The Reveal: A Detectives Seagate and Miner Mystery (Book 6) (5 page)

I guess it’s possible she was saying she didn’t
know because nobody told her because it’s confidential. But I heard it the
other way: She knew what happened, but since it’s confidential, she wasn’t
going to tell us—unless we had a piece of paper saying she had to.

Ryan turned to me to signal that he was done.
Audrey Miller was looking at me, too. “All right, Provost Miller.” I stood, and
the two others did, too. I reached into my bag for a card, which I extended to
her. “We appreciate the time. Please get in touch if you can think of anything
that will help us in our investigation.”

She nodded, just enough to indicate she had heard
me. But her expression said I’d need to improve my class participation if I
wanted a decent grade from her.

Ryan and I left her office and walked out into the
hall. We wove our way through the students and the admins and left the
building. Back in the Charger, I put the key in the ignition but stopped. “Were
you planning to tell me about … what the hell were their names?”

“Only if they turned out to be relevant.”

“Okay, did they?”

“Yes.” He put on his little-boy smile. “I think
they might be.”

“The first one. The student. What did he do?”

“Richard Albright writes letters to the editor of
the student paper, complaining about Virginia Rinaldi.”

“What’s he pissed off about?”

“He thinks it’s inappropriate that she was an
outspoken advocate for alternative lifestyles.”

“You mean gay rights? Things like that?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“He threatened her?”

Ryan put on a slightly pained expression. “Not in
so many words.”

“And the other guy? The one from the state board?”

“Cletis Williams called her a dyke in a public
meeting. It was on TV. He defended it for a week or so. Then, abruptly, he
resigned.”

“He felt bad about being an idiot?”

“That’s always possible.” He shook his head. “But
I don’t think that’s what happened.”

“What did happen?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea.”

“But you think Audrey Williams does.”

“I’m quite sure she does.”

I pulled my cell out of my bag and speed-dialed
headquarters. “Margaret, this is Seagate. Can you try the chief?” I waited a
couple of seconds. “Chief, the Virginia Rinaldi case. We need to understand
what happened with this guy Cletis Williams. He was on the state education
board. He mixed it up with the vic at a public meeting. Called her a dyke or
something. Couple days later he resigned. The provost here won’t tell us what
happened. You think Billingham might tell you?” I listened a moment. “Thanks a
lot, Chief.” I ended the call.

I turned to Ryan. “He’s gonna give it a try.”

Ryan pulled his notebook out of his suit jacket
pocket. “Let me make a note to dig a little deeper on Richard Albright.”

“Before we talk to the sociology chair—”

“Daryl Sorenson.”

“Yeah, before we talk to the sociology chair,
anything I ought to know about him?”

Ryan shook his head. “Haven’t had a chance to look
him up.”

“Don’t you think you ought to do that now, before
we interview him?” If Ryan was going to make me feel old and in the way by
doing all this research without telling me about it, least I could do was break
his balls about it.

He nodded and reached down to pull the tablet out
of his leather briefcase. “I’ll see what I can do. While I do that, you take a
short nap, Detective.” He raised an eyebrow to ask if he’d gone too far. Seeing
me nod my approval, he gave me a grin.

I’d like to dislike Ryan, but he has so many good
ideas. I reclined my seat and closed my eyes.

Chapter 4

I woke up when Ryan cleared
his throat. I put my seat back up and took a second to orient myself. I looked
over at him. He was working the laptop in the Charger.

“Time to interview Daryl Sorenson,” he said.
“Sociology.”

“On a scale of one to ten,” I said, “how hot a
shit is he?”

We got out of the Charger and started walking
toward his office.

“No zero?”

“Really? What’s wrong with Daryl Sorenson?” I
said.

Ryan paused as a young woman pushing a cart with
food and coffee rolled past us. The sun had just appeared over the top of the
new Engineering Building, a six-story steel and glass structure that had opened
last Fall. The air smelled clean and fresh, with a hint of the river just beyond
the new building. I fished my sunglasses out of my big leather bag.

“Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s just not a star.”

“So how come he’s chair?”

“
Because
he’s not a star. Professors like Virginia Rinaldi write books, deliver
presentations at conferences in warm places in the winter, get Fulbright
fellowships to teach in Europe.”

“While he pushes papers?”

“Not sure he’d appreciate that phrase, but yes.”

“What do I need to know about him?”

“Got his PhD in sociology from University of
Colorado in 1983. Been here since 1991. Chair since 2008. Teaches mostly intro
to sociology, some advanced courses in politics and sociology. Law, religion,
the media, immigrant populations. That sort of thing.”

“He in our system?”

“Not even a parking ticket.”

We reached the entrance to Social Sciences and
walked past two students sucking on cigarettes in the shadow cast by the
three-story brick building. Their shoulders were hunched in the morning chill.
Neither one had a jacket. One was wearing shorts.

We took the stairs to the second floor. “Let’s see
if we can hold off telling him Virginia’s dead,” I said.

“You see him as a suspect?”

