Grey Zone (17 page)

There was a grant application, too. Not to mention her research. Yesterday had been a total waste, and if she was going to get Chelowski off her back, she'd have to come up with something solid. She closed her eyes, tired just thinking about it.

But the detective on the other end had his own problems.

‘I understand the academic schedule. But we just had a suspicious death, young lady.' The detective's tone caught Dulcie off guard. So did that word.

‘Suspicious?' She remembered what Chris had been saying.

‘Undetermined, let's say. Look, we need you to come in.' Rogovoy's voice had lost its edge. ‘I promise this won't take long.'

Dulcie wondered how late he'd been working on this case, and if he'd been to bed at all. While some of her colleagues might have scoffed, Dulcie felt a wave of sympathy for the detective. He was dealing with bigger issues than deadlines or even grant applications. For a moment she wavered, her sense of duty weighing against her own concerns. And then – for just a moment – she felt it. The brush of fur against her outflung arm. She almost turned to look, but just then a small thud and the rapid patter of a running kitten confirmed her suspicions. Esmé was upstairs.

‘Mr Grey?' She closed her eyes and felt the smooth, firm push as a spectral cat butted his head against her hand.

‘Excuse me?' On the phone, the detective sounded even more fatigued.

‘I'm sorry.' Dulcie didn't move her hand, but she did try to concentrate. ‘I got distracted. I do understand.' Dulcie ran through her day's duties. ‘I've got a few things to take care of, but I can come by in about an hour.'

‘I'll be here,' said the detective. Dulcie had the distinct feeling that he never left. As she hung up the phone, she heard a gentle thud as if a cat had jumped off the sofa. But the sound of a purr lingered.

Suze took one look at her face and stopped in the hallway, still toweling her hair. ‘What?'

‘I'm going to talk to the cops. Again.' Dulcie was thinking hard. ‘But I don't want to just answer their questions. I want to find out what the deal is with Carrie, and why they picked up Dimitri. I just can't believe he's done anything.'

Suze raised her eyebrows, but didn't say anything as Dulcie walked past her into the bathroom.

‘OK, maybe he's involved in
something
, Suze.' Dulcie gave her that. ‘But not . . . Not whatever they think.' She hung up her robe, pausing as the thought came to her. ‘I wonder if someone is trying to frame Dimitri, and if somehow my student – or my ex-student – is involved?'

TWENTY-THREE

C
orkie was the key. Suze had been skeptical when Dulcie outlined her plan, but a half hour later as Dulcie walked to the Square she became more and more convinced she was right. Something very odd was going on, and her way in was through her junior tutee. Then, once she knew a bit more, she would go see that detective. A little bit of preliminary sleuthing would serve both their causes.

Head bent against the wind, Dulcie went over the facts: Corkie knew Carrie; Dulcie was pretty sure that was who she had seen her student talking with outside of Lala's – and that was after the younger girl had supposedly gone missing. Corkie was involved in something unusual, something that had taken her away from their regular meeting. And Corkie, bless her, was likely to open up to Dulcie in a way that neither Dimitri nor the elusive Carrie would.

After all, Corkie had already confided in her tutor. During the semester they'd worked together, Corkie had talked about being overwhelmed when she'd first arrived. In many ways, Dulcie saw the big girl as a younger version of herself. A much taller Midwestern version, but with the same mix of enthusiasm and, yes, innocence. The thought made her smile, and she fished an errant curl out of her mouth. She, too, had been eager, a little wide-eyed. It had taken a while before she'd found her footing.

Still, she had to admit Corkie had reacted strangely at their last meeting. Since she'd canceled their tutorial, Dulcie realized, and Dulcie had seen her on the street – deep in conversation with Carrie Mines. Could her work at Below the Stairs be part of that? Was listening to other people's troubles weighing on her, setting her natural empathy against her zest for life?

One way or another, Dulcie was going to find out. And since the Square was getting closer, she dug out her phone to call the mysterious junior. As if on cue, it rang, and Dulcie stopped short when she saw the incoming number.

