Sable Alley

by Bridget Bundy

  My IET buzzes way too loud, breaking the professor’s rhythm and gaining the attention of the entire class. I get the dirty looks and the whispers, but I wave with my badge in hand, indicating for them to turn around and for the professor to continue. She picks up where she left off.

  I check the notifications. The blood analysis from forensics shows the blood from the parchment, the victim’s body, and clothes belong to Ruby Taylor. There isn’t anyone else’s. Another dead end, and I’m still nowhere close to solving this case. If there was someone else’s blood, it would have been matched. The killer was smart. He knew that if he left a sample, he would be found by now and arrested.

  When a child is born or comes to the BEAC, blood is immediately taken, and the information from that blood is stored in the government’s database. Only certain government officials can access those files, like forensic scientists in the police force. After a certain age, kids are given chips in their thumbs. I received mine before I was granted citizenship. The technology in the chips are still in development, but eventually, it will do what it was designed to do, to track people every second of every minute of every hour and day. Health will be monitored too. I call it an invasion of privacy, but the BEAC calls it a necessity for the safety of her citizens.

  The lecture is cut short due to my intrusion. As the students file out, some give me the side-eye. I stay in my seat, waiting for the room to empty.

  Eventually, when only Professor Dawson and I remain, she stands behind her desk. Blonde hair falls down her back. She wears a suit, and it looks about the same as mine. Dark blue pants and jacket with a white shirt.

  “How may I help you?” she asks with ease I find kind of odd, especially after I interrupted her class.

  I turn on my recorder and answer, “My name is Detective Victoria Kipling.”

  “Detective Kipling, an English name, but you’re not English.”

  “No, I am not.”

  “Fascinating. What tribe are you from? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “I do mind.”

  “I have no intention of exploitation. I’m a teacher, and by nature, I seek all knowledge.”

  Okay, I’ll bite on the question. “My tribe is known as the Nendikinto.”

  “They were murdered,” she says plainly. “My apologies to you.”

  How could she have possibly known that?

  Keying on my curiosity, she says, “You’re wondering how I know.”

  “I am.”

  “Before I came here to teach marketing, I used to travel with my husband all over this continent for twenty years. He was a doctor working for an international medical corps of volunteers. They would mostly offer vaccinations and treatment to tribes they found in the unsettled territory and throughout this continent. I remember the Nendikinto. They loved having guests visit their land. Very warm and welcoming people. I was saddened to hear they were killed. I imagine you’re the sole survivor.”

  “There could be more.”

  “It’s a shame. Breaks my heart still to this day. The Nendikinto were extraordinary people, and the world is less without them.”

  “For you to speak of them in kindness, I appreciate that.” I fight back the tears that threaten to fall.

  “I mean every word,” she says. “Tell you what. Why don’t you step into my office, Detective? My classroom isn’t quite amiable to guests.”

  The door is behind her to the left, next to the dry erase board. The space is filled with bookshelves, papers, plants of different sizes, and there’s a fan blowing in the far corner, making the room cool. Professor Dawson offers coffee and an empty chair in front of her desk. I take the seat, but I decline the drink.

  “How can I help you today, Detective?”

  “I’m here about a student of yours. Her name is Ruby Taylor.”

  “Yes, I haven’t seen her this week. Is she okay?”

  “No, Professor. Ruby is dead.”

  “Oh,” she says, touching her chest. “My lord. What happened?”

  “Ruby was murdered on Sunday. Can you tell me the last time you saw her?”

  “Last Thursday. She was in class.”

  “Did she ever confide in you about problems with work or school?”

  “No, Ruby and I were never that close. She’d show up for class, and when it was over, she was gone. I knew very little about her.”

  “Did you ever notice anyone in her class paying special attention to her?”

  “No, not really. When I’m teaching, I’m in a zone. I talk marketing. I hear marketing. I live marketing. When I’m in that classroom.”

  “Gotcha,” I reply with a nod. “If you think of anything or if you hear students talking about her, something that seems important, will you call me?” I give her my business card.

  “Yes, of course, I will.” Professor Dawson glances at the card and reads aloud, “Detective Constable Victoria Kipling.”

  “That’s me.”

  “Detective, I’m sorry about your people.”

  “Thank you, but it was a long time ago, and I just want to forget.”

  “Of course.”

  “Take care, Professor Dawson, and I’m sorry for being a distraction in your class.”

  She nods, still holding onto the business card with both hands. I leave her office, go through the classroom, up the steps, to the corridor. It’s filled with students. I look up and down the hallway. Four students from Professor Dawson’s class are huddled together. I dive right into their coveted space, showing my badge, asking if they knew Ruby. They claim they don’t, and honestly, I believe them. The marketing class I sat in on had over fifty students. With Professor Dawson doing most of the talking, I’m sure there was very little time for socializing during class. I should come back later in the day during the timeframe Ruby was in attendance. It’s in the middle of the day right now. Usually, Ruby would be at work. It makes sense the students I just questioned wouldn’t know her unless they shared the same friends.

  I check my watch. I’m losing precious time. I have to keep going. Her next professor is in the science building on the other side of campus.

