Wakefield College 01 - Where It May Lead

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “No.” Troy stared at the sheet of paper, lying askew on her coffee table, with a repulsion that almost equaled hers. “She hasn’t been herself since Dad died. I want to believe she’d ask me to do the right thing, but I don’t know.”

  That made Madison’s throat close up again. She had to struggle to get words out. “So instead I pleaded with you to pretend you hadn’t seen it, to defy the oath you took as a police officer.”

  Troy’s smile crinkled the skin beside his eyes. “I don’t remember you asking anything like that. You just want me to sneak around and investigate on the sly.”

  “That’s bad enough,” she mumbled.

  “No. We’ll still get at the truth, Madison, if you’ll help me.”

  She squared her shoulders. “If you mean it... Of course I’ll help.”

  “Good.” Abruptly, he laughed. “You look like you’re braving yourself to walk over hot coals.”

  Madison’s mouth curved in irresistible response. “Did you read about that inspirational speaker who gets participants in his workshops worked up enough to do exactly that?”

  “After which they all make a quick trip to the local E.R.?” Troy grinned. “Yeah, I read about it.”

  She made a face at him. “Okay, I do feel a little nervous. For one thing, I’ve never investigated anything.”

  “Sure you have. What’s an investigation but research? You’ve dug into records before, maybe taped some interviews, put together what you learned.”

  “Well...of course. But when I interviewed people, I didn’t have reason to think one of them was a killer!” More softly, she added, “I wasn’t investigating my own father.”

  “Let’s start by getting something straight.” Now he sounded stern. “I’ll be doing the investigating here. You’ll be my silent partner. I’m counting on you to provide the resources.”

  Her eyes widened. “But you won’t be able to take anything you learn to court, will you? Not when what you know was learned illegally.”

  He was sprawled comfortably on her sofa now, one arm lying along the back behind her. The relaxed pose didn’t make her any less aware of his sheer size. “That’s not the way we’ll be doing it. I’m going to ask for permission to reopen the case.” When she stiffened, he lifted a hand. “I’ll claim I heard enough talk this weekend to stir my curiosity. That you’re intrigued and want to help. What I won’t do yet is show anyone what my father wrote. I’ll get a warrant and, with a little luck, the college will decide not to fight it in return for our promise to do this as quietly as possible. You’ll be politely ordered to cooperate. Then, if we discover nothing—” He shrugged. “No harm, no foul. If we do get somewhere, the arrest will be clean. Got that?”

  By the end of his speech, the face she saw was all cop and she realized that the relaxed pose wasn’t quite what it appeared to be. This isn’t fun and games, he was saying.

  But she had no real choice, did she? If she said no, he would take his father’s confession to the Frenchman Lake Police chief, just as he’d said he would. And the investigation would be opened anyway, with a greater chance her father would be immediately targeted and that word would somehow get out. Her only hope of protecting his reputation was to help.

  A choice? Sure. Right. She could either help voluntarily...or do it involuntarily, after that polite order had been issued.

  “I understand,” she said steadily. “No one should get away with murder.” She had to say this. “Not even my father.”

  “Good.” Troy’s smile was warm with approval. Madison felt it as palpably as the strong sunlight coming through the window. He squeezed her shoulder and she was bothered by how much she wanted to turn and nestle against that broad chest, even at a moment like this.

  “So...where do we start?” she asked to distract herself.

  “I talk to my lieutenant tomorrow morning. We hope no big crime happens to suck up my time so I can’t justify opening a cold case.”

  Nothing big. She stared at him, realizing he meant a new murder. Or a rape, or who knew what. Something unimaginably awful. The kind of thing, in fact, she’d convinced herself didn’t happen in Frenchman Lake. By burying her head in the sand, she had felt safe and even smug in her belief that this small college town was perfect.

  Suddenly, Madison didn’t like herself very much.

  “No,” she said. “I’ll hope nothing big happens.”

