Grey Dawn (6 page)

‘Thanks.' The girl took a bunch and wiped at her eyes, and then blew her nose with a surprisingly loud honk. ‘It's just been crazy. We were close – we
are
close, I mean. Best friends since Freshman Week, and we were supposed to study together last night. When she didn't come back, I had, well, I had a feeling, you know? So I stayed up, and then I called the police and then – then they found her, and it's just been non-stop since. The detective, and her mother.' Another loud honk. ‘So I don't think I'll be able to lead the discussion tomorrow.'

Of course! This was Emily, Emily Trainor, and she was going to present on Wilkie Collins in the English 70 section.

‘Oh, don't worry about it.' Dulcie's response was automatic. ‘I can do it. We just have you present as practice. But next week, or whenever …' She was stumbling, unsure of what to say. Then it hit her. ‘You said you were supposed to study together last night?'

‘Uh huh.' Another nod. ‘Mina isn't in the department. She's in History and Lit, but that kind of works for us. We're both basically reading the same books, you know? But we get two perspectives this way. We had – we
have
a lot in common.' She reached for more tissues, and Dulcie gave her a moment to collect herself.

‘That's smart. Going at the material from two different disciplines. But …' She hesitated, unsure how to phrase her question without it sounding like an accusation. All she had were some vaguely matching descriptions … ‘You said she didn't come home. Was it possible that she, oh, maybe forgot? And that she went to the Tap Room, over at the Commodore Hotel, last night? I heard there was a reception for the first Newman speaker.'

Dulcie hated herself for even asking. It sounded like she was blaming the victim. She blows off a study date for a party, and ends up in the hospital. But Emily didn't seem to see it that way.

‘Oh, no.' She was shaking her head. ‘Mina wouldn't forget, and I was working. I work at the Dudley Grill till ten. Mina was going over to that reception first. She's really interested in some of the theoretical stuff that he was into, and she was going to tell me all about it.'

This didn't make it easier for Dulcie. ‘Is it possible …' She bit her lip. ‘I've heard that Professor Lukos is a very attractive man. Could she have stayed later than she meant?' There, she wasn't blaming the girl. Nor was she actually pointing a finger at the visiting scholar. Just opening up the possibility that she had stayed later than intended.

To her surprise, the student in front of her laughed. ‘You mean could the professor have picked her up?' She wiped her eyes again, but this time the tears had been squeezed out by her broad smile. ‘No, not a chance. Mina was used to being hit on. She had that kind of look – the kind that men are drawn to. You know, the wild red hair, the body.' She squinted across the desk. ‘You two kind of look alike, you know? But, no. She has a serious boyfriend, and he's really possessive.'

Dulcie was so flustered by the implied compliment that at first she didn't hear what her visitor had said. The kind of looks that drew men? Granted, she and Chris had their moments of passion – at least when their work and study schedules allowed. And she'd had a suitor or two before. But Dulcie had never considered herself a mankiller. The idea was rather pleasant.

And off the point. ‘Her boyfriend.' She homed in. ‘I heard the cops are talking to him?'

Another shake of the head. ‘I didn't hear that. But, I mean, he adores her. And they have so much in common. A lot of history, you know? If anything, he's more into her …' She let the sentence trail off, aware, Dulcie thought, of how double-edged her last words might sound. Finally, she started over. ‘He'd have no reason to hurt her.'

Emily started tearing up again, and Dulcie realized that she hadn't asked the most important question of all.

‘How is she?' She leaned forward. All of this speculation, and she'd nearly forgotten that a young woman had been hurt. ‘Will she be okay?'

Another shrug as Emily reached for more tissues. ‘I don't know. They found her before dawn. She was bleeding – stabbed – I'm just glad I called—' Tears cut her off, and she buried her face in a handful of Kleenex. ‘I just feel so awful. I'm sorry.'

‘Please, don't be. It sounds horrible.' Dulcie knew from her own experience how violent crime could shake up everything. ‘If there's anything I can do. Really.'

A brief flash of smile. ‘Thanks, Ms Schwartz.' She stood up, shoving the wad of tissue into her pocket. ‘I'm sorry. It's just such a shock.' She ignored Dulcie's protestations and seemed to gather herself together. ‘I didn't mean to monopolize your time, just to, you know, let you know about the presentation.'

