by Clea Simon
‘Fenderby wasn’t going to leave his wife, was he?’ There was no point in pretending any more.
‘No.’ He stared at the ground. Carefully, trying to move so quietly that he wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t look up, Dulcie took a step back. ‘She visited that morning,’ Tom sounded lost in his memory. ‘Visited in the library.’ He broke off, shook his head. Dulcie took another step. ‘The bastard.’
‘Yes, he was.’ Dulcie kept her voice level. She had such sympathy for her student, but really, she had to get out of here. ‘He was extremely selfish.’
She took another step and stopped as Tom’s shoulders began to heave. He was crying, she saw. Silently, his head bent, his body wracked with sobs.
‘Tom?’ She should leave; she knew that. And yet he was her student, and he was in pain.
‘It wasn’t—’ He had his hands over his face now, his voice further muffled by his tears. ‘It wasn’t her fault!’
And like that Dulcie’s phone began to vibrate again. Tom looked up and locked glances with Dulcie. Esmé’s mew followed, and Dulcie grabbed for it, just as Tom reached forward. Reached for her.
‘No!’ Dulcie stepped back and then turned and ran. She heard Tom behind her. Heard him stumble and then begin to sob once more.
‘Don’t tell them about Alyson!’ he called after her, his voice choked by tears. ‘It wasn’t her fault!’
FORTY
The phone was no longer buzzing by the time Dulcie stopped running, winded. She’d reached Mass Ave, where the combination of pedestrian traffic and bright storefronts made her feel like it was safe to moderate her pace. By then she had begun to wonder if she had imagined it all. She’d been sick and the scene with Alyson had been terrible. And even if … she paused, panting, to consider. Even if what she thought was true, wasn’t Tom her student, too?
‘Are you OK?’ Dulcie looked up to see an elderly woman peering at her through thick glasses, eyes bright with concern.
‘Yes, thanks,’ she responded, trying to muster a smile. ‘I was just running.’
‘You look like you’ve had a fright,’ the woman said. ‘I don’t mean to pry, young lady, but I would be quite willing to accompany you to the police.’ The woman had to be eighty, Dulcie thought, and looked to weigh maybe a hundred pounds. But she stood as straight as a lamppost.
‘No, really.’ The smile became genuine. It was nice to have someone care. ‘I did get spooked,’ she explained. ‘But I think it was all in my head.’
‘You should trust your instincts,’ said the grey-haired old lady, with a stern look. Dulcie paused – those words. She had heard that before. But before she could query her would-be protector further, the woman turned and disappeared, her slight shape lost in the Cambridge crowd.
‘I’m imagining things,’ said Dulcie to herself. ‘Aren’t I?’ She looked around. No, there was no sign of Mr Grey. Not even a similarly colored squirrel or leashed dog in sight. What she did see was a coffee house, and suddenly Dulcie realized how famished she was. The day – the previous night’s sickness – had drained her. She had a million things to do. Choices to weigh. Trust your instincts. But which one? The urge toward fear and blame – or compassion for her students, driven beyond their limits? She had to think this through. Her students’ lives could be at stake.
‘All baked goods are half off after five,’ said the barista as she rang up Dulcie’s tab – a latte and large blueberry muffin. ‘In case you want another.’
‘No thanks,’ Dulcie replied automatically and then stopped herself. Why not bring a treat home for Chris? ‘Yeah, sure,’ she said. ‘How about that cranberry nut one?’
Two minutes later, she was sitting on a high stool by the window, drinking a frothy latte and nibbling on a muffin so moistened by blueberries that even after a day on display it hadn’t gone stale. In such a cozy environment, and with a little food inside her, Dulcie was feeling calmer. Not that she was prepared to totally dismiss her fears. After all, she didn’t need a stranger repeating Mr Grey’s words to make her see sense.
‘Trust your instincts.’ She thought that one over. Her original instinct had told her that the whole thing was a horrible accident. At this point, she was willing to dismiss that thought as more of a wish. More recently, she acknowledged as she broke off more of the muffin, she had believed Alyson was likely responsible. The girl had been horribly used by Fenderby and it did sound like she was being rejected, which might have triggered the kind of angry outburst that would have resulted in the death of the sleazy professor. Only then she had run into Tom, and he had seemed to have good reason to attack the professor, too.
