Grey Zone (29 page)

Corkie's head swiveled around, but they were alone in the dank stairwell. Nobody was coming to the counseling center this early on a Sunday. ‘I don't know what you know or how you know it, Dulcie. But please, believe me, you do not know the whole story.'

‘So tell me, Corkie.' Dulcie fought to keep her own voice low, her desperation rising. ‘Tell me now and we can go get some breakfast. Get two big mugs of latte. Figure out what to do next. Together.'

The woman in front of her opened her mouth, and Dulcie feared one more lie. One more evasion. ‘Please, Corkie. It's just me. Dulcie. Talk to me.'

Corkie nodded. ‘You're right, Ms Schwartz. I was the one who called the committee. I wanted Herschoft out of there. He couldn't be allowed to teach. Not ever. Not again.'

Dulcie waited, the horrible realization that her worst fears were right growing inside her. ‘When I saw you, on Mass. Ave., you were fighting with Carrie about Professor Herschoft?'

The other girl nodded. ‘She's, well, she's vulnerable, you said it yourself. She's fragile. And I'm not. So, I did what was necessary.' She stopped at the sound of her own words. ‘I mean, I called the board. I wanted him stopped. And, yes, I went to talk to him. But, I never wanted him dead.'

‘Of course not.' Dulcie's heart was breaking. ‘You're no—'

But before she could say it. Before she could say ‘murderer,' she heard a howl, a cry of rage or defiance. And then the student in front of her collapsed to the ground, a chunk of masonry rocking beside her on the stairwell's concrete floor.

FORTY-TWO

D
ulcie screamed. In retrospect, it seemed a useless kind of response. Not at all what Hermetria would have done. But at that moment, looking down at her student, her friend, who had gone from lively conversationalist to still and dusty, it was the only appropriate response.

It worked, too. In a moment – not that she was any longer a judge of time – Reneé was out the door, and then students from Weld. EMTs from the University Health Services followed soon after, at first rather rudely pushing Dulcie aside, and then, when Corkie had been placed on a stretcher and removed, guiding her out of the stairwell.

‘Are you all right, miss?' A young man in a blue uniform seemed to want to walk her over to another ambulance. ‘Did you get hit as well?'

‘Yes, yes, I did.' It was all coming together. ‘The other day.'

‘Why don't you sit right here?' He gently maneuvered her on to the bumper of his ambulance and, from some pocket, extracted a flashlight. ‘And look straight ahead.'

She was doing as she was told when she realized that her own words had been the source of confusion. ‘No, I'm sorry.' She turned away from the pinpoint of light. ‘Please, let me clarify.'

The EMT sat back and waited, clearly a little skeptical.

‘I got hit on the head here the other day. That's all.' She was trying to remember the details. Maybe she had gotten a concussion. Or maybe it was simply the shock.

‘These old buildings.' The EMT shook his head sadly. ‘The university has got to spring for more for upkeep. Twice in one week?'

‘No, it wasn't an accident. It was the harasser. The Harvard Harasser. Suze said he would escalate. The harasser, that is. But not, you know, the real professor who was harassing students. He was already dead.'

The EMT opened his mouth to say something, and she put up a hand to stop him.

‘No, please. This makes sense. I'm just a little fuddled, you know?' She knew she sounded crazy. Or, worse, hysterical. But with her apology, she'd bought herself a moment's sufferance. ‘Both times, I'd come from the counseling center. Below the Stairs?' She pointed to the sign, and the EMT nodded. ‘And both times I had been talking to the same person. To Corkie, actually.' She realized that the man in front of her might not know who that was. ‘To the woman who just got – injured.' She paused and swallowed, hoping that was all that had happened. ‘And now I'm wondering, maybe I wasn't the intended victim after all. Maybe he was after her all along.'

‘I think you should come with me.' He stood and offered her a hand to step into the ambulance.

‘No, I'm fine. Really.'

He looked at her. ‘Please, miss. The police are going to want your statement. And if there's any truth to what you're saying, you just might be in danger.'

It was easier to go along than to argue. Besides, she had questions of her own – and she was feeling a little dizzy.

‘When was the last time you ate anything?' The stout nurse who had examined the wound on Dulcie's head had declared it healing. Now she knelt in front of Dulcie, shining a flashlight in her eyes.

