The underclassman nervously looked behind his shoulder. “I’m afraid he’s already meeting with some, ah . . . um, people right now.”
At that moment, a group stomped heavily down an unseen staircase and a strained voice yelled, “Wait, I’m going! Stop pushing,”
Although the words weren’t clearly spoken, Cassandra and Meg could overhear. “Wait a minute. That sounded like Lance Erickson!” Cassandra exclaimed and hurried down the hallway towards the kitchen with Meg close behind.
The doorman objected, “Stop, you can’t go back there!” But they ignored him.
They pulled up short in the doorway at the sight of two brown-shirted deputies coming down a wooden stairway each holding an arm of a 6’2”, athletically-built young man who was visibly upset but not struggling.
A tray of freshly baked cinnamon rolls cooling on the center island counter top filled the commercial sized kitchen with a sweet cozy smell, and the plump cook turned from stirring a pot of chili, her ladle frozen in mid-air as she watched the unexpected commotion.
Cassandra recognized Lance Erickson, hands cuffed behind his back, his cheeks splotchy red. Trailing several steps behind was a frowning woman who locked eyes with Meg as if to say, “Do something, please!”
Meg subtly leaned into Cassandra’s ear and whispered, “she’s Nancy Ellis, a licensed sign language interpreter from Omaha.”
Alarm tightened her chest. “Officers, I’m Cassandra Sato, Vice President of Student Affairs. Why have you handcuffed this student, and where are you taking him?”
The senior looking partner went about 240 pounds, presumably spent a lot of time behind a desk or a steering wheel, and still had his standard issue Marine haircut, now graying. “Ma’am, I’m Deputy Kobza. We’re here to secure Austin Price’s room and talk to his roommate. Campus Security told us both boys are hearing impaired so we called this translator. She arrived about five minutes ago, but by then Mr. Erickson was already very agitated and started shoving Deputy Tate. We had to cuff him. We’re taking him out back.” Kobza jerked his chin towards two sets of large French doors that opened onto a landscaped courtyard and patio. Deputy Tate appeared only a few years older than Lance and was built like a football lineman.
Meg signed as she spoke. “Let me make sure I understand you correctly? You two walked into a deaf student’s room without warning, looked through his roommate’s things and questioned him without an interpreter present?”
The older man nodded. “We knocked first, but there was no answer, so we went inside.”
Cassandra could feel tension in the air around Meg. “Did you write down on a piece of paper who you are? Did you show him your badges and tell him why you were here?” She persisted in a quiet, slow voice, “Did you stop for a minute to think how it would feel if police poked around your bedroom with no introductions or explanations and you couldn’t hear what they were saying?”
“We told him why we were there,” Deputy Kobza said warily.
Meg stopped speaking and signed to him, “Yes . . . but if he couldn’t understand your English like you can’t understand American Sign Language then it wasn’t an effective way to communicate, was it?”
The officers exchanged confused looks then turned back to Meg. “What did you say?”
“I signed clearly. Didn’t you understand?” she spoke and signed.
Tate shrugged and Kobza shook his head no. “Of course not.”
Cassandra saw them struggle to get the point. “Well . . . how did that feel?” Meg prompted.
Lance had cooled down while watching Meg confront them. His lips fluttered into a smirk that disappeared as quickly as it appeared. The Omaha interpreter coughed into her hand and looked away.
The cook was still staring at them. Maybe they needed more privacy. Cassandra suggested, “Sir, why don’t we go out on the back patio, sit down, and calmly talk about this. The interpreter is here, now. Please remove those handcuffs, so the student can communicate.”
Kobza shrugged, “Once he started shoving, we had to stop him.”
She could also understand it from their perspective. Cassandra look pointedly at Lance. “Well you can see he’s fine now, right? And he won’t touch you again . . . right?” The interpreter had been signing everything they were saying, and he nodded.
They gathered around the table and chairs on the concrete pad outside the back door under a bright overhead light among the gathering dusk. The officers guided the student into a chair and removed the cuffs. Lance rubbed the red welts on his wrists to restore blood flow to his fingers.
