by J. E. Keep
Her eyes widened and she pushed her way into the room, forcing the door shut behind her. “Martin,” she looked up at the man, her eyes a bit wide, “What’s Sinclair’s wife’s name?”
She was red faced, both from the cold and her anger, and tears threatened her eyes as she stared up at her dear friend.
Martin, blonde and blue eyed, looked her over, his brow furrowing. “Oh Eva,” he said with such lamentation, “I told you not to get involved in their drama.” He gave such a heavy sigh, “These old married fools... I mean, it’s bound to end badly. Always was.”
“Is it Sylvia?” she asked, moving so near to him, her hands shaking. He had never seen her looking so out of control, the woman usually so calm and confident, even in the face of great stresses. Her hands went to her briefcase, fumbling it open and grabbing out the envelope, but not offering it to him.
“Just tell me, Martin!”
Looking completely surprised by her outburst, eyes wide and shocked, he reached out for her hands, “Yes, Eva, of course it is! It’s in the newspaper and everything,” he said, and she realized in her panic and haste she could’ve confirmed it that easily. “Are you letting this whole thing with Dr. Sinclair get to you?” he shook his head with such disappointment, “Eva, give up on them. I told you to steer clear of them.”
“Shut up,” she leaned against the door, feeling as though she might faint. She was so overwrought, she couldn’t even speak for a long time, hyperventilating against the door. What if he found out she took the letter? Who else had he done this to? How had Sylvia even found out?
She dropped her briefcase and the letter as tears began to stream down the corner of her eyes, uncontrollably even as she tried to wipe them away, her entire body beginning to curl in on itself.
“I have to use your bathroom,” she managed out through choked breath, looking as though she may very well become sick.
Moving to her, he was struggling with the desire to hold her and try to comfort her, it seemed. The awkward, meek man reaching out to her, “Of... of course, Eva. I’ll be waiting here,” he said with such a pained tone of voice.
It took her a long while of dry retching before she finally went back out. She didn’t remove her clothes; couldn’t stand to think of what he had done to her, and when she returned, she looked barely any better. Her face was red, and she stared at him intently, “I...” she trailed off, swallowing.
“Martin, I need help.”
Always eager to help her, he stepped up, looking again as if about to hold her but instead wringing his hands. “How? What can I do, Eva? You know I’d do anything for you,” he said with such a mix of pain and hope on his face.
“I just went to visit with Dr. Turing. You remember we had planned last week?” her eyes fluttered, blinking back fresh tears before she swallowed a lump. “He gave me a drug. I was... stupid. But he took advantage and... I found a letter.”
She had a hard time reading his reaction, for it was such a mix of strong emotions. “What happened, Eva? What’d he do?” he asked, sounding so impatient. “A letter? What...” he was obviously confused, anxious and agitated.
She moved back to the discarded envelope, handing it to him with a shaking hand, her eyes once more glossing with the threat of years, “Martin...” she whimpered, moving close. “Martin, he doesn’t know I took this yet.”
“You stole from him?” he asked with some confusion before taking the letter and reading it over. He seemed to be taking his time, or else reading it twice, but he didn’t react immediately. Or quite at all.
Eva stared up at the man, her tension rising without his reaction, and tears spilled without her regard, “I don’t know what to do,” she moaned. She sounded so small. Even in her youth, she’d never felt so fallen and without hope.
He dropped the letter then at last put his arms around her. “Oh Eva, what have you gotten yourself into?” the old friend muttered, taking hold of her and pulling her against his chest for comfort.
“I don’t know,” she sobbed against him, completely losing herself in the fear and sorrow. “Do... Did he kill her? Is he going to kill me?”
He stiffened a little then relaxed, stroking his arms over her back and hair. “Oh Eva, I won't let him kill you. I swear,” he pressed his cheek to her head and hugged her tighter, “stay with me and I’ll make sure nobody can ever hurt you again. I promise.”