‘My door is always open.' Dulcie paused, the inaccuracy of the statement poking at her. ‘Metaphorically. I mean you can always call me. Or email.'

‘You're the best.' With another smile, one that lasted a little longer this time, the student turned and headed down the hall, leaving Dulcie warmed by two compliments, the second even sweeter than the first.

L
loyd's return a short while later alerted Dulcie to the time. Her office hours were up, and as much as she would like to stay and read more of the mysterious manuscript, she knew she had a much less pleasant duty. Especially after this morning's reprimand, if Martin Thorpe wanted to see her, she shouldn't put it off.

With palpable regret, she powered down her laptop and shoved it in her bag. She hadn't thought she'd made any noise, but she must have, because Lloyd looked up as she pushed her chair back.

‘You okay, Dulcie?' His pale face showed friendly concern.

‘Yeah, I'm fine.' She tried to rustle a grin. ‘I'd just rather be reading than running off to Thorpe.'

‘Maybe he wants to apologize for this morning.' Lloyd had an optimistic streak a mile wide.

‘Maybe.' Dulcie couldn't bear to disappoint him. ‘Only one way to find out.'

‘Hey, think of it this way,' her friend said. ‘Maybe by next semester, he'll be as dead as a Lake poet.'

With that cheering thought, she left the office. November, and it was as light out as it would get – if cloudy, grey, and damp counted as light. Still, Dulcie felt strangely ill at ease as she made her way toward the departmental headquarters. This was silly, she knew that. Even if her worst fears were true, she'd be fine during daylight. Wouldn't she?

‘Excuse me!' With her head down, deep in thought, she'd nearly walked into him. Tall, and rather wide, the man before her was staring at her as if she had suddenly turned into a fish. He was also blocking the sidewalk. ‘Do you mind?' Dulcie didn't want to be rude. She did, however, want to get this meeting over with.

‘Oh, sure.' The broad man, made broader by his black wool overcoat, stepped aside. But as soon as Dulcie had passed him, she heard him sputter. ‘Uh, miss? Miss?'

She turned, but her annoyance faded as she saw his round white cheeks turn pink, as if from embarrassment. Despite a mop of glossy dark hair that matched the coat, he had the kind of face that made one think of antique dolls.

‘Yes?' She looked up at him. He turned a deeper red.

‘Oh, no.' He shook his head, the blue-black hair falling over his face. ‘I'm – It's nothing.'

‘Fine.' Dulcie turned away, determined to make up time.

‘It's only …' He kept talking. ‘You look so much like her.'

‘What?' Dulcie spun around again to take in the big man. ‘Who? And who
are
you?'

‘Oh, I'm sorry.' The hand that pushed the hair back was white and looked soft. ‘I'm Josh, Josh Blakely. And I – you look like my girlfriend, Mina Love.'

Mina. Emily's room-mate. ‘The woman who was attacked last night?' As she said it, Dulcie remembered what Rogovoy had said – that the crime was probably ‘domestic.' She stepped back.

‘Yes, but – but no.' If his stammer was any indication, the pale stranger had correctly interpreted her slight retreat. ‘I know – I know what the cops think. I've been with them all morning. But they're wrong.'

Dulcie shook her head. She knew Rogovoy. She didn't know this man.

‘It wasn't like that.' He was still talking. ‘I mean, we've known each other forever. They just – they don't know who did it yet, and they think, they think …'

‘Look, I'm sorry for your troubles. Really, I am.' Dulcie knew what it felt like to be falsely accused. But this was not her problem. ‘I wish you the best.'

She turned. As she walked away, however, she heard his voice. ‘The resemblance is striking. You should talk to her. Maybe you're related. Distant cousins.'

‘Great,' Dulcie commented to herself. ‘Cousins.' This day was getting weirder and weirder, and Dulcie pulled the collar of her big sweater up as she turned the corner. All these years without any family besides Lucy, and now this.

M
artin Thorpe was not behind his desk when Dulcie arrived. He was, she saw as she pushed open the unlatched door and peeked inside, pacing. As he looked up and saw her, he ran a hand through his sparse hair in the kind of nervous gesture that explained its current state of disarray. He did, however, try to muster a smile at the sight of his student, as he retreated behind his desk.

‘Come in, Ms Schwartz.' His feet still, he started to rummage through papers instead.

