by Clea Simon
‘Excuse me?’ Dulcie stared at the detective. ‘That’s not possible.’
The oversized shoulders shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t know you, Ms Schwartz. And if I didn’t know how dogged you can be when you have a theory.’
‘I don’t—’ Dulcie sputtered. ‘I’m not dogged.’
‘Stubborn, then,’ the detective replied as he pushed himself back from the desk.
‘Wait.’ Dulcie held up her hands. ‘Maybe he figured out that I’d come here. Maybe this is all to counter what I have to tell you.’
Rogovoy didn’t comment. He didn’t stand up, either, though one of his eyebrows rose inquisitively.
‘He basically confessed,’ Dulcie continued. ‘He said, “I did it for you.” I mean, not to me but to this other student. She’s, well …’
‘She was involved with the late professor.’ Rogovoy finished the thought. ‘Yes, we know. In case you hadn’t figured it out, yet, I’ve been leading the task force on sexual harassment on campus. We’ve been investigating even before the late professor’s demise. We take crime seriously, Ms Schwartz, all crime, and that poor girl was a victim, too, which I’m sure will be considered.’
‘Then you know?’ Her mind reeled. Task force? Rogovoy? ‘I mean, about Alyson – about Tom?’
‘That he removed evidence? That he altered the scene? Yes.’ Rogovoy shook his big head sadly. ‘Poor kid. He saw her leave and went after her. Then, when he went back … well … He thought he was helping her. He thought that because of his disability—’
‘Disability?’
He looked up, as if startled. ‘Yeah, the kid’s hard of hearing. Didn’t you know? That’s why we didn’t totally trust his testimony about the Love girl. I mean, he says he saw her come into the library when it opened and that she usually worked on his floor. But a marching band could have come through behind him, and all he would have heard was a dull roar.’
Dulcie left soon after that, her head spinning. Tom’s hearing … it all made sense. His intense focus, the time he walked away. Even his plaintive cry – I did it for you. He hadn’t wanted to say anything. Hadn’t, perhaps, trusted his own limited perception. And, maybe, hadn’t thought he was worthy of love.
No, she shook that one off. She had suspected Alyson Beaumont, too. Only – what had changed her mind? The cat. The fact that her student had a cat. Somehow, she couldn’t see a cat lover killing a person. But, she remembered, Alyson’s cat had been a gift – a gift Alyson hadn’t even thought of, at first, when she’d been hospitalized.
Dulcie knew there were people – some of her own friends – who would wonder at her priorities, but she couldn’t help but feel bad for that little marmalade cat. She – what was her name, Penny? – was the only true innocent in all this. The only one who hadn’t acted out of selfishness or greed.
‘Now, now, little one.’ Dulcie stopped short, the voice in her ear startling her out of her musings. ‘Who we choose to love and why are not always in our control.’
‘Who?’ Dulcie stared up at the streetlight, its blue-white glow haloed by the damp air. ‘Do you mean the kitten or Alyson?’
But the only response was the wind.
FORTY-THREE
Deep in the shadow’d Gloom, a single candle flickered and did smoke. The wind that howled did naught to dispel the darkness that clouded o’er her thoughts e’en as it filled the room, and yet its icy touch made onslaught against the fragile flame, which guttered nearly out. And yet she wrote, the urgent scratch of her fevered pen quick and desperate against the paper. Too quick – for in the moment, she must pause, must make to shave off the errant ink – and hurry on, lest thought be carried off by storm and time. ‘Not by choice,’ she wrote, mouthing the words. Her voice, as tired and pale as that weak illumination, might be carried off, but the words she penned would last as long as ink could stain its paper.
Dulcie woke feeling groggy, as if she had been working through the night rather than simply dreaming it.
‘Chris?’ she called out. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Of course,’ he called back, popping in a moment later with a mug of coffee. ‘I wanted to let you sleep. You were tossing and turning last night.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She took the proffered mug gratefully. ‘I was dreaming, but I guess I kept you up.’
‘Not a problem. I wanted to keep an eye on you anyway.’ He stood, appraising her. ‘I still think you should have gone to the health services yesterday.’