“No, not with a clean record. Plus, he’s
gotta
be sixty or more,” I said. “Past his prime killing
years. But as soon as he learns she’s dead, he’s not gonna give us anything
honest about her.”

We walked up to the reception desk in the
department office, where we were greeted by a forty-year old woman. She looked
warily at the shield hanging around my neck.

“Good morning,” I said. “Detective Karen Seagate.
Detective Ryan Miner.” I looked toward his office. Light spilled out of the
doorway. “Is Professor Sorenson in?”

The woman said, “He’s here, but he just stepped
out a moment.”

“Did he say where he was going, when he was gonna
be back?”

“No,” she said slowly, like that was unusual. “He
didn’t.”

“Hmm.” I put on my concerned face. “What’s your
name, please?”

“Linda.”

“Linda, let’s go in his office, okay?”

She didn’t like that idea. “I don’t really feel
comfortable—”

“It’s all right. I’ll tell him I made you do it.”
I gestured her inside Sorenson’s office, then Ryan and I followed her in. “Sit
down, Linda.” She took one of the two upholstered office chairs in front of the
big desk. I took the other. Ryan melted into one of the tall steel bookcases
that ringed the office. The room smelled faintly of old paperbacks.

“Linda, we’re working on a case involving Virginia
Rinaldi. Can we talk to you a minute while we wait for Professor Sorenson to
get back?”

Linda looked a little flustered. “Yes, I guess
so.”

“You get along okay with Professor Rinaldi?”

She took a deep breath. “I … I don’t really have
that much to do with her. One of the other girls works with her on her special
projects. You know, budgets for the speakers’ series, her travel. The
arrangements, publicity. That sort of thing.”

“We heard she can be kind of a handful.”

Linda looked like she wanted to talk but knew she
shouldn’t. “She likes things done her way, you know? She can get a little
impatient when they’re not.” She scrunched up her face. “Which happens
sometimes.”

I nodded. “Professor Sorenson get along with her?”

“Daryl tries real hard to get along with everyone.
He’s really good that way.”

“But there’s been some tension.”

Her eyes darted toward the door. Then she turned
back to me. “You’re talking about that department meeting.”

I was now. “Yes. What really happened?”

She exhaled. “I’ve been at the university a lot of
years. Things get said. It’ll blow over. It’ll take some time.”

Just then Daryl Sorenson appeared in this doorway.
He pulled up short when he saw us sitting in his office.

Linda and I stood up. I walked over to him, my
hand extended. “Professor Sorenson, I’m Detective Karen Seagate, Rawlings
Police Department.” I introduced Ryan and put on a smile. “I forced Linda to
let us in while you were gone. Hope you don’t mind.”

Linda left the room, head down, glad to escape.
Sorenson walked around his desk and lowered his tall frame into the chair. I
caught a whiff of cigarette smoke as he passed me. He waved his hand
dismissively to tell me he was fine with Linda being in his office. He gestured
for us to sit, then raised his eyebrows to signal me to talk.

“We want to talk to you about Virginia Rinaldi.”

He ran his broad palm over his shaved head with
some force, turning the scalp white for a moment. “The provost phoned me ten
minutes ago.”

Shit. “We’re sorry for your loss.”

He nodded, the loose skin at his neck giggling.

“What did the provost tell you happened?”

“She told me that Virginia was dead. That she had
fallen down the stairs in her house.”

“That’s right.”

“But that wouldn’t explain why two detectives are
sitting in my office.”

“It’s routine.” I switched on my official smile.
“When a person in apparently good health dies, we need to conduct an
investigation. You know, to determine the cause.”

“You suspect someone killed her?”

“We have no reason to believe that yet,
Professor.”

His red-rimmed eyes were focused on me directly. “Can
you tell me why you think it might be murder?”

“We don’t. Like I said, it’s just a routine
investigation.” I held his gaze. “But I’m curious. Do you know of anyone who’d
want to hurt her?”

He paused a few seconds. “No, I don’t.”

“Were you close?”

“No.”

“Was she close to anyone in the department?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Daryl Sorenson stroked
his white goatee twice, hard.

“Tell us about her. You hired her, right?”

“Yes and no.” He looked down at his hands for an
instant, then raised his eyes to meet mine. “I was the chair. I signed off on
it. But the idea—and the money—came from the upper administration. They saw the
named professorship as an opportunity to improve our brand.” He air-quoted that
last word.

“Your brand?”

He raised his chin slightly. “That’s what we’re
calling it these days. Our reputation. Our visibility. It’s part of our
marketing strategy.”

“What happened at the department meeting last
week?”

He looked surprised, then shook his head. “It was
a little more dramatic than most of our meetings. That’s all.” He paused, then
nodded, as if he hoped that would be enough.

“What happened?”

“It was one of those discussions about our
mission. The direction of the department. Things got heated.”

“Professor, we need you to be a little more
specific. Who said what?”

“Virginia was arguing for a sharper edge—”

“Who said what?”

He tugged at an earlobe and looked down at his
desk, which was covered with papers and folders. He lifted his gaze, and the
color rose in his cheeks and on his bald scalp. “She said I was deadwood. Not
only me; all the old farts in the department. That was what she said. That was
her phrase:
old farts
.”