  Chapter Thirty-Four.

  Professor Sonny Rose, the soils instructor, is not teaching today, and he’s not in his office. Instead, I find a student at his desk with her feet propped up, and she’s giggling and talking on a cell phone. Music plays from a stereo in a bookshelf. How she can hear with that noise is a miracle. Sam goes over to turn it off, but he can’t find the button. Frustrated, he unplugs it, which immediately gets the girl’s attention.

  “Excuse me,” a voice says from behind us in the hallway.

  Startled, we all turn around to see who it is. The girl is on her feet, and her phone is off. Sam has his hands on his gun. I’m trying to figure out where he came from. It’s Professor Rose. He walks by me, looking perturbed and red in the face.

  “Who are you people?” he asks.

  “Professor Rose,” the girl says, “I came to talk to you about the mark you gave me for my last test. You see, you made a mistake.”

  “I don’t make mistakes. Get out.”

  The girl looks to me and at Sam. Embarrassment washes over her face in a red hue, and she rushes out of the office in tears.

  “I want the both of you to leave as well,” he demands, adjusting the computer mouse on his desk. “How dare you come in here unannounced. You move my things around and play my stereo way too loud. This is not a frat house, nor is it a sorority house. This is my professional workspace, and I will not have you trespassing.”

  “Professor Rose, we’re not students.”

  “I couldn’t care less. I have asked you to leave. The next time it will be by security.”

  “We’re with District Three Police Department. My name is Detective Victor…”

  “I don’t have time for games. Take your bogus badges, your fake uniform, and your equally ridiculous titles to someone who can be fooled.”

  Fed up with the professor’s t
irades, and possibly still mad from our argument, Sam removes his cuffs and says, “How about we arrest you and take you to the station for questioning? Then we’ll see what’s bogus, fake, or equally ridiculous then.”

  Professor Rose realizes his mistake and lifts his hands, backing away from Sam. “My apologies, but I’ve been tricked too many times. It’s hard trusting the kids around here, and the both of you appear to be too young to be police officers.”

  “We’re not here to play tricks on you,” I reply. “A student was murdered, and we’re trying to track down her killer.”

  “I’m certainly going to cooperate with the both of you.” Professor Rose looks up at Sam, who’s well into his personal space.

  “Thank you,” I reply.

  Sam backs off and stands at the door, blocking it.

  “Professor Rose, do you know Ruby Taylor?”

  His attention is on Sam. Sam is glaring back at him. I step in between the two to get Professor Rose’s full attention.

  “Sir, Ruby Taylor, do you know her?” I ask again.

  “Yes, she’s one of my students, but she missed two of my classes. She can’t afford to miss another. I’ll have to drop her, and she needs it to graduate.”

  “Ruby is dead.”

  Professor Rose frowns. “She’s what?”

  “Dead, sir,” I answer.

  “That ain’t true.” His response takes me back.

  “What?” I ask, hoping I heard him right.

  “That’s not true. There’s no way.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I just don’t believe it.”

  “I’m sorry, Professor Rose, but Ruby is no longer alive.”

  “How? There’s no way. She didn’t drive. Therefore, she couldn’t have been in a car accident. She was a courteous young woman to everyone she met. That means nobody would want to harm or kill her. And I’m sure Miss Taylor was careful not to go into dark corners and alleys because those were the most dangerous places anyone could go.”

  “Professor Rose, I understand your logic, but I’m sorry. I wouldn’t tell you this if it wasn’t true.”

  He slumps down in his chair and thinks about what I’ve said. Maybe he finally believes it, or perhaps he could be finding other reasons why she’s not dead.

  “Professor Rose, when was the last time you saw her?”

  “Last Friday,” he says. “She has to be out of town. That would make more sense. She forgot to tell me. That’s unlike her. She was very considerate.”

  “Did she have any problems with anyone in your class? Did you ever notice someone following her?”

  “Ruby was an exceptional student with an incredible understanding of soils and their composite makeup.”

  “Sir, I didn’t ask you about how she was in class.”

  “Oh, you didn’t?”

  “No, I want to know if she was having problems with other students?”

  “For the most part, everyone in that class got along. I didn’t have problems out of her or anyone. Those students are set to graduate this year, and they are not in the mindset for silliness.”

  “Did she ever speak to you about her personal life?” I figure the answer is no, seeing how he seems to be eccentric and out of his mind, but I have to ask.

  “Whenever Ruby spoke to me, it was always about soil. She’d always come to me about soil, nothing more than that.”

  He’s not any help. “Thank you for your time, Professor Rose.”

  “If I see her tomorrow in class, I will call you.”

  I decide to let him believe what he wants. Maybe, he’ll accept Ruby is gone when she doesn’t show up tomorrow.

  The girl that was in Professor Rose’s office is in the hallway. As soon as we’re out of the way, she’s calling him. He shuts the door on her, leaving her standing alone in the corridor.

  How can a professor, who seem to be losing his faculties or has lost them already, still be teaching? Maybe, he has a deep understanding of his trade but no common sense. Whatever works for him. I’m not going to worry about it.