‘Are you …' Dulcie swallowed, unsure how to proceed. ‘Are you all right, Mr Thorpe?'

‘What?' Thorpe didn't look up, which meant Dulcie was addressing a shiny bald spot. ‘Yes, yes. I'm fine. I wanted to talk with you about your latest chapter, Ms Schwartz. The one on the new manuscript?'

‘My latest chapter?' This wasn't making sense.

‘Yes, I'm sure I have it here, somewhere.' More rustling, as Dulcie watched dumbfounded.

A few minutes passed, and she realized she had to say something. ‘Mr Thorpe?' He was looking through a drawer now, and Dulcie cleared her throat to get his attention. ‘Mr Thorpe? I don't think you're going to find it there.'

He looked up, blinking. ‘I'm sorry. I seem to have misplaced it.'

‘No, you didn't, Mr Thorpe. I didn't turn it in yet.' She saw him take a breath as his brows lowered and rushed to cut him off. ‘We talked about this last week, Mr Thorpe. That I would have it to you before the Thanksgiving break. That I should do a thorough search through the Mildon papers first. See what I can find, before I start writing.'

‘Well, the pages you gave me …' He went back to looking. ‘I had some thoughts on them. I was sure they were here.'

Dulcie watched him a little longer, unsure how to break in. ‘Do you mean, the notes you gave me two weeks ago?' She asked, her voice soft. ‘The ones on the chapter where I talk about finding the new pages?'

He stopped, blinking at the desktop. She kept talking.

‘The notes where you point out how I keep using the word “thrilling” and I should try to mix it up a little?'

That did it. The hands that only moments before had been restlessly searching now went up, first to the already tousled hair and then to cover his face. ‘I'm sorry, Ms Schwartz,' he said finally. ‘You're right. I'm not – well, I'm not myself right now.' He ran a hand over his face, and Dulcie could see that it came away wet with sweat. ‘I haven't been for a while.'

Dulcie watched, unsure of what to do. If he had indeed called her here mistakenly, she needed to find a way to exit gracefully. A way to make some friendly comment and stand and leave. To ignore the abject misery of the man before her.

She couldn't. ‘Mr Thorpe, is something wrong?' She asked. ‘Are you ill?' The pallor, that sweat. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?'

He looked up, blinking, and it occurred to Dulcie just how strange this exchange was becoming. Martin Thorpe, bane of her existence. A man who only hours before she had suspected of – well, never mind. The man in front of her was in some kind of pain, physical or psychic, and she felt for him.

Dropping her voice still further, she asked. ‘Is it … the Newman lecture tonight, Mr Thorpe?' Uncertain of how to broach the subject, she spoke so softly she wasn't sure he had even heard. ‘Is it Professor Lukos?'

‘No, no.' He was shaking his head sadly. ‘It's not James Lukos. Even though his strictly textual reading is … well, it's hard to explain. Things have been building up recently.' With one hand, he removed his glasses; with the other, he rubbed his face and, at last, looked up, giving Dulcie a close-up of bloodshot eyes. ‘Last night, they came to a head.'

Dulcie froze, her sympathy turning to something colder. It was his eyes. The redness was alarming. Inhuman. Partly, she realized, because of the yellowing of the surrounding irises. Thorpe might be sick. He might also, she thought, her heart beginning to race, be feral.

‘Things?' Her throat was too dry to say more. She swallowed and licked her lips. At least, she realized, she had just been vindicated. ‘So I did see you out on the street last night.'

‘What?' He put his glasses back on and turned away. Embarrassed or self-conscious about his wild gaze. ‘Yes, yes, you may well have. So much was going on …'

He stood and walked over to the file cabinet by the window. Dulcie realized she was being dismissed.

‘So, you're okay?' It was an odd question to be asking her tutor. It was an odd situation.

Thorpe, however, had begun to act as if nothing had changed. ‘Yes, yes,' he said, face buried in the top drawer. ‘I'll be waiting for your pages.'

‘In a few weeks.' Dulcie stood and backed toward the door. ‘Getting them to you in a few weeks will be okay?'

‘Let's call it one month to the day.' He looked up and smiled, giving Dulcie another look at those wild, red eyes. Those jagged teeth. ‘Assuming, of course, that we're both here.'