True Grey (11 page)

‘Oh, thanks.' Home. Home and more cocoa. Despite the unseasonable warmth, she decided, this day called for it.

She was trying to picture the kitchen cabinet, the box of hot chocolate. Had she and Chris finished it? She had a vague memory of Chris pouring some into a saucer. Esmé had sniffed at it, but had pulled away in disgust. She smiled at the memory and heard a gruff bark. Rogovoy, she realized, had cleared his throat. He was staring at her.

‘What?' She forced a smile. ‘Sorry, it's just been such a day.'

He grimaced. ‘Well, I'll do what I can to make it better. You're still with that computer guy, right? If you give me his number, I'll call him. I mean, after I notify your mom.'

‘My mom? No, really.' Lucy would not be useful in this situation. In fact, there was nothing Dulcie wanted less than to hear her mother's hare-brained explanations. Bad karma was certainly going to figure. And she could get herself home. ‘And Chris might still be asleep. You don't have to disturb him. I'm fine, really.' Rogovoy was looking at her like he didn't believe her. ‘Honest. And I can tell him when I get home.'

The big man before her shook his head, his meaty lips clamping shut. With one oversized hand, he rubbed his face. It didn't seem to help. When he opened his eyes, they looked just as sad, just as tired.

‘You haven't heard a word I've said, have you, Ms Schwartz?' He looked around as if he'd never seen these white walls before.

The pain in the back of her neck was intense now. Forgot claws, this was like teeth – sharp feline teeth. Like a parent cat trying to carry her away. Like one of her bad nights, if Esmé or Mr Grey were desperate to wake her up.

‘No, I'm sorry. I must have missed it.' She rubbed her neck again, pressing hard to ease the pain.

‘That dean – the new guy. He's called the DA's office, the city cops, you name it. Considering that the victim wasn't a member of the university community, he has a case that this doesn't belong in my jurisdiction. But that means I'm going to have to hand this whole mess over to the city, and you're going to have to deal with them, Ms Schwartz. I can't tell you for sure what will happen, but I think that you should prepare yourself. It's likely you'll probably be charged – that means going to court for an arraignment and, well, they can hold you until this is all settled.'

He had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘I'm going to be talking with the folks in charge, and I'll do what I can. I don't like being pressured. But one thing I know, Ms Schwartz – Dulcie – you can't just walk away from this. Unless, well, until we find out who did this, you're going to be in the spotlight. I'm afraid it's likely you are going to be arrested.'

I
f one were ever going to faint, Dulcie told herself, now would be a good time.

In general, Dulcie was not a fan of fainting – either in real life, when it never seemed as glamorous as it should be, or in books. In fact, one of the reasons she'd become so fond of
The Ravages of Umbria
was because its heroine, Hermetria, had been a resilient, non-swooning type – whereas her enemy, the duplicitous Demetria, would go pale and keel over at the drop of a hat.

Right now, however, sitting in that claustrophobic white room, such a gesture might be useful.

It wasn't as though she felt fine. Although Detective Rogovoy's words had finally gotten her to focus, her headache had only grown worse – a tearing, biting sensation that had her blinking back tears. The pain was so intense, it left her breathless. It also left her more alert than she had been since, well, since before she had discovered the body in Dardley House.

‘They can't just take me away,' she said, once she could finally form words. ‘I am a member of the university community.' She had gathered steam and stood, banging on the table for emphasis. ‘And I demand that the university represent me.'

‘That's the problem,' Rogovoy had begun. Only then, as he began to explain, did Dulcie realize how much she had missed. The university had little say in this case, and the fact that Dean Haitner was pushing for charges to be pressed made the involvement of the city police necessary. ‘We'd have started off looking at this as an accident, you see,' Rogovoy had concluded, his meatloaf hands palm up. ‘No unexpected prints; nothing odd, in terms of forensics. But he'd already called the district attorney's office and made a fuss. Personal friend, I gather. He's claiming that you had a motive – that the murder was planned as part of a theft.'