His possessiveness made her push him away, her eyes up at him as she shook her head, “That’s not what I’m here for!” she practically screeched, her face red as she stared at him. “I just need to know what to do and the drugs he gave me...” she trailed off, grabbing for her briefcase and the envelope, shoving it back in.
They had worn off mostly by now, but she could still feel their lingering presence with her limbs feeling so weak, her flesh feeling unseasonably warm.
Looking hurt again he said, “Well... what do you want me to do, Eva? I... I can’t help you if you keep putting yourself in these horrible situations,” he pleaded.
“Going to see my Professor isn’t a horrible situation! It was because he’s assaulting women! Not just me, Martin!” she sobbed, wiping away her tears until she no longer cared. “He might have killed someone! He could kill me next! This isn’t about us,” she cried.
“And Doctor Sinclair might go to jail because of it, and Turing gets rewarded for it? How can I live with myself?”
She could see him swallow anxiously before him, her yelling at him had made him exceptionally uncomfortable. “Just leave it be, Eva. If Sinclair is innocent, as you say, then they’ll know the truth. She probably killed herself,” he said. “The rest is just the papers being sensational, you know how it goes.”
She could feel her anger rising within her, but it was as though his words steeled her and she nodded. Swallowed back her revulsion, she gave him a sad, lost look, “Thanks Martin. You’re probably right. I just need to go sleep this off. It’ll all look better tomorrow, right?”
Giving her a weak smile he reached out and touched her hands, “And whatever happened with Turing, you and I can work through it, okay? This letter and stuff... we’ll see him ruined, I swear. But you need to avoid these guys in the meantime, okay?” He gave her a hopeful smile, looking concerned and worried.
“Yea, yea, I know. I, look, thanks Martin. I know you have my best interest at heart, just,” she took in a deep breath, “Just it’s not fair. I didn’t want any of this.”
Nodding to her weakly he said, “I know. I know that, I do, none of it is fair.” He gave a lopsided smile, “I wish I could’ve done something to keep all this nonsense from involving you. I tried, I did.” Swallowing anxiously he said, “Have they questioned you about Dr. Sinclair, Eva?”
“They asked if I saw anyone at the party, but that was it. Were you there? Did they question you?” she asked curiously, her shoulders dropping and making her look more relaxed.
Nodding a bit he said, “Of course I was there. Mrs. Sinclair always invited me,” he shrugged his shoulders, “not that she ever said two words to me really. Guess she figured it was courtesy, what with me being her husband's assistant. But a few questions, they spoke to everyone there a bit. Most of us didn’t see enough to be bothered much by them.”
“I’m sorry I missed you,” she sighed. “Did you see Turing there?” She was already seeming much more like the Eva he knew, her hands stopping their nervous, rage filled shaking and her face becoming less reddened with anger.
Looking aside and pondering it he said, “Maybe... y-yeah, I think I did.” With a furrowed brow he looked back to her, “I’m worried Eva, you want me to escort you back to your place?” he asked, already going for his coat.
She paused, looking like she was going to reject him out of hand before she nodded, “I think that’d be best.” Buttoning her own jacket once more, she held onto the briefcase tightly, “I’m just so tired, Martin.”
Putting on his overcoat he took her out into the cold, the snow beginning to fall again. “I bet,” h
e said. “It’s been exhausting with just dealing with all the hoopla surrounding this mess,” he sighed as they walked to the edge of campus together. “You should have seen the look on Dr. Russell’s face when he saw the dean talking with Turing this morning and not him.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if we found Turing dead next, then,” she rolled her eyes glibly. “Worst part is, Turing didn’t even seem glad for it,” she sighed. She didn’t lace her arm into Martin’s, yet she stuck close by him as her voice quieted, “I don’t know how someone like you manages around these parasites.”
With a wry laugh he remarked, “Me either, Eva.” It wasn’t long before they were back to her place and he gave her one of his puppy dog eyed looks, “Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. And hey, looks like I’ll be making more of your classes after all.”
