“More papers?” He looked up at her.
“Yeah, no, actually I need to go to Keibence for research.” The whiskey made her warm, and brought out the extent of her irresponsible nature.
“Okay, well… I’ll walk you. It’s so quiet out here, I wouldn’t want you to get trapped by some weirdo… Gets pretty bizarre around here at night.”
She consented, and they set off, weaving their way across the Green, back to the library quadrangle, and to the silent courtyard of the Keibence Library. It was a massive structure, a beautiful and brutal windowless square of marble hovering over the flagstones on thick pillars. In the shadow of the building Jack took her hand without a word and pushed her against one of the pillars. She had expected this. She relaxed against him for a moment, allowing the persistent energy of his youth to wash over her as he kissed her, pressing his body against her. He buried his face in her neck and pushed his hips close, nibbling the skin under her collar. As he gripped her waist, her hands lay loose at her sides.
“Jack…” she interrupted, her tone even. “You know we can’t… I can’t really…”
The sound of her voice pushed him away. He looked down at her, eyes shining with the intensity of his desire. “But…”
“I haven’t even graded your final paper yet. It’s not ethical,” she murmured, straightening her glasses. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that, though he was certainly very pretty, she might not be cut out to train an adolescent to be a decent lover. It was not as though his ministrations had left her completely unfazed, however…
“Oh… oh… alright.” He looked downcast, his normally sky blue eyes clouding over with the sting of rejection. “Well, when I’m not in your class anymore in… two months?”
“You really are persistent.” Andy offered him a half-smile of apology. “Alright then, maybe in two months.” In his dreams.
She turned on her heel towards the doors of the library, slid her cardkey through and pushed open the doors without a backwards glance toward the lustful undergraduate.
Andy always felt at home in the Keibence. As she walked up the stairs towards the stacks, she felt a certain relief wash over her. To be alone was heavenly. The soft lighting and complete silence of the stacks always comforted her. She could be truly undisturbed there, completely uninterrupted for days on end. Her study room was her second home, filled with shelves of ancient texts. She spent more time there than at her apartment. Her most-used texts propped open on the table, their pages spread apart to show hand-drawn illustrations of the brutality of life in twelfth-century Europe; a man being torn limb from limb, a child crying. Andy sat down at the table and slipped on a pair of cloth gloves so as not to damage the books. She opened her notebook, turned a page and began to write. Only an hour later, sitting at the table, she succumbed to the heaviness of her lids, and slumped forward, the weight of a busy semester on her mind. Slumber lay her head down on the table, and there she slept peacefully until the next day.
“Wake up. ANDY. Wake up!”
Someone was shaking her. A large hand gripped her delicate shoulder painfully.
“W-what is it? I’m up?” She sat up painfully. Her neck throbbed. Her brown hair hung in a disheveled cascade over her shoulders. She rubbed her eyes. She had no idea what time it was. The lights in the library were always the exact same brightness to protect the older books. Sunlight reached only a couple of offices outside of the stacks. She let her still-gloved hands drop to her lap as she looked around the room. Staring down at her where she sat was the head librarian, Patrick, and beside him, three police officers and a strange woman.
“What’s going on?” Andy felt her chest tighten with a sudden fear. What were all of these people doing here? “Oh my god, what happened?” her voice was shrill with the feeling.
“Andy, I need you stay very, very calm.”
She had never seen Patrick look so serious. A large bear of a man with a voluptuous beard and very small round spectacles, Andy had always found him to strike an almost cartoonish figure, but now he looked deadly serious. The color had drained from his normally ruddy face, and he seemed to be swallowing again and again as he tried to speak. “They've found a b-body in the stacks,” he finally gasped. “It’s… Not… I only found the part…” He covered his mouth and looked helplessly to the woman who had now stepped forward.
“Detective Hunt,” she introduced herself brusquely, thrusting a perfectly manicured hand out to Andy, and displaying her police ID with the other.