“What’s going on?” Lance signed and said out loud. His voice was deep and he didn’t pronounce every single letter like a person who hears might say it, but they all understood him.
Loud Friday night voices burst from a group of young ladies wearing formal dresses and photo-ready makeup parading through the adjacent parking lot towards the fraternity house next door. They stared at the patio tableau, but Cassandra’s grim face and slowly shaking head discouraged them from getting closer.
Once they had passed by Deputy Kobza cleared his throat, “Like we said before, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, son, but your roommate, Austin Price, was found dead a few hours ago.”
Lance’s eyebrows arched towards his hairline, his face blanched and his mouth formed a what? “Austin?? A few hours ago! I don’t understand.”
Kobza faced Lance, one arm on the patio table, their knees nearly touching. “Mr. Erickson, Austin was found at the bottom of the outdoor staircase near the science center. Can you tell me the last time you saw him?”
There was a pause while Lance looked around in bewilderment. When he signed, the interpreter spoke his signs in English. “He was asleep in his bed when I went down to eat breakfast. When I came back to the room, he was gone. I think he was in the shower. Then I left for my 9:30 History class before he came back to the room.” His eyebrows wrinkled in concern and confusion. “The last time I saw him was around 8:30. What happened? I can’t believe this. He’s . . . gone?” Lance’s eyes welled up with tears and he put his head down. He composed himself after a bit and looked up again.
Cassandra stood quietly a few yards away from the interview and looked at Meg. Arms crossed over a long black sweater and feet planted shoulder width apart, Meg nodded slightly, her face a grim mask.
Deputy Kobza took notes on a small pad. “What did Austin do last night? Were you with him?”
Lance’s face looked angry. “I’m not his mother; I don’t know what he does every minute.” After a big breath he signed, “I was studying in the house library until about 9:00 for my History test this morning. He came home around 10 but he didn’t tell me where he’d been and I didn’t ask. He sometimes has a study group at the library. Or he works in the biology lab too. We just chatted about this weekend for a few minutes. I don’t know.”
“Was he in any trouble? Did he do drugs? Or sell them? Is anyone mad at him that you know of? Anyone want to harm him?”
Cassandra wanted to believe Austin accidentally fell down the stairs. But Kobza’s questions showed the police were checking every possibility. That vague familiarity she’d felt when she saw his body still eluded her. She’d think about it later when she had time alone.
They all waited while the interpreter relayed the questions in ASL, the deputy’s large Timex ticking off the seconds. Lance looked down, considering. Cassandra tried to read his expression for clues. He’s taking a long time to answer. Part of her itched to tell him to wait and call his parents, but she shouldn’t disrupt them.
Lance wiped his eyes with both index fingers, straightened and answered again, more controlled this time. “I don’t know. He was my roommate. He always kinda did his own thing though. We had different schedules. I never saw him do anything illegal.” One shoulder twitched in a shrug.
Kobza flipped a page. “Did you and he argue recently?”
“What? Of course we ar
gue. We’re friends and roommates. We’ve known each other since fourth grade; he’s like my brother. What a stupid question. Us arguing and Austin falling down the stairs have no connection. Why are you wasting time here talking to me? Don’t you have more important things to check?”
Both lawmen stilled. “I never told you he fell down the stairs. How did you know?”
“You said he was at the bottom of the staircase, right? How else would he get there?”
Kobza referred to his paper again. He looked at the interpreter, “I’m gonna ask my partner something. Hold on a sec’. Don’t tell him this,” He pointed at Lance, then turned to his right and spoke more quietly to Tate.
Something about that didn’t feel right. Cassandra watched the interpreter and listened closely to the deputies. She heard bits, “. . . holding back . . . take him in . . . call Sheriff Hart first—Hey!” Kobza stopped suddenly. The interpreter had been signing everything he’d said.
