Grey zone, p.18
Grey Zone, page 18
The earlier part of the week looked much more fun. DEPT LNC for Monday. Well, that sounded good, didn’t it? A shared meal with his colleagues. Then DISC COMM @3. Well, if he was trying to curry favor, serving on the department’s disciplinary committee probably made sense. And then she saw it, the same day. Monday. CM. The initials were so small, Dulcie almost missed them. But there they were, in the corner of the day before he’d gone out into the beautiful view, before someone had launched him into the sky.
CM. The initials could be Carrie Mines. She’d been dating a member of the department. A regular on the floor. But they could also be Corkie McCorkle’s. Or could they? Corkie wasn’t a psych major, and her full name – the one most professors were likely to know – was Philomena. Carrie Mines. Corkie McCorkle. One had gone missing. But the other, Dulcie knew, was likely to have been the professor’s last visitor.
No wonder the police wanted to talk to Carrie. If those really were her initials, she would have been the obvious suspect. Fishing a pencil from her bag, Dulcie used the eraser to turn the page back. There, again, small but visible, were a series of initials: CM, CM. Two per week. The page before had them, too, as did most of February. In fact, the initials occurred so frequently that Dulcie began to wonder. Did she have it right? Maybe CM wasn’t a person’s initials at all. Professor Herschoft was a rising star. He must have been on committees – and committees had meetings. But something had aroused the police’s interest in Carrie Mines, and this was all she had to go on. Letting the calendar fall back open, she looked over the rest of the desk.
And then she saw it. Peeking out from the edge of the blotter, tucked beneath its leather edge, was a sliver of paper. Using the eraser, she teased it out until the sliver became an envelope – with a departmental logo. Someone from the English department had written Professor Herschoft. Someone had written a letter that he had wanted to save, that he had maybe tried to hide.
‘I’m being silly,’ she said. The letter was probably bureaucratic. An exchange of grades or a request for a student from one major to audit a class in another. Besides, the cops would have seen this for sure. Unless her gentle poking about had only now dislodged it. Unless they’d read it and discarded it as useless, unaware of how high academic tensions could run. Unless . . .
Unable to resist, Dulcie slid the envelope out of its hiding place. Gingerly, hyper aware of the black powder coating everything, she pulled the folded sheet out of the envelope.
Dear Professor Herschoft, it began. Concerning the matter under discussion, it is vitally important that we meet again. Such grievances are not to be taken lightly, and I, for one, will not be dismissed.
Dulcie looked at the date. It had arrived a few days before Herschoft’s demise. And, despite the high-blown vocabulary, it sounded like a threat. She read on: It is imperative that we resolve this matter. Sincerely, Norman P. Chelowski.
Chelowski? Had her thesis adviser been in some kind of feud with Herschoft? Dulcie thought back. Chelowski had been worked up about something. He’d been complaining about the Poche Building ever since construction had started. But certainly he couldn’t blame Herschoft for it. Unless – Dulcie looked back at the calendar – Herschoft had been on some kind of steering committee. Maybe the young professor had been assigned the task of gathering community reaction. Maybe he’d downplayed the effect on the English department, hoping to curry favor with his own higher ups.
Dulcie only had to close her eyes to remember that entire horrible day. First Chris and Rusti. Then Herschoft. And then that strange, urgent demand from Chelowski. He’d insisted on meeting her in the departmental office right after that horrid, horrid scene at the Poche, but he hadn’t called from there. He’d arrived after she did; she could clearly remember him taking off his coat. Maybe he’d called a meeting with her as an alibi. And that grin – that weird grin – came back to mind. Maybe Chelowski had truly hated the other professor. Maybe—
‘What are you doing in here?’ It was Merv. He was standing in the open door, with Sally Rothberg right behind him.
THIRTY-TWO
‘Excuse me?’ If she’d had a moment, Dulcie might have shoved the letter into her bag. As it was, she dropped it to the floor.
‘Sally said you were looking for me, and when we couldn’t find you . . .’ To do Merv credit, he looked a little embarrassed.
‘Did you cut the police seal?’ The receptionist, on the other hand, sounded angry, and Dulcie rushed to correct her.