‘I did it for you,’ he had said. Wasn’t that tantamount to a confession? Even his absence fit the theory. He must have killed Fenderby and fled. Unless – with the warmth and the sugar, together almost as comforting as a kitty, Dulcie’s tired synapses sparked again. Could he have meant …
‘Excuse me.’ A bearded man to Dulcie’s left was looking toward her bag, which was mewing. ‘Isn’t that your phone?’
‘Oh, thanks.’ Dulcie said, as the man turned from her to stare pointedly at a sign. Don’t Be Cellfish, it read, a picture of an iPhone with a circle and a red bar across it. ‘Sorry,’ she added belatedly.
‘Mina?’ She was whispering as she answered. ‘Did you get my message?’
‘Yes.’ Her cousin sounded worried. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you. Where are you? What’s going on?’
‘I’m—’ The beard was staring daggers at her, so she turned away. ‘I’m at the coffee house in Central – the no-cell one? Hang on.’ Holding the phone with one hand, she started to push the muffin back into its paper bag. It would be a pity to give up her seat, but she needed to talk to her cousin.
‘Wait, Dulcie!’ The voice reached her as she pulled her bag up. ‘I’m not two blocks away. I’ll come meet you.’
‘Great.’ Dulcie turned to stare the bearded man in his beady little eye. ‘I’ll be right here.’
By the time Mina arrived, Dulcie had managed to snag a table, much to her hirsute antagonist’s apparent disgust. She had also finished her muffin. Laying out the other for her cousin, she waved her over.
‘What’s up?’ Her cousin sipped her own mug, wincing at the heat. ‘You sounded upset.’
Dulcie nodded. ‘I found out who testified against you,’ she said. ‘It was – it was one of my students. She gave Fenderby an alibi.’ As she spoke, she leaned forward, lowering her voice. The café was crowded, after all.
‘Who?’ Mina looked at her, eyes wide. It was the obvious question.
‘I don’t know if I can tell you.’ Dulcie sighed, wondering if she should reveal Alyson’s identity. On one hand, she wanted to help Mina clear her name. On the other, if Mina confronted Alyson, it could simply make everything worse. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Complicated.’ Mina sat back and shook her head. ‘I bet. But why would another student do that? Do that to me, in particular?’
‘She might not have understood.’ Dulcie thought back. ‘Not really. Fenderby was good at manipulating people.’
‘I guess.’ Mina didn’t look convinced. But after a moment, she came up with another question. ‘What does this have to do with the library?’
Dulcie shook her head, not understanding.
‘You said something in your message about what I’d found?’ Mina said.
‘Now, that’s weird,’ Dulcie responded, relieved to be on safer ground. ‘I don’t know if you even remember, but back in December, I gather you were doing some research in the Mildon?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Mina nodded. ‘Yeah, of course I do.’
‘Well, it turns out the documents you were looking at were the ones Fenderby wanted put on reserve for – for another student.’ Even as she said it, Dulcie wondered. ‘I don’t know how this is all tied up, but I think – did Fenderby try to get you to tell him about your research? Was he interested in what you found?’
‘No.’ A look of confusion cam
e over Mina’s face. ‘He didn’t – he wasn’t. Once I turned him down, he lost any interest in what I was doing. Then, with my suit and everything, I kind of forgot about it with everything else.’
‘But surely, when you saw him at the hearing, you must have said something. Given him some kind of clue …’
‘No, not at all,’ Mina was insistent. ‘The only person I told was your friend Trista – Trista Dunlop.’
FORTY-ONE
‘Wait – what?’ Dulcie was sure she’d misheard, or that her cousin had misunderstood her question. ‘I’m talking about your research – the papers you were looking at in the Mildon.’
‘I know.’ Her cousin nodded. ‘I’d found something. At least, I thought it might be something, and I wanted to tell you. I was really excited, but I ended up talking to Trista first, and, then, well, everything went crazy and I kind of forgot about it.’
