Grey zone, p.21
Grey Zone, page 21
He raised his eyebrows, and Dulcie was struck once again by how handsome the Russian was. Had he misunderstood her interest? Well, nothing for it, she decided, and hovered between the restrooms and the communal table until her colleague returned.
‘So, what is so important that you ambush me?’ He was smiling. He had misunderstood.
‘It’s about one of my students.’ Now that she had him here, Dulcie wasn’t sure how to ask.
‘Oh?’ He doubted her.
‘Carrie Mines.’ He blinked, and she went on. ‘One of my former students. Who you then ended up teaching. And, I believe, may have become close to.’
‘We are friends.’ There was something there, she could tell. And he had admitted that much. ‘What is this about?’
‘She’s in trouble. I know it.’ Dulcie decided to just spill. ‘She’s in hiding, and you’re involved.’
‘It is true that I was questioned. You knew that, but that is all.’
‘Dimitri, it’s time to spill the beans.’
He raised his eyebrows again, but this time Dulcie wasn’t taken in. ‘Come on, you know the expression. It’s time to tell me what’s going on. For Carrie’s sake, and, well, for yours too.’ If he was in trouble, she would help him. Carrie was a pretty young thing, and maybe she’d come on to him, using her sexuality to win more attention from her young teacher. He was European. They were different.
‘I already told the police, this is not my secret.’ He was looking away, and Dulcie felt a strong urge to grab his arm and shake him. If there was more going on here – if Dimitri was involved with Herschoft’s murder – she needed to know.
‘Dimitri, look. Carrie is in trouble. Serious trouble.’ She wouldn’t talk about murder, not yet. That didn’t seem to be common knowledge, and it might prove useful down the line. But she had another trump card to play. ‘She might even be in danger.’
‘But she was getting help.’
Bingo. ‘I know she was seeing a peer counselor. That’s how I got involved.’ She was stretching the point, but not by much. ‘But the counselor wouldn’t tell me – no, she couldn’t tell me – what was going on, and I have to respect that. But you can, Dimitri. And you’ve got to.’ She paused. ‘For Carrie’s sake.’
He sighed and rubbed his chin. ‘You’re right. She is in deep. Over her head. I tried to talk with her, to help her. But she would not listen.’ He shook his head, and Dulcie felt her throat tighten. This was worse than she’d feared. ‘I would not want her blood splattered all over the piazza. I mean, spattered.’
For a moment, Dulcie was taken aback. Then it came to her. ‘Oh, you were talking suicide.’
‘Well, yes, like that awful man. I am glad I missed it, for from what my friend tells me, his blood was probably spread about like—’ He paused, searching for the word. ‘Like a jelly donut.’
Dulcie closed her eyes as a wave of nausea hit her. No, he hadn’t seen Herschoft. But the image came back to her. ‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘Oh? Because Lylah told me about a seminar, in which a living organism—’
‘Please, Dimitri. It wasn’t like that at all.’ An image of the blood – dark, framing the back of Herschoft’s head – filled her vision. She needed to get Dimitri back on track. ‘But you’ve seen her? You’ve talked to her?’
‘No, not since—’ He paused and swallowed. ‘But I tried. This is not right, I told her. Maybe I became too loud.’
‘You fought?’
He nodded. ‘I kept telling her: he hurts you with this.’
So it had been Dimitri she’d seen, that night under the arch. Only, he’d been urging Carrie to come forward. To speak out about someone else. ‘Who was “he,” Dimitri? Who was she involved with?’
‘That skeazy fellow. Is that the word? Skeazy?’
Dulcie nodded. He had it, more or less.
‘The one who is always hanging around her.’
Dulcie’s stomach clenched. ‘You mean Merv, her ex-boyfriend?’
‘No, no. That professor of hers. The really skeazy – no, sleazy – one.’
Dulcie smiled. He’d got it right. ‘Norm Chelowski. I knew it.’
But Dimitri was shaking his head. ‘Not Chelowski. He creeps in a different way. No, her other professor. The one who was supposed to be helping her. The dead guy: Herschoft!’
THIRTY-EIGHT
‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ Chris was at the table by the time Dulcie returned; Dimitri had grabbed his coat and left. ‘And not a particularly friendly one.’