  Troy’s eyes searched hers, and she had the sense he was looking deep inside her. The thought, on top of her self-reflection, made her cringe. She was suddenly struck by how much she’d learned about herself since she read her father’s short story last night. No deep revelations, she’d told herself, but she now knew she’d been wrong. The insight she’d gained hadn’t been so much into her father’s behavior as into her own.

  Too bad that she had to be dismayed by most of what she’d discovered about herself.

  “Hey.” Troy stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Where’d you go?”

  She shook her head. “Just thinking.”

  “How would you feel about some lunch? Me, the thinking I’m doing is about pizza.”

  Madison seized on the sheer normalcy of it. “Pizza sounds really good,” she agreed. “Let me put on shoes.”

  He smiled. “I sort of like your bare toes, but okay.”

  “You’ll still see my bare toes,” she assured him. “If not for work, I’d wear flip-flops most of the time.”

  “Even in the snow?”

  “I’ve been known to,” she admitted.

  She loved his laugh, deep and slow. “Go find a pair,” he said. “I’m starving.”

  * * *

  WHEN HE ANNOUNCED he wanted to reopen the Mitchell King homicide, Troy’s lieutenant didn’t say a word for a long time. Without ever taking his eyes off Troy’s face, he reached for a peppermint from the bowl on his desk, tore off the wrapping and popped it into his mouth. Instead of sucking on it, he bit down on the hard candy with his molars. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Troy kept his composure, only waiting instead of picturing his bones being crunched instead.

  “Why?” Davidson finally asked. But before Troy could so much as get his mouth open, he shook his head. “No, this one is going to have to get approval from the top, anyway. You can tell the chief and me at the same time.” He reached for the phone.

  Ten minutes later, Troy found himself in the police chief’s office for only the third or fourth time since he’d arrived on the job. He’d expected this, and fortunately he liked Chief Jim Helmer. The guy was young for the job—maybe early forties. He’d risen in the ranks of Pierce County Sheriff’s Department on the west side of the state, which gave them a lot in common. Pierce County was a mix of rural, including some pretty damn poor areas, and urban that hung on the fringes of cities like Tacoma. With the joint Fort Lewis–McChord military base added to the mix, it was a tough county to police. Helmer was a cop, not a bureaucrat, and therefore had the respect of everyone in the department. Troy had never heard the story of how Helmer had ended up in a small town on this side of the state. It wasn’t as if they were drinking buddies.

  “Did you learn something new?” Helmer asked once Troy and the lieutenant were settled in chairs.

  Troy generally tried not to lie and hated doing it now. He had to picture Madison’s pleading eyes before he could unclench his jaw and get on with it.

  “Only hints,” he said. Lie number one. “I’ve been interested since I moved back to Frenchman Lake.” Truth. “My father knew King and sometimes talked about his murder.” Half lie. “I pulled out the book and skimmed it early on in my time here, but nothing jumped out to justify stirring the pot.”

  Both men nodded.

  “It was this weekend reunion that got me thinking. There was a lot of talk, as you’d expect. I heard some suggestion that students—never named to the police—were seen in McKenna Center that night.” One, anyway.

  “A lot of years have passed. These aren’t scared twenty-year-olds anymore. The
y’re more likely to open up now.” He hesitated. “I spent some time talking to the alumni affairs director, Madison Laclaire. Her father was a senior at Wakefield that year, too. Apparently he wasn’t a real fan of King’s, although she doesn’t know why. I got a few hints from other alumni here this weekend that he wasn’t much liked by anybody.” Lie number three—or four? He’d lost track, he realized, his jaws flexing. Goddamn it.

  Troy looked from one man to the other. “I’d like to interview Ms. Laclaire’s father and everyone else who knew him well. I’d like to revisit the question of who saw what. Ms. Laclaire has expressed her willingness to help by digging out contact info, if she can get approval from the college president.”

  Helmer rubbed his jaw and scrutinized Troy with narrowed eyes. Keeping his body and face as composed and relaxed as he could, Troy hoped like hell he hadn’t given away his discomfiture.

