The Theory of Death (5 page)

“More or less correct,” she said.

“And that’s what you’re studying?” Decker asked the girl.

“No. I was working with the mathematics of fractals and the theory of roughness. My interests have morphed into Fourier analysis and transforms.”

“Which is what Elijah Wolf was studying,” McAdams said.

“Eli has changed his focus of interest a few times, but yes, we were using the same mathematical formulas although we were doing very different things. When we spoke, he was mostly helping me, not the other way around.”

“So you don’t know exactly what he was studying?”

“Something using Fourier transforms.” Mallon wiped a tear from her eye. “I wish I paid more attention. But like I said, he was helping me.”

“And Dr. Rosser was his adviser,” Decker said.

“Yes. That shows you how brilliant he was. Dr. Rosser only has one student per grade at the most. He’s the chairman of the department, so he could have his pick. But he wouldn’t pick me even if I had been as smart as Eli. He hates women.”

“He does?”

“Just ask Dr. Belfort. She’s my adviser.”

Decker nodded. “Is there anything else you can tell me about Elijah Wolf?”

“He had a real gift.” The tears were back. “He’ll be missed terribly.”

“Mallon, do you know anything about his family?”

“No.”

“I was told he was brought up Amish.”

“Mennonite.”

“Oh.” Decker paused. “You knew he was Mennonite.”

“Yes.”

“So you do know something about him.” She answered with a shrug. Decker said, “Did he ever talk about his background? His evolution from Mennonite to math genius?”

“He didn’t speak of his past much if at all.” Mallon lowered her eyes. “I didn’t pry. I wish I had.”

“Okay.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “So why did he tell you about his religion? What was the context, if you remember?”

“Of course I remember. He taught me how to play rook and crokinole. He told me they were Mennonite card games and that he had come from that community.”

“Anything else?”

“Other than how to play the games, no, nothing else.”

“So you don’t know where geographically he’s from?”

“No.”

“You didn’t ask him?”

“No.” She bit her lower lip. “His accent seemed local.”

“He had an accent?”

“By accent, I mean his speech pronunciations and patterns. I have a good ear for that. By the way you talk, it’s obvious you’re from the West, but you have a slight, slight southern twang. If I had to guess, I’d say eastern Louisiana or western Florida.”

“Gainesville, Florida. Smack in the middle of the state. But my mother grew up closer to Louisiana.”

McAdams broke in after looking up information on his phone. “Wow, lots of Amish in upstate. They come here because farming land is cheaper than in Lancaster.” He looked at Mallon. “Are you sure he wasn’t Amish?”

“He said Mennonite,” Mallon said.

McAdams was still retrieving info on his smartphone. “There are a few small Mennonite communities upstate.”

Decker said, “Mennonites are more modern than Amish. There’s a good chance that his family has electricity and a phone.”

“I’ll get on it,” McAdams said.

Decker turned to the young woman. “I’m going to need to notify his parents, Mallon. Please don’t say anything to anyone until I do that very unpleasant task. Can you sit on this until I do?”

“Of course. I don’t talk to many people anyway. I don’t gossip.”

Decker handed Mallon his card. “Well, if you
hear
gossip or if you think of anything else no matter how small, please give me a call.”

Mallon stared at the card. Finally, her spindly fingers took it.

Decker said, “Thank you.”

McAdams said, “Sir, can I have a minute alone with Ms. Euler?”

The request took Decker by surprise. “Of course.”

As soon as Decker left the room, McAdams stowed his smartphone and said, “Okay. So where do I know you from?”

Mallon stared at him. “What makes you think you know me?”

“Obviously I don’t
know
you, but we’ve met before. I don’t remember, but you do. You keep staring at me. So where?”

“Philips.”

McAdams was confused. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Sorry, I don’t remember the circumstance. You’re a lot younger than I am. And I kind of kept to myself.”

“Not always.”

“Did I insult you or something? I’ve insulted many people in my day.”

“On the contrary, you gave me the sagest advice that anyone has ever given me.”

“Now there’s a switch.” McAdams paused. “Now I’m curious.” He waited. “Please?”