‘No! It was already broken! I wouldn’t have come in otherwise.’
‘So, why did you come in here?’ Dulcie felt like she’d been tag-teamed, Sally setting up Merv’s question. But there was no denying that she was in an office where she had not been invited. An office that had been closed and did have at least the remains of a police seal on the door.
‘I’m calling the police.’ Sally turned toward her office.
‘No, wait.’ Dulcie went after her. ‘Please, I can explain.’
Both Sally and Merv turned toward her, waiting. She had to give them something. The police already knew about Carrie. ‘I’m here about Carrie, Carrie Mines. She was my student.’
She didn’t mean to look at Merv, but she couldn’t help turning slightly. The pale redhead colored and set his lips in a tighter line.
‘So you said.’ Sally Rothberg wasn’t giving an inch. ‘And that brings you here, why?’
‘I’m worried about her.’ It sounded lame. ‘She dropped a section I teach last year, and I’m afraid I let her down. I have reason to believe she may be in some kind of trouble. Even suicidal.’
‘A little late, aren’t you?’ The receptionist had crossed her arms and was regarding Dulcie with a stern look.
‘Yes, I am.’ The confession helped. ‘And I feel terrible about it. But what happened was that I saw her only a few days ago. She was arguing with someone, and then she was reported as missing. And now, well, I’m hearing all sorts of things.’ She’d been about to mention the note, but since it was private – and stolen – it made sense to keep quiet about it. At least until she knew for sure just what it meant.
‘So, that’s why you’ve been chatting me up.’ Merv’s voice was cold enough to make Sally Rothberg turn to look at him.
‘No, Merv. I didn’t know you two used to go out. Honest.’ It sounded so lame. That couldn’t stop her from finally getting some information. ‘Do you know if Carrie was here that day, the day that Professor Herschoft . . . died?’
‘What?’ Merv sounded surprised. ‘Why?’
‘Well, they obviously knew each other. I might have seen her initials on his desk calendar. There might be a connection.’
‘OK,’ Sally Rothberg broke in. ‘Enough of this. I don’t know why you’re really here, but you clearly aren’t this girl’s teacher.’
‘Why? What do you mean?’ Dulcie hadn’t even gotten around to the contagion theory, to Corkie or Dimitri. To half of what she wanted to say.
‘Because if you were, you would have known that Carrie Mines was a regular here because she was a psych major.’ Merv explained. ‘That’s how I met her.’
‘She should have been here that awful day,’ Sally Rothberg said, picking up the thread. ‘I know she was working very closely with Fritz Herschoft, and last week was really quiet – a lot of us were using it as a catch-up week after exams. But he’d had me call her. He was too busy with his own work, he’d said. He told me to cancel all his appointments so he could have some time alone. I was down in the archives, filing. I thought—’ She bit her lip. ‘If only I’d known why, what he was going to do instead. At least he tried to spare his student.’
She was lucky, Dulcie realized on the way down, that Sally Rothberg hadn’t called the cops.
‘I just want you gone,’ the receptionist had said. ‘No more cops, no noise. I’m sick of it all. I know what people say about us. I know everyone thinks the department attracts unbalanced individuals. But nosing around a dead man’s office? That’s just ghoulish.’
‘Creepy,’ Merv had added as they had marched her to the bank of elevators. And then the elevator had arrived, and Dulcie had considered retreat the better part of valor.
It wasn’t until she had exited the building and was walking across the white stone plaza that she stopped to think. Neither Sally nor Merv had been around to see who had been on the floor that fateful day. But Carrie Mines had had an appointment to see Professor Herschoft. No wonder the police wanted to talk with her. Dulcie flashed back to her own presence here that horrible day. She’d been chasing Corkie, who had just had some kind of argument with another woman – probably Carrie. And the woman in olive green – Carrie – had run off. If Corkie had been looking for her student, to make peace or one final point, maybe she’d come here, not knowing that Carrie’s schedule had changed.
No, Dulcie shook her head. There was a lot she didn’t know, that Rogovoy wasn’t telling her. But the basic idea of Corkie fighting with Herschoft, of somehow overpowering him and throwing him out the window in the few minutes she had been in the building? It didn’t seem possible. Besides, Corkie had no connection to Herschoft. Her sole concern, as far as Dulcie could tell, was Carrie Mines.
