“My car’s on the street,” Jody yelled. “I’ll drive. Bert, we’re headed to Rutherford Lee.”
Branigan grabbed her coat and they rocketed down the stairs and out the glass door, startling the circulation employees as they hurtled past. They hopped into the mottled blue Buick Jody had driven as long as she’d known him. He yanked it out of its space, not bothering to look behind him.
They reached the brick arch of the college and raced onto the roundabout. Branigan rolled down her window to listen for sirens. “The student center,” she said, pointing. The Buick rattled ominously as Jody took the speed bumps too fast.
The screaming sirens made it easy to locate the police. Four marked cars, blue lights spinning, were parked helter-skelter around the lakeside terrace of the student center, where a small crowd of students had gathered. Two paramedics were on the ground, obscuring the object of their interest.
Detective Scovoy knelt beside them, his head bent low.
Jody got as close as he could to the detective, while Branigan circled around the students and came up beside a young Hispanic man. He stepped aside and she had a straight view of a young girl’s twisted body, an arm and one jeans-clad leg lying at impossible angles.
“She fell,” said the helpful young man, pointing to the third floor window open above them. “Or jumped.”
“What is that?” Branigan asked as she peered up at the open window.
“The student newspaper office.”
Branigan had a sinking feeling she knew whose body lay on the patio.
With the police focused on the terrace, Branigan slipped into the dining hall, deserted at this time of day except for a few cafeteria workers using their down time to eat. She bolted for the stairway, passing several administrators hurrying outside.
No one paid her any attention as she entered the stairwell and raced to the third floor. She heard sobbing as soon as she pushed the door bar.
Sylvia Eckhart sat huddled on the hallway floor across from the open Swan Song door.
Branigan ducked into the newspaper office, searching for the police officer she expected to be tailing Dr Eckhart. Both rooms of the office were empty, but her gaze snagged on a woman’s purse spilled open beneath the window, where a freezing wind whipped in. Branigan took a pen from her own purse and used it to gently lift one flap. Inside was a dirty baseball, a glasses case made of floral fabric, what looked like a child’s plastic toy and, oddest of all, two forks. No phones. Mystified, she left the pocketbook where it lay. She figured she had only moments before Chester’s officers stormed in.
She returned to the hallway and knelt next to the crying professor. “Dr Eckhart? What happened?”
Sylvia Eckhart looked at her with a tear-streaked face, mascara running.
“It’s all my fault,” she hiccupped. “I thought I was helping, but…” She trailed off.
Branigan pressed. “What happened to Anna?”
Dr Eckhart broke into fresh sobs. “Anna knew everything. Everything. I warned her…” Again she broke into violent, shuddering tears.
“Did you push her?”
That broke through. Dr Eckhart looked at Branigan with horror. “No! No! No! I was trying to prevent this!”
Branigan heard footsteps pounding on the stairwell. She knew her time was almost up. “Then tell me what happened.”
“I came up to…” The stairwell door banged open and two policewomen burst through, guns drawn.
“Are you Branigan Powers?” asked one. When Branigan nodded, the officer kept her gun on Sylvia Eckhart, but spoke to the reporter. “Detective Scovoy is looking for you.”
“Are you arresting Dr Eckhart?”
“Absolutely. Sylvia Eckhart, you have the right to remain silent…”
Chapter Twenty
Branigan entered the second-floor conference room that college administrators had handed over to the Grambling police. Already, she saw, they’d brought in pens, pads and bottled water. When Detective Scovoy saw her, he motioned for the president.
“We also need an office,” he said.
“No problem.” The president turned to a younger colleague standing uncertainly at one end of the conference table. “Ed’s is the closest. Ed, let’s give them your office for the time being. Please clear enough space for them to use your desk.”
“That’s not necessary,” Scovoy said. “I just need a quiet space for debriefings. Miss Powers, you’re first.”