Kobza frowned at the interpreter. “I told you not to interpret! Why are you still signing?” When she continued signing while he was yelling at her, his face got red.
Meg interjected, signing while she spoke. “That’s her job, Deputy Kobza. Interpreters don’t pick and choose what to interpret and what to ignore. If she can hear it, she must interpret it. If you want to keep something secret, you should step out of earshot.”
He flushed again, but looked more embarrassed than angry. Deputy Tate coughed to get his attention and gestured towards Lance. “Are you telling us everything?”
Lance’s eyes were glued to the interpreter and then he shrugged. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know. You figure it out.”
Kobza shifted in his seat. “If you don’t cooperate, son, we’ll have to bring you over to our office. We need to search Austin Price’s room, and you can’t be in there when we do that.”
In one quick motion Lance came to his feet, gesturing animatedly, “Cooperate with what? It’s my room, too. I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t give you permission to look through my stuff. This is bullshit. Leave me alone.” He took a step like he was going to walk away.
The deputies moved in unison, grabbing Lance’s arms. “First, your house mother is going to search Austin’s half of the room to see what’s out in the open. In a few hours, we’ll be back with a search warrant for the entire room. This will be a lot easier if you tell us what we’ll find on your side. Are you hiding something?”
Lance turned his head away and refused to look at the interpreter, dismissing them all. He was done.
Kobza stepped back inside the fraternity leaving Tate with Lance. Cassandra hadn’t predicted Lance would be so aggressive. He’d always seemed happy and funny in the office. Nothing about this afternoon was normal though.
Kobza returned after a couple of minutes and said, “Sheriff wants to ask him more questions while we’ve got the interpreter. I’m not taking any chances that he takes a swing at me on the ride to the station.” They cuffed him again—in front of his body this time so he could still use his hands to communicate.
Lance glared at the women as though expecting them to help. Meg took a step towards him but stopped. It seemed unfair to detain him, but Cassandra had to defer to the county authorities. They hadn’t arrested him yet, but he wasn’t helping himself out either.
Kobza and Tate walked him to their patrol car and put him into the back seat. “Ms. Ellis, could you follow us to the station? We have some more questions for him there.”
“Yes, sir.” The Omaha interpreter went over to her car.
As soon as they were out of sight, Meg blurted, “Well, shit.”
Chapter Six
A trim, 50-ish lady with shoulder length blonde hair met Cassandra and Meg in the fraternity’s common room just as they returned inside. “Hello ladies, I’m Laura Graham, the Alpha Omicron Omicron house mother. I saw you outside the back windows with Lance and the police.”
Cassandra stuck out her hand as she answered, “Hi, I’m Cassandra Sato, the Vice President for Student Affairs, and you already know Meg O’Brien. I’m really sorry about Austin. Anything you can do to work with the sheriff’s office will be helpful.”
Wearing black slacks and a royal blue button down shirt with simple, elegant jewelry, the house mother’s eyes teared up at the mention of Austin’s name. “I’d hoped there was a mistake, but it’s true then.” They stood awkwardly in the entry for a few seconds while she wiped away tears.
Several young men sprawled on the couches, talking and working their phones. One guy held his overhead. “There’s a SnapChat of Austin on the stairs. Gees, the body’s not even cold and he’s already plastered all over the ‘net. That’s harsh.”
A preppy kid with curly blond hair said, “This isn’t gonna look good for us during Homecoming Week. Are the alumni supposed to step over the yellow crime scene tape to get inside? I hoped to have a shot at winning the Greek Cup this year. It’s my last chance.”
“It didn’t happen here, you idiot,” another guy in a faded t-shirt and a patchy beard retorted. “Our house isn’t a crime scene. But maybe his ghost will come back and haunt you until you tell him where you hid his Halo game.”
“That’s cold, bro.” said the blond guy.
“It was just a joke, man. I didn’t mean anything by it,” Spotty Beard defended himself.
Ms. Graham raised her voice a level, “Gentlemen . . . please.” The guys stood up and shuffled over to the stairs, still talking amongst themselves.
