Into the Grey

by Clea Simon

  ‘Yes, I would.’ Mina looked up. Her eyes were now clear, her voice strong. ‘I’m down there most mornings. I wasn’t going to be chased out of the library by one old lech. My carrel’s down there. I guess I could have petitioned to have it moved, only I’m still an undergrad and, well, I wouldn’t be able to tell anybody why. So I decided to stick it out. That’s where the early nineteenth-century political tracts all are. I mean, that’s why Fenderby had his office there.

  ‘But I wasn’t there that morning.’ Mina paused, her face thoughtful. ‘Well, actually, that’s not true. I did go into the library. So I guess that will be on the record, that I signed in and all. But I ended up leaving right away – I never went down to Level Two at all. Tom could have told them that.’

  ‘Tom?’ Dulcie wondered if she’d missed something.

  ‘Tom Walls. He was in your seminar?’ Mina looked at her. ‘We’ve become friends.’

  ‘Oh, I’m glad.’ Dulcie could see it. She suspected that the quiet man had a bit of a crush on her, but really, Mina was much more age appropriate. And, as far as she knew, single. ‘Were you studying together?’

  ‘No, but he works in the library and he’s – well, he’s been very sweet about keeping me company when I have to go down there. He meets me at the elevator and he hangs around while I work, making sure nobody bothers me.’ Mina leaned in. ‘He knows about what happened,’ she said. ‘I mean, I was warned not to tell anybody, but he already knew. He was never a fan of Fenderby’s anyway. He always called him a creep, so it just seemed natural.’ She shrugged.

  ‘I’m glad.’ Dulcie’s opinion of the quiet junior rose. ‘So he can vouch for you. For that morning, I mean.’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing.’ Mina sat back, her brow knitting. ‘I understand him wanting to be careful and to be honest, but …’

  Dulcie waited, apprehension growing.

  ‘He says he can’t be sure if I was there that morning,’ Mina said finally. Her voice was a little breathless, as if she herself couldn’t believe her words. ‘He says he doesn’t always know if I’m there or when I leave. And I went off to meet a friend who kind of stood me up, so the police are saying I don’t have an alibi.’

  THIRTEEN

  Dulcie never thought of herself as a violent person. After hearing this, however, she was seized by a desire to shake someone – Tom Walls, to be specific – or maybe slap him.

  ‘That’s crazy,’ she burst out with, instead. ‘Is he – I mean, he always works on Level Two, right?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Mina nodded. ‘He always says hi when I come in. I mean, that was it – you know about his stutter. But he would keep an eye on where I was, even when he had a load of books to shelve.’

  Dulcie could picture it. Students weren’t supposed to try to reshelve books – too many got lost or misfiled that way. Instead, they piled them on the carts positioned at the end of every few rows of stacks. If Mina were working at one of the carrels the library staffer would be able to check in with her every time he finished with a specific row. If that staffer was a friend, he should have been able to safely assure any authorities of Mina’s presence – or her absence.

  If, in fact, that was what had happened. Dulcie didn’t like to admit it, even to herself, but it bothered her that her cousin had kind of changed her story. From not being there at all to going into the library but then leaving quickly … it sounded suspicious.

  ‘So, you didn’t meet with anyone after you left?’

  Mina shrugged. ‘Nothing I can talk about.’

  That wasn’t good. ‘And you didn’t, maybe, duck down to your carrel? Just briefly?’ Dulcie hated herself for even asking.

  ‘No.’ Mina didn’t seem to take offense. ‘And if I had, I’d have touched base with Tom. I wasn’t going to be chased out of the library, but I hated being down there, knowing that creep was nearby. He was so angry after the hearing. He’d threatened me, you know. Said that if I ruined his career, he’d get me back.’ She laughed, but it was a sad little sound. ‘Maybe he did.’

  ‘No, no way.’ Dulcie was too angry to sit there any longer. ‘Mina, this is terrible, and I’m really sorry I didn’t know about any of it. But I’m going to straighten this out.’

