Grey Dawn

by Clea Simon

  ‘Man, this place is like a fishbowl.’ He emerged from behind the hand, looking even more tired. ‘Or something. Look, Ms Schwartz, I want to hear what you have to say, but let me set you straight. One, this is a police matter. Not some scandal to be gossiped about at your departmental meeting.’ The way he pronounced the last two words sounded like he didn’t have the greatest respect for the academic process of the university he served. ‘And, two, don’t believe everything you hear. ’Cause odds are, it’s wrong. Like now.’

  ‘A woman wasn’t murdered?’ Suddenly the day looked brighter. Maybe Trista had been being metaphorical. But, no, Rogovoy was holding up his hand to stop her.

  ‘Please, let me finish.’ He paused, and Dulcie did her best to not say anything while she waited. ‘There was an attack last night. The victim is in the hospital, seriously wounded but alive. And, no, it was not some kind of “animal attack.” We think it was a domestic. So, unless you have intimate knowledge of a friend’s relationship gone bad, I’m not really sure what you can share with me.’

  ‘Oh.’ That took the wind out of Dulcie’s sails. But, she realized, maybe that was for the better. For all their ongoing discussions of reading – and hearing – correctly, Trista had gotten this one wrong. And Dulcie had stayed up too late, absorbed in that scary passage. And Martin Thorpe? Lloyd must have it right: her adviser had probably fallen asleep in his office, then set off the alarm, scaring himself silly. He’d been too flustered to recognize her on the street afterward, and this morning he’d vented. Except that she hadn’t heard the alarm …

  ‘… witnessed something …’

  Dulcie looked up, unaware that Rogovoy was still speaking. ‘Excuse me? Detective?’

  ‘I said, if you had witnessed something – a dispute, or anything – that would be useful.’

  ‘Oh, well, I don’t know.’ Suddenly, Dulcie felt rather silly.

  ‘Or heard something.’

  ‘Well, I did hear something.’ She really wasn’t the type who could lie. Only now Detective Rogovoy was looking at her. Waiting. And so, she started to explain. ‘Only I don’t know exactly what, well, as we would say in Literature and Language, what exactly it signified.’

  Rogovoy cleared his throat. Dulcie had the feeling he wasn’t into literary theory and tried again. ‘I know I shouldn’t be walking into the Square around midnight on a week night.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t,’ he interrupted.

  ‘Chris always tells me to take a cab. But I’d left these papers I had to grade …’ He was being very patient, but Dulcie realized she was going into much more detail than necessary. And so she tried to sum everything up. ‘And then when I was out on the street, everything seemed very quiet and I heard something howl. I mean, it must have been a dog, but I swear it sounded like a wolf.’

  Rogovoy raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I grew up in the forest, Detective.’ Dulcie was beginning to feel defensive. Her accidental use of synecdoche didn’t help. ‘I mean, in a small arts colony located in a forest. I know what wolves sound like.’ He motioned for her to continue.

  ‘I know it doesn’t make sense, but that’s what it sounded like to me. And then I saw a man, and I thought it was my thesis adviser – Martin Thorpe – but he looked all strange and wild. His hair was messed up. And, well, today he basically denied seeing me on the street. It was dark and all. But not that dark. I mean, the moon was out—’

  ‘Martin Thorpe? He works at the university?’

  Dulcie nodded. ‘He’s the head of English and American Literature and Language. The acting head. The director, I mean.’

  Rogovoy opened a drawer Dulcie hadn’t seen and pulled out a pad. ‘And you saw him on the street around when? Midnight?’

  She nodded. ‘But I thought you said it was a domestic?’

  He shrugged, the big shoulders threatening to start an avalanche as he wrote down Thorpe’s name and title. ‘Sometimes in a domestic, there’s a third-party involved. Another man.’

  ‘Oh, no, I don’t think …’ Dulcie stopped herself. She really didn’t know anything about Martin Thorpe’s private life. If he’d been seeing a married woman or even a woman in a serious relationship, he could be involved in whatever had happened to her. He could also find out that she had informed the police.

  ‘Are you going to talk to him?’ This would not endear her to her thesis adviser. ‘Maybe you can talk to the woman first? Maybe she doesn’t even know him, and it was a totally unrelated attack.’

