Stalking Death (26 page)

"He tried to force her," Lindsay said. "She got away and staggered out into the hall, and luckily the resident was walking by, so she got rescued. But when she wanted to complain about Alasdair, they all told her it would get around the campus and hurt her more than it hurt him, and she believed them."

"But he told everyone that I'd brought the vodka, and gotten drunk, and let him... you know... and then made a fuss after, and that got all over campus." Two years later, her voice was still raw with the pain of it. "When I went back to the administration and said I wanted to file that complaint, they told me it was too late. It took a year with no guys, no dates, and all my friends standing up for me... before it died down. I felt so... so betrayed. By him, but even more by the school. By the way they let me down."

"Did Shondra know about this?"

"I don't know. She wasn't here when it happened. I never told her my version, so maybe all she knew was the gossip. Alasdair's lies. The thing is, see... it's not so much that we are Shondra's friends, as that we'd like to be. Sometimes she tells us stuff... like she did about you... but she's so difficult that we can't be the kind of friends we'd like to be. We try, sometimes, but then she's all prickly and impossible, and we back off. It's... I don't know... I was talking to my mom about it last night... it's so sad, really. I mean, who doesn't need friends?"

"Shondra sure does," I agreed. "That's an awful story. I'm sorry to hear the school let you down like that. I like to think things are getting better, but what happened to you happens a lot... they think they're protecting your reputation and what they're doing is silencing you and making you feel even more guilty."

Feeling guilty myself, I checked my watch. Bobby and I had an eight-thirty meeting with Chambers to prepare for. I wished we had more time. There were so many questions I needed to ask. Maybe I could arrange to meet them later.

"Lindsay, you said there were two specific things you wanted to see me about?"

"Well, the first was what we said... that we believe Alasdair was stalking Shondra. I mean, that we thought you ought to know how he lies... lied... so that maybe what Jamison did makes more sense, like maybe it was self-defense or manslaughter or something. I mean, seriously, you saw that fight. I know 'cuz I saw you there, and Alasdair, he was like trying to make Jamison mad."

Lindsay looked down at her plate, unsure about how much she wanted to say. "They were all there, baiting Jamison, Alasdair, Justin Palmer, Roland Shurcliff, Tommy McLeod and Jared Sole... but where you were, you couldn't hear the stuff they were saying. They're monsters. Filthy monsters, they..." But whether it was the pressure of my deadline or her own reluctance, Lindsay stopped talking.

"Yeah," Jen added, "and they're doing to Shondra what they did to me, making it all her fault. And she was just trying to protect herself. They're just like saying she's a crazy liar and she's not."

"And the other thing," Lindsay interrupted, trying to be considerate of my time bind, "is we were hoping you could tell us what's going on with Shondra. She's disappeared."

"Have you spoken with Coach Adams?" They shook their heads. I wasn't sure what to tell them. I wasn't up to speed yet myself. I tried to put it as neutrally as I could. "There was a problem with an overdose last night... she had to go to the hospital."

They exchanged scared looks. "Is she going to be okay?" Lindsay asked.

"We've got an important game on Wednesday," Jen added. "Will she be able to play? Because she's like... well, she's wonderful. She's got this thing where... I don't know how to describe it... she makes us all better players when we're around her."

"I hope she'll be able to play. We'll know more later this morning. Probably your coach can tell you, but if you'd like to give me your phone numbers, I can at least leave you a message when I know more?" Bobby, who had his pen ready, wrote them down. "Is that it?"

They looked at each other. At the floor, the ceiling, the buffet, and back at each other again. Never at me or Bobby. Finally, Lindsay caught a breath and said, in a surprisingly small voice, "You tell them, Jen... you're the one who... it was your idea."

Jen's thumbs began their dance again. She hesitated and then I saw her decide to trust me. "Maybe you'll think I'm completely crazy for saying this. Only Lindsay didn't, which was what gave me the courage to come tell you. I know what the cops are saying and I know what Mr. Chambers and Dean Dunham and all of them are saying... but I think... that is I don't believe... I mean..."

She raised her head and looked at me, tears filling her nice brown eyes. "Yes, of course you'll think I'm crazy, but I don't believe that Alasdair is dead."

Chapter 20

She would have run away if I hadn't gotten between her and the door. She was already out of her chair, heading fast in that direction. Luckily, I've logged my time in Coach Lemieux's Fitness Camp—Andre loves all sport and outdoor activities—so I was just able to beat her to the door. Even at a distance, I could feel the nervous vibrations of her body. Her fear was every bit as strong as her sense of duty.

"Look," I said, "You can't drop a bombshell like that and then run for it. You came here to help Shondra. You haven't done that if you bolt and run."

I took a breath, stepping back to give her more space. "Why do you think Alasdair isn't dead?"

But she was too upset. "I need to go," she said. "Please. Lindsay will tell you." It was predictable teenage behavior, demand time and attention for something important, then panic and flee. She stared at my immovable chest and blurted, "Maybe it's hateful but I was so glad he was dead and I could stop looking over my shoulder. Please," she repeated. "Let me go." I stood aside and she ran.

Lindsay, right behind her, paused only long enough to whisper, "She says she saw him last night."

Dammit, this was not what I needed right now. What on earth was really going on on this campus? They ought to rename the place St. Matthews Asylum for the Intermittently Insane. Too many strange things had happened since I took this job. I hoped I never had another one like it. But it was a job, and Bobby was staring at me with look of desperation so I shoved Jen and Lindsay's suggestions that the administration condoned abuse of female students to a back burner.

