She Was the Quiet One

by Michele Campbell

  “Oh, Rose, I’m so sorry,” she said, in a quiet voice. “I know you loved her. I know it was complicated. Sometimes, we do things we can’t explain. You need a friend. I’m here to listen, not to judge.”

  Rose looked up in shock. “You believe them. You believe that I murdered Bel. What did they tell you?”

  “We don’t need to talk about that now. You’re upset.”

  “I am upset because I didn’t kill my sister. Somebody else killed her, and he’s still out there.”

  “But—that’s—not possible,” Mrs. Donovan said, in an oddly strangled voice, her eyes wide with fear. “They say you were covered in blood. That you had a knife in your hand.”

  “That part is true. I was in the woods, searching for Bel. But when I found her, she was already dead.”

  Rose told her story in a fierce rush. The footsteps behind her as she heard Bel screaming. Running through the fog. Finding the body, kneeling over her dead sister, holding her, begging her not to die. But she was gone. Seeing the knife, staring at it in horror as she felt the presence of the killer behind her. Then the whizzing sound as he struck her in the head.

  “Everything went black,” Rose said. “When he hit me in the head, I lost my memory. That entire night vanished like it never happened. But then I woke up this morning, and I remembered. I’m remembering even more, talking to you now. He grabbed me, just when Bel screamed. I lashed out and cut him, and he let me go.”

  “You cut him? With the knife?”

  Rose stopped short. She had a vivid memory of picking up the knife from the ground as she knelt beside her sister. But that was later. So how was it possible?

  “No, I found the knife later,” she said. “Let me think.”

  She stared at the wall, willing her mind back into the fog and the fear. And suddenly she knew.

  “I had an X-Acto knife. I took it from my room because I was afraid to go into the woods alone at night.”

  “If you were afraid, why did you go?”

  “Because Bel texted me and begged for help.”

  “Help with what?”

  “I can’t remember. Oh God, where’s my phone?”

  Rose looked around frantically. She sat up on the edge of the bed and fumbled in the drawer of the bedside table. It was empty. Gingerly, she walked over and threw open the door of the small wardrobe, which was empty, too. She looked down at herself and realized she was wearing a hospital gown. Where had her clothes gone? They’d taken them, when she was unconscious.

  “I can’t find my phone. And where are my clothes?” Rose asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe the police took them. They might want to—”

  “Test for blood?” Rose said, her stomach lurching.

  The wheels of justice were spinning. Time was running out to prove her innocence, and to find the real killer. Soon it would be too late.

  “I need that phone,” Rose said. “It’s incredibly important. I could show you Bel’s texts, and prove what happened. But I remember a lot more now. I cut him with an X-Acto knife. I cut Zach.”

  “Zach?”

  “Yes. Zach Cuddy. He followed me into the woods. He grabbed me, right when Bel screamed, and I cut him, to make him let me go. I told him we had to help her, and you know what he said? He said Bel ‘deserves what she gets.’ He also said he could cut me, if he wanted. He carries a Swiss Army knife. Mrs. Donovan, I think Zach Cuddy murdered my sister. I have to tell the police.”

  49

  Transcript of Witness Interview conducted by Lieutenant Robert Kriscunas, State Police—Major Crime Unit, with Mr. Brandon Flynn, represented by Lisa Walters, Esq. Ms. Walters also present.

  Kriscunas: Lisa, so we meet again. Seems the two of us are involved in every major murder case in this state.

  Walters: Bob, good to see you. I know you’re not one for pleasantries, so let me cut to the chase. Your colleague, Detective Howard, informed me that Brandon is a person of interest in the Bel Enright murder. I’m here to tell you he had absolutely nothing to do with it. You’ve got the wrong guy.

  Kriscunas: Person of interest, huh?

  Walters: That’s what she told me over the phone. Is that wrong?

  Kriscunas: With all due respect to Melissa, this is her first homicide. It’s not the term I’d choose. What I can tell you is: Your client held a grudge against the Enright sisters because his girlfriend was expelled over the slipper attack. We just wanted to ask him, in a friendly way, where he was on the night of the murder. That’s all.