‘We were going out for breakfast before it happened.' It was hard to think with that light. ‘I had some coffee this morning.'

The nurse clicked the light off and fixed Dulcie with a stare. ‘Well, call me crazy, but I think you've had a scare and your blood sugar is probably low, too. I'm going to let you go, but promise me one thing: you'll call your regular doctor for an appointment tomorrow?'

‘Sure.' It took Dulcie a moment to realize that it was, in fact, Sunday. ‘Sorry, this has been quite the weekend.'

‘I gather. Hang on.' The nurse stepped outside the curtained area. When she returned, she was smiling. ‘But I've got great news. Your friend is conscious and doing well. If you want to stick your head in, I think you might be able to say hi.'

The nurse's estimate was a little optimistic, and her colleagues shooed Dulcie out to the waiting area ‘until we're ready.' Taking her other advice, she wandered over to Au Bon Pain. It wasn't the hearty brunch she'd had in mind, but a few bites of a pain au chocolate did something to settle her stomach. So did the phone message she picked up from Chris.

‘Hey, sweetie. Hope you're still asleep.' His voice was as warming as the melting chocolate. ‘I'm sorry I took off like that last night. I guess I've been a bit on edge. Call me? I'm going to get some more sleep, but I'll leave my phone on. We can go out for brunch.'

In an act of supreme will, Dulcie tossed the second half of her pastry. She wouldn't call Chris: not for at least an hour yet. He needed his sleep, and she had unfinished business at hand. But brunch with her sweetie was worth the wait.

Mocha, however, was a beverage, and nobody said anything when she re-entered the waiting area, carrying a hot cup. One of the attendants recognized her and signaled for her to wait, so she settled into a plastic chair and let the thoughts flow. She did feel better now, with some sugar in her system. Maybe the nurse had been right. Or maybe it was simply having a little distance from such an attack. Because no matter what the EMT might have thought, Dulcie knew better. Rogovoy had told her that the masonry in the stairwell was solid, and twice was certainly no accident. Someone had thrown something – maybe aiming for Corkie, maybe aiming for her.

She stopped. When she had been attacked, Carrie's note had been taken. This time, they'd been talking about the girl, about her future. There had to be some connection. Carrie. That note.

Maybe it was the cooling system, kicking in on a prematurely warm day. Maybe it was the rush of an orderly pushing past, a cart full of equipment bouncing noisily in front of him. Dulcie felt a touch – light, like the slightest brush of fur. Then a memory surfaced: ‘
We're reading it wrong, Dulcie.
' Had Lucy been right?

By the time she got in to see her student, Dulcie thought she just might have it figured out. Corkie was lying in bed, her head bandaged. But Dulcie had no time for sympathy.

‘That note, the one in Carrie's file. You were going to use it against Herschoft.' Dulcie pulled the guest chair next to the bed. ‘That's why you went off to see him.'

‘It was evidence.' Corkie didn't deny it. Wan and bloodied, she seemed to be gathering herself, and Dulcie waited. ‘I wanted to confront him.'

‘To show him the damage he'd done? How distraught he'd made her?'

‘What? No.' Corkie winced and put her hand to her forehead.

She must be confused, Dulcie thought. But still, this was important.
We've been reading it wrong . . .
‘Wait, it wasn't a suicide note, was it?'

Pale as she was, Corkie smiled. ‘You thought that's what that was?'

‘Well, it was in her file. I thought it might be. Or that she was breaking it off—' Dulcie caught herself. The block lettering, the lack of a signature or salutation. Maybe she'd had this totally wrong. ‘Corkie, tell me about the note. Carrie didn't write it, did she?'

‘No,
he
wrote it.' Corkie's voice had grown so soft that Dulcie had to lean in. ‘Herschoft. He was the one ending it.'

‘Because of the threats? The disciplinary committee?'

Corkie's laugh was little more than an exhalation of breath. ‘To her, it was a relationship. The real thing. Love.' She closed her eyes, and Dulcie started to piece it together.
Boyfriend trble
. At the time, Dulcie had thought Carrie had meant another student, or maybe a graduate student. But Dimitri had known. Dimitri had warned her. And Merv, her ex, had only known that she was involved with someone new.