He escorted her into Ed’s office, which had separate doors opening onto the conference room and the main hallway. Closing both, he took one of two upholstered chairs and motioned for Branigan to sit on the other.
“Is she dead?” Branigan asked softly.
“No. I’m not sure if she’ll make it, but the paramedics took her to St Joe’s.”
Branigan closed her eyes.
The detective didn’t waste time. “As I’m sure you know, the girl is Anna Hester. She’s a reporter for the student newspaper. She fell or jumped or was pushed out of the office’s third-floor window. She was trying to talk when we arrived, but I could make out only two words. I need you to tell me what they mean.”
Branigan leaned in. “What were they?”
“‘Find Mackenzie.’”
Branigan sat back. She wasn’t expecting that. “So she didn’t tell you if she’d been pushed?”
“Well, that’s just it. I’m not sure what she was trying to say. I know you wrote about a Mackenzie from Columbia. But she’s in a wheelchair, right?”
“Wait a minute. You think Anna was trying to say that Mackenzie pushed her?”
Chester ran one hand through his hair. “That’s what I’m asking you. Is it possible Anna was giving us the name of her attacker?”
“I sure wouldn’t think so.” Branigan stared at the ceiling, trying to collect her thoughts, remembering Mackenzie Broadus’s unnamed fear, remembering her brother Tony’s soft words, What are you gonna do?
“Run through that story again for me,” Scovoy said. “I want to make sure I’ve got the details right.”
“Mackenzie Broadus was a freshman classmate of Janie Rose Carlton and Maylene Ayers,” Branigan said. “One night after coming back from Christmas break, they got drunk and went for a walk around campus. Mackenzie climbed up on the football goalpost and was doing gymnastics. She fell and broke her back. Janie Rose and Maylene took her to the hospital, and she was helicoptered to another hospital in Columbia. As far as I know, she lives there with her parents. And she’s definitely in a wheelchair. That’s no act.” Branigan’s eyes pulled away from the detective’s face.
“But?” he pressed.
“Well, Charlie and I wondered if maybe someone who loved her, a brother or boyfriend or somebody, could be behind all this.”
“Like they blamed Janie Rose and Maylene for her being paralyzed?”
Branigan nodded. “I met her older brother.”
“And?”
“I just don’t know. Was he upset about what happened? Sure. He said he didn’t blame a couple of eighteen-year-olds for making a bad decision. But then he called me when you guys wouldn’t give him information. And he said the girls were responsible.”
Scovoy looked pensive. “That would explain what Anna said. She was definitely trying to tell me something.” He stood abruptly and opened the door to the conference room. “Get Detective Rogerson on the phone,” he called to a uniformed officer. “Let me know as soon as you’ve got him.”
He closed the door again. “We’ll send Jim to South Carolina to check alibis and see if Mackenzie will come to Grambling. If not, I’ll need to go down there. But I hate to spend the time on the road. Give me the brother’s name.”
“Tony Broadus.”
“He lives in Columbia?”
“I assume so.”
He looked lost in though
t for a moment. Branigan hated to interrupt, but her curiosity got the better of her.
“You arrested Dr Eckhart,” she said. “I thought you had an officer following her.”
“We did,” he said. “She must have spotted him. She went into the dining hall and he took a seat to keep an eye on her. She went to the serving stations, but then disappeared. Must’ve ducked through the kitchen. By the time he figured it out and called in, all hell was breaking loose on the patio.”
“Wow. So I guess she sneaked upstairs. Chester, she saw what happened.”
“I agree. But she can’t stop crying. I’m afraid if we keep pushing, she may have a complete breakdown.”
“She must’ve gone to the Swan Song office to confront Anna.”
“About what?”
“I think maybe Anna had gotten hold of Ralph’s phone and was planning to write a story for the college newspaper. It comes out on Saturdays.”
He stared at her. “So Anna was playing a dangerous game.”
“That’s what I tried to tell her. I begged her to tell you whatever she knew.”
“And do you know what she was going to write?”
“No. I swear. I’ve been trying to find out.”