  Walters: Okay. Look, we don’t admit he had a grudge, as you call it. But for the sake of argument, say that he did. If he did, it was against Rose Enright, not Bel. Rose was the one who snitched. It was her testimony to the Disciplinary Committee that got Darcy Madden expelled. My client had no beef with the dead sister whatsoever, and nothing to do with killing her.

  Kriscunas: Witnesses say he had a grudge against both sisters. Hear me out. We know that your client twice physically confronted Rose Enright. The first time occurred on a school bus at Thanksgiving break. We have at least five witnesses to that incident, and what they describe amounts to a chargeable physical assault.

  Walters: Okay, okay, this is the first I’m hearing of this. But even if that’s so, you say it pertains to Rose, correct? Rose? Not Bel.

  Kriscunas: Yes, but we’re talking physical assault here. He punched and tripped her within the sight of witnesses. Then he followed her a second time, along with Miss Romano. They cornered her on a deserted path at night. I don’t know how familiar you are with the Odell campus, Lisa. But it’s huge, and empty at night. Nobody’s gonna hear you scream. Your client was prevented from doing harm by a bystander who fortunately came along and interrupted the confrontation—

  Flynn: Cuddy.

  Walters: Brandon, keep your mouth shut.

  Kriscunas: That bystander heard Mr. Flynn make a specific threat to Bel Enright. Apparently, Mr. Flynn was incensed that Bel was not punished as severely as his girlfriend. So, there is a beef there, plus evidence of prior willingness to use violence. I ask you again, where was Mr. Flynn on the night of the murder?

  Walters: I request a recess to consult with my client.

  Kriscunas: Sure. Take your time.

  [PAUSE]

  Kriscunas: You’ve had time to consult?

  Walters: Yes.

  Kriscunas: What would you like to tell me?

  Walters: My client would like to know if this information comes from Zachary Cuddy. Because Mr. Cuddy is not a reliable witness, and bears a grudge against my client.

  Kriscunas: I don’t reveal the names of witnesses. You know that, Lisa.

  Flynn: It is Cuddy. I can tell by the look on your face. Dude’s a frigging liar. You should ask him where he was that night.

  Kriscunas: Mr. Flynn, I can assure you that all leads will be followed in this investigation. If there’s evidence you can offer against Zachary Cuddy, I’d be happy to listen. But this interview is really about you and your conduct. This is your chance to exonerate yourself by providing an alibi. You can choose to do that, or not. If you don’t, we will view you as a person of interest, in which case we’d consider seeking other charges against you—charges we might not pursue otherwise—in order to hold you while we continue our investigation.

  Flynn: What’s he saying?

  Walters: He’s saying he can charge you with assault for tripping Rose Enright on the bus.

  Flynn: Fuck, man, that’s harsh.

  Kriscunas: It’s reality, Brandon.

  Flynn: No reason to screw me, man. I didn’t kill her. That night, I was in my room, by myself. You can check the dorm log.

  Kriscunas: We did that already. The log shows you checked in at eight-thirty. We believe the murder occurred somewhat later than that. You could’ve snuck out without being seen. Was anybody else with you that night, say between nine and eleven p.m.? Someone, anyone, who can corroborate your alibi?

  Flynn: Nah, man. I don’t have a roommate. I
was in my room by myself, chilling. Watched some YouTube, did a little homework, ate some Cheetos. Nobody saw me.

  Kriscunas: So, nobody can verify that?

  Flynn: Nope. Now what? You lock me up? ’Cause that’s bullshit. Whatever Cuddy told you was to cover his own ass. He was obsessed with Bel. He used to follow her around. He took pictures of her. Ask anyone.

  Kriscunas: Pictures? What kind of pictures?

  Flynn: Yeah, you know, that gets sensitive. I need to ask my lawyer something.

  Walters: Request a recess.

  [PAUSE]

  Walters: My client has nothing to say about any photographs.

  Kriscunas: These photographs exist, but he won’t talk about them? Or they don’t exist?

  Walters: Next topic, Bob. Or we walk.

  Kriscunas: Do you have any specific evidence connecting Zachary Cuddy to the murder of Isabel Enright?