“And what did you say?”

He let out a long breath. “I said that perhaps we
saw the mission of the department differently. That we saw the purpose of
teaching sociology as helping students understand the issues that separate
people, helping them understand the complexity of human experience and see how
to resolve conflicts peacefully and reasonably, to everyone’s benefit. That
some of us were more interested in equipping students with the tools they need
to live productively than in winning more and more grants and making names for
ourselves.”

“I have to tell you, Professor, if that’s the
level of conflict in your department—”

His voice was
low
but
steady. “Which was when she called me pathetic. A pathetic loser.” His hands
were trembling, almost imperceptibly.

“She called you that in the meeting?”

He just looked at me.

“Did she ever contact you after the meeting? You
know, to explain, to apologize?”

Daryl Sorenson held my gaze but remained silent.

I shifted in my seat. “We think the incident at
Professor Rinaldi’s house happened last night, maybe around ten
pm
. There had been some sort of party
there, or maybe it was a class.” I paused. I couldn’t tell whether he was going
to answer me anymore.

“It was her porn class.” He blinked rapidly a
couple of times and tugged at his earlobe.

“Excuse me?”

“It was her topics course on sexuality.”

“Why did you call it her porn class?”

“That’s what it’s called on campus. It’s on the
sociology of pornography.” He spoke slowly to maintain control of the words.
“Officially, she titled it Pornography and the Masturbatory Industrial
Complex.” He raised his eyebrows, then lowered them, to signal his disapproval.

I glanced over at Ryan, who was smiling a little
as he wrote in his notebook. He apparently understood what the title of the
course meant.

I put out my hand and shook my head to signal my
confusion. “Can you help me with that, Professor?”

He nodded, then closed his heavy eyelids for a
moment. “The reference is to President Eisenhower’s valedictory warning about
the military-industrial complex.” He looked at Ryan, who was nodding, too.

“How’s that relate to porn?”

“I think the point is that pornography has become
a massive industry built on the fragmentation of modern society.”

“What’s that mean?”

“As familial and other social ties have broken
down—due to the decline of the traditional family unit, economic pressures, and
the geographical dispersal of the population—and the Internet has become the
nexus of our social interaction, pornography has filled the vacuum.”

I looked over at Ryan. He nodded slightly to tell
me he would explain it to me later.

“We’re gonna need a list of the students.”

He held up a finger, then stood and walked to the
door. “Linda, would you print me two copies of the roster for Virginia’s porn
class?” He walked back to his chair and sat down.

“Do you know anything about a young woman living
in her house?”

He shook his head. “No idea. I’ve never been to
her house.”

“She has a son. College age,” I said.

He shrugged his shoulders but didn’t say anything.
Linda came back in and started to hand him the copies of the class roster. He
pointed to me, and she handed me the papers.

“Here’s what we’d like you to do. Contact all the
students from the class. Get them in here at eleven o’clock this morning. Not just
an email blast or texts; phone them individually. Put them in your conference
room or a classroom, okay?”

He nodded. “Do you want me there?”

“Sure, you come, too.”

I stood. “Okay, Professor Sorenson, sorry about
all this. We’ll see you a little later.”

I thanked Linda as we left the department office.
Ryan and I made it outside the Social Science Building. The idiot smokers had
left, but it still smelled like cigarettes. I looked around. A few feet from
the door, off to the side, sat a cheap plastic planter with an inch of brown
water and a hundred butts in it. It stank.

“Give me a second here, would you?” Ryan sat on a
low brick wall that abutted the concrete path to the building. He opened his
briefcase and pulled out his tablet.

“Sure.” We didn’t have anything scheduled before
the eleven o’clock back here with the kids from the porn class.

“What I thought.” Ryan was nodding his head.
“Virginia Rinaldi had much bigger enrollments than anyone else in the
department.”

I shrugged. “You put
masturbation
in the title of the course, yeah, that’ll happen.”

“Whereas the others—including Daryl Sorenson—are
pulling only half as many.”

“Where’re you going?”

“I’m just saying everybody’s aware of enrollments.
The university wants high enrollments. Departments like sociology, they’re
always struggling to show they’re pulling their weight. This new researcher
comes on board. She not only publishes and gets grants, she out-teaches him.
That’s got to sting.”

“Yeah, I got that. He didn’t like her. She didn’t
like him.” I pulled my sunglasses out of my bag and put them on. “What am I
missing?”

“I’m just saying, we shouldn’t rule him out just
yet.”

“Go ahead.”

“First, he’s big enough to hurt her.”

“
So’re
most of the men
in Rawlings.”

“You catch him say he’s never been to her house?”
Ryan said.

“Yeah. So what?”

“You didn’t ask a question about her house. You
asked if he knew about the young woman living there. That’s the way guilty
people act: They say too much.”

“Or he was just telling us he wasn’t social
friends with Virginia. Maybe it was a little dig at her for not inviting him
over to her place—even though she’s got students coming over all the time.” I
paused. “Anything else?”

“He resented the direction she was pulling the
department.”