Scovoy opened the conference room door again, and yelled, “Get me that kid who edits the student newspaper. Send him in as soon as you have him.”
Branigan thought for a moment about her next comment, then decided there was no reason to hold back. “There’s something else. It may mean nothing. But we’ve found out that Dr Eckhart lied about her sorority affiliation. She said she was a Kappa Epsilon Chi, but the national office says she wasn’t.”
Scovoy stayed on his feet, pacing the office. “Strange thing to lie about.”
“But if we can find out why, it may explain all the other strange things she’s done. Like leaving Charlie and Janie Rose at the crash site. Like lying to protect the hearse driver. And like maybe – maybe – pushing Anna out of a window. Is that possible?”
Scovoy looked grim. “Anything is possible at this point.”
A knock on the office door made Branigan jump.
A uniformed officer stuck his head in. “Detective, we got Rogerson on the line and your student editor is here.”
“Good.” Scovoy waved the editor into the chair he’d vacated. “I’ll be just a minute,” he said to the young man. He grabbed the cell phone from the officer and exited through the hallway door for more privacy.
With the detective out of the room and presumably putting Detective Rogerson on the road to Columbia, Branigan was left facing the student editor. Was it only yesterday I saw him after Catherine Reisman’s attack? she thought blearily. She introduced herself.
“I’m Steven Hodges,” he replied. “Do you know what this is about?”
Branigan figured news of Anna’s fall must be all over campus by now. “It’s about your reporter,” she said. “Anna Hester.” She thought about waiting for Scovoy to return, then decided there was no harm in finding out what Steven knew. “We understand Anna was working on a story for Saturday’s paper, possibly about the deaths of Janie Rose Carlton and Maylene Ayers?”
The young man looked at her steadily. “Yes, and that’s exactly the extent of what I know.”
Branigan’s shoulders sagged. “You don’t know what your reporters are working on?”
“You’d think so, right?” he said wryly. “But Anna was a lone wolf. I would’ve seen it before we published, obviously. But she refused to tell me any more than that she had a big story with more information about those girls. She promised to turn it in a couple of hours before deadline. Which is today.” He shrugged. “I warned her that might not give me time to vet it for Saturday’s paper, but she said she’d take that chance.”
“Where would her notes be?”
“On her laptop.”
“Which is where?”
“She would’ve had it with her in the office.”
Branigan was sure there hadn’t been a laptop in the Swan Song office when she’d looked around. Only the purse on the floor.
She stood, certain now that Anna hadn’t gone out of the window of her own accord. Another rap came on the office door, and Branigan jumped again. Sheesh. She needed to get her nerves under control.
An officer stuck his head in, obviously looking for Detective Scovoy.
“I’m here,” Chester said, coming in from the hallway.
“Detective, some guy is insisting he has information you’ll want to hear.”
“Some guy?”
“Well, yeah.” The officer looked uncomfortable. “Some maintenance guy, but not one of the college’s.”
Branigan jumped up to swing the conference room door wider. Suddenly the odd contents of the purse in the Swan Song office made sense.
“I bet Malachi’s found what we’ve been looking for.”
Detective Scovoy, Branigan and Malachi huddled around the office desk where Malachi had laid Ralph’s phone. Jody slipped in, and Branigan moved over to make room for him. This story was so complicated, it would need both of them to keep the details straight.
“This that phone Ralph wuz telling Pastor Liam and me ’bout,” Malachi said. “The one Ralph done buried under his tent.”
Scovoy slipped his hands into latex gloves before handling it, though Branigan was pretty sure the phone had been through multiple hands by now.
“Do I wanna know where you found it?” he asked Malachi.
“I think Miz Maylene musta took it and give it to Miz Anna. Or Miz Anna stole it from Miz Maylene. But I’m not positive.”