‘And Trista wouldn’t have been talking with Fenderby.’ Dulcie sipped her latte, thinking of her friend’s aversion to the late professor.
‘No.’ Mina was adamant. ‘No way. She hated that sleazebag.’
‘Huh.’ Dulcie considered. ‘Maybe it’s just a coincidence, then. Did you know Fenderby was looking at the same materials you were?’
‘No.’ Mina shivered in disgust, hands cradling her mug. ‘I’m glad we were never there at the same time.’
‘Strange.’ The pair were silent for a moment, but just as Dulcie was about to ask her cousin what she had found, she remembered something Griddlehaus had said. Something about Fenderby not having visited the collection recently. She’d have to ask, only for once, there were matters more pressing. ‘I think we have to go talk to the police,’ she said.
‘Because of the alibi?’ Mina’s face clenched up. ‘Because I’ve already filed the petition with the dean, and I think I ought to wait, Dulcie. Let that go through the official channels.’
‘There’s more.’ Dulcie paused, unsure of how much to share with her cousin. She wanted to trust her, but she couldn’t avoid the feeling that Mina was hiding something. She stared down at her mug, but it was nearly empty. ‘I think that the other victim you were counting on isn’t going to come forward. I think she was being pushed.’
‘No.’ Mina shook her head. ‘You’re wrong.’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Dulcie hated bearing bad news. ‘And it’s worse than that. She may be … well, Fenderby’s behavior may have gotten him killed.’
To Dulcie’s surprise, her cousin blanched. ‘No, you can’t think that,’ she said, cutting Dulcie off. ‘She wouldn’t—’
‘I don’t think she did.’ Dulcie kept her voice soft. ‘But I think she was involved, and that someone very close to her was provoked into defending her. I’m sure the law will take the circumstances under consideration. But if she won’t come forward, I have to.’
‘But she’s your friend.’ Mina pleaded, leaning over the little table. ‘She trusts you.’
‘And I feel sorry for her. I do, but I think she’s key to a murder investigation.’ Dulcie fought to keep her voice low. She’d caught the looks from the other tables. ‘And I’ve got to do what’s right.’
‘At least give her a chance to explain.’ Mina was either oblivious or didn’t care.
Dulcie shook her head. ‘I was just with her. She’s not going to come forward.’
‘But I thought you were with the student who lied about me – about Fenderby.’ The two women stared at each other, uncomprehending. Finally Mina spoke. ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘I’m confused.’
Dulcie wasn’t. ‘I’m afraid it makes perfect sense.’
‘No,’ said Mina. ‘You’re talking about a friend. You’re talking about Trista.’
‘Trista wasn’t—’ Dulcie caught herself. Trista had been the one to tell her about Fenderby. She’d been so active in the battle against him, volunteering to help Dulcie escape his clutches. ‘No – wait – Trista was victimized by Fenderby too?’
Mina nodded. This time she was the one to drop her voice. ‘You didn’t know?’
Dulcie shook her head.
‘She didn’t tell a lot of people,’ Mina said, the sadness clear in her voice. ‘But I thought she – that maybe she’d finally agreed to come forward. I wasn’t supposed to tell, only you can’t think that she was involved in any way with his death.’
‘No,’ Dulcie reassured her. ‘It’s complicated.’ She thought about Tom. From what Trista said, he’d had a crush on her too. If he knew, well, it only added to his motive. ‘This wasn’t about Trista,’ she said, wondering if she was lying. Better to stick to what she knew for sure. ‘This was about someone who thought she was in love.’
FORTY-TWO
In the end, Mina declined to accompany Dulcie. ‘I can’t say anything,’ she reasoned. ‘And to just sit there will feel like lying.’
‘I understand,’ said Dulcie. ‘But I guess I should get moving.’ The sugar rush from the muffin had worn off by then, and she felt herself flagging. Whatever had gotten to her last night had left her weak, and she wobbled as she rose.
‘Are you OK?’ Mina reached to steady her. ‘Maybe I should walk over with you.’
‘No, I’ll be fine,’ said Dulcie with a conviction she didn’t feel. ‘I’m just glad we talked. I’m sure that when this is all straightened out, my student will do the right thing. Your case will be re-opened, and you’ll be free of all this.’