  The police chief’s gaze flicked to Lieutenant Davidson. Out of the corner of his eye, Troy saw an abbreviated nod. An instant later, he was under scrutiny again.

  “No question, you’re ideal for this investigation,” Helmer said thoughtfully. “Considering these people knew your father, they might be more likely to open up to you.”

  “I’d like to think so.” Troy called it the “snob reflex,” that automatic Wakefield assumption that townies weren’t as smart as the elite members of the college community. Growing up, Troy had gotten many automatic dismissals when a Wakefield student realized he was a local kid.

  “When I was hired, I read that murder book cover to cover, too,” the police chief said, surprising Troy. “Leaving a crime that ugly unsolved sticks in my craw. I don’t know if it’s possible to get anywhere after this many years—it’s not as if we have a DNA sample we can pull out like a rabbit from a hat—but I can’t see what it hurts to try.” He nodded once, decisively. “Let’s do it. Instead of going for a warrant, I’ll try for voluntary cooperation from the college. They can’t like having this clouding their reputation any better than we do.” A grim smile stretched his mouth. “I’d like to exorcise Mitchell King’s ghost. I’m betting the president, Lars Berglund, feels the same. I’ll make some calls,” he concluded.

  Taking that as his dismissal, Troy thanked the chief and left the office along with Lieutenant Davidson.

  Heading back to his desk, Troy considered calling Madison, but decided to wait. It would be interesting to hear about the uproar on her end after Helmer’s calls. Itching to get started, he wondered how long it would take before he had the final go-ahead.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “ARE YOU READY?” Troy asked quietly.

  Madison nodded even though she was consumed with guilt at the trap she was laying for her own father—and that’s what this was, however much she wanted to believe she was doing the right thing. She closed her eyes briefly. This had been the deal. Troy had come up with a list of questions that now lay in front of her. His handwriting was bold and easy to read in case she panicked midway. They’d talked through every eventuality, too, including how far she should go with the claim that they had a witness who placed Guy at the gym within the same time frame as the murder.

  Troy looked pointedly at the phone in her hand. Sucking in a deep breath, she found her father’s number and, after only the briefest of pauses, pushed the call button.

  He answered after the third ring. “Madison. Good to hear from you.”

  That was warm and fuzzy, for him. He’d never called her by any pet names. She had been about ten years old when she’d shyly told him that Mom had started calling her Maddie. Dad had snapped, “What’s she trying to do to you? We named you Madison. That’s a name with dignity and strength. Don’t let her demean you, Madison.”

  Now, she understood a little of what he’d meant. Madison was stronger, Maddie softer, maybe more feminine. But at the time a pet name had translated into her mind as affection, and she had been desperate to feel loved by either of her parents. Nonetheless, the next time she saw her mother, she’d firmly told her that she preferred to be called by her full name.

  “Dad,” she said. “Listen, I’m going to put you on speakerphone. I’ve been teaching myself to quilt, and I thought I could do it while we’re talking.”

  “Quilt? Good God, Madison.”

  There’s the Dad I know and love, she thought wryly. “I’m enjoying it,” she said simply, touching the speaker button on her phone and setting it down on the coffee table, halfway between her and Troy. “How was your trip to Japan?”

  He told her, surprising her by being more expansive than usual. Very aware of Troy sitting across from her, his elbows braced on his knees and his eyes keen, she nonetheless asked questions in appropriate spots and even laughed a few times at her father’s stories.

  “How did the great time capsule weekend go?” he asked, surprising her again. He’d remembered. “Did you raise a lot of money?”

  “I did.” She smiled. “Even better than I expected. Did you know Rob Dayton?”

  “Software,” he said promptly. “He was a year or two behind me, I think. Can’t say I really knew him, but I’ve followed his career recently.”

  “He wrote a check for a million dollars.”

  “He can afford it,” her father said. “I put a check in the mail, by the way. Have you received it yet?”

  “No. Thank you, Dad. I appreciate your support.” She thought about asking how much the check was for, but stole a glance at Troy and closed her mouth. Dad wouldn’t be stingy—he’d never bother with something like a fifty-dollar contribution, but she didn’t suppose he would be supporting his alma mater to the tune of a million bucks, either. Dad’s memories of his time at Wakefield didn’t seem to be that fond.