“I wish, Eva,” he rolled his eyes and sighed. “They’ve already appointed someone more qualified than me who’ll fill in should Dr. Sinclair’s absence be more permanent.” He gave a shrug of his shoulders, “Not a surprise to me, they did the same thing a couple years back when that professor of mathematics died. They don’t let us TAs take over that easy. Still... would’ve been nice, huh?”
“Would have been,” she agreed as she opened her door. “Thanks Martin. Be careful, alright?” she bid him before finally resting against the wall of her home.
Giving her a light smile he bid her a final farewell, watching her enter safely before he finally turned to leave.
Chapter 9
It wasn’t until she was alone, in the privacy of her own home that she went to her bedroom, her hand feeling under her skirt to her panties, smelling her fingers with a mixture of terror and revulsion.
To her great relief she detected nothing. Whatever he’d done to her, it did not seem to extend to outright penetration of her quim.
Her entire body shook as she crashed down on her bed, relief spreading through her. The weight of the stress just lifted off her shoulders, and she hadn’t realized just how much it had frightened her. She had never intended for things to get sexual with the odd professor, despite her innuendo and teasing, and hadn’t prepared for such an eventuality.
It was a long while before she managed to struggle off the mattress once more, however, making her way to the briefcase and reading the enveloped letter once more.
She was so tired, and she could barely make sense of it. Why did he have it with today’s paper? She went to her dressing robe and found the detective’s card, rolling both the letter and it between her fingers. Surely the officer could make more sense of it than she, and if Turing hadn’t done anything, then there’d be no harm done. Yet what if he figured out she had implicated him?
Either way, he would figure out she crossed him. At least the police may be able to understand better than she. She sighed, walking down into the main house, grabbing for the phone.
It didn’t take long before one of the operators spoke to her after leaving her name, “Detective Eisen is out of the station at the moment, miss, but,” she delayed, looking over a note on the other end, “he left special instructions should you call. He’s at the Sinclair manor right now.”
“Special instructions,” she murmured dumbly before politely thanking the woman and wishing her a good evening. Forcing herself to get ready, she pulled on her coat, tucked the letter inside, and set off along that familiar path.
Getting a cab to take her to the manor, she arrived as the snow fell and the mighty home looked desolately lonely. Aside from the one vehicle parked outside—undoubtedly the detective’s—it looked empty and unused, which seemed so strange for such a large place after seeing it full of life the night of the party.
The front door was unlocked, but closed with the policeman doubtlessly somewhere inside.
She thought better than to barge in, and removed her thin glove to knock, the sound resounding along the empty rooms and corridors within.
The knocks on that great door did not garner her any attention right away, and so with her patience waning she opened the door and went inside. The great main foyer was empty, the place empty of sounds, but she could see there was a single door open upstairs leading into a side room.
“Detective?” she asked, her voice sounding so small in the grand house, and she felt smaller still. What had happened earlier still was bothering her and even as she tried to push the events from her mind, she was still on edge. “Are you there?”
She shut the door behind her, taking a few steps in towards the stairs.
It took a while but eventually she saw the rugged face of Max Eisen poke itself out from the door. “Miss Perkin’s,” he said, his heavier voice carrying so much clearer than hers across the empty hall. “What brings you here?” he asked, stepping out and leaning on the railing, looking down at her with a reassuring smile. In that usual trench coat of his, he looked bulkier than he was, like an older, blonde haired, green eyed version of Alan.
She relaxed immediately, her shoulders slumping and a wide smile breaking past her lips. She wasn’t feeling proud about how frightened and paranoid she was this evening, and she moved up the stairs towards him, and the security she hoped he brought.
“I called your office... Why was there special instructions for me?”
Moving from the railing he watched her approach and gave a shrug of his broad shoulders, “I thought you’d have more to tell me,” he said. “Call it a hunch,” he remarked with a smile that was quite convincing and charming all at once. “So what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting to, miss Perkin’s?”