‘And Roland Fenderby will still be dead,’ said Mina.
There wasn’t really any response to that, and the cousins parted with a hug. The sky was dark by then, but the street was lit and busy. If anything, it was too busy. Dulcie felt a little claustrophobic as she jostled her way on to the Number One bus. Rush hour wasn’t something she usually had to contend with, and she found herself thinking of the business types at Alyson’s apartment as she swayed among her fellow straphangers. Was this what life was like after graduation? Would she be able to stay in academia, or would she become part of this suited mass, following a regimented schedule five days a week?
‘Coming through.’ A strained voice – somehow familiar, if out of place in that busy, urban setting – called from the other end of the bus.
‘Excuse me.’ Another voice, directly behind Dulcie, made her turn, and she squeezed back as the speaker pushed by. Only after the woman had exited and the bus started moving again did Dulcie glance outside – in time to see the blue light of police headquarters pass by. She’d missed her stop.
‘Excuse me!’ She pushed between two other straphangers to hit the call signal. Another two blocks and the bus came to a lurching halt. ‘Coming through!’
It took all her strength to fight her way through the crowd, which seemed to have grown in both height and density since she had boarded. Finally on the sidewalk, she caught her breath just as the bus departed in a blast of exhaust. The ensuing coughing fit left her feeling weak. If she had been closer to home, she would have packed it in. But since she had come this far, she steeled herself. One last task and then she could go home. Maybe, she promised herself, she’d even take a cab.
‘Detective Rogovoy, please?’ She was grateful that she didn’t recognize any of the officers mulling around the station. It would be easier not to have to deal with one of the cops who had questioned her after Fenderby’s death.
‘He’s with someone right now,’ the woman she had gravitated to responded. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’
‘No.’ Dulcie hesitated. There was something kindly about the woman, her broad face and wild hair reminding her of Lucy. Still, Rogovoy knew the history. ‘I’ll wait.’
‘Suit yourself.’ The woman turned without another word, leaving Dulcie leaning on the wooden counter.
Ten minutes later, Dulcie had begun to give up. She’d been leaning back on the wooden bench, her eyes closed, when the booming voice woke her.
‘If it isn’t Dulcie Schwartz,’ said Rogovoy. He was standing right before her. ‘Let me guess. You’ve got some n
ew information for me.’
‘I wish I didn’t,’ said Dulcie, rising to greet him. ‘Believe me. This is all just too sad.’
‘Well, since you’re here.’ Dulcie saw the look the detective exchanged with the woman behind the counter. It had to be simple acknowledgment, she told herself. After all, she was doing her civic duty.
‘I want to make clear from the start that he thought he was doing the right thing,’ she said. ‘I’m sure of it. He’s a very gentle soul, actually.’
‘He being?’ Rogovoy’s eyebrows shot up, waiting.
‘The person I think may have killed Roland Fenderby,’ said Dulcie.
‘Ah, of course.’ The detective put down his pencil. ‘And you undoubtedly know this because of something you found in the library?’
‘Well, no.’ Sometimes the detective could be so dense. ‘Though the Mildon collection does play into it, in a way. In fact, there’s something I learned tonight that makes Fenderby’s murder even more …’ She stumbled, looking for the right word. ‘Well, not inevitable. But he was not a nice man.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Rogovoy grumbled. ‘Because it’s not like we’re any good at our jobs.’
Dulcie ignored the self-deprecating slight – the detective really shouldn’t be talking like that – and forged ahead. ‘You should know, I think he was protecting her. Or he thought he was,’ she continued. ‘He knew she was being taken advantage of, and he knew she was hurting, and, well, I guess things just got out of hand.’
He looked at her, waiting.
This was it. The moment of truth. ‘Tom Walls,’ she said, with a heavy sigh. ‘He’s an undergraduate. And I believe he may have murdered Professor Roland Fenderby.’ She closed her eyes, the relief leaving her exhausted.
‘Well, isn’t that interesting,’ said Rogovoy. Something about his voice made her sit up and look at him. ‘Because Mr Walls was just in here, and he was telling me a very different story.’