‘What?’ Dulcie could barely focus. Dimitri’s words were still bouncing around her head. She’d suspected Herschoft of something inappropriate, but there had been too many loose ends.
‘That was Dimitri, right?’ Chris was watching her. ‘Did you two have a fight or something?’
There was something in his voice that wasn’t right. But her mind was spinning. Why was Carrie still in hiding? How was Corkie involved? There was too much going on for Dulcie to focus.
‘It’s nothing.’ Herschoft? Had all this led to his blood on the concrete? That dark, thick blood?
‘Should I be jealous?’ Finally, Dulcie looked up. Her boyfriend was smiling, but not easily.
‘No, no. Really.’ She smiled back and tried to put her heart in it. ‘Hey, you made it.’
‘Well, sort of.’ He reached to kiss her, but their embrace was cut short as he turned to decline a mug.
‘I can’t hang,’ he explained to Molly. ‘With midterms over, everybody is behind in their semester projects.’ He sounded genuinely sad. Dulcie knew about deadlines, she did. It was just that she’d been hoping.
She nodded and tried to look supportive as Chris kept talking, turning to her. ‘Plus, a few of the guys did cover for me when you were in the infirmary.’
He continued, saying something about how he was really on an extended break. But Dulcie found her mind wandering. If Herschoft really had been taking advantage of Carrie, then Chelowski was in the clear. But the evidence against Corkie was piling up. As difficult as it was to see her student as a murderer, Dulcie now understood how it could have happened. That had been Carrie, upset, talking to Corkie. What had she said? That she couldn’t end it? Had Corkie then raced over to confront Herschoft – and killed him?
Maybe he deserved it. Maybe Corkie was justified. And maybe that justified anger gave her enough strength to throw a full-grown man out the window. Dulcie’s head was swimming. And through it all, she kept on thinking about what else Dimitri had said – something about a jelly donut. The body, the blood . . .
‘Dulce?’ Dulcie looked around. Her friends were all staring. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah, I’m sorry.’ She tried to conjure a smile for Chris. ‘I’m just thinking.’ That pale, still hand.
‘Oh, good.’ He looked relieved. ‘I’ve been afraid that you were mad at me,’ he said. ‘You know, because I’ve been working through dinner and all.’
Did ‘and all’ include a certain red-haired student? Remembering Trista’s words, Dulcie roused herself from her thoughts and looked over toward her friend. She was laughing now, chiming in as Lloyd began a story. But Jerry was still looking at her with a vague, lost expression on his face. Well, if Dulcie was right, the university had bigger problems to deal with now.
‘So, I wanted to make the effort. You know, show you that I’m still here.’ Chris sounded like he was miles away. ‘But I guess I should get back to the old grind.’
He stood, and Dulcie turned to him, wondering if she could explain about the body. About Carrie. And just then the pub door opened and a different tall redhead walked in.
‘Merv!’ She almost shouted as she stood and waved. ‘Over here.’ She had so many questions for him.
‘All right then.’ Chris looked from Dulcie toward the door, where Merv was smiling back. ‘I guess I’ll call you, Dulcie.’ And he left.
But if Dulcie thought the new arrival would be able to answer all her questions, she was wrong.
‘No, no way.’ Merv was adamant. ‘There’s no way Carrie was involved with Herschoft.’
Dulcie had made the requisite introductions, pointedly ignoring Trista’s questioning look, and as soon as she could, had started questioning her new friend.
‘Not “involved,” exactly.’ Dulcie was trying to keep her voice low. Even with the jukebox, she felt the need to be careful. ‘We’re talking harassment. It’s abuse. From what I’ve been reading, it’s about power. About domination. Usually, it’s not even really sexual.’
‘No.’ Merv seemed to have no such compunction, and Dulcie was aware of her colleagues looking over at them. ‘There’s just no way.’
‘Merv, please.’ Dulcie wanted to be graceful, but she had to cut through his denial. ‘I know you cared about her. You must have thought the world of her, and nobody wants to think of a friend as a victim.’
