliday left the building, dashed through the rain to her car, and got in. She began to drive.
“She doesn’t have any kids, does she?” he asked after a moment.
“Who? Dr. Melton? No.”
“Widow now for what, four years? You know the papers are writing more about the famous Walter Melton than about her? Died in Sumatra, didn’t he?”
“You know more about it than I do,” she said tightly. “I wasn’t here at that time.”
“Sumatra,” he said. “Had an accident, got bad care, infection set in, and he came home and died in a Portland hospital. Never even made it back to Crystal Falls. Tough. So all she has now is the college. See, Blair, I’m wondering why she’s come on so maternal about you. You sick or something?”
“I am perfectly well,” she said, clipping the words.
“I thought so,” he said. “Was that awful woman reporter Beverly Kirchner? Is she the one who cornered you yesterday?”
“Yes,” she snapped.
“And she was Seymour’s student,” he commented. “Such a small town, everything keeps coming back to home plate, doesn’t it?”
When had he had time to learn Bev’s name? She bit her lip and made no comment. As if reading her thoughts, he said, “In police work you train yourself to make connections, to notice things and remember them, things that relate to the case in hand, at least. I saw her name on the list of people still around. Burt Craxton, the sheriff’s son, is another one. Interesting, isn’t it? Anyway, like I was saying, when you get in the right mode you notice things, like you noticing no blue tux was on that list, and dredging up a memory.”
“Where should I drop you?” she asked, stopped at the corner of Main and Adams. Her apartment was a block away.
“Your place, I’ll walk from there.”
“You’ll get soaked.” The hotel was five blocks away, city hall three, nothing farther than six blocks, but he would get soaked.
“Got an umbrella,” he said cheerfully, and opened his briefcase to pull out a collapsible umbrella.
She turned the comer and suddenly she thought, he wanted to make sure she went home; he was keeping her under observation, just
as Winona Kelly had kept an eye on her, and the uniformed officer... She jerked to a stop at her driveway.
He got out and snapped his umbrella open. “See you tomorrow, Blair.” He started down the street toward town.
Inside her apartment she stared at the blinking answering machine and finally started to listen to the calls: Patty, an old friend or two, her mother, and then Bev’s voice: “Remember, Ellen, I get the story first. For old-time’s sake.” She hit the stop button and erased the tape.
They were using Bev to keep the pressure on her, she understood, because Bev had a legitimate excuse for hanging around. She tried to remember what the others were all doing now: John Le Croix had married money, had a dairy farm in Tillamook; Burt Craxton was in state government, a man with a future, they said; Sheila had married him, they had two children; Les had a car dealership in Salem, other businesses; Patty was a librarian. They all had a lot to lose.
Why didn’t Bev tell them that Ellen would not talk about that night? Why didn’t Patty? Then she thought of it from their viewpoint. She was working for the police, was closeted with the lieutenant for long stretches of time, went driving with him... If he had set out deliberately to make it look as if she would talk, he couldn’t have done a better job of it. She felt a rush of gratitude toward Hilde Melton for demanding an end to it, for demanding Ellen’s return to her own work. The word would get out. Bev would know, she would tell the others.
Philip would have had them hallucinating, doing crazy things maybe, and then if he told them the mushrooms were plain mushrooms, not hallucinogenic, what would they have done? She remembered what Janice Ayers had said: It’s dangerous to start a process you can’t control. How much did Janice know? What happened hack at the fire? How far would they go to make sure no one ever found out? Then she realized that they would never feel safe as long as she lived.
She should tell Haliday, she thought wildly. At least she would have police protection. She shook her head. He would believe them, not her; her protection would be a cell.
Suddenly she was weeping, and furiously she swiped at her cheeks and then went to shower. The tears kept flowing as she cursed, “Damn them all. Just damn them all!”