  Rogovoy looked down at his pad. ‘I wasn’t completely honest with you, Ms. Schwartz, and I should be.’

  She waited.

  ‘The victim? She was taken to emergency services this morning, when she was found, and last I heard, she’s in critical condition. But the doctors aren’t what you’d call optimistic about her recovery. And even if she makes it, the blood loss and the extent of her injuries … She was stabbed, repeatedly, in the throat. It takes a lot of anger to do something like that.’

  So that’s why Trista had heard it looked like an animal attack. Still, something wasn’t right here. ‘Detective?’ Dulcie heard how soft her voice had gotten. She cleared her throat and tried again, louder. ‘Detective Rogovoy? Is there a reason you’re telling me this?’

  ‘Ms Schwartz, when your boyfriend tells you you shouldn’t go out walking alone at night, he’s right. Cambridge is a city, and like all cities, it can be unsafe at times. Especially for a young woman, alone.’

  ‘Detective?’ He looked up at her, his big eyes so sad, she didn’t want to continue. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

  ‘Mina Love, the young woman who was attacked?’ He reached forward as if he were going to take her hand, then stopped himself. ‘Ms Schwartz, she was young, a little, well, full-figured, and she had curly hair. Dulcie, she looked like you.’

  FIVE

  ‘Dulcie, please,’ the voice on the phone pleaded. ‘I’m worried about you.’

  ‘Chris, I’m sorry I even called.’ Dulcie was. After leaving Rogovoy’s office, she’d dialed her boyfriend automatically. That had been a mistake. Not only had she woken her nocturnal boyfriend, she’d alarmed him with the news that she’d been near the scene of the attack. Along the way, she had managed to confess her own possible foolishness of the night before. ‘I didn’t even want to tell you.’

  ‘I’m glad you did, Dulcie.’ He sounded fully awake now. ‘I don’t want you to ever feel you have to hide things from me. But tonight, Dulcie? Won’t you please stay in?’

  Dulcie paused before answering. ‘I can’t, Chris. This is important.’ She hesitated, before honesty prompted her to add, ‘even if I don’t like the guy.’

  ‘Because it’s the future of your department.’ Chris repeated what she’d told him a few moments before. ‘It’s the Newman lecture.’

  ‘The first Newman lecture.’ Dulcie corrected him. ‘And, yeah, this guy – Lukos – is possibly the future of the department. I mean, I hope not. He’s one of those super post-structuralists who thinks that nothing matters but the text, except that the text isn’t really a text because the author is only reacting to societal pressure. And the author may not even be “the author” of her own narrative …’

  She stopped at the realization that she’d been making air quotes with her fingers, which, of course, Chris couldn’t see. Bad enough she had just woken Chris; she didn’t want him to fall back asleep before she made her point. ‘But, yeah, it’s important. The new dean has finally gotten around to inviting the top candidates to address the department, and they’ll all be speaking over the next few weeks – all giving open lectures in their area of expertise. Whatever I think of their theoretical disciplines, they are some of the top scholars in my field, Chris. And one of them may be my new boss.’

  ‘Well, Thorpe will still be your thesis adviser, right?’ Chris knew about the balding scholar’s temporary standing as head of the department, but the details of the academic hierarchy sometimes confused him.
>
  ‘Yes …’ Dulcie drew out the words. ‘If he stays.’

  ‘If? Isn’t he tenured?’

  Dulcie hesitated before responding. Somehow she hadn’t managed to tell Chris about her strange interaction with her adviser. Or of her suspicions.

  ‘Yes, but it will be a blow.’ She said finally. ‘He really wants the job.’

  ‘Maybe he’ll get it then.’

  Dulcie hesitated. ‘I don’t know, Chris. He’s spent his entire career here, and the university, well, they’ve done a national search. International – Renée Showalter is coming in from McGill.’

  ‘And the journeyman teacher isn’t going to be able to compete with the stars.’ Chris finished her thought.

  ‘Exactly.’ Dulcie didn’t go into what else she was thinking. ‘Besides, I actually like Showalter, what I’ve read of her work, anyway. But Chris, I promise, I’ll be careful. If I can’t find someone to walk with me, I’ll take a cab.’

  ‘Okay.’ He sounded resigned, rather than happy. ‘And don’t forget, you can always come over to the Science Center.’