He shook his head, cutting her off. ‘You don’t understand. I loved her. And, yes, I was bitter, but if someone was hurting Carrie. If someone was forcing her—’ He stopped, his mouth set in a thin line.
Dulcie looked at him. He was skinny, sure. But he was tall, and she knew from her time with Chris how muscular long, lean men could be. ‘Merv?’ Now she really felt unsure how to proceed. ‘The day that Herschoft died, were you there?’
‘What? No.’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘No, I was in the lab. And, yes, I’m sure I can come up with at least a dozen people who can vouch for me. We had to put down a dozen rats because someone had screwed up a drug regimen, and I am afraid I didn’t keep my opinions to myself.’
‘Well, that’s a relief.’ Dulcie didn’t realize until she said it how little she wanted her new friend to be involved. ‘But, oh hell, that means you can’t tell me who else might have been there.’
‘Sorry, that’s kind of impossible anyway. The whole building is a security nightmare.’
She looked at him quizzically. ‘But there’s a guard.’
‘At the front, yeah. But you can leave through the back. The door pushes open. It’s supposed to lock, but people leave it propped open all the time. Plus, if someone is coming out, they’ll hold it for you.’
‘He will – or she.’ It was automatic. Years of training causing her to speak without thinking as her last best hope faded away. She knew that door; she’d used it herself. And Merv hadn’t been there. He wasn’t a suspect, but he also couldn’t help alibi Corkie.
‘But this is all really silly anyway.’ Merv hadn’t seemed to notice her correction. ‘Because there is just no way that Carrie was involved with someone against her will. Look, Dulcie, I know you think there was something funny going on, but believe me. I’m the last person who wanted Carrie to fall for someone else. But she did. She was in love. And she was happier than I’d ever seen her.’
THIRTY-NINE
Writing, writing again, furious to finish. There is light behind the clouds, light picking up the flame-colored highlights in her dark, wild hair. Another night, gone. Another dab of ink on a cheek grown increasingly pale. What can she say to make them see? ‘Spirits, long enslav’d will out . . .’ No, she crosses it out, drops the pen in frustration, and watches as its remaining ink beads at its tip and then falls, a dark stain spreading. In the growing light, she can see the blood from where her hand rested. Thicker than the ink and no longer vital. Two spots, her life in rust. The time is drawing close, and she knows that they are waiting. The fire sparks, and snaps, the smoke curling up like the tail of an inquisitive beast.
She begins to write again, ink adding to the stain on her fingers. The rolling peal of thunder drowns out the scratch of her pen. Overwhelms the crack and hiss of the fire, the once-constant stream of her thoughts. If only she could reason with them. If only she could think. But the storm has drowned it all, and now she is alone. Afraid of the dark, of the depths, of what waits.
The time is drawing close.
Dulcie woke from her fitful sleep. The dream was back. The time is drawing close. Did the dream woman know who was stalking her – or was she considering her own end? Suicide. Stalking. They were haunting Dulcie’s dreams. Could the nightmare have referred to Carrie?
This was crazy. Granted, she didn’t know Merv well. But he’d sounded quite convinced when he’d said that Carrie hadn’t been involved with Herschoft. And since he’d been dumped by her for someone else, well, he should have been the first to blow the whistle if something had gone wrong.
Dimitri, on the other hand, was a colleague. Someone she’d come to trust. And what he’d said about Herschoft fitted in with what Corkie had shown her – and with Carrie’s odd behavior. It also made sense of the argument she had witnessed almost a week ago. He’d been trying to convince her to come forward, to speak out against her abuser.
Unless he wasn’t. Maybe he’d been spinning a story to distract everyone. He was studying stories of crime and deception, and he did have a kind of gross fascination with blood and murder.
Then again, maybe the dream was simply about her thesis. Maybe she was the desperate woman, writing on a deadline. The time is drawing close.
Still groggy from her nightmare, Dulcie pulled herself out of bed. At times like these, she wished Suze was around a little bit more. Or Chris, for that matter. But she didn’t want to think about how he’d taken off last night. About how her own distraction might have pushed him away.
‘Mr Grey? I could really use some help right now.’ The apartment seemed so empty and still. But as she reached for her bathrobe, a thundering of cat feet seemed to answer her plea. ‘Esmé! Good morning, Miss Kitty.’