‘Maybe.’ She sat up. Her head was throbbing. ‘But I had so much going on.’
‘I thought …’ Chris stopped, then shook his head. ‘You should have some breakfast.’
He left the room, and Dulcie rose to get dressed, a little chastened. Chris had been worried when she’d been so late yesterday, particularly given how ill she’d been the night before. And her explanation – about visiting Alyson and then going to the cops – had only bothered him more. They’d had words about it, and only avoided a full-on fight when Dulcie had pleaded fatigue. No wonder she’d slept badly.
Walking into the kitchen, she came up behind her boyfriend to surprise him with a hug. The smile he turned toward her was sad, though, and she knew he was holding back words.
‘I’m going to get back to work today,’ she promised, as Esmé twined around her ankles in what she could only interpret as encouragement. ‘I’ll go straight to my office, and I won’t leave until the next chapter is at least hashed out.’
‘Good girl.’ His smile was looking more natural, as Dulcie stepped carefully over the tuxedo cat to check her phone.
‘Well, maybe not straight to my office,’ she corrected herself. ‘Urgent departmental meeting,’ she read and then looked up. ‘Well, if I’m getting departmental messages, maybe that means I’m reinstated.’
‘I hope so,’ said Chris, looking like he was trying to hold that smile as he took Dulcie’s coffee and poured it into her travel mug.
‘Thanks, hon.’ With another kiss and a quick pet for Esmé, Dulcie took off, bustling down the stairs and out to the street. Despite the chipper tone she had assumed with Chris, she was worried. An urgent meeting could mean many things – maybe the plumbing had finally gone in the old clapboard. Maybe their emails had been hacked. But Dulcie couldn’t dodge the suspicion that if the urgency had to do with something good – say, an announcement that Renée Showalter was joining the faculty in a more permanent position – the message would have been phrased differently. No, this had to be—
She stopped cold. Alyson. It had to be about Alyson Beaumont, of course. Following Tom’s visit to the police the night before, the young woman had probably been taken into custody. And as sad as that was, it was probably a good thing. A resolution that would set the stage for a return to normalcy.
As she began walking again, Dulcie felt a strange buzz in her bag and heard a muffled mew. Of course, she hadn’t changed the settings since yesterday – and she reached in to see another text was waiting. A text, she saw with a start, from Alyson Beaumont.
Unable to contain her curiosity, she opened it – and found it blank. Well, that had to be an error. Maybe, she thought, that cute little cat had stepped on the phone.
Dulcie pictured the cat’s white paws landing on a phone keyboard as it began to buzz again.
Not by choice.
The phrase caught her eye, and for a moment she wondered. Was that what she had dreamed? Or was she superimposing those three words on her dream? And what had it meant anyway? Whatever, she knew it wasn’t the work of even the most talented cat, and so she typed back.
Hello? She walked on, staring at the phone, but there was no other response. At the corner – after a nervous pedestrian had alerted her to the oncoming traffic – she made up her mind. She would have to turn off the phone when she went into the meeting – a meeting she’d be lucky to make at this rate. She would. Only it was just too frustrating. She had to find out what that abbreviated message meant. This wasn�
�t really breaking her promise to Chris. It was just …
She hit ‘dial’.
‘Hello?’ Her call was answered right away, but by silence. ‘It’s Dulcie,’ she said, to the void. ‘You texted me?’
Nothing. Or – no voice, anyway. Dulcie heard a beeping in the distance, too high-pitched to be a truck backing up. And voices in conversation just out of earshot.
‘Hello?’
Silence.
‘Hello?’ A shushing sound, like fabric sliding over the receiver. Then suddenly, a voice.
‘I’m sorry,’ said a woman. But not, Dulcie thought, a woman she knew. ‘Phones aren’t allowed here.’ And the line went dead.
Staring at her phone, Dulcie saw that the departmental meeting was about to start and she was still a few minutes away. The voice, she figured, had to belong to someone down at the police station. Or maybe Alyson had been taken into custody, already, her possessions not yet catalogued.
Not by choice.
