Angel Food and Devil Dogs (43 page)

I ran down the stairs, bumping into Rowlina Roth-Holtzmann. She had a live fox draped over her head with its tail curved around her neck. The fox looked rabid; it was gnawing her just above her collar, causing bright red blood to flow over her shoulders. I screamed, but no sound came out.

Jimmy Harmon raised his hand to slap me, but a disembodied arm held him back. Behind it, a door opened and three men stepped into the room. One was Max Bouchet in a wet, sooty pinstripe suit. One was Leo Getty wearing a bumpy purple robe and a football helmet, and the third was Skylar Carvelle with a bloody glass paperweight stuck in his head.

The three men were joined by Jimmy Harmon. Each man removed something from his pocket and put it in a pile on a desk. The pile became a small silver gun, which burst into flames. Daniel Cohen appeared with a bucket of water and doused it out. Leo Getty looked over his shoulder at the wall behind him where empty picture frames hung. He took one off the wall. Christine Jorgensen took it from him and looked at it closely, though there was nothing in it.

Miranda Juarez stood one step behind Bouchet. She threw a wad of paper money over her shoulder in a perfect arc behind. Shel Druckenmacher leaned through a door, he was covered with sand. He caught the money with a bloody hand, then darted back out of view.

Jimmy Harmon pulled some sheet music out of his sleeve and tried to walk away with it. Behind him was Carl Rasmus again, with a cane and dark glasses. Next to Carl was Kathryn. Carl grabbed the music from Jimmy as Kathryn watched. Jimmy grabbed it back.

A phone rang. Carl tried to answer it but his mouth was still full of macaroni. He spat it out on the desk. It landed in a disgusting mass on a computer keyboard. He answered the phone. Carl walked to the window and fell out. Kathryn looked after him with tears in her eyes.

Connie Robinson came in running. She picked up something large that became a huge stack of dishes. A piano sped by her through some French windows, crashing to the ground. I looked out and saw a blind man's body crumpled on the sidewalk in a fetal position, illuminated by a doorway light, which blinked once and fizzled out.

Now Connie was holding a package of three Devil Dogs. She took one out of the pack, but another appeared in its place. It happened over and over, then morphed into a can of tennis balls. She handed the can to Kathryn who dropped it because it had grown into a grotesquely large package of Cafalatte bottles. The three bottles falling to the floor sounded like a chunk of cement hitting the sidewalk.

Kathryn put her hand to her neck, blood seeped through her fingers running down both shoulders. I tried to go to her but I couldn't move my feet. Kathryn didn't seem concerned about herself. She was looking at my stomach with profound fear. I looked down. There, stuck in my side, was a knife just above my left hip. The bloodless wound seemed huge. I grasped the handle of the knife and pulled it out. It turned into a small gun. The disembodied hand took it from me and aimed it at Kathryn. I tried to grab it back but I couldn't move fast enough. The gun went off. I screamed.

I bolted upright in bed, dripping with sweat. Kathryn sat up and put a protective arm around me.

"Maggie, what is it?"

I turned and carefully touched her neck. It was smooth and porcelain white. The image of her bleeding faded from my mind. I held up my hand to stop her from speaking. Think... I shook my head to make the pieces fall into place faster, but they were taking their own sweet time. Suddenly, I got a hold of one important piece that slapped me in the face and finished one section of the puzzle.

Carl with pasta in his mouth. Macaroni... macaroni's can, "Oh shit, of course," I said out loud.

I jumped out of bed and ran to get Carl's laptop computer. I brought it back into the bedroom and booted it up. I opened the file with all Carl's programs in it. I selected the Voice Transcription System program, and opened the Macro files. I scanned down the list.

"Look, look," I said to Kathryn, turning the screen toward her and pointing.

"Oh my God," she said staring at the screen. She turned to look at me; her eyes were filled with angry tears. "Who was it? Damn it, who did it?"

"I don't know, um... Connie and Miranda are long shots."

"So... that leaves Jimmy, Leo and Rowlina as those most likely?" she pondered, "Which one?"

I didn't say anything. I wasn't sure. There was something kicking a part of my brain. I knew I had the information to figure this out, but I couldn't fit the puzzle together yet. The solution was on its way though, and for some reason it scared the shit out of me.