The detective scrolled to the first video, which rolled drunkenly for several seconds. Branigan had to look away before becoming nauseated. Finally, the scene lurched into focus. Numerous voices called out amid laughter. Then came the chant: “Ro-bies. Ro-bies. Ro-bies.” Someone was on the ground, holding his arms over his head as laughing young men kicked him. Branigan’s stomach clenched. She couldn’t see his face but knew it was Max Brody.
The camera zoomed in on a black-haired young man, good-looking even in the dizzying beams of multiple flashlights, standing on top of a picnic table and swigging from a liquor bottle. “Make him an honorary Ro-bie, gentlemen!”
Branigan and Malachi exchanged glances. “Exactly as you described,” she said quietly. Then to Scovoy: “That’s Jones Rinehart, president of Rho Beta Iota.”
The next few videos showed young men and women, dancing and kissing, yelling and vomiting, as Ralph had promised. Branigan recognized some of the Kappa Epsilon Chi girls. Anna Hester and a tall blond boy held cups aloft, as if toasting the videographer. Branigan wondered if that were Anna’s Mike, and if anyone had informed him of her fall. She’d gladly leave that to Anna’s sorority sisters.
Malachi’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “This here the last one,” he said. “It got Miz Maylene in it.”
Detective Scovoy read off the date stamp. “February 9 of last year.”
Again, the jerky video was dizzying at first. Ralph hadn’t learned much about videography during his blackmailing stint. Like the scene under the bridge, it was night, but this time a group of girls held candles and chanted. It took Branigan a moment to make out what they were saying, then she realized it was simply “Go, pledge. Go, pledge. Go, pledge.” She saw a painted white stripe on the ground, and a yellow bar rising vertically from the crowd.
Suddenly, the picture left the cheering girls and zeroed in on a young woman balancing on top of what Branigan recognized as a goalpost. The young woman had long brown hair and wore a sweatshirt and sweatpants, but she was barefoot. Branigan identified Mackenzie Broadus, weaving drunkenly, threatening to topple into the crowd. Branigan froze as she realized what she was watching. Had Mackenzie performed her balance beam routine prior to the night of her crippling accident?
Th
e crowd urged her on. “Go, pledge! Go, pledge! Go, pledge!”
A voice from off-screen, amplified and rising above the crowd noise, commanded, “Give us one of those Olympic moves!”
Mackenzie turned toward the voice, her stricken face looking to the right of the camera. “I can’t!”
The disembodied voice came again. “Of course you can, pledge!”
The shouts became louder. “Go, pledge! Go, pledge! Go, pledge!” Branigan could see large plastic cups lifted along with the candles.
Mackenzie shook her head. “I can’t,” she pleaded. “I’ve had too much to dr…” The rest of her sentence was lost. She wobbled precariously, arms pinwheeling, but regained her balance.
Again, the voice. “I’m warning you, pledge…”
Mackenzie appeared to gather herself, standing perfectly still for a moment. Suddenly, she leapt into a scissors kick, one leg going forward, one backward, then somehow coming together so that her feet caught the beam. Some in the crowd below gasped, but most cheered, lifting their cups.
“Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!” they roared.
Branigan looked up from the video and caught Jody’s eye in mute horror. No wonder Mackenzie’s story hadn’t made sense. This was no accident. It was a hazing.
Back on the video, the girl turned again toward the voice, and the camera caught tears rolling down her face. “I’m going to throw up,” she warned, but the amplified voice was relentless. “No, you’re not, pledge. Just one more Olympic move and you can come down.”
Mackenzie looked around, panicked, teary. “I’ll do it tomorrow,” she sobbed. “I promise, I can do it tomorrow.”
“Not tomorrow, pledge. Now!”
The girl rocked back and forth. She was crying hard now, her face contorted. She drew a deep breath, tucked her head and planted her hands for what promised to be a cartwheel. The crowd began to cheer, but it quickly became apparent that her legs were not following her arms in a straight line. First her right foot, then her left, missed the beam and she came tumbling off the goalpost with a whoomph, girls scattering, laughing and spilling drinks.
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