Cassandra said, “More deputies will be back later tonight. Can you keep everyone away from Lance and Austin’s room, please?”
“Actually, I was asked to do a quick visual check of Austin’s room to make sure there’s no immediate crisis. If you have time to stay for a few minutes, I’d feel better if an administrator was with me.”
Cassandra answered, “Sure, we can help,” and followed her towards the wooden staircase. Unfamiliar responsibilities were coming so fast, her stomach felt jumpy. College students were a strange blend of child and adult. They gave up some rights to privacy by living on campus, but at the same time were treated like adults by the police. Lance would have to call his parents or lawyer if he didn’t want to cooperate, but she and Ms. Graham were expected to secure campus property and protect the other students from potential danger at the fraternity.
Halfway down the third-floor wood paneled hallway, Ms. Graham inserted her master key to open a door. All three of them stepped into the 12 by 14-foot room and in a few seconds their eyes adjusted to the dim light from the partially closed blinds. A slightly sour smell filled the air and Cassandra noticed an empty cardboard pizza box sticking out from the full garbage can. Cassandra’s nose wrinkled. That should’ve been taken out a few days ago.
Ms. Graham didn’t seem surprised by the room’s messiness. Cassandra noted the unmade beds, the wrinkled clothes and a small mountain of shoes: dress, athletic and casual Sperrys piled under the clothing racks in side-by-side modular wooden closets. Several half-consumed water bottles littered the desks; fun-size candy wrappers and extra fast food napkins shared space with a Chapter 1 Philosophy review packet. Crammed in the bookshelves above the desks were worn notebooks, 3-ring binders and random pieces of paper.
Over what appeared to be Austin’s desk—according to the wooden fraternity plaque leaning against the wall—Cassandra spotted a framed 5x7 photo of two lanky 14-year-old boys: younger versions of Lance and Austin wearing swim trunks standing on a dock in front of a lake, shirtless skinny torsos, happy smiles and messy hair. Seven squirming fish hung from a chain while the boys struggled to hold up each end. The photo’s white caption read “Summer Camp 2011.” Lance’s desk had no photos or personal items. His open laptop had gone into sleep mode while they’d been downstairs talking and the login page awaited his return.
A monitor screen on top of a little black device rested on a shelf between their desks. Cassandra leaned in to get a closer lo
ok at the setup. “Is this some kind of gaming system?” she wondered aloud.
Meg glanced over and responded immediately, “That’s their video phone like the one you saw in my office. They can also use it to call people through a relay service using an interpreter.”
A video relay service. Didn’t know that was a thing. Wondering if the video was stored inside like a surveillance camera, Cassandra asked, “Could a person like me call them on this phone, too? Or would I need special equipment?”
The house mother explained, “If you call the phone number, it connects directly to the interpreter service. The guys see the interpreter on the screen, and they sign to her. Then she speaks English back to you.”
Meg added, “There’s even mobile apps so deaf people can use their cell phones to make calls just like we do.”
That only seemed fair. If she were deaf, she would expect phones to be accessible. “I don’t like driving out of town without my phone for emergencies. I bet they like being connected, too.”
Unfortunately, the video phone wouldn’t have any footage of what Austin did earlier that morning. Cassandra concentrated on finding something out of place in the room or a clue to where Austin had been today and yesterday. After several more minutes, she caught Meg’s eye and made the palms up “I got nothing” gesture. Meg nodded and tilted her head towards the door. Cassandra said, “I don’t see anything here that stands out to me; is there anything else we can do to help you?”
Ms. Graham followed them out the door. “Not right now. Will counseling be available for students who need more help than I can provide?”
“I’ll give your contact information to the counseling center and ask Cinda Weller to schedule some time this weekend for his fraternity brothers.”
* * *
On the way to the Student Affairs Office Meg said, “I hate that we couldn’t do anything directly to help Lance.”
Death by Dissertation (A Cassandra Sato Mystery Book 1) Page 4