  She stood, but Mina did too, reaching out to her. ‘Dulcie, you can’t,’ she said. ‘Remember – I’m not supposed to say anything. You can’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Dulcie took her cousin’s hands in her own. ‘I won’t say anything to anyone about Fenderby, or about your suit. But I am going to track down Tom Walls and see why he won’t tell the police what he knows to be true. Or I’ll …’

  She stopped herself. No, it wouldn’t do to make any more threats.

  ‘Just believe me,’ she said as she reached for her bag. ‘I’ll find out why Tom isn’t telling the truth, and I’ll make sure he does.’

  With renewed vigor, Dulcie marched back up to the Yard, determined to find her student and set things right. She knew that Tom Walls was a retiring sort. But there came a time in a person’s life when he had to speak out. When someone else’s reputation – even her freedom – were on the line was certainly one of those times.

  ‘Ruby!’ Ignoring the huddle of uniformed cops by the front entrance, Dulcie made her way into the library, heading right to the circulation counter to hail her friend. ‘Do you know if Tom Walls is working today?’

  ‘Tom? Sure.’ Her friend paused, as if consulting a schedule in her mind. ‘Though I don’t know if they’ve opened Level Two up completely.’ She leaned in, her voice dropping to a loud stage whisper. ‘They’ve been looking at the ID scanners and talking to the guards all morning, and I think they’re still looking for the murder weapon. But hang on.’

  Dulcie waited while her friend consulted a less ephemeral schedule. In less than a minute, she was back. ‘Yup, Fenderby’s office is still off limits – I guess the cops are waiting for some test results. But the rest of the floor is open again, and Tom’s on till three.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Dulcie turned for the elevators with a vague feeling of trepidation. She’d have gone back to Fenderby’s office itself to get to the bottom of this. But now that she was back, she couldn’t help remembering the grisly shock of the day before. That feeling of isolation and fear. As it was, she realized she was shivering slightly as the elevator descended, and not simply because of the state-of-the-art climate control, which compensated for even the slightest rise in temperature or humidity.

  ‘Tom?’ Years of training made it impossible for her to raise her voice. Instead, she called out softly as she began to walk down the rows of stacks. ‘Are you there?’

  The library was her home. The tall metal shelves with their orderly rankings were where she had forged her academic career. Today, though, they felt a bit spooky. Even the motion-sensor lights, which flicked on as she approached each row and then clicked off behind her, made her feel like she was being watched. Being followed, by something or someone that wouldn’t identify itself.

  ‘Mr Grey?’ She mouthed the words silently. If Tom were in fact nearby, she didn’t need him questioning her sanity. She had always liked the quiet student, but she didn’t know him that well. ‘Can you help me out here?’

  She paused, waiting. But as too often happened these days, the only reply was silence. Or, not silence exactly, but a low-level hum. The air-conditioning, Dulcie told herself. That was all. Still, it was a comforting sound, reminiscent of her late pet’s deep purr.

  The rumble faded as she walked on. Not that that meant anything either. Although she couldn’t help but draw her own conclusions as it grew more faint the closer she got to Fenderby’s office. Down three more rows and to the left, over near where the high windows still let in some sunlight. Where, she was sure, she saw a movement – a shadow against the light.

  ‘Tom?’ she called. A faint noise – a soft shuffle, like a sneaker on the metal stair – came back, off to her right. Turning, Dulcie craned her neck, searching for the source of
the sound. It came from the direction of Fenderby’s office, though surely that room had been locked up tight. She did not, she was sure, want to go down there. But there was the shadow again – a flicker of light down one of the long rows of books.

  ‘Tom!’ She started down, and found herself in darkness as the overhead switched off. Dulcie paused, a chill running down her back. That flicker must have been a bulb or a switch on the blink. It couldn’t have been someone turning off the light manually. That would make no sense. Yes, some light came in to this level – but here, in the middle of the high stacks, the darkness was nearly complete.

  Not entirely. As she stood there, Dulcie realized her eyes were adjusting. ‘This must be how a cat sees,’ she said softly, wondering if a certain ghostly guardian were nearby. ‘Am I right?’