  ‘I love you, Chris Sorenson.’

  ‘Good.’ He was fully awake now. ‘So have some pity on me, and stay safe, okay?’

  It might not have been Chris’s intention to make Dulcie feel better, but his concern warmed her – and took the edge off Rogovoy’s warning. To think things out further, Dulcie decided, she really needed sustenance. She was halfway to Lala’s, her favorite lunch spot, when her phone rang again. Hoping it might be Chris, she answered without looking.

  ‘Dulcie! I’m so glad I caught you.’ Lucy, Dulcie’s mother, was often on the edge of a crisis. ‘You’re in danger! Terrible danger!’

  ‘Hi, Lucy.’ Dulcie kept walking. Her mother’s excitable state was part and parcel of their, at times, strained relationship, and she didn’t want to escalate things by telling her what had happened. ‘How are you?’

  ‘How did you—?’ Her mother caught herself, sputtering, and Dulcie smothered a chuckle. In some ways, her mother was reassuringly predictable. ‘Never mind, you didn’t call me to talk about the ergot crisis.’

  ‘I didn’t call you at all,’ Dulcie looked both ways before crossing Mass. Ave. Just because her mother was loopy didn’t mean she should be foolhardy. Sometimes warnings made sense.

  ‘Oh, you’re right.’ Lucy sounded sad. ‘Sometimes I feel like I have a twin – or, no, maybe it’s that youhave a twin. A sister, who could help keep us in touch.’

  ‘Yeah, well …’ Dulcie let her words trail off. Her mother meant well, but her constant attempts to build a substitute family had never really worked for her only child. Lucy might get some sense of sisterhood from the commune – or, as she called it, the arts colony – where the two had finally settled. Dulcie found that sense of connection in books. Besides, right now she had other things on her mind. ‘That’s not happening.’

  ‘Not on this plane, anyway.’

  Point to Lucy, the eternal optimist. However, Dulcie was getting near the little café. ‘So what’s up, Mom? Besides – ah – the ergot incident?’

  ‘Oh, that was horrible. How did I know that cooking would alter the effects so?’

  ‘Is everyone okay?’ This sounded serious. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Well, yes. More or less. Moonflower still thinks she’s going to change again the next time the moon comes around, but she’s always been very hormonal. But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Dulcie. To warn you.’

  ‘To stay away from iffy rye bread?’ Dulcie loved her mother, and she knew Lucy loved her. Still, at times it was hard to take her seriously.

  ‘No, Dulcinea. I’m being serious here. The ergot was only part of the message. Part of the warning.’ Dulcie was at Lala’s now and waited for her mother to tie things up. ‘You see, ergot has many functions in the spiritual quest. I mean, in addition to helping us fly.’

  ‘Uh huh.’ Dulcie joined the queue for a seat and was hoping to speed things along.

  ‘Dulcie, you’re not listening and you should be. You see, you’re just like your grandmother and her grandmother before her. I saw them, Dulcie. They came to me clear as, well, clear as moonlight. In fact, that was their message. They said, “’Ware the moon.”’

  ‘Where the moon?’ Dulcie pondered how to respond. ‘You mean, like, in the sky?’

  ‘No.’ Lucy sounded exasperated. ‘Not “where,” “’ware.” Like, beware. At least, that’s what I think they meant.’

  ‘Well, at least it wasn’t “were,” like werewolf.’ Dulcie tried to make light of her own recent scare. ‘Did you know that “were” in that context derives from “man” …?’

  ‘Dulcie, that’s it!’ Her mother broke in. ‘I wasn’t sure before, but, of course, the warning was twofold, which is why both of them showed up. Now it’s clear as daylight. They were telling me to warn you on two fronts. Be careful, Dulcie. Please, be wary. You’ve got to beware the moon, Dulcie. And beware the were.Because the wolf is on the prowl.’

  SIX

  Great. Just when she had finally been motioned to a seat, Dulcie realized her appetite had gone. It wasn’t just her mother’s usual craziness. She suspected that empty-nest syndrome played a large role in her mother’s constant stream of psychic warnings and dire predictions. It was the mention of that one word – wolf – on top of what had happened last night and Rogovoy’s warning less than an hour before.

  She picked up the menu out of habit, only to have it whisked out of her hands. ‘I get you lunch.’ Lala, the hefty proprietor, was standing in front of her, frowning.