Andy stood up from the table shakily, scrambling to pull her cloth gloves off, still unsure of what exactly was happening around her. It was chaos; too many people, too early in the waking hours.
“Claire Hunt.” Andy took the hand and shook it, looking at the woman through still bleary eyes. “We’re going to need you to come down to the station and ask you a few questions. Just a formality of course.”
“I uh, sure, but what…” Andy looked from Patrick to the woman known as Detective Hunt and then to the three uniformed officers by the doors.
“I’ll explain when we get there… In the meantime… He’ll meet you over there,” she jerked her head unceremoniously towards the door.
“Uh I… Okay.”
Andy gathered her bag and followed the woman into the hallway. The once familiar calm of the stacks was brutally shattered by bright spotlights. Men in full body white suits were photographing something down the corridor. One, two, three flashes of light. Plastic sheeting covering the shelves. Andy squinted, unable to see anything, and then; “Is that a… a… What. Is that a… p-person?” The squeak of fear burst from Andy much more loudly than she had intended, as she stared around in horror. Her once familiar library had all but vanished into some kind of nightmare. And it wasn’t just the sight of the hand, severed from the rest of the body, that disturbed her. There was a symbol burned there: What looked like a sword. With a shock, Andy realized that she recognized it.
“Can you get her out of here!?” one of the forensics team bellowed, waving a gloved hand. “Distractions along with everything else!”
“Oh shut your trap, Mayhew,” Detective Hunt snarled as she led Andy away from the scene. They walked down from the stacks in silence, Detective Hunt gripping Andy’s upper arm tightly. Andy’s legs shook beneath her on the stairs, and she had to stop herself from leaning on the detective for support. They walked out of the doors into a rain-soaked morning. The bright green of the lilac bushes was dimmed, and they bent over, boughs reaching the sodden paving stones as the sky deepened and the storm rolled in.
Andy would not remember the ride to the police station. Detective Hunt drove in silence, the only sound the swishing of the windshield wipers as they made their way through the sodden streets of the city. In the back seat of the car Andy tried to wake up and make sense of what was happening. The detective glanced at her occasionally in the rear-view mirror.
This Andrea Garvey was just a little mouse of a woman, Claire thought to herself. There was only a small chance that she had anything to do with that morning’s grizzly scene. And yet she had been in that room all night without noticing anything? They stopped at a red light and Claire studied the woman in the mirror. She looked tired as she tied her hair up in a hasty knot. The head librarian had said that she was 28, but there was something more youthful about her olive skin, brown hair, big deep brown eyes. It was her eyes, Claire decided. Could such innocent eyes belie a crime as hideous as the one that had been committed?
Andy had never even spoken to a police officer in her life. She fidgeted slightly, conscious of the two-day old clothing she wore and the sorry state of her hair. But finally, as they neared the police station, exhaustion drove her to speak. She cleared her throat. “Detective Hunt?” she said timidly. “Do you think… Er, is there coffee at the station?”
“Do bears shit in the woods?” the detective replied, keeping her eyes on the road. “Don’t worry about that. We have a lot to talk about.”
But what, Andy wondered as the car pulled into the station lot, could she possibly have to say? They stepped out, and Andy followed the detective through a blur of metal detectors and secure doors to a busy office, packed with cubicles, and then through to yet another smaller office, or what Andy thought was an office until she realized there was nothing in the room but a tape recorder, a table, and four chairs. Somehow along the way, Detective Hunt had got ahold of two cups of coffee, which she placed unceremoniously on the table.
“Have a seat,” she said brusquely. Andy sat. “I understand that this has been a confusing morning for you. But we need answers as soon as possible.”
Andy swallowed, dragging the cup of coffee across the cold metal tabletop. She gulped down its bitterness, eyes watering slightly. “It’s hot.” Her dark eyes flitted from the door to the woman seated in front of her. “Sorry, it’s been a really weird morning and… I’m honestly still not sure what I’m doing here.”