  In fact, if she got close to the shelves on her left, she could even make out titles. Riot and Rebellion: A History of the Pamphlet in the Years of Crisis, she read. The Dawn of Propaganda, gold letters on dark red, stood out next to it. Political essays. Of course, Dulcie realized, this was what Fenderby had specialized in. What her cousin had been studying when she had been down here. But where was Tom? As Dulcie turned, another title caught her eye – even in the dark, there was something about the binding, about the type. Could it be?

  ‘No!’ As she reached up for it, a sudden sharp pain – like a splinter or, no, a claw – raked her hand. She drew back, aware that she had cried out. Aware, as well, that another voice had echoed hers. At least, she thought it had.

  Not that she could see anyone around her. Instead, she looked down to see her hand darkened by some tarry substance. It couldn’t be blood. That swift pain had been too small, and too recent. Even the prick of a particularly large splinter would not have caused this much bleeding. Besides, even in the dim light, it was more brown than …

  She looked up at the book she’d been reaching for. Yes, it was out of place. American Gothic: the First Generation contained Susanna Castleton, among other interesting pieces. And while Castleton was certainly political – Dulcie had written several papers on it as an undergrad – it was fiction, a novella that no more belonged here than The Ravages of Umbria would. This was why students were not supposed to reshelve their own works. Tut-tutting under her breath, Dulcie pulled the leatherbound volume from the shelf. It wasn’t like she was going to make the problem any worse. Besides, she had already half-dislodged the novel. How odd, she thought, reaching for it again, that she could notice a book shelved incorrectly. But that day, when both her cousin and the clerk were working down here, she hadn’t seen anything. She had believed herself to be alone …

  ‘Dulcie?’ The familiar voice made her turn as, with a click, the light went on.

  ‘Tom.’ She forced a smile. He was quiet. That must have been why she didn’t see him that day. ‘I guess you didn’t hear me. I was looking for you. And, well, I found this.’

  She held out the book. It was sticky, she realized. It was, in fact, covered with the same tacky brown substance that was on her hands. She must have touched it before she pulled back. ‘Here.’

  ‘But that’s—’ Tom’s voice had gone softer than usual. Softer, even, than library etiquette dictated.

  ‘Wow.’ Dulcie looked down, spreading her fingers. It wasn’t brown, she saw now that the light was on. It was rustier. Reddish. ‘Oh, no!’ Only years of training kept her from dropping the book. ‘It’s blood!’ she exclaimed.

  And with a thud loud enough to make the shelves rattle, Tom Walls fainted dead away.

  ‘No, I have no idea.’ An hour later, and Dulcie was again up in the library offices. This time she was speaking with an older officer. ‘Is Tom OK?’

  ‘Let’s not worry about him now,’ the officer said, for the fourth or fifth time.

  Dulcie bit her lip. She had put the book down and run to the student when he had fallen. He had blinked up at her, but his gaze had been unfocused as she cradled his head, calling out for help, and he had still seemed a bit groggy as the EMTs rushed in to bundle him on to a stretcher and back up the elevator.

  ‘But I am,’ she said. ‘I mean, I know it was startling, but he might have hit his head.’

  The ambulance crew had pushed her aside, looking – she realized only belatedly – for the source of all that blood. They had relaxed visibly when she had explained that, no, the sticky substance had been on the book – and on her hands – and that she had been the one to get it all over the student’s shirt collar and pale cheeks. Still, he had fallen hard, and she knew from personal experience how treacherous head injuries could be.

  ‘Let’s talk about why you were there.’ The officer’s voice was low but firm, and once again Dulcie found herself missing Detective Rogovoy. She had asked for the detective as soon as she surfaced, in the wake of the ambulance crew and their stretcher. Nobody had responded, and she found herself craning toward the door, hoping to see his familiar bulk. ‘About that book you say you found.’

  ‘I did find it.’ Dulcie didn’t understand why the man sitting across from her didn’t simply check his own notes. ‘I saw that it was misfiled and I pulled it down. I mean, I know I’m not supposed to do that. But really, once a book is in the wrong place, how are the library staff supposed to correct the situation? I was going to tell Tom about it.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Finally, the cop checked his notes. ‘You knew that Tom Walls was working down there. You had asked about his hours and his location.’