‘Lucy?' It wasn't yet ten on the East Coast, and Dulcie's mother was more a moon-goddess type than a sun worshipper. ‘Is something wrong?'

‘Of course not, dear. Merlin just insisted that I get in touch.'

Dulcie smiled. She'd always been grateful that Mr Grey wasn't an early riser. Lucy, it seemed, wasn't so lucky in her choice of pet. ‘And he said you should call me?' Then again, Merlin probably had more wildlife around to get excited about. Here, well, it was all squirrels and pigeons.

‘He did. He said you should watch out.' Dulcie surveyed her surroundings. She was standing in the Yard, the stone steps leading up to Widener to her left. Memorial Church to her right. A steady stream of students broke around her, making their way to the nearby lecture halls. ‘You should watch the skies.'

‘Always good advice.' Dulcie glanced upward. It did look like rain. Perhaps Merlin had meteorological instincts? ‘So how are things back at the com— Arts colony?' Lucy did not appreciate Dulcie's cavalier references to their home. Dulcie, her mother was quick to remind her, had been born in an actual commune, and Lucy had been more than ready to move out of the shared farmhouse by the time her daughter was three months old.

‘Well, it's interesting that you ask, dear. Or maybe not, considering that you are an Aries.' Static broke up the line, and Dulcie looked up at the sky again. Definitely rain. ‘Look out for something.' The line was breaking up, and Dulcie walked over to the Widener steps. Elevation wouldn't mean much to her cell connection, but if those clouds let loose, at least she could bolt for the library foyer.

‘Keep your eyes open.' Up a few steps, the sound was no better. But looking out over the intersecting paths, Dulcie caught sight of a familiar bobbing head. Corkie! It looked like the undergrad was hurrying over to the basement counseling office.

‘Lucy, I've got to go.' As if to lend credence to her urgency, a fat raindrop landed on Dulcie's head. Another followed. The gray marble steps began to gather dark blotches. ‘It's started to rain. I'll call you soon. Love you.'

Trotting down the stairs, mindful of how slick they could become, Dulcie thought about her mother's parting words. A warning. Trouble from above. She smiled. Only Lucy could make fortune-cookie pronouncements sound so serious. No, she corrected herself, only Lucy's cat could do that.

The last few steps were treacherous, the rain turning to something like sleet, and Dulcie had to concentrate on her footing. By the time she reached asphalt, Corkie was too far away.

‘Corkie!' She called anyway, knowing it was futile. Halfway across the Yard, a head bobbed up, but didn't turn. ‘Bother.'

Grabbing at her scarf to hold it tighter, Dulcie started to run. At least she'd found her student – and the weather gave her a perfect excuse to duck into the basement center. But as she descended the stairs, she realized that Corkie might have plans of her own. The girl might not have been hurrying only because of the weather. She might have patients to see. Clients, whatever they were called.

Sure enough, the waiting room was empty when she came in, and Dulcie approached the window where she had checked in before. ‘Hello?'

Nobody answered and she looked down the hall. That gentle chime would have alerted anyone here to her arrival. ‘Corkie!' Her student was ushering someone into an office: a slight figure in olive-green wool.

‘Ms Schwartz!' Corkie stepped back into the hall, pulling the office door closed behind her. ‘May I help you?'

‘Um, yes, actually.' Now that she was here, Dulcie realized how vague her plan was. ‘I have a few questions for you.'

Corkie glanced back at the door. ‘Can this wait?' Her voice sounded tighter, more anxious than Dulcie had ever heard.

‘Of course.' Guilt washed over her. Here she was, barging into her charge's private life. ‘I'm sorry. I'll wait.'

‘Is there a problem?' The receptionist had reappeared in the window. ‘Do you need an appointment?'

‘No, I'm fine.' Dulcie began, only to be interrupted by Corkie.

‘This won't take long, Reneé.'