‘But, wait? How did you know? There's no name, nothing direct.'

‘That's Herschoft.' A sad smile stole over Corkie's face as she started to explain. ‘Very discreet. No names, nothing direct. And, boy, is he good at breaking things off. He has—' She paused and swallowed, but her voice continued firm. ‘He
had
a second sense for when things had gone as far as they could. Just like he had a sense about who was vulnerable. Who was lost. No, there was no reason you should have known what that note was about. But I did; I'd gotten one just like it last year.'

Dulcie sat back, stunned. Corkie? Healthy, together Corkie? But something had gotten to her student. She'd known that. Corkie had taken a semester off, and when she'd come back, she'd gone into counseling. ‘You?'

Corkie nodded ever so slightly. ‘I know, so stupid.' Her voice was fading even as she spoke. ‘I was lonely, you know? And it felt so special to have him notice me.'

‘And that's how you knew. You recognized the signs, and you reached out to Carrie. And then, when she got that note . . .'

Another small nod. ‘Hell, the one I'd gotten had left
me
suicidal. I burnt it finally, as a way of getting over the whole mess. Like an exorcism. And here he was, destroying another student. I wasn't going to let that happen again, and that note, along with my testimony, would have been enough.'

Dulcie pulled up a chair as Corkie finished her story. The fight Dulcie had witnessed, the one that had carried out to the street, had been over Herschoft. Corkie had been working with Carrie, trying to help her see that this wasn't ‘love,' wasn't ‘a relationship.' That it was abuse, pure and simple. And when Herschoft had written to Carrie, Corkie had thought she had her chance. But Carrie hadn't believed it.

‘She thought it was some kind of a test.' Corkie's voice was barely audible. ‘Like Herschoft was testing her loyalty. Writing her that note. Not wanting to see her. And so she brought it back to him.'

With that, her eyes closed, and Dulcie watched her doze for a moment. There was more she had to know. More Corkie could tell her, but just as she reached to wake her, a nurse came in.

‘I think we should let the patient rest now, don't you?' His question was rhetorical, his eyes stern. She was being ushered out: gently, but definitively.

Boyfriend trble
. No wonder Carrie had made light of it. She was in love. Corkie was the one who had gone to confront Professor Herschoft. She'd gone to retrieve the letter he'd written, ending his affair with Carrie. Corkie had been, in her own words, devastated by such a letter, and now Corkie was trying to care for another young victim who was equally distraught.

But all the good intentions in the world couldn't distract Dulcie from imagining what had happened next. Corkie had said she had gone to talk to Herschoft. Corkie was a large young woman, a woman understandably upset over her own injuries and an ongoing abuse that she must have felt powerless to stop. She had been angry. Righteously so. Maybe angry enough to kill.

FORTY-THREE

‘
S
low down, Dulcie. You're not making sense.'

Her call had woken Chris, but at this point Dulcie didn't care. She needed advice, or at least to bounce her ideas off someone. Preferably someone wide awake.

‘Let me see if Jerry left me any coffee.'

Two minutes later, Dulcie was explaining the situation to her boyfriend. ‘So I don't know what to do, Chris. I mean, Corkie is my student. I like her. And, well, I feel a little responsible. But at the same time . . .'

‘At the same time, you might have information about why a student went missing.'

She heard him pouring more of Jerry's noxious brew. ‘And maybe about a murder.'

Chris wanted her to wait. He promised to meet her in front of the university police station within twenty minutes. But Dulcie was going stir crazy.

‘No, I'm going to call that detective, Chris. I have his card.' She dug around in her bag. ‘But Chris? Is the offer of brunch still good?'

‘Sure. If you're set on this, I'll take a shower. But, Dulcie? Call me if anything comes up. If they drag you down there, I'll show up with bagels. And bail.'

It was a joke, Dulcie knew, but she still felt a tad shaky as she punched in the number for Detective Rogovoy. His gruff greeting – ‘
Yeah
?'– didn't help.

‘Detective? This is Dulcie. Dulcinea Schwartz. I'm sorry if I woke you, but you did say to call if I heard anything.'

‘Let me guess. You had a hunch. I've been hearing about you, Ms Schwartz.'