  ‘Yes.’ Dulcie nodded enthusiastically. This man was no Rogovoy, but he was catching on.

  ‘Were you looking for him to give him this book you found?’

  ‘No.’ Dulcie closed her eyes in frustration. In retrospect, she wished she hadn’t found it. Hadn’t bothered to pull it from its misplaced berth. That she had listened to what was clearly a warning. ‘I pulled it out because it was in the wrong place. I was looking for Tom—’

  She stopped. She had been about to say that she was looking for Tom because she wanted to find out why he wouldn’t acknowledge that he had been downstairs with Mina. That he wouldn’t provide her with – awful word – an alibi. But to do that would lead to explaining why Mina wanted company when she was down on that level. Her cousin had shared the details of her lawsuit in confidence. It wasn’t Dulcie’s secret to divulge.

  ‘I was looking for Tom,’ she said. He would have to be content with that.

  ‘And you say you simply “found” that book.’ The officer was staring at Dulcie’s hands. She’d been allowed to wash them, once an older woman in a white suit had taken photos and scraped bits of the sticky brown substance off her palms.

  ‘Yes, I did.’ Dulcie realized she was wringing her hands and made herself stop. The desire to cleanse herself once she realized just what that syrupy substance was had been intense. There was something about this officer’s gaze, however, that made her feel as if they were still dirty. ‘I’m doing my dissertation on fiction of roughly the same period as Susanna Castleton,’ she explained. ‘So, of course, I recognized the volume, and saw that it was out of place. If I or one of my students were searching for this collection, this would be a hardship.’

  She didn’t know how to stress the importance of order. The officer was nodding, however, so maybe he’d gotten it.

  ‘So this is a book you know. A book you’ve used before.’

  ‘As I said, yes.’ He was not, Dulcie decided, the sharpest man on the squad. She didn’t want to get anybody in trouble, but really, she would have to say something to Rogovoy when he got back. ‘Now, may I go?’

  ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to stay a bit longer, Miss.’ The officer was signaling to someone behind her, gesturing as if calling someone near. ‘I know you’re a smart young lady, so maybe you can figure this out. How is it, do you think, that you find a body. And then the very next day, you find a book – a book that you tell us you know well. A book that preliminary forensics suggest was most likely the murder weapon?’


  FOURTEEN

  ‘Wait, what?’ Dulcie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘The book?’

  The officer was still looking past her, but before he could even begin to answer, the sense of what he’d said hit her. ‘Of course.’ She started nodding. ‘That’s why it was misfiled. Whoever did it …’

  ‘Ms Schwartz?’ She turned around at the sound of the familiar voice, her spirits rising.

  ‘Detective Rogovoy!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re back!’ She could have hugged the big detective, assuming she could have gotten her arms around his boulder-like form. Finally, this mess would get straightened out. ‘And just in time, too. Someone’s got to talk to Tom Walls. He works down on Level Two. He’d know who had been down there – who might have snuck a book into the wrong shelf.’

  ‘Please, Ms Schwartz.’ The detective nodded at the officer who had been interviewing Dulcie. ‘If you could just stick to answering Sergeant Milford’s questions?’

  ‘But they weren’t questions per se. He was making statements.’ To Dulcie’s relief, Rogovoy looked like he was joining the interview. He had turned to pull up another chair as she spoke.

  ‘You were asking for Tom Walls,’ he said, his growly voice deceptively soft. ‘A junior in your department?’ Clearly, she had made her point.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Dulcie hesitated. Rogovoy was a large man, and the chair he’d lowered himself into didn’t look up to the task. ‘Detective?’

  ‘Yes?’ He leaned over. The chair squeaked.

  ‘Are you—’ She hesitated, unwilling to offend. ‘All right?’

  He leaned back, provoking another protest from the furniture. ‘Ms Schwartz, can we at least try to stay on point?’

  ‘Of course.’ Dulcie wanted to be helpful. ‘Only, you’ve not been around, and I was a little concerned.’

  ‘Huh.’ The big man looked at her, his stone face softening ever so slightly. ‘Well, that’s nice, but no. Work-related,’ was all he said. ‘I’m only observing here. There’s a tangential connection.’