‘Ridiculous. Why would I . . .?' She paused. It was plausible, just barely. ‘Look,' she continued, ‘I can see what this looks like. This woman – Melinda – and I, we're in the same field of research. And, yes, it does seem like she was ahead of me in terms of publishing.' Dulcie paused. It was hard to think with the pain. ‘But, Detective Rogovoy, it doesn't make sense that I'd have threatened her. I wanted to meet with her.' She stopped, an idea surfacing. ‘Rafe, the head tutor, he can vouch for me there. He knew I was trying to talk to her.'

‘We are talking with him.' Rogovoy's mouth was set in a tight line. Dulcie didn't need him to explain: Rafe probably had. He'd been asked to leave Melinda alone. Told Lloyd about the threats, but she'd gone up to meet her anyway. ‘But the bottom line is: this book she wrote is gone.'

‘I don't have it.' She looked around. The officer who had escorted her in had taken her bag. ‘I don't even know where my bag is.'

‘We know it's not on you.' Rogovoy said. ‘It's not anywhere.'

This wasn't making sense. ‘I'm sure there are copies around. Her publisher probably has one.'

He shook his head. ‘We're not finding any. Her adviser at Ellery has been out with mono, says she's been working independently for months but that this gal was old school. Typed everything, and true enough, her computer only had some notes she'd pulled from online sources. The dean says he got to read it. He had to, he says, before he approved her visit, but he gave his copy back to her. Her editor had seen the opening chapters; that's why he agreed to publish it, but she says this Ms Harquist was determined to finish it before letting anyone read the whole thing. She wanted to tie up some loose ends, she said. Bulletproof it.'

Dulcie winced at the metaphor. At least the visiting scholar hadn't been shot. ‘And we know she had it with her?' Dulcie wasn't good at lying. She thought back to the pages she had read and immediately tried to clear her mind of them.

Rogovoy must have seen something in her face. He grunted. ‘She did. A big manuscript, like typed pages, all clipped together.' He sighed. ‘I'm sorry, Ms Schwartz. The tutor saw it when he showed her the suite, and the dean is insisting that she had it with her, too.'

‘That doesn't mean I—' Those footsteps. Rafe had said the door was supposed to be locked. ‘Detective, I heard someone on the stairs, before I went in. And the door wasn't latched.'

He shook his head again. ‘We've checked the log at the main entry. There wasn't anyone in Dardley House after noon who wasn't supposed to be there. Nobody, except you.'

Dulcie had collapsed back into her seat, her head throbbing like a time bomb. She rubbed her forehead. ‘Detective Rogovoy, do you think I could get some aspirin?'

‘Sure.' He grunted as he stood up, and Dulcie had the sense that the day was wearing on him, as well. He also, she noticed, locked the door behind him as he left. It was that sound – the sliding click of the latch – that did her in. Folding her arms on the table, she put her face down in them and sobbed.

‘Mr Grey,' she called out. ‘Why is this happening? What's going on?' And she heard nothing. Nor did the pain cease. If anything it got sharper, causing her to gasp. ‘What – why are you hurting me? Ow!' Her hand went to the back of her neck. That bite – it had to have drawn blood.

And that's when it hit her. ‘Detective! Detective!' She pounded on the door. ‘Can you hear me?'

She might as well already be in prison. The door was so thick, her fists only made a dull noise. The door stayed locked, no matter how she rattled it. And Rogovoy didn't return.

‘Detective!' She was yelling now. ‘I figured it out – it's the blood!'

‘I
can't believe they held you.' Suze, Dulcie's former room-mate was pacing. ‘They had no evidence, no cause. Nothing. No, I do believe it. I am simply appalled by their behavior.'

They were back at Dulcie's apartment. Dulcie had crashed on the sofa, where Esmé had found her and immediately claimed her lap. Chris – last night's squabble at least shelved if not forgotten – had gone into the kitchen to make tea, leaving the old friends to hash things out.

‘They had a body on their hands.' Dulcie wasn't sure why she was making excuses exactly. Maybe because Rogovoy had seemed so supportive, getting her aspirin and nodding as she tried to explain. Sitting here now, with the cat curled up and purring on her lap, it all seemed very long ago. ‘And, well, I was the one there.'

She stopped petting Esmé to look at her hands. She had long since washed them clean of Melinda's blood, but they still felt sticky to her – sticky and odd. Esmé reached up, pressing her wet nose against Dulcie's wrist, and Dulcie went back to stroking her. ‘I can't believe I picked up the statue.'