"Maggie, you think it was Jimmy don't you?"

I didn't answer; instead I said, "It's time to push the envelope."

I needed to call Bouchet. I got out of bed and went to get dressed. It was 2:00 AM, but I didn't care. I had firm evidence that Carl was murdered and I needed to tweak the killer out into the light of day. I was working on a plan to make that happen and Bouchet was going to have to play a big part. I was trying to figure out the rest of the dream too, but like so many dreams that fade into dawn, the images were drifting away.

Bouchet was groggy when he answered, but snapped to alertness when I told him I'd found the key to Carl's suicide note. As I was talking to him I noticed that Kathryn had drawn on her robe and was pacing around the bedroom. She seemed racked with emotion. An assortment of expressions crossed her face. Even after I'd disconnected with Bouchet, I watched her. She seemed both enraged and deeply confused.

"Kathryn?"

She stopped abruptly and turned and sat on the bed.

"Maggie, you're talking about prodding a rattlesnake in a shallow hole. You're not even sure who it is. What are you going to do? How can you be safe? This person is a killer with a gun..."

"Kathryn," I began. This was just what I'd been talking about earlier in the evening. When the case was abstract to her, it could be simply exciting, but now that all the players were people she knew...

"No, don't say anything," she said standing up, beginning to pace again, "I have to figure out exactly how I feel about this."

I'd been dealing with crime for more than 15 years. I'd had time to grow a thick skin, to get used to it, but this was all new to Kathryn. Kathryn might not be able to handle this.

∞ ∞ ∞

On my way to Bouchet's house, I was still worrying about the effect this was all having on Kathryn. When I was leaving she'd agreed that we'd talk about it later, but she seemed so distracted. Maybe we would talk about it all night. Or maybe, when I got home... she'd be gone. The possibility squeezed my chest and brought tears to my eyes. I realized at that moment, I was falling in love with Dr. Kathryn Anthony and that if I lost her, it would break my heart.

It was Monday morning. I was tired but keenly alert. The adrenalin that pumps through cops' veins when they're on the hunt was coursing through mine. Bouchet and I had worked out a plan. It was fairly simple. He'd agreed to call an emergency meeting of the Tenure Committee, complete with Bart Edgar, Miranda Juarez and Connie Robinson at 10:00 AM. He was to insist. Everybody had to be there, except Georgia Smith who was still in the hospital.

The suspects would be followed after the meeting by the campus security team. I really wanted to get Fenchester Security to give me a few operatives to handle the tails, but there wasn't time to get them in place. I'd have to use Bouchet's people.

I was wearing a bulletproof vest. Really, I was. One of those ultra light Kevlar ones. Since the killer only had a 22mm, the vest would stop it... but of course, the bullet would have to hit me in the vest. I tried not to think about that too hard. I also tried not to think about Kathryn's reaction to the whole thing. She hadn't minced words. She'd said flatly that it was a stupid plan. She had a point. It certainly was a snake prodder.

She and I rode up in the Administration Building elevator together. Leo Getty, Jimmy Harmon, and Rowlina Roth-Holtzmann were all in the elevator with us.

Rowlina touched Kathryn's arm, "I must speak to you sometime very soon," she whispered desperately. Kathryn nodded to her.

Kathryn paid little attention to me but she was deeply concerned about Jimmy. She desperately wanted to believe he was not the killer. She tried in vain to chat with him about Carl's music at the service, hoping to hear innocence in his voice. He just grunted. Leo affably mentioned a minor glitch in his grant application. Kathryn said generously "Leo, I know all about the whole situation. I'll get to you later today. I have to..."

The elevator doors opened. Max Bouchet, who was standing in the hallway, interrupted Kathryn and asked her to come into his office. I went directly to the small conference room with Carl's laptop under my arm and sat near the door.

The small conference room was about half the size of the large conference room down the hall, which was still under restoration. It had a good-sized table with about ten chairs around it. No drinks this time.

Dan Cohen was already seated at the table. He smiled and nodded at me. Jimmy Harmon came in and sat down. He placed a stack of papers on the table and stared blankly at them. Rowlina Roth-Holtzmann found a chair at the far end of the room and began nervously fidgeting with a note pad.