  ‘Thanks, Lala.’ Dulcie wasn’t sure how to explain. ‘I don’t know if I can handle the three-bean burger today.’

  ‘Huh.’ With a raised eyebrow, the chef-owner turned and walked away, and Dulcie reconciled herself to the inevitable. Maybe she could claim a previous appointment, and get the burger to go. That would be better than facing Lala’s disappointment as she watched a regular customer pushing the spicy creation around the plate.

  She was saved, though, by the rapid appearance of a wide bowl of lentil soup, steaming and savory enough to tempt Dulcie’s appetite back. ‘Thanks, Lala.’ Dulcie looked up, but the chef was already walking away.

  ‘There you are.’ Trista squeezed into the seat next to Dulcie. ‘I was looking for you. Wow, that looks good.’

  ‘I had to go talk to someone.’ Dulcie ignored the non sequitur, but gave her friend the spoon for a taste. ‘I thought I knew something.’

  ‘About the murdered woman?’ Trista leaned in, her eyes bright. Clearly, this was more exciting than scary for her.

  ‘She wasn’t murdered,’ Dulcie corrected her. ‘Her name is Mina Love and she’s in the hospital, but she’s still alive. But, Tris, I heard something. When I was out last night.’

  ‘You heard – the attack?’

  Dulcie shook her head no, but Trista was waving down the counter guy and pointing toward Dulcie’s soup. ‘No, I didn’t,’ Dulcie said, once she had placed her order.

  ‘Did Thorpe?’ Trista turned back to her friend. He didn’t say anything.’

  Dulcie shook her head again. It was a lot to explain. ‘No, but Tris? He wasn’t in the building. I’m sure of it. And I did see him on the street. He looked wild, his hair all messed up.’

  ‘He is kind of a mess these days.’ Trista reached up to take her own bowl from the server. ‘Poor guy, having to host the competition. I sort of feel bad for him.’

  ‘Trista, it’s more than that. At least, I think it is.’

  Her friend looked up, spoon in mouth, and Dulcie waited for her to swallow.

  ‘You know, when you said that it looked like the woman had been attacked by an animal?’ Trista nodded. ‘What did you hear – exactly – and from whom?’

  Trista took another spoonful and sucked on the utensil thoughtfully. ‘It wasn’t Jerry, and it wasn’t the news.’

  Dulcie ate more soup while she waited. With that first sip, her appetite had r
eturned. Lala really did have magical powers.

  ‘I know! It was on the T.’ Trista reached for a slice of the bread that had appeared between them, dunking it into her bowl. ‘I was running late, so I jumped on at Central. It was still rush-hour crazy, and I barely wedged in. There was one guy who must have been talking to someone else farther back. A friend or something. He was saying, ‘Tell her to be careful. A woman was attacked last night, right by DeWolfe Street – hey, maybe that’s why I thought “attacked by an animal.” I mean, I don’t think he said “animal,” though now that I think about it, what caught my ear was him saying something about “it can eat you up.” But he definitely said, “Tell her to be careful.” Then something like, “Watch out for the wolf.” But he must just been repeating “DeWolfe,” right?’

  Dulcie had stopped eating, a chill running down her back despite the warmth of the crowded restaurant. ‘This man, Tris, what did he look like?’

  She shook her head and reached for another piece of bread. ‘I didn’t get a chance to see him. It was so crowded, I couldn’t even really turn around and, you know, I didn’t want him to know I was eavesdropping. I mean, I could tell he wasn’t anyone I knew or anything. All I can tell you is that he had a really soft coat on. Like, really nice wool. Cashmere, maybe. Just some stranger in grey.’

  SEVEN

  A stranger in grey: Dulcie didn’t believe in coincidence, not when soft-coated heroes were involved. But she also didn’t want her friend to think she was as nutty as her mother, so when Trista had finished her story, Dulcie skimmed over the rest. She’d been out late. She’d heard – something. And then she’d seen Martin Thorpe, looking frantic about something.

  ‘Martin Thorpe couldn’t hurt a fly.’ Trista had said, mopping up the last bit of her soup. ‘The worst he can do is make your life miserable.’

  ‘Easy for you to say. You’re done with your thesis.’ Dulcie didn’t dare tell her friend her real fears.