“I had just started ninth grade. I was a year younger than anyone else and of course I was being bullied as usual. Ellen Harold, Mackenzie Gregory, and Misha Greenwood.”

“I know Mackenzie. Her brother and she grew up around the corner from me. Nasty piece of work. Both of them actually. What’d I do?”

“It was after they stole my phone for the third time. I was crying and of course they were making fun of me for crying. And you came along and said, ‘Mackenzie, stop torturing her.’ She gave you some sass but there was no bite behind it. They left, but I was still crying.”

McAdams furrowed his brow. “I can’t imagine anyone getting sympathy from me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Okay, that’s consistent.”

“I said to you, ‘All I want is for them to like me.’ I was sobbing by this time. ‘All I want to do is fit in.’ And you know what you said?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“You said, ‘They’ll never like you and you’ll never fit in.’”

McAdams laughed. “Okay. That sounds like me.”

“But then you said—and here’s the wise part—you said, ‘But if you concentrate on your studies, you can make something of yourself. And while they still won’t like you, maybe they’ll respect you.’”

“Wow. I said that?”

“You did.”

“Completely out of character. You must have caught me at a weak moment.”

Mallon’s lips curled in a semismile. “When you walked away, I asked you your name and you said it didn’t matter. But I found out your name anyway. Last I heard you were off to Harvard.”

“That happened.”

“And now you’re a cop?”

“That happened as well.” McAdams checked his watch. “I need to get back to my boss.” He picked up his briefcase. “I’m glad things worked out for you, Mallon. And if it’s any consolation, Mackenzie has been in rehab twice.”

“It means nothing. I don’t waste my time figuring out how to exact revenge.”

“Then you’re one step ahead of me.” He pointed to the card still in her hand. “Do call him if you think of anything.”

Mallon said, “How did he die?”

“That’s still an ongoing part of the investigation.”

“Did he die alone?”

McAdams’s smile was tinged with sadness. “Mallon, we all die alone.”

W
HAT WAS THAT
all about?” Decker and McAdams were walking toward Goddard Hall, located across from Marie Curie. The two dorms were separated by a strip of brown lawn and ice. McAdams raised the collar on his coat.

He said, “She looked familiar.”

“More like you looked familiar to her. She kept stealing glances at you. Do you know her?”

“Not personally. She went to Philips Exeter.”

“Ah, another rich kid.”

“No, she was a scholarship who was bullied by the rich kids. Apparently I once interceded on her behalf and it left an impression on her.”

“That was nice of you. What did you do?”

“Gave her a pep talk. Honestly, I don’t remember.” He stopped and turned to Decker. “I just wanted to make sure that if I did know her, I wouldn’t hurt the investigation.”

“Like she wasn’t a former one-night stand who had nasty things to say about your sexual predilections?”

“I should be so lucky.”

Decker smiled. “I need a phone number for Elijah’s parents, Tyler. I have to make the notification.”

“Yeah, you don’t want that hanging over your head. I don’t know what to tell you, boss. Doesn’t seem like Elijah had any intimate friends who would know about his private life.”

“I agree. So while I search his room, why don’t you hunt around the college and see if you can dig up some kind of official with late office hours who can help us out with getting the parents’ phone number.”

“I can do that. If this is a typical college, there’s probably some old perv administrator lurking in the hallways.”

“Tread lightly, Tyler.”

“Hey, Old Man. Who has more familiarity with these kinds of places? You or me?”

“You win, hands down.”

“I can handle myself.” He smiled but it lacked glee. “The kid shot himself, right?”

“Looks that way.”

“It wasn’t murder, right?”

“We’ll know more once we’ve done the postmortem.”

“Meaning you haven’t ruled murder out.”

“I haven’t ruled anything out. Are you nervous?”

“Just saying my gun skills are still primitive.”

“We don’t need guns right now.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I can’t guarantee anything, but I’m not packing.” Decker paused. “Or we could both go to Elijah’s room to hunt around.”

McAdams licked his lips. “I know I’m being paranoid. I’ll get you a phone number if it exists and meet you at his room.”

“It’s not paranoia, Tyler. It’s a healthy dose of caution.”