Bart Edgar was already seated. He began to nod his head, his shaggy blond hair flying in all directions. He said, "I'm, ah, not really here," and then giggled. I took that to mean that he was still officially out on leave. He held his bandaged hand in the air in the most conspicuous way possible. In fact, he kept bumping his head into it, as though he had no idea it was there. Maybe now would be a good time to grab him around the neck and squeeze until he told me what happened right before the bomb went off. I decided to do that after the meeting, unless I had a better idea.

Leo Getty came in, no longer bluff and personable. He said nothing to anyone. He hefted his briefcase on the table and sat down, looking blankly around the room. If Jimmy, Leo and Rowlina were indeed the prime suspects, they sure as hell were playing their parts to the hilt. These were three people who couldn't have looked more guilty.

Amanda Knightbridge glided in with an air of quiet celebration. When she looked directly at me, her expression of pleasant expectation turned to concern. She opened her mouth to say something to me, but I shook my head slightly at her. Her face closed up. Connie Robinson and Miranda Juarez came in and sat down. Connie looked nervous, but not nearly as much as she had when I'd seen her on Friday. Compared to most of the rest of the people around the table, she was positively serene. Miranda was totally inscrutable. Having regained her composure after our little talk, she seemed even more emotionless than ever, but tightly wound.

Max Bouchet walked directly to me with a worried face. He leaned over to whisper something in my ear, amazingly for once modulating his voice so the others could not hear.

Then he said in a clear voice, "I've received a very serious e-mail I think you should see." He put a hard copy of it in front of me. In the subject line was my name and business title. The sender line said:

[email protected]

The text said:

To: President Max Bouchet

From: Kathryn Anthony Ph.D

Dear President Bouchet,

It is a concern to me that the current investigation into the death of Carl Rasmus, is being conducted by Maggie Gale Investigations. While I am sure that Miss Gale is fully capable of investigating minor matters for the college, situations that are like this are too serious and dangerous to be handled by her alone.

As evidence of that, I call to your attention to Miss Gale's risky effort in the fire last Tuesday. Everyone who recalls her efforts to rescue Bart Edgar while he was laying on the floor in the burning conference room, must admit that her attempts, while brave, were needlessly dangerous.

Please reconsider your employment of Miss Gale. Those are my feelings, I do not want to further discuss them with you.

I stared at the note, rereading parts. I looked at everyone else at the table, who were all looking at me. Then spun to Bouchet who was still standing by me.

"Where is she?" I said with undisguised fury.

"Out there, but I don't think..." said Bouchet glancing over his shoulder toward the reception area toward Kathryn, who was standing there with her coat on. Before Bouchet could finish, I was on my feet striding out the door.

Amanda Knightbridge, in an attitude of deep concern, watched my purposeful approach to Kathryn. Dr. Knightbridge craned her neck when I stepped into her sight line, blocking her view. I held the email hard copy in one hand. Dr. Knightbridge could see Kathryn taking it from me as I raised my voice in anger.

Amanda Knightbridge heard me say to Kathryn, "What the hell is this? What do you mean by this?"

Everyone in the small conference room was listening now. They heard Kathryn murmur an answer. She took a step toward the stairwell but I got in front of her, blocking her path. She was shaking her head at me.

Kathryn's severe voice ripped back, "As a matter of fact this is the way I feel and I'm not at all sorry you've seen this. You don't have any right to question my motives. You're being stupidly rude. You're making a mistake and because of it you're putting yourself and the college at risk! I can't support it and I certainly can't support the way you're acting now!"

Amanda heard me respond to Kathryn, "Who do you think you are? You have no right to criticize me or my work at all..." My voice dropped to a lower tone so that the people in the conference room couldn't make out my words, but my expression and gestures conveyed my ire. I was furious.

Kathryn's fury was equal to mine. She hauled off and slapped me across the face. She pushed past me and made for the stairs at top speed. I didn't even bother to look after her. I unconsciously lifted my hand to my face. It hurt like hell, in many more ways than one. I could have cried, but I was too pissed off. I stormed back into the conference room.

Amanda Knightbridge was on her feet, staring at me in horror. She scanned my eyes. I looked fiercely back at her and she sat down.