The phrase could be meaningless. Perhaps Alyson was interrupted while talking to her lawyer or her mother – her phone’s voice recognition software translating a snippet of dialogue into a meaningless text. Dulcie knew she should put it from her mind and keep on. If there had been time, Nancy might even have gotten donuts.
She scrolled through her contacts and hit dial.
‘Good morning, Ms Schwartz.’ Detective Rogovoy did not sound surprised to hear from her. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘Detective,’ Dulcie bit her lip, unsure of how to proceed. ‘I just got a text from Alyson Beaumont,’ she said at last. The burly policeman could figure out what she should do.
‘Well, that’s a relief.’ His words came out in a rush, like he’d been holding his breath.
‘Detective?’ None of this was making sense. ‘I thought you were – I thought Alyson Beaumont was going to be questioned?’
‘What’s that saying about mice and men?’ The detective didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘Though it all turned out for the good. When my people got there, the girl’s neighbor was calling for an ambulance and they were able to expedite. If it hadn’t been for the neighbor, and for that young man who came in to speak with me, that young girl might be dead.’
FORTY-FOUR
Rogovoy wouldn’t give her any details. ‘If she’s texting you, then she’s doing better than I had feared,’ was all he’d say. About Alyson, at any rate.
‘The neighbor said she’d found the girl’s cat roaming the hallway,’ he had been willing to share. ‘Went to bring it back in and saw her lying there. We see this kind of thing more than you’d think. Guilt, fear. Depression.’
In other words, thought Dulcie as she speeded toward her meeting, Alyson had tried to kill herself. She remembered when Alyson had first gotten ill. Then people had been murmuring about suicide, but she had dismissed it. Now, well, by some light it must have seemed sensible, especially after one added in heartbreak and betrayal. At least she’d been found in time. Another plus of having a—
Wait. Dulcie stopped again, to muttered cursing from the pedestrian behind her. The cat. With all the hubbub of the police and the EMTs, where was the little marmalade now? Surely, the neighbor would have taken her into her own unit. Though with the shock of finding Alyson – and then the police and the ambulance … It was too easy to imagine the kitten being overlooked and forgotten in all the brouhaha. And now? Might she be wandering the halls? Or, worse, have managed to get out of the building and on to that busy street?
The bells marking the hour began to chime, each toll driving home Dulcie’s promise to be responsible. To focus on work. To do what she should. She ducked her head, as if she could avoid thoughts of that kitten, and dug her hands into her pocket – where they hit something hard. Alyson’s key. She didn’t need more than that.
‘You think I’m doing the right thing. Don’t you, Mr Grey?’ she whispered to the air as she turned and trotted back down toward the river, the honking of a startled driver the only response.
Fighting off the horrible suspicion that his silence meant he disapproved, Dulcie hurried toward Alyson’s building, all the while running through possible scenarios in her mind. If the kitten were nowhere to be found, she would knock on doors. Alert the neighbors. If none of them were around – it seemed like the kind of building where the tenants had office jobs – she could probably use the key to check out the basement and any utility rooms. If she had to, she’d start searching outside. House cats tended to hide when they got out, she knew, and that bode well. Better to think of that little marmalade huddled under a shrub than racing into traffic. Unless she was spooked by the noise of ambulances and police pulling up, sirens wailing.
‘Please, Mr Grey,’ Dulcie whispered. ‘Watch out for the kitten.’ Again, she got no response, but she felt better for having asked.
She was nearly at the building when her phone buzzed again, and Dulcie decided to ignore it. If it were Thorpe, she had no good excuse. She was blowing off a departmental meeting on what he would consider a wild goose chase. If it were one of her friends, sharing whatever news had been broken in the last ten minutes, well, she would deal with it later. As she pulled open the lobby door, she felt the buzzing begin again. But there was nobody in the lobby to turn toward her and ask why her bag was humming like an angry bee. And so, using Alyson’s key, she unlocked the main door and strode toward the elevator, doing her best not to think about what might be going on in the little clapboard and focusing instead on what she might find up on the tenth floor.