  Flynn: Any actual, like, evidence? I wish I did, but no. He’s a slimy little twit, and he deserves to go down. I think he probably offed her. Unless it was Donovan.

  Kriscunas: Donovan?

  Flynn: Yeah. Heath Donovan.

  Kriscunas: The headmaster? Why would he murder a student?

  Flynn: To keep her quiet. Why do you think Bel got off so easy in the slipper attack?

  Kriscunas: You tell me, Brandon.

  Flynn: Because Donovan was doing her. That’s not gossip, it’s a known fact. You’re wasting your time with me. Go ask Heath Donovan where he was that night.

  50

  Sarah stepped into the hallway, closed the door to Rose’s room and leaned against it, weak with relief. Rose knew who killed Bel, and it wasn’t Heath. It was Zach Cuddy. Bel had gotten mixed up with a boy her own age, and when she rejected him, he lured her to the woods and stabbed her to death. It was the oldest story in the book, and made Sarah’s suspicion of Heath seem laughable. Sarah had listened to gossip, and had let her imagination run away with her. She’d believed a hoax photo sent to her by someone calling himself Anonymouse. Interpreted an innocent conversation in the dining hall as an affair with an underage girl; turned a load of laundry into murder. To doubt her own husband over such nonsense, the father of her children, the man who’d been by her side since they were teenagers—what was wrong with her? She ought to be ashamed.

  She would make it up to Heath, and be the best wife he could imagine. But first, Rose Enright needed her help. Holding Rose as she sobbed, Sarah viscerally felt the girl’s innocence. Rose’s grandmother had let some lawyer convince her that an insanity plea was the only hope to avoid jail. They wouldn’t listen to a word Rose said, and refused to let her talk to the police. Sarah had to do something. She’d talk to Mrs. Enright first, but if that didn’t work, she’d go to the police, whether the family wanted that or not. Rose’s freedom was at stake, and that wasn’t even the worst problem. Rose claimed another Odell student had murdered her sister. Zachary Cuddy was somewhere on campus, potentially a danger to other students.

  “You, there.” A white-haired man in an expensive suit strode down the hall, looking so angry that Sarah started with alarm. “Were you in Miss Enright’s room? I said, no visitors.”

  This had to be the man who was trying to railroad poor Rose into taking the fall for her sister’s murder. He had a sneering, aristocratic look about him, and she hated him on sight.

  “Let me guess. You’re Mrs. Enright’s lawyer,” Sarah said.

  “Yes, Warren Adams,” he said, surprised. “And you are?”

  “Sarah Donovan. Rose’s faculty advisor and the head of her dorm. Rose doesn’t want to see you, and she doesn’t want you speaking for her. I need to ask you to leave.”

  “I’ll do no such thing,” he said, and tried to go around her.

  Heart racing, Sarah stood her ground. She was afraid he’d push her, but he backed off a step, and glowered instead.

  “Get out of my way.”

  “I can’t do that. I have an obligation to my student, and if you can’t respect her request, I’ll call security.”

  “How dare you? Martha Enright is my client. She hired me to represent her granddaughter on a very serious matter. This girl is accused of murdering her own sister.”

  “But she didn’t do it. She’s innocent.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Rose walked into the security office covered in blood, carrying a knife, babbling like a lunatic. She told them her sister was dead in the woods, and that was the last coherent thing she said.”

  “I just spent half an hour with Rose. She’s perfectly coherent, and she can explain everything that happened that night. She needs people who believe her and support her. I don’t know what game you’re playing, Mr. Adams, but you’re not acting in Rose’s best interests. She wants to talk to the police, but she says you won’t let her.”

  “That’s right. And if you knew the first damn thing about defending someone from a murder charge, you wouldn’t, either. This is none of your business, so butt out.”

  While they were arguing, a young woman had appeared. She approached them, holding up a badge.

  “Don’t mean to interrupt, but I just heard someone say that Rose Enright wants to talk to the police. That would be me. Detective Melissa Howard with the town police department.”

  The detective was in her twenties, with a pleasant face, an athletic build and short, blond hair. Sarah had seen her standing by the police cruisers earlier, at the entrance to the woods. She wore a boxy, black pantsuit perfect for concealing a holster under her arm.