Claire surveyed the woman in front of her coolly. She was in the habit ripping reassurance away from people. Suspects, witnesses, colleagues—she would systematically strip them of their sense of security in order to make them vulnerable and honest. If there was one thing that she couldn’t abide, it was liars. And everyone lied. Although Andy appeared to be an innocent, with her perfectly academic appearance and her curated timidity, was she? “Well, Andrea Garvey, you’re here, because early this morning, at approximately 6:20 am, a dismembered body was discovered just outside of the room that you were studying in.”
Andy swallowed. Hearing the words spoken with such neutrality stung her somehow. Her sanctuary had been violated. Her quiet little paradise destroyed by brutality, and this woman, this detective, was completely indifferent to it. She took off her glasses and wiped her eyes before replacing them. “I’m sorry, it’s just… All of this is very… I’m just really shocked,” she finished lamely, looking desperately across the table, embarrassed by her sensitivity.
“It’s quite alright. I understand why you would be upset,” Claire responded. She needed the facts, and soon, and if Andy didn’t calm down, they could be too late. She switched tactics. “You’re not under suspicion, we just need to know the facts from your perspective.” She lowered her voice in an attempt at a gentle tone, but the words came out as more of a predatory purr. “Just everything you remember from last night.”
Andy nodded and clutched the cup of coffee to her chest. She took a few deep breaths, and looked across the table at the detective. It was the first time she had really seen her. She was younger than her tough manner suggested. Around thirty-five, with light grey eyes and blonde hair that fell down her back in perfect ringlets. Her nails were manicured deep red. She was wearing diamond earrings. Andy thought that even in the cold fluorescent lighting of the room she looked more like a 1950s movie starlet than a detective.
“I’m not really sure where to begin,” she said finally.
“Start two or three hours before you went to the library,” Claire instructed, feigning patience.
And so Andy began to recount the events of the night before. She omitted the details of her parting with Jack, and by the end of it was so struck by the mundane nature of her evening that she felt a bit stupid describing it to the detective. Toward the end of the interview, when she was thoroughly exhausted, they were interrupted by another officer, and Claire left the room. When she returned, she held a folder in her hands, and wore a grave expression on her face.
“And this Jack Deluc, you say you left him a bit after 10:00 pm?” she asked as if there had been no interruption.
“Yes, that’s right… He walked me to the library, and then that was it,” Andy shrugged, looking puzzled.
“You see, they’ve just identified the body,” Claire stated, looking down at the woman. “And it’s Jack Deluc.”
A chill ran up Andy’s spine, through her chest and into the pit of her stomach. She stood up abruptly, bent over, and vomited coffee onto the floor. It couldn’t be him.
Claire watched her interviewee be sick, waiting a moment before getting to her feet and reaching out a hand to pat the woman’s back as she sank weakly back into the chair. Her back was hot and her breath came in great, shuddering gasps. Claire was almost certain now that Andy hadn’t murdered him, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t involved. “Why don’t we go for a walk,” she suggested calmly. “Some fresh air.”
Andy mumbled incoherently and followed the detective from the room, leaving her coffee on the table. It was still drizzling when they stepped outside. The city was shrouded in the grey mist of early spring. It was cool on Andy’s cheeks. It steadied her breath and brought her a peculiar calm.
“You and Jack… Just a teacher-student relationship, yeah?” Claire asked casually.
“Yes,” Andy lied before she could stop herself. She had been prepared for someone to ask—to call her out on her unprofessional conduct, but not in the context of a murder investigation, and now she had answered the question, and it was too late.
“I see,” the detective responded almost thoughtfully. They were walking along the pavement that overlooked the railroad tracks. A train passed slowly, the sound of it echoing mournfully in the gulf below them. They stopped on a bridge. “And you never wanted anything else?”
Heat flooded to Andy’s face. “No… I mean I’m not really—I mean I don’t have time for that kind of thing, a-and he is… or he was my student…” she trailed off, looking helplessly at the detective.
