“Or an engineer possibly. Who is the occupant?”
“Currently Campbell. Last year it belonged to a student called R.J., the math professor’s pet.”
“You don’t need to use initials. I told you—I’m no blabbermouth.”
“That’s the name he goes by. It’s short for Ray Junior. I hope to see him tomorrow. Another boy gave me a button off R.J.’s fleece that he said he found at the scene of the hanging. R.J. is the one who got expelled.”
“My guess is R.J. murdered the boy out of revenge.”
“Wait. There’s also the victim’s girlfriend, a student called Kris. They had a big row before he went home for Easter. She thinks he was cheating on her. Also, it’s university policy to grant a passing grade to those closest to the person who died, and it seems she was failing her nursing degree.”
“It’s her then. She would know about how best to kill someone. And maybe he gave her the key or code to his room so she could get in when she liked.”
Rex shook his head. “She saw him hanging from the ceiling fan through the doorframe. She was unable to get in.”
“Maybe she just pretended not to have her key on her, to give him enough time to die. Hangings usually take only minutes. She’d know that if she’s training to be a nurse. Once you stop breathing, there’s no oxygen to the brain and you become unconscious. I heard it was one of the least painful ways to die.”
“I hope so for the boy’s sake, but not as instantaneous as fracturing your neck from a long drop.” He studied Moira’s face. “Promise me you won’t try anything like this again. It’s painful for the people left behind.” And selfish, he thought.
“It just seemed like the best solution. When I took the Tylenol PM you gave me, I thought how wonderful it would be never to wake up. But I did wake up, very early, still feeling depressed. That’s when I got your razor.”
Rex hung his head with a sigh. “Moira.”
“Tell me about the other suspects.”
“Well, there are people who took sides with R.J. His expulsion caused something of a furor on a student website. A random killer wouldn’t have known how to get into the victim’s room. So the murderer had to make it look like a suicide. Nothing was stolen as far as I know. His parents packed up the contents of his room and never mentioned that anything had gone missing, except for a silk tie.”
“But a button mysteriously turned up.”
“Aye, the button.”
“It’s very creepy.”
“Premeditated murders are always creepy. So,” Rex said. “What’s your final verdict?”
“It could be any one of the people you mentioned.”
“Very helpful. Anyway, I’ll see you early in the morning. Dr. Yee will be on duty. I’ll go and settle up now to save time.”
The medical bill came as a shock. “Just as well I’m in a hospital,” he told the clerk at the payment office. “The bill is enough to give me a heart attack.”
The cashier gave him an agreement to sign whereby the hospital could charge his Visa card if further costs were incurred before Moira left. Further costs! Not that he didn’t have adequate funds. However, he was in the process of converting a hunting lodge in the Highlands and it was costing him a bundle. He thought it would be grand to spend time there with Helen, although he hadn’t told her about it yet. It was going to be a surprise.
As he crossed the main lobby of the hospital, he was appalled to see an automated teller machine. The National Health Service in Britain might leave something to be desired, but he was grateful for it all the same.
“Why the frown?” Campbell asked when Rex climbed into the driver’s seat of the Trailblazer.
“Moira doesn’t have traveller’s insurance, and I’m not sure it would have covered a suicide attempt anyway.”
“You didn’t pay her hospital bill, did you?”
Rex reversed out of the parking space. “She doesn’t earn a lot from her job and I feel responsible in a way. I never gave her the time of day when she came to see me in Edinburgh.”
“Yeah, but still. And you say Consuela is high maintenance.”
Rex smiled wryly. “Touché.”
He experienced an acute craving for his pipe, which was strange, since he had not smoked much since arriving in Florida. The hot weather was not conducive to smoking. He felt on edge, his nerves in suspense, whether more from the effort of dealing with Moira or the pressure of solving the murder in time, he could not be sure.
“How are you bearing up?” Rex asked Moira as he carried her suitcase across the hospital parking lot. The sun was rising in a sky of rippled amber—a scene he would have preferred to enjoy from his ocean-view balcony over a leisurely cup of coffee.
She meekly held onto his arm, taking small steps. “They never let you sleep in hospital. At four this morning, an orderly came in to deliver clean towels. Or maybe it’s just so they can keep an eye on you.”
“You’ll be able to sleep on the plane.”
“Do we have time to get breakfast?”
“We’ll get some at the airport. I don’t know how long it’ll take to get there.”
Although Jacksonville was even bigger than Miami and had its own system of freeways soaring into concrete loops around the city, Rex found it easier to navigate. All the same, he didn’t want to risk the catastrophic consequences of Moira missing her flight. Campbell dozed in the back seat as they sped up I-95 to the airport among a sprinkling of freight trucks and early commuters.
“You can tell me all about progress in the case,” Moira said. “I’m about to get on the plane, so I won’t be able to leak any information.”
“All right.” More relaxed now that they were well on their way, Rex quickly organized his thoughts. “The case against R.J., according to newspaper stories, was based on the word of a career criminal and paid informant of the Jacksonville Police Department and on corroboration by Dixon Clark, who as a resident assistant was supposed to report any suspicious drug activity in the dorms.” He had read up on the case from various newspaper articles online.