  Her eyes met Troy’s, which a minute ago had glinted with amusement when she’d been so obviously indulging in the self-satisfaction of her success. Now his eyes were resolute.

  “Dad, there was a lot of talk this weekend about that murder here on the campus your senior year. You never said much about it.”

  The silence was longer than it ought to have been. Madison caught herself leaning forward until she practically hung over the phone. Troy stared at it, too, lines deepening on his forehead.

  “It didn’t have anything to do with me,” her father said, sounding abrupt. “Shook everybody up, of course. Sure as hell, nobody took a sauna by himself again the rest of that academic year. Having the police on campus day after day asking questions guaranteed one hell of a finals week, I can tell you.”

  “Did Mitchell King have a girlfriend?”

  He made a humming sound as though he really was thinking back. “I seem to remember they’d broken up not that long before. The police must have looked in that direction, but word was she had a solid alibi. Some all-night study thing, I think.”

  “It doesn’t sound like a woman’s kind of crime,” Madison suggested tentatively.

  Troy nodded his approval at her.

  “No, it doesn’t, but if you make someone mad enough, who knows what can happen.”

  “The few times you’ve mentioned him, you didn’t sound as if you liked Mitchell King.”

  “I don’t remember ever talking about him.” Clipped and forbidding, this was her father’s I’m-going-to-shut-down-this-whole-topic-of-conversation voice.

  “After I took the job here, we talked a little bit about it.”

  Madison would never have believed the atmosphere could be felt so intensely through an open phone line. But during that silence, she changed her mind. Maybe it was so charged because they couldn’t see each other’s expressions. Or, gee, maybe it had something to do with her own gigantic omission, the words unsaid: Dad, just so you know, there’s a cop here next to me listening to everything you say.

  You think?

  “I guess we did,” her father said after the prolonged pause. “No, Mitch was a sly little asshole.”

  Surprised, Madison raised her eyebrows. Her father was always blunt, but rarely crude.

&nb
sp; “I don’t think anyone liked him,” he continued, “except for the girlfriend, I guess. Temporarily.”

  Troy mouthed a question.

  “Sly? What’s that mean?” she asked, obedient to the prompting.

  “We lived on the same hall freshman year. I caught him a couple of times listening at closed doors.” Distaste tightened her father’s voice. “He liked knowing things. Then he could make use of what he knew. Get jabs in.”

  “Into you?”

  “Of course not,” her father snapped. “He got a reputation, though.”

  “Do you think that’s why he was killed? Because he learned something he shouldn’t have about somebody?”

  “What’s with the questions, Madison?” He suddenly sounded very controlled and cold. “The investigation isn’t being reopened, is it?”

  She looked at Troy, who nodded.

  “There are rumors it might be. I’m guessing the college would encourage it if the police decide to. You’d think people would have forgotten about it, but they haven’t. Even the admissions officers still have to tap dance around questions when they’re out promoting the college. Laying the whole thing to rest would be really good.”

  “There’s not a chance in hell after this many years,” her father said brusquely. “Take it from me.”

  Troy tilted his head in interest.

  “Why do you say that, Dad?” Madison asked hastily.

  “If anybody had seen anything or knew anything, it would have come out then. I thought the cops figured it was a transient. Maybe even that killer they arrested in Spokane a few years back.”

  She knew who he meant. “I’m pretty sure he killed only women, Dad. Anyway, once he’d been caught he confessed to some murders they hadn’t known he committed. This wasn’t one of them.”

  “Well, I wish anyone luck who thinks he’s going to try, poor fool.” She could all but see his dismissive shrug.

  Troy sat up. “Go for it,” he murmured, his compelling gaze holding hers.

  She swallowed. “Dad, I’m partly asking because I heard someone say he saw you at the gym sometime in the right time period. He assumed the police had talked to you, but you never mentioned it so I was curious.”