"Is it just me," he said, "or is everyone in this place crazy?"

"It's not you."

He smiled. "That's what I thought, but it's so easy to doubt yourself when everything seems wrong. This place... it's like no one is in charge. Or like we are. Everyone's waiting for direction and when I tell them what to do... well, first they're cautious, like I'm supposed to be yelling instead of speaking, and then when they see I'm not going to yell... they just get so grateful and do what I tell them."

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "Most places, we're walking a fine line, trying to do our job without stepping on any toes." Another endearing Bobby smile. "These people don't seem to have any toes."

"Chambers has toes enough for the lot of 'em. And you haven't met her yet, but his wife is a tyrant who made everyone's life miserable. Apparently, she's had a breakdown or something. But part of his leadership failure stems from allowing her to play a role in management. When she fell apart, he was so distracted he didn't step up when the crisis occurred."

"That explains some things."

I dashed to the buffet for more food. I'd had enough experience with St. Matts hospitality to know this might be our only meal. "How'd it go yesterday?" I said. "And what's on our agenda for today?"

Bobby extracted some sheets and passed them to me. "We had a fairly good success rate yesterday, reaching the parents, and they took the news pretty well. There were some we couldn't reach, of course, and a few concerned enough to be flying in." He shrugged. "You always get that. We worked until pretty late in the evening, and Dean Dunham was going to try some of them again this morning. We promised them a written update as soon as we can prepare one. A letter from the Headmaster."

He shook his head. "Only I'm damned if I know what to tell them. Do you?"

I was the partner, so I was where the buck stopped. But like Bobby, I had no idea what the police knew or whether the investigation had made any progress. I had no idea what Jamison Jones's side of the story was or whether there would be some new set of questions or level of crisis raised by his defense. As for what was going on on this campus? My experience so far suggested we ought to contact all the parents, tell them to come get their kids and take them somewhere safe.

I shook my head. "Truthfully, Bobby, I have no idea what's going on, nor any idea how to find out. That's the first priority on my list today. What's on your agenda?"

"Same as yours—figure out what's going on—at least, the official position." He glanced toward the door. "Never mind what the truth may be... and start working on a letter to the parents. Draft another press release, probably, something about the students and faculty mourning the loss of a fellow student and pulling together in a supportive community in this time of shock and grief."

He glanced toward the ceiling, as if seeking heavenly forgiveness for taking liberties with the truth. "Brief the faculty and staff about the status of things. Get feedback from them about the emotional state of the student population. You?"

"I've got to work on security issues with Chambers. I don't know if you heard, but last night the resident advisors were lured out of Cabot Hall, where Shondra Jones lives, and her room was trashed. I've also got to work on communication. There are no systems for keeping in touch and no one's checking their messages. It's hard to convince them of anything when I can't get them to listen."

"Badly trashed?" he interrupted.

"Destroyed."

"They'll say she did that."

"Right. That's how it's supposed to look. But I don't think she did. When we couldn't find her at the dorm, Cullin Margolin, some security guys, and I went to the gym looking for her. We found her unconscious on a couch in her coach's office. Looked like an overdose. Security took her off to the hospital. That's something else we need to deal with. Students will have heard about that and want to know the story. About which I have no clue. Nor any idea who hit me over the head. Or why."

Bobby wore his worried look. He's been through enough disasters with me to be wary. "Maybe we should reconsider this whole project, Thea. Seriously. No matter how good we are, we can't do a decent job without our client's cooperation. Without something at least vaguely resembling the truth. And I think..."

He held up a hand to stop my protests. "Look, we've been through a lot together. You and me, Suzanne, all of us at EDGE. Our reputation won't suffer if we back away from one difficult client. It might if we don't. I watched Chambers yesterday. Not only does he have no idea how to handle this, he doesn't care. I don't see how we can make him care. We need to trust our instincts. Mine says we're perched on the edge of a tar pit."

I thought we were already in the tar pit. I just hoped we could still get back to solid ground. But much as I wanted to pack and go home, I was a sucker for people in trouble. Not Chambers and Dunham and the St. Matthews trustees. Much of the trouble they were in was of their own making. I worried about Gregor MacGregor, who, despite his bombast, had suffered a terrible loss. I worried about Shondra and Jamison, and young girls like Lindsay and Jennifer who clearly weren't living in a safe environment.

Yeah. I know. The world's a hard place and everyone—even vulnerable students—needs to learn to live in it. But there are many ways to learn. Getting fed alcohol and attacked was pretty far down my list of appropriate learning experiences. Being further betrayed by the responsible adults was even lower on the list. And getting seduced into leaving your home and coming to an institution that promised to serve
in loco parentis,
only to find yourself abandoned, was an outright breach of contract.

So I didn't want to give up. But Bobby wasn't giving up, either. "Let's call Suzanne and see what she says. Get a third party involved," he suggested cautiously, knowing how prickly I can be. "Someone who isn't so close to the situation."

We were a business, not a democracy, but I didn't want Bobby to feel like he didn't have a voice and I certainly didn't want him to think about quitting. We were already short on staff, with no noticeable diminution in work. He pulled out his phone and dialed Suzanne's home number, got her voicemail, and left a message for her to call us as soon as possible.