“Dixon Clark being the boy found dead in his room?”
“Correct. The informant told the police he’d purchased cocaine from R.J. twice, but university records show R.J. was in the lab on the other side of campus when the buys took place. Dixon secretly videoed one of the transactions, but the recording proved too blurry to serve as conclusive evidence, and R.J. was acquitted. However, the university’s disciplinary board voted not to reinstate him because they believed Dixon.”
“I still think R.J. did it.”
“Everything seems to point that way. When I discovered that his room, now Campbell’s, was directly above Dixon’s, I thought I might well be dealing with a case of murder rather than suicide. By tracking Dixon’s Internet activities, Campbell was able to confirm there was no indication the deceased ever surfed the suicide website from which a set of how-to instructions were downloaded and left on his desk.”
When Rex realized he had mentioned suicide, he glanced over at Moira. She was staring out her window, a lost expression on her face.
“We’re making good time,” he remarked with false cheer. “We can get your baggage checked in and then see about breakfast.”
“I’ll take my case with me as carry-on, otherwise it might get lost. And I want to get some duty free.”
Rex hoped she wasn’t going to buy liquor. He wasn’t sure when she had started drinking, unless Monday night had been a one-off.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” she blurted, as though reading his thoughts. “I had a lot of time to think in hospital. You’re not to blame.”
“The important thing is that you get yourself better. Heather will take good care of you.”
“But what about afterwards?”
“Won’t you continue with your work?”
“I suppose.”
Rex patted the small hands clasped limply in her lap. “You’ve been through a lot.”
He followed the signs to the Continental terminal and woke Campbell up. “Can you park the car while we queue up at the ticket counter?”
Afterward, Rex called Campbell on his cell to tell him where they would be having breakfast. Moira ordered the special. Rex restricted himself to a coffee and Danish. The coffee was weak and tasted as though it had been left stewing for hours.
“They don’t care,” Moira remarked, pushing hers aside. “They won’t see most of their customers again.”
“The best airport coffee I ever had was in Paris.”
“They’re serious about their food in France. The French would never put up with this pigswill. Using that word would be a grievous insult in a Muslim country, you know. You have to be very careful.”
Campbell joined them and ordered a Coke and waffles.
“The breakfast of champs,” Rex remarked.
“So, Moira, are you looking forward to being back in Scotland?” his son asked. “I’ll bet it’s raining over there.”
Rex kicked him under the table. “Moira will take the sunny weather back home with her.”
“You’d never think I’d been in Florida,” she said, contemplating her pale hands.
“Och, you never did tan all that much,” Rex said.
“Anyway, the sun gives you wrinkles,” Campbell added, catching on. “You wouldn’t want that.”
Moira asked how he was getting on with his studies and what he did in his free time, and Rex was glad to see him make an effort to be sociable, even though he knew how his son felt about her. The strain of waiting for her to finally be off made Rex feel like a ticking time bomb. He would explode if the flight was delayed.
With less than an hour left to board, Rex escorted her to the security checkpoint and hugged her goodbye. Dry-eyed, she bid him a curt farewell. He lingered while she went up to the X-ray machine and placed her handbag and shoes in a plastic tray and her small suitcase on the conveyor belt. As she was about to walk through the metal detector, he turned away with a final wave and heard the alarm go off.
“No-o-o-o,” screamed a voice in his head. He looked back in panic. An armed female guard, taking Moira aside, waved a wand down her back and up the inside of her spread legs. It buzzed when it reached chest level. Rex watched in shock as the guard directed Moira to lift her blouse. The passengers awaiting their turn fell silent and stared. A second guard approached Moira with his hand on his holster. She turned in desperation to Rex, who pushed his way through the line. A guard blew a whistle.
“You can’t treat her like that!” Rex protested over the heads of waiting passengers.
“We’re on high alert. We’re looking for a female terrorist fitting this woman’s description. Step back!”
“She’s no terrorist!”
“I’ll need to see your passport,” the guard told Moira.
Retrieving her handbag, she stretched out her arm to deliver the document. The guard bristled when he saw her bandaged wrist.
“You were in Iraq?” he questioned when he came to the stamped entry. “You’ll have to come with me.”
“Her underwire bra set off the alarm,” the female guard informed him.
“Let her through,” Rex pleaded, wondering when she had started wearing underwire bras. Weren’t those what Victoria’s Secret models wore to enhance their bust line? “She belongs to a church group, which goes to trouble spots all over the world! She’s not a threat. I can vouch for her. I’m a member of the Scottish bar.”
“You can go,” the guard told her, regarding Rex as though he couldn’t care less about his legal credentials.
Moira reclaimed her suitcase and shoes, and made for the departure lounge without so much as a backward glance. Rex watched her disappear down the concourse. His knees wobbled with the giddy realization that she was out of his life—for now, at least, though he could not help but feel desperately sorry for her.
Grabbing Campbell by the shoulder, he guided him toward the terminal exit. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, “before something else goes wrong.”