“I haven’t even thought about it in months.” A pause. “Just being here … it brings back memories. But I’m fine. I’ll deal.”

“It’s okay to be nervous. Anyone who has ever had an encounter with a bullet is nervous. It’s why I’m so paranoid about my surroundings. Death never gives anyone a second chance.”

THE VEHICLE OF
choice for Goddard Hall was a rocket ship—no surprise there. The robot wore a NASA helmet and something resembling a space suit. He was completely vertical, strapped with a five-point seat belt, his imaginary eyes looking into the ethers.

Since Eli’s room was locked, Decker had to round up a resident assistant who used the passkey—in this case an electronic card—to open the door. The RA, named Alistair Dixon, had gone to Kneed Loft as an undergraduate and was currently working on a two-year master’s thesis, something about a mathematic model for commodities trading. He was stocky with a round ruddy face, beige eyes, and brown curly hair. He knew Eli as everyone knew Eli: as a genius who lived in his research and merely existed in the real world. Dixon also called in the authorities from the college because he knew he was in over his head. He said, “I really do think we should wait for someone to escort us into Elijah’s room.”

Decker looked at his watch. “I understand, but I’ve got to move this along. Please open the door.”

“I guess as long as you don’t touch anything.” Dixon pushed open the door. “You really should check with the residency dean before you go around snooping.”

“Snooping?” Decker gave him the ferocity of his eyes. “The boy is dead and I want to find out why. And while you’re at it, ask your residency dean if he has Elijah’s parents’ phone number. We don’t have it and they don’t know what happened yet.”

“Holy crap!” Dixon paled. “Who’s going to tell them?”

“That would be me unless you’re volunteering.”

Dixon’s complexion had turned gray. “He’s really dead?”

“Yes.”

“God, that is horrible!”

“Yes, it is.” Decker stepped inside the dorm room.

Elijah Wolf was compulsiveness personified. There wasn’t a speck of anything out of place. The room had been cleared of just about everything. On an empty wooden floor sat a bed, a desk, and a desk chair. The closet had no door. Jackets and shirts were neatly hung, jeans were folded on a shelf, and shoes were lined up on the floor with toes pointing inward. There were also two folded towels in the shelf along with a hanging terry-cloth robe and a pair of slippers.

His desktop was bare except for a gooseneck lamp, a tissue box, and a printer. No sign of his computer. Decker opened the desk drawer: pencils in a box, pens in a box, and two big rubber erasers. There were two storage drawers on either side of the kneehole. The one on the left was a repository of bathroom products: a six-pack of toilet paper, two boxes of tissues, Tylenol, Advil, Claritin, and Benadryl. Nothing that could be resold for profit, nothing that could be used to steel oneself against impending death.

The right-hand storage drawer was completely empty. He gave it a shove to close it but it bounced back open. The second time, he shut it slowly and it closed and latched.

On the wall over the desk were bookshelves lined with math books. He took them out one at a time, ran through the pages, turning the books upside down to see if any loose papers dropped to the floor. Once again, he didn’t find anything. The books themselves were more formulas than words and he couldn’t understand any of it.

The bed had been neatly made up. Decker searched the pillows, the mattress, the frame, and underneath the bed, finding nothing. He searched the windows, the floorboards, the walls, nothing underneath the frame, nothing underneath the pillow or mattress.

The boy had done a thorough job cleaning out his personal effects along with any remnants of personal life. Decker knew that math was a pencil and paper thing, but surely the boy had some electronics other than a phone. Did he hide them? Did he chuck them? Did someone out there know that Eli would no longer need them and helped himself?

Something was bothering him … well, a lot of things were bothering him, but there was an idea just out of reach in his brain. As he was finishing up, a petite woman with dark, almond-shaped eyes and black, straight hair came marching through the door. She seemed to be around fifty, wearing a black skirt, a green sweater, black knee-high boots that must have been custom made because her feet were exceptionally small. She stuck out her hand.

“Zhou Lin. Dean of residency and student life.”

“Detective Peter Decker, Greenbury police.”

She shook his hand vigorously. “What is going on?” Decker explained to her why he was here and showed her the picture of Elijah Wolf. She gasped and brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God. That’s horrid! What happened?”