Carrie was in trouble, that much was clear, and all the signs pointed to abuse by a person in authority. Maybe Professor Herschoft had been helping her evade someone else. Merv? He was tall enough to have been the man in the archway. Tall and lean. Had he come down to the police station that morning to ask questions, or to answer them?
Without realizing where she was heading, Dulcie found herself on the steps of the English department. And as she opened the door, she realized there was a third candidate she hadn’t considered. Someone who was tall enough to have been the man she saw. Someone whose pursuit of an undergraduate would be against every ethical rule. Someone, she remembered as she stepped inside the little house’s alcove, who had written to the student’s new adviser in a vaguely threatening tone and who already had a grudge against the professor – and the very building he’d been thrown out of.
The sound of hard soles on old wooden stairs caused her to look up. Ducking to keep from hitting his head on the low, even so slightly sagging ceiling was her thesis adviser, Norm Chelowski.
THIRTY-THREE
‘Miss Schwartz! How nice to see you.’ Her adviser straightened up as he stepped off the stairs, and Dulcie was struck by how big a man he really was. ‘Did we have an appointment?’
‘What? No.’ Dulcie found herself backing away. That letter: maybe it hadn’t been about the shadow of the building. Maybe Herschoft had been about to file some sort of official grievance, and Chelowski was trying to stop him. ‘It is imperative that we resolve this,’ the note had read. But maybe Herschoft had refused to settle it quietly. Maybe he had refused to withdraw the complaint. Maybe Chelowski had found a way to sneak in, up to the other professor’s office. Herschoft wasn’t the only struggling academic who was up for tenure.
‘Ms Schwartz?’ She looked up into her adviser’s face, aware that she’d been standing, frozen. The idea of Norm Chelowski pressuring a student for sex was doubly horrible, now that she saw him up close. ‘I’m here to pick up papers. To pick up my students’ papers.’
‘Got to keep a tight rein on those undergrads.’ He nodded in a way that turned her stomach. ‘Some of them just have no idea of the discipline that’s necessary.’
This was getting creepier and creepier, and Dulcie ducked into the office, desperate for the comforting presence of the departmental secretary.
‘Were you looking for Nancy?’ Chelowksi was right behind her. ‘She stepped out. Dentist or something. May I help you with something?’ He smiled, and Dulcie drew back in horror. She’d seen him as a figure of fun, a slightly ridiculous character. But maybe her instincts had been correct when she’d envisioned him as a weasel. A dangerous and sly creature. Muttering something about deadlines, Dulcie turned and fled.
‘Chris?’ Dulcie fished her phone out of her bag and answered without looking. What she really needed now was support.
‘You still haven’t spoken to him, Dulcie?’ It was her mother. But, for once, Dulcie was grateful.
‘No, it’s a long story. Hey, Lucy?’ She was walking fast, heading for the Yard. ‘Do you really think that maybe I’m psychic?’ She paused before adding: ‘Too? I mean, really?’
‘Of course, dear. I’ve known that about you since infancy. Why, one of your first acts was to grab my grandmother’s cameo to teethe on. I had to take it away, of course. You probably don’t remember it; that all went when we had to incorporate the colony. But I knew then, because she had been quite a seer in her day. Almost like a Philadelphia version of the Fox Sisters.’
Dulcie had to get her mother back on track. ‘But since then, I mean, do you think I see people as they really are?’ She’d felt so guilty when she had first decided Chelowski looked like a weasel.
‘Yes, dear. I mean, you’ve made some mistakes. I remember that room-mate of yours – the summer sublet fellow?’ Dulcie nodded in agreement. That had been a big one. ‘But in general, yes. You’re quite a good judge of character.’
‘Lucy – Mom – I don’t know what to do with this. But I think maybe my thesis adviser is a criminal.’
For the first time that Dulcie could remember, her mother was speechless. ‘Mom?’ she asked finally. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes, yes, dear. I’m just – flabbergasted.’ Dulcie heard rustling on the other end of the line. ‘Hold on, let me get my cards.’