  Adams made a harrumphing sound, and handed the detective a business card.

  “Rose won’t talk to you,” he said. “I’m her lawyer, Warren Adams, and I’m invoking the right to remain silent on her behalf.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Detective,” Sarah said. “Rose is desperate to talk to you, and he won’t let her. She says she didn’t kill her sister, but she knows who did, and he’s keeping it from you.”

  The detective’s eyes went wide in bemusement. “Uh, sorry. You are?”

  “Sarah Donovan, Rose’s academic advisor. I just spent the last half hour with her. She can explain everything that happened the night of the murder.”

  “Donovan, I know that name.” The detective took out a notebook and flipped through the pages. “Okay, you’re the cohead of Moreland Hall, right? Married to Heath Donovan, formerly the dean of students, now the headmaster?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re on my list of witnesses to interview. I wanted to speak with Rose first, but unfortunately Mr. Adams here just mucked up my plan by invoking Miranda.”

  “But Rose wants to talk to you,” Sarah said.

  “Rose is a minor. We don’t interrogate minors without the consent of the parents, so I have to check with whoever’s the legal guardian. Which I assume is not him.”

  “No. It’s Martha Enright, Rose’s grandmother. She backs me, a hundred percent,” Adams said.

  “Fine, then. Give me her number, and I’ll confirm it.”

  Adams wrote down a phone number and handed it to the detective.

  “Until I talk to the grandmother, I don’t want you speaking to Rose, either,” the detective said.

  “You can’t keep me from my client.”

  “Actually, I can. Rose is confined here in lieu of being sent to state prison. She’s technically in police custody. I’ll clear this up quickly, but until further notice, nobody but Odell Infirmary medical personnel are allowed in Rose’s room.”

  “Unacceptable,” Adams said. “I have a psychiatrist coming up from New York this afternoon to evaluate her.”

  “Do you have a court order for that?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then get one. Or else you can wait until I figure out who represents Rose. Now, I have to ask you to leave.”

  To make her point, Detective Howard stepped in front of Rose’s door, squared her shoulders and rested her hands on her hips. She was tall and strong-looking enough that she might’ve played ba
sketball in college. The glint of a gun peeking out from her jacket added to the impression. Judging by his shocked expression, Adams wasn’t used to being told no, especially not by a woman packing heat. He backed away huffily.

  “Fine, but you’ll be hearing from me,” he said, with an injured air, and walked off.

  “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Detective Howard said, under her breath, her eyes twinkling, as they watched him leave.

  “Don’t you hate guys like that?” Sarah said. “It was great to see you put him in his place.”

  “Oh, he’ll be back. That one’s not done making trouble. If you’re free to talk, Sarah, I’d appreciate that interview now. My colleague and I are set up in a conference room on the other side of campus. I won’t try to question Rose. But I’d very much like to hear what she told you about her sister’s murder, the sooner the better.”

  51

  Word of Heath’s appointment had spread. As Sarah crossed campus with Melissa Howard, people stopped her with hugs and handshakes and offers of congratulation. Colleagues on the faculty, secretaries and administrators, buildings and grounds guys, kitchen workers, students—they all had the same message. It was an awful time for the school. But now they had hope. Simon Barlow was tired and burned-out, and didn’t have the vision to get them through the terrible crisis of a student being murdered. Heath would save them. Sarah must be so proud. Please let him know, everyone was behind him, everyone was pulling for him, everyone believed in him. Heath Donovan was the man to lead Odell out of the wilderness.

  “You’re married to a rock star,” Melissa said.

  “It’s crazy. I’m not used to it,” Sarah said.

  It was only just starting to sink in that Heath would be running the school now. It was a meteoric rise. But he’d also be incredibly busy, and under tremendous scrutiny. So would Sarah, for that matter. They would be expected to entertain. To move into the headmaster’s house—a grand and gloomy old monstrosity that she didn’t even like visiting. How on earth would she live in that mausoleum with small children? Sarah had been so preoccupied with Rose’s problems that she’d forgotten her own. But now, with her fever spiking, too, life felt overwhelming. All she wanted was to go home to bed.