‘That was fine.' Suze stressed the word. ‘That's a perfectly
normal
reaction of an innocent person who has walked into a room where a piece of statuary is lying on the floor. The police have to see that. I will make sure they see that.'

‘What do you mean, you
will
make sure?' Dulcie stopped petting in mid-stroke, and Esmé grunted in protest.

Suze looked at her with eyes full of pity. ‘Oh, Dulcie, I'm worried that this won't be the end of it.'

‘But they let me go. They didn't charge me.' Rogovoy was on her side. She'd explained everything.

‘That doesn't mean they've stopped looking for evidence.' Suze's voice was soft. ‘They don't file charges until they have everything they need to make their case. They get one shot at you. They want it to be their best.'

Dulcie sat there, open-mouthed, unsure of what to say. Suze may have graduated from law school, but she still hadn't passed the bar. However, she was clerking for one of the bigger public-interest firms in Boston, and she had been the one to show up, insisting that Dulcie be released immediately, just as Dulcie was outlining her theory to the burly detective.

‘I'm just glad Chris reached me.' Suze seemed to be running out of steam. Chris, meanwhile, had come in with a tray. Dulcie's excruciating headache had disappeared as soon as she had her breakthrough, but the smell of mint tea reminded her of how hungry she was.

‘Do we have any cookies?' Chris nodded and went back to the kitchen. Dulcie sipped her tea; Chris had added honey, just as she liked it. ‘I can't imagine they'll charge me,' she said to Suze. ‘Because of the blood.'

‘What?' Suze looked up, distracted, and Dulcie felt a twinge of guilt. Between work and studying for the bar, her old friend didn't need all this aggravation.

‘The blood, that's what I was trying to tell Rogovoy.' Dulcie took another sip, her stomach beginning to growl. When Chris came back with the box of Chips Ahoy, she grabbed two. ‘It was tacky when I picked up the Poe bust,' she said, speaking around the cookie. ‘On the ground, around – well, on the ground, it was already turning dark.' She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘She – ah – she had been there a while.'

As logical as it all seemed, recounting the scene was still difficult. The tea helped, and she tried another bite of cookie, a smaller one this time. ‘She must have been killed while I was teaching.'

‘Humph.' Suze took a sip of her own tea and grimaced. Chris must have put honey in hers, too. ‘I don't know, Dulce. That room was warm, what with the sunlight off the river. And there's enough wiggle room on the timing. No, I still want to make sure you have a good defense team. You are not – I repeat, not – talking to anyone about this without counsel present.'

Dulcie nodded and ate another cookie. Suze was right, but possibly a little overprotective. ‘Maybe there won't be any more to it, Suze. Maybe they've realized it's an accident. A simple, horrible accident.' She thought of the bust. It was heavy. The house was old. ‘There were people running up and down the stairs. Doors slamming. It could have fallen on its own. And Melinda could have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

‘I don't know, Dulce.' Suze took another sip of the tea and put it down. ‘And what about the manuscript?'

Dulcie shrugged. ‘With all the people in and out, it got knocked off the shelf. I'm sure it fell behind something. It's got to turn up.'

Suze looked at her. ‘I'm not saying that isn't what happened, but they are going to investigate. They have to. And that dean of yours? He's making quite the fuss.'

‘He's no dean of mine.' Dulcie could almost laugh about it now. ‘He's the one who got me locked out of the Mildon – who gave her access to the materials I need.'

‘I wouldn't share that with anyone.' Suze kept her voice low, as if even the walls might have ears. She glanced at Chris, warning him as well. ‘You don't want to suggest more motive.'

‘I'm not. I mean, I didn't.' The pain might be gone, but the day was wearing on Dulcie. With the warm tea and cookies inside her, she felt like she could curl up on the sofa beside Esmé and go straight to sleep. ‘And maybe I can help them. After all, I know something about her thesis. I might even know why someone would want to steal it.'

N
either of them believed her. Esmé had jumped off her lap by the time Dulcie got done explaining. Even Chris, who had been the one to hold her all those nights when she had woken from the terrible nightmares, declined to comment when she finished and sat there, looking at her two dear friends, waiting for support.