“I... well, I have more to tell you I guess.” She could feel her stomach roil in protest of even telling someone else after how Martin had reacted, but as she stood in front of him, she was determined. Her hand shook as she opened the coat, grabbing the envelope. “I took this from Dr. Turing’s office.”
Furrowing his brow slightly, Max extended a hand somewhat hesitantly. He’d left his hat behind somewhere, and his short hair was free, albeit a bit wild, though that only added to his masculine good looks. “Took?” he repeated questioningly.
“Yes,” her eyes dropped, her face going a bit red. She couldn’t look at him, “I’d gone over there to speak with him about pharmacology. He told me of a new drug he’d been perfecting and I stupidly tried it. When... I awoke, I took the letter from his desk.”
Raising a brow, the police detective looked quizzical at her explanation. Though all the same he took the letter, opened it and read. The reaction he gave wasn’t entirely what she hoped for, though he seemed concerned. “You took this from him today?” he asked in that husky voice of his.
“This morning,” she agreed, her brows puzzled. “Well... afternoon. A couple of hours ago, I guess. Why?”
Folding the letter back up and sliding it into the envelope again he handed it to her. “Is there anything else you care to tell me about your involvement in any of this, miss Perkin’s?” His expression softened, but it was obvious to her he wanted to know more despite his reservations in asking. “I’ll do what I can to help you, but holding any information back won't be in your best interest.”
She looked down at the envelope in her hand, feeling her eyes burn as tears threatened her. “Is... Is this not good?” Her voice cracked and she stared at the detective. “Does this not help at all?”
The man was obviously troubled by her reaction, and he reached over and rested a strong reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s useful, but... it won’t be admissible like this. Stolen by a civilian and handed to an officer? That’s tricky. We’ll need more,” he hesitated and took a deep breath. “But before I can do that, miss Perkin’s... can you tell me about what you were doing the night of the party?”
“I didn’t do it,” her lower lip trembled, just like her hand. She swallowed as she tried to steady her voice, but she failed. She had been such a perfect student, an ideal daughter. She never threw fits and was always polite and engaging, level headed and calm,
yet the way she shook before him made her seem so frail.
Her shoulders rolled in and she looked up at him, past the brim of her charcoal hat, “Why do you want to know what I was doing?”
His brow furrowed, his strong, reassuring hand squeezed her shoulder a bit tighter. He looked for all the world like a man who wanted to hold her and comfort her quite dearly, but he was a professional first and foremost, she could see that. “I don’t believe you did do it, Eva,” her name sounding so pleasant in that husky voice of his. “But you aren’t telling me everything about the night, and I didn’t become a homicide detective by believing beautiful women at face value. No matter how much I may want to, nor how genuine they seem.”
She wiped at her eyes, her gloves soaking up the threatening tears. “Do you think Sinclair did it?” she asked, her voice still warbling as she took a small step closer. “Do you want to prove he did it or that he didn’t?”
Taking in a deep breath, she could tell he wouldn’t have endless patience for her stalling, regardless of his emotions. “I want the truth, Eva, that’s all. I’m only interested in finding the truth to all this. Nothing more nor less. And I can’t do that with partial information.”
She trembled against him, trying to inhale and catch her breath, to steady herself, and failing. Her nerves were frayed, and that strong hand on her shoulder was more distracting than comforting. Being back in this house, seeing the familiar halls and looking at the room he’d come from, she could feel her body scream at her.
“I...” she tried, but found her ability lacking as she tried to move closer towards him, “He couldn’t have done it, even if he were the type who would have.”
Seeing her struggle to stay up so, he put his strong arm around her, propping her up, “Come this way, Eva,” he said, and he led her back into the open door he must have come out of. Inside was a study, this one obviously Sylvia’s, for it was filled with clippings and things of intrigue that would never interest the Gregory she knew. He sat her down on the chair at the desk and bent to one knee before her.