‘Principessa, please.’ The little black and white kitten stopped suddenly and began washing her face.
‘Esmé! I’m sorry, Principessa. You spoke!’ For months, Dulcie had been convinced that her new pet could communicate.
‘I can when I need to.’ The little feline looked up, and Dulcie noticed how catlike she had become. Maybe the ability to talk, even psychically, came with maturity.
‘Or maybe you just need to remember there are other ways to communicate.’ With that, she finished washing her face and jumped up to Dulcie’s desk.
‘Hey, watch it.’ The cat had landed on her laptop. ‘I mean, please.’
But Esmé had taken off again. And as much as Dulcie regretted the end of the conversation, it struck her that maybe her pet had been making a point. Carrie had never called the number that Rogovoy had provided, so odds were that she didn’t know Dulcie had talked with the police. Plus, she’d been willing to communicate by email once before. Maybe she could be reached again.
While she waited for the program to open, Dulcie mulled over what she should say. Finally, she settled on the most basic. Carrie: We need to talk. Call me, pls? Or drop by? She typed in her office and home information. It seemed insufficient. The emptiness of email again. But it was all she could do, she concluded, and hit ‘send.’
Part of the problem, she acknowledged as the screen went blank, was her own distraction. She’d been spending so much mental energy trying to figure out what was up with Carrie – and Corkie – that she’d short-changed her own work. The dream most likely was a reminder. She’d trusted her dreams before, and only a week ago she had been so sure that she was on track to solve a literary mystery. Couldn’t she keep on investigating why her author had gone silent – and still work on the textual part of her thesis?
It was Sunday, a prime day for the library. The dream might have carried a warning: write now, lest you be doomed to a nightmare all-nighter! But it was no good. Maybe she wasn’t cut out to be a scholar, but she couldn’t focus when living people, her students, were at risk. Dulcie had reached out to Carrie as best she could, but she had another student to care for. That last message – what had Corkie said, ‘Let me take care of it?’ – had been woefully unsatisfying. Besides, she’d done what she could with Dimitri –and with Merv – and still come to a dead end. If Corkie wouldn’t talk to her, Dulcie needed to reconsider talking to Rogovoy. Corkie had been in the building. She was involved. Dulcie would give it one more go. See if she could find a way to get Corkie to confide. At least she would warn her that soon the police would be involved.
FORTY
Esmé had returned by the time Dulcie emerged from the shower. But her adult behavior seemed to be continuing, as she sat and stared at her human, rather than careening around madly.
‘What is it, little girl?’ Dulcie toweled her hair as the cat watched. ‘Is it that you can’t believe I’d voluntarily put myself under water?’
Esmé didn’t answer, and for a moment Dulcie doubted her own plan of action. Maybe the cat was telling her to mind her own business. No, this little beast was into everything. And, in her own way, she’d even shown that most of what we get up to is innocent – if a tad destructive.
‘Or is it,’ she continued as she pulled on her jeans, ‘that you’re lonely too?’ Esmé might not be a sleuth, but her sleek presence made Dulcie feel better. She’d been distracted the night before, she acknowledged as she started the coffee. Still, it hurt that Chris hadn’t come by after his shift. Today was Sunday, after all. He could’ve slept till noon, and Dulcie could have made them both a real breakfast.
‘Instead, I’m talking to the cat.’ Esmé tilted her head, and for a moment Dulcie expected a response. But none came.
‘Maybe it’s just as well, Es— Excuse me, Principessa?’ No answer to that one either. And so, rather than brood about absent friends and lovers, Dulcie donned her coat and headed down the steps into the world, locking the door behind her. Only to find that spring, once more, had made an appearance.
‘Good morning, neighbor!’ Helene was out on the stoop, her cat Julius stretched beside her. ‘Gorgeous day, isn’t it?’
‘Amazing.’ Dulcie unbuttoned her coat and looked up at the sky. ‘Is this supposed to last?’
‘Who knows?’ Helene leaned over to stroke Julius’s sun-warmed fur. ‘Last I heard, they were saying freezing rain.’