  Sam and I walk to the car in silence. Ever since the argument, he hasn’t tried to bridge a truce, and admittedly, neither have I. If we’re going to work together, we have to communicate, and we have to understand that we won’t agree on many things. We come from two different backgrounds. Now, I have to figure out a way to break this awkward silence.

  “Hungry?” I ask, figuring food is always a good ceasefire move.

  “Yeah, I’m starving.”

  “Burger and chips good for you?”

  “Excellent choice.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five.

  Sam keeps his head down as he shovels food into his mouth. I see what he’s doing. If his mouth is full, he can’t talk. In the car on the way to the restaurant, he didn’t say anything then. I guess face to face, instead of being beside one another is a lot tougher for him to handle.

  Breaking the silence between us, I ask him, “When was the last time you ate?”

  Sam chews his food before answering, “This morning.”

  “You eat like you haven’t had a meal in days.”

  He’s about to take another bite of his burger but then backs off.

  “Are we going to be weird all day?” I ask. “Not talking to each other? I can’t work like this.”

  “I figured since you tore me a new one, you didn’t want to talk to me, and I was trying to make it easy for you.”

  “Just because we don’t agree about certain things on the job, it doesn’t mean we’re enemies. We should make an agreement.”

  “What kind?”

  “We can be honest about our point of views, but we can’t walk away mad at each other because of it.”

  “Victoria, that might be hard for you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Who walked away mad at the university? Who told me to stay in the car?”

  “Alright, I admit I did leave you behind, but with this agreement, I won’t be walking away next time.”

  “I’m going to be honest with you, Victoria. I tend to stand by what I believe, and if I think I’m right, I’m not backing down.”

  “Same here.”

  “If we’re going to work together, I guess we do need to come to an agreement.”

  “As long as I’m a detective, we do.”

  “You think you’ll be one by tomorrow?”

  “At this rate, no.” I pop a chip in my mouth. Realizing it tastes good, I grab another. “I just wish I could figure out who killed Ruby.”

  “Alright,” Sam says, wiping his mouth. “Let’s go over what we have so far. Ruby was at a party at the train station on Sunday night. She got off at Hyde-Chapman Station, where she met the possible killer. He grabbed a baseball bat from the homeless woman living on the platform and went after Ruby. We believe he’s kind of tall, not overweight, but he’s possibly not fit either. He has a temper, and he doesn’t mind hitting women. It’s safe to say that you and I think the guy from the platform is also the guy that approached Ruby last week and threatened to expose her if she didn’t reject the job offer at Hunt Projects. Are we in agreement on those facts so far?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, tell me who’s your persons of interest.”

  “Reece Pearson at Bensington Construction, Ruby’s boss, but you and I agree that he’s too big to be the guy on the video from the platform. But I can’t verify his alibi on Sunday night, which isn’t good for him.”

  “Who else?”

  “Despite my reservations, Pastor Ashton Murray of Sacred Heart Catholic Church. His handwriting didn’t match the writing on the parchment, but his fingerprints were on the last page of the nondisclosure agreement I found in the alley. He said that he was taking a walk Sunday morning when he found the note and Ruby’s body.”

  “With that admittance, he’s placed himself at the scene. He saw the body and failed to report it to the police.”

  “Pastor Murray is a s
uspect then,” I reply.

  “Yes, he is. Anyone else you consider a person of interest?”

  “DS Maisie Green.”

  “I disagree,” Sam answers.

  “Why?”

  “There’s no evidence she was involved.”

  “She didn’t tell me about her connection to Georgia Knight.”

  “So what,” Sam says with a shrug of his shoulders. “It doesn’t point to guilt.”

  “You told me that you think she loved Georgia and killed Ruby so she could be with her. You remember that?”

  “Yes, I do, and I was wrong. If you can recall, Georgia Knight said that they were just good friends when you asked her, disproving my theory.”

  “But it doesn’t look good on Green’s part when she failed to tell me that she knew Georgia, and it makes it look like she was hiding something.”

  “She is hiding something. She’s hiding the fact that she’s gay. That’s all. She didn’t commit a crime by not telling you.”

  “Okay, Sam, I see your point. It’s strange how you’re taking up for her now.”

  “Despite our argument earlier, it doesn’t mean I’m against her. I have my view on how she’s treated in the department, and it’s not entirely a bad thing if you think about it.”

  “We’re not going there, and we’re not thinking about it,” I respond resolutely.

  “Okay. Fine. Moving on. Anybody else on your list?”

  “No.”

  “Alright, Pastor Murray is the winner.”

  “You know, Green said the same thing, that he’s a suspect.”

  “The one thing we agree on,” Sam replies. “We’ve been chasing our tails for far too long on this case. Pastor Murray lied. We need to arrest him.”

  “But it feels wrong.” I sigh and push my plate away. “You know what we’re going to do instead? I have a better idea.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “We’re going to talk to him first and find out where he was Sunday night. Ruby’s time of death, according to Dr. Turner’s report, was around eleven on Sunday evening. We need to nail down his location during that time.”