A few moments passed, and Dulcie realized she was humming. When she recognized the song – the sultry ‘Teach Me Tonight’ – she stopped. ‘You still there?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry, dear. I haven’t used this deck in a long time. Here we go.’ To the gentle sound of paper slapping, Dulcie relaxed. Her mother used to read the cards regularly when Dulcie was little, and she’d grown up with the Rider-Waite imagery. ‘Would you tell me what the trouble is, Dulcie?’
Briefly, Dulcie outlined her suspicions, focusing on the sexual harassment and leaving out the possibility of murder. Her mother had enough to deal with.
‘You don’t know his birth sign, do you?’
That was odd. ‘You never needed that before.’
‘I’m getting confusing signs, dear. If what you say is true, I should be getting different cards. The two of cups, or perhaps something similar.’
Dulcie wracked her memory, trying to come up with what that particular card meant.
‘Unbridled passion. Sex without love,’ Lucy said. She might not be psychic, but she knew her daughter.
‘Well, that’s interesting, but I’m still worried.’ What was she doing, asking her mother for advice? Dulcie didn’t want Chelowski to be an abusive creep, but she wasn’t going to be reassured by long-distance magic.
On the other end of the line, her mother was still reading. ‘I’m wondering, dear, do you think you could have it wrong? I’m just not seeing it.’
‘I wish.’ The idea of Chelowski being criminal sat like a cold weight on her shoulders. She’d never really liked him, but she’d finally made peace with him. The thought of confronting him, of turning him in, was enough to make her feel vaguely ill. Add in the prospect of finding another thesis adviser, once again . . . ugh. What she really needed to know was what her own future held.
‘Lucy, would you do something else for me?’ Before her mother could even answer, the words rushed out. ‘Would you pull a card for me, like you used to?’ Dulcie hadn’t asked since she was a child. But now, she wanted the comfort.
Dulcie waited, visualizing her mother. She could picture her now, in the commune’s big common room as she sat back and thought of her daughter and then chose a single card from the oversized deck. It would be the Sun. It always was. And even though Dulcie had long suspected her mother of a little sleight of hand, she’d grown used to Lucy pulling the bright card for her. Used to seeing herself in its image of a smiling child on a white horse, accepting its promise of happiness in love and life.
Only, this time the silence went on a bit too long.
‘Lucy, are you there?’ Dulcie asked the silent phone. ‘Did you get the Sun?’
‘Oh, Dulcie, I did.’ Something was wrong, very wrong. ‘But your card? Your usual card? It was upside down.’
Dulcie tried not to think about it as she continued into the Yard. But all her years in the commune had taught her something. Reversed cards meant just that – all the traits turned upside down. Not just a different fortune, one lacking in contentment and fulfillment. But the loss of happiness, of love and joy. The loss of everything you held dear.
THIRTY-FOUR
‘I wanted to shield you, dear.’ Lucy had been so upset that Dulcie had ended up comforting her. ‘I thought, maybe I shouldn’t tell you. But I had to, you see?’
It all had to do with the cards, Dulcie thought. If Lucy had betrayed the cards, she’d lose some connection, some ineffable power of divination. Far better to dump bad news on her only child.
‘I get it, Lucy. No, it’s fine. Really.’ She’d wanted to get off the phone ten minutes ago. ‘You shouldn’t have to lie to protect me. That’s not what parenting is about.’ She parroted back Lucy’s excuses and waited till her mother sounded reassured before signing off.
With a mood that now matched the glowering gray sky, Dulcie marched through the Yard – and stopped. Where, she wondered, had she been headed? Ostensibly, she wanted to seek out Corkie, to find out what had happened that day at the Poche. In truth, she realized, she’d been heading toward her basement office. But the idea of meeting Lloyd, of having to chat with another man in an inappropriate relationship, was suddenly extremely distasteful. She knew Lloyd and Raleigh were different, but still . . .
And then there was Dimitri. He was somehow involved in all of this. Could she have been wrong about Chelowski? Could it have been Dimitri, as she’d originally suspected, who had been so wrongly involved with Carrie? The idea was a lot less distasteful. And that note had mentioned ‘the department.’ It wasn’t inconceivable that the two professors were discussing a problem between students.