Claire observed Andy as a faint blush spread across her cheekbones. That could mean that she had at least thought about being with him. The fine mist that surrounded them covered Andy’s hair with dew, and dripped down her cheek. It was warm. Claire felt warm as her eyes followed the drop of water to the corner of Andy’s mouth.
Andy shivered under the scrutiny. No one had ever paid her such close attention before. She felt at once intimidated and intrigued by the powerful woman before her. The kind of woman who, she imagined, men would lose themselves to desperation over; shatteringly beautiful and aloof.
“You must be exhausted,” Claire said. “Come on, that’s enough for today. I’ll give you a ride home.”
Andy nodded mutely. Her limbs felt heavy as she followed the woman back to the police station parking lot. Dragging her feet, she slumped into the back of the car as exhaustion tugged at her eyelids.
“203 Elm Street,” she murmured.
As Claire pulled from the parking lot she couldn’t help but glance into the rearview mirror. Andy had fallen sleep, her cheek pressed against the window. Disarmed by sleep, she looked much the same as she did when she was awake. There was a certain timidity about her—an innocence of sorts. And, Claire couldn’t help noting, though she was dressed as a dowdy librarian, she was rather beautiful. Her features were even and soft. She was slender, but with the boyish femininity of Twiggy, or another one of those perfect androgynous models. Claire imagined that she must be very popular indeed. And this was how she justified her intense observation. Crimes of passion were far too common on campuses, and though Claire found the motive of love in murder to be almost boring, she couldn’t rule it out. After all, what else could drive someone to kill a promising young man and leave his body in pieces in a library?
She pulled up in front of Andy’s building. “Andrea, we’re here,” she said loudly.
“Oh, oh, I’m sorry, I must have dozed off…” Andy yawned as she roused herself from the car. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime,” the detective replied, “we’ll be in touch.” She sped away up the street, leaving Andy standing on the sidewalk, looking after her as she disappeared into the spring mist.
Andy dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment, opened the door, and went to the kitchen. As she put the kettle on the stove and carefully placed a chamomile tea bag in the bottom of a mug, the events of the morning buzzed like a confusion of bees about her head. Murder, and more than that; the symbol that she had seen on that hand
at the scene of the crime was a part of the motto of the secret society Scroll and Snake—a society that Andy had belonged to since her freshman year. “Ad utrumque paratus” or “ready for both” People from outside of the organization often misunderstood its meaning, but Andy knew that it meant more than the choice between the pen and the sword: It was the choice between intellect or violence. When Professor Neal had inducted her into the organization, she had researched it to the full extent that she was able. There was a violent history at Scroll and Snake, but the stories of gruesome punishments and violent rituals had faded into the annals of campus legend by that time. It was supposed to be nothing more than a social club now—A way for students in the humanities and information sciences to network, but now Andy was forced to wonder. What if it was more than that?
She poured her cup of tea and sat down at her kitchen table. The grey light of the early afternoon cast a mournful light over the blue tablecloth. The rain poured down harder than ever. She cast about for something to hold on to; someone tall and strong who could defend her from the real brutality of the world outside of her books.
She closed her eyes, and a vision of Detective Hunt swam before her. Her cold grey gaze fixed on Andy’s face. Andy’s tired mind recalled the sight of her standing on the rail bridge, soaked through by the rain, her blouse clinging to her breasts, a black lace bra visible through the translucent fabric. Andy had to admit that she was inexplicably drawn to Detective Hunt. Her brusque demeanor and intense level of focus were worthy of respect. It was with these thoughts that the young woman made her way to her bed, and collapsed into a fitful nap.
She awoke hours later to the sound of her phone buzzing again. She fumbled for it in the dark, not quite sure of where she was. Through the haze of sleep she hesitated for an instant, and then answered, her voice hoarse with sleep.
“Ms. Garvey, it’s Detective Hunt,” came the voice on the other end of the line.
Two Wolves For Lizette Page 55