‘Hello?’ Dulcie knocked, wondering if perhaps that helpful neighbor might still be there. The door to Alyson’s apartment was closed but unlocked when she got there, and simply walking in seemed presumptuous. ‘Anyone there?’ she called, after opening the door a crack.
‘Mew.’
Dulcie looked down to see a white paw reaching around the door, one blue eye peering upward.
‘Oh, thank God!’ Dulcie sank to her knees and scooped up the kitten. ‘I’m so glad.’
The kitten purred and kneaded Dulcie’s shoulder as she carried her through the living room, past an overturned chair. The sofa she had comforted Alyson on had been shoved out of the way, as was the coffee table, its fashion magazines spilled on the floor and trampled. Dulcie averted her eyes from the mess – that large boot print had to be from an EMT – and continued on to the kitchen. At least there had been no blood or vomit. At least, she recalled, Alyson had been found in time.
‘Let’s get you fixed up,’ she said to the kitten, as much to calm herself as to communicate with the little beast. ‘I’m glad someone made sure you were safe inside, but I bet you haven’t been fed.’
She looked around. No, the dish on the floor was empty except for a dry crust that looked particularly unappetizing. The counter was empty, too, except for a plate of cookies. Oatmeal raisin, by the look of them, and one already broken into pieces.
‘You first, kitten,’ said Dulcie, as she opened the cabinet and located both an appropriate dish and a can of food. ‘Here, this is better.’
She replaced the dirty dish with a full one, taking the crusty one to the sink to wash. It was the work of moments, and the least she could do. But if she was going to help clean up, surely no one would blame her if … She propped the wet dish up to dry as her fingers strayed over to those cookies.
‘Good, huh? Looks like you were a hungry girl.’ Dulcie had turned to watch the kitten eat, but as she spoke, she savored the subtle spice of the cookie. Cinnamon and allspice, she thought, the classic pumpkin pie mixture playing up the fruitiness of the raisins. Maybe something more. She broke off another piece, curious to see if she could identify the flavor and, instead, found a note tucked under the plate: Sorry for your loss, it read in tight, even cursive.
How odd, Dulcie thought, as she nibbled another fragment. The cookies must have come from a close friend, someone who knew Alyson’s secret. And yet that note looked so formal, its neat script was so familia
r.
‘Dulcie …’ A sound like a growl made her stand up straight, dropping the cookie back on to the plate.
‘Was that you?’ Dulcie looked down at the kitten, who paused to glance up, but then returned to eating. ‘Mr Grey?’ She scanned the room before catching herself. She should know better than to try to see her feline visitor while he spoke. But as she did, she became aware of another sound – a soft presence, like the shuffling of paper in the next room.
‘Hello?’ She stepped carefully by the kitten, aware as she did so that she had left the door unlocked behind her. ‘Is anyone there?’
Following the noise, Dulcie stepped back into the living room. From here she could see into the bedroom, where a woman was crouched over a waste basket, pouring out its contents into a larger garbage bag.
‘Oh, you scared me.’ Dulcie exhaled. It had to be a maid, going about her rounds and probably unaware of the emergency that had removed the tenant. None of her friends had a cleaning service. Then again, none of her friends lived in a place like this. ‘I didn’t hear you in there,’ she said. ‘You must have been in the bathroom when I came in.’
‘No, I heard you.’ The woman stood, bag in hand. ‘I was wondering when you’d show up.’
She turned, and Dulcie found herself face to face with Polly Fenderby.
FORTY-FIVE
‘Mrs Fenderby!’ Dulcie stepped back in surprise, bumping into the door frame.
‘Dulcie, isn’t it?’ The widow stood, still holding the trash bag.
‘Yes.’ Dulcie stepped back to let the other woman pass. ‘Dulcie Schwartz. I’m tutoring Alyson.’
‘I bet you are,’ said the widow. At least, that’s what Dulcie thought she heard. The other woman had gone into the kitchen and was busying herself emptying the kitchen waste basket into her bag.
‘Excuse me?’ Dulcie tagged along. The widow appeared to be poking through the trash, even as she shook it into her bag. ‘May I help you?’