While Campbell drove, Rex called directory assistance and got the number for LTB Construction. The office manager told him where R.J. Wylie was working and gave him directions.
“I can chill at the Landing while you talk to R.J.,” Campbell suggested.
Rex reached into his wallet and pulled out a fifty dollar bill. “Here you go. Get yourself something for the Keys.”
“Thanks, Dad!”
They drove downtown in slow-moving traffic. At night, the blue-lit Main Street Bridge and illuminated skyscrapers cast ribbons of neon color across the river. Rex had taken a photo the last time he was in Jacksonville, though it hadn’t done the scene justice. This morning the glassy towers sparkled with sunlight above the marina. The Landing, a complex of bistros and boutiques built on the waterfront, successfully combined urban chic and Florida casual. They entered Bay Street across from the Modis Building and parked the SUV.
“I’ll call you,” Rex said as they split into different directions.
As he approached the LTB construction site, a bronze glass skyscraper with scaffolding scaling one side loomed over him, dwarfing the tall buildings around it. A giant crane stood motionless against the azure sky. Within the wire fence lay piles of concrete blocks and stacks of pipes. Rex opened the gate and made his way to the trailer. Before he had taken two steps across the yard, a robust man in a yellow construction vest waved his arms at him.
“Hey! You there!” he shouted. “This is a hard hat area. You need to get outta here.”
“I’m looking for R.J. Wylie.”
“He’s up there somewhere. I’m his super. What d’you want him for?”
“Can you tell him his dad told me where I could find him? It’s important.”
The man radioed up to the tower. “He’ll be down in the cherry picker in just a minute,” he told Rex. “He’s a good kid. Comes to work on time, does what he’s told. But you’ll have to wait outside the gate.”
Minutes later, a mechanical arm lowered a red steel basket to the ground. A young man in jeans, yellow vest, and a white T-shirt and hat stepped out. The supervisor pointed to the gate where Rex waited, and he nodded. He was about Campbell’s height with more developed shoulders and a broader chest.
“I’m R.J.,” he said opening the gate. “The boss said you wanted a word.”
“I wanted to discuss what happened last year when you were suspended from Hilliard.”
“You must be the Scottish boy’s dad. You sound just like him. Whose side are you on?” Hazel eyes fringed with thick black lashes gazed at him in curiosity from a well-formed face edged with dark stubble. A silver ring pierced his right ear.
“The Dixons asked me to look into their son’s suicide, but I’m not taking sides. I’m just trying to get at an approximation of the truth.”
“My expulsion was a crock. The dean of students was just looking for a way to get rid of me.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I strung his bicycle up on a tree last year. It was an April Fool’s dare—a prank. That’s the real reason Bikey-Bink was pissed at me.”
“Did you sell drugs?”
“Sell? No! I handed a bit out when I had some to spare. Pot mostly, including to your son.”
“Campbell?”
“Sure. Just the one time. Don’t worry, he’s not a pothead, far as I know.”
Rex took a moment to recover from this revelation.
“Look, it wasn’t me on the tape. Any moron could see that. The gray hoodie didn’t even look like mine. But the cops needed to make a bust. Their informant was making $60 off them for every buy he reported. Thing is, he never bought from me. I never dealt. Period.”
Rex held up the button that Klepto had given him.
R.J. pulled a cigarette and lighter from his jeans pocket. “Not mine. Lots of students have hoodies. Anyway, school records prove I was in the chem. lab at the time the bust went down. I couldn’t have been in
two places at once. Plus my lawyer pointed out in court that the guy in the video standing next to the informant, a man of six foot, was inches shorter. I’m six-two. You couldn’t even see a face under the hood. It took less than thirty minutes of deliberation for the jury to deliver a verdict of not guilty.”
“Who arrested you?”
“Campus Security. Then Detective Beecham came to question me and took me to the station for no good reason other than I couldn’t produce the hoodie I was supposedly wearing. I told him it wasn’t me on the video, and he said he had a list of six eye-witnesses who confirmed I had the exact same hoodie. At first I said I didn’t need a lawyer because I hadn’t done what they accused me of. He and his partner questioned me for four hours straight. They found a second person to say he’d bought from me. I never saw either man in my life.”
R.J. kicked at the dirt with the toe of his work boot. “Not that it would make a difference now, but I could prove that button doesn’t come from my hoodie.”
“This isna aboot the drug bust. It was allegedly found in Dixon’s room the night he died.”
“So?”
“I don’t think his death was a suicide.”
R.J.’s face blanched. “Shit … Excuse me, but what are you saying, sir?”
“Someone got to Dixon from your old room.”
“How?”
“A system of air ducts leads to his room.”
“I don’t have access to my old room. If I as much as set foot on school grounds, campus security would arrest me.”
“A hoodie would disguise your face. Like you said, several students have ones that are similar.”
R.J.’s face tightened in rage. “I better not be getting the rap for murder as well as dealing. Why me? Lots of kids experiment with drugs. Why did Dix single me out? And why the fuck are you looking at me for his murder?”
“You have a compelling motive for killing him. He got you kicked out of Hilliard. You could have gone to prison for dealing.”
Phi Beta Murder Page 11