The black woman smiled, and Dulcie had the distinct feeling that it was Corkie's assurance, rather than her own, that made her finally turn away, sit at her desk, and start typing.

Thirty minutes later, Dulcie was deep into an article on hair ties when a hand on her shoulder caused her to jump.

‘Fashion conscious?' Corkie smiled down at her, and Dulcie, a little flustered, threw the magazine back on the low coffee table. ‘I'm free now.'

‘You are? Great.' They were alone. Dulcie felt sure she would have heard the chime, even if she'd been too engrossed to see someone walk by. Then she remembered the receptionist's sudden appearance. The basement must have a back exit, perhaps into the main part of the building. ‘Can we talk in private?'

‘Sure.' Corkie looked anything but as she led her back to the small office, barely big enough for a tiny sofa and a comfy-looking chair. A table up against the wall held a pile of files and a bottle of water. Corkie, following her eyes, grabbed an empty clipboard from the floor beside her chair and put it on top of the files, obscuring the labels. ‘Please, have a seat.'

‘Thanks.' Dulcie realized she should have spent her time trying to figure out how to broach the topic. ‘Look, Corkie—'

Corkie began talking at the same time. ‘I should warn you—'

They both laughed, and Dulcie nodded. ‘You go first.'

‘Thanks.' Corkie had settled into the padded chair and folded her hands in her lap. She looked, Dulcie realized, older this way. More professional. ‘What I was going to say is, you should always feel free to come here. Below the Stairs is a free peer-to-peer counseling center, open to all members of the university. And, especially after such a tragic death, a lot of people have felt the need to talk, to air their feelings. But—' She paused.

Dulcie nodded for her to continue.

‘But, well, you're my tutor. So, um, I'm not entirely sure if I'm the best person for you to talk to. I mean, I understand that you know me, so maybe there's a comfort factor . . .'

‘No, no.' Dulcie shook her head as she interrupted. ‘I'm sorry. I must have given you the wrong impression. I'm not here for counseling. Not that there's anything wrong with counseling,' she added quickly. ‘I'm here because of another student. Because of Carrie Mines.'

Dulcie had hoped for a reaction, but Corkie's voice was calm and professional. ‘Are you worried about this student?'

‘Well, yes. Yes and no.' Dulcie tried to frame her thoughts. Had that been Carrie just now? She'd had a glimpse of a green wool coat, that was all. ‘You know Carrie was reported missing, right? That the police want to talk with her? In fact, I believe I saw you talking with her, out on Mass. Ave.' Corkie's face gave nothing away. ‘Look, maybe it's none of my business. But if you know where she is, you really ought to tell the cops.' Again, nothing. ‘And, well, I think she may be involved with another student I know. A colleague, who's in trouble. So, even if you don't want to go to the authorities, I need to find her. Or at least find out what's going on with her. I emailed her and got one quick response. But that was a few days ago. Since then, nothing.'

‘And you've tried calling?'

That took Dulcie aback. ‘Well, she never got back to me after the second email. And her phone isn't listed in the university directory. But I've seen her and called out to her. She runs away.'

‘Maybe she doesn't want to talk to you.'

‘Well, obviously.' Dulcie was losing her, she could tell. ‘But I think she's in trouble, and I think she's getting in deeper – and dragging other people in as well.'

‘So, you'd like her to come forward?'

‘Yeah, I guess.' It was little enough, but Corkie clearly wasn't going to talk. Maybe she could get Carrie to come forward and clear Dimitri – and shed some light on what was going on. ‘I mean, she should get in touch with the police. But if she doesn't want to, she could call me.'

Corkie nodded, satisfied. ‘Well, I can't say whether or not I know this student, and I certainly can't provide any information that we may have in our files to you. But I could try to pass along your message. Tell her you'd like to chat.'

‘That would be great.' It would be something, anyway.

Corkie stood up. ‘So, I have your number. Again, I can't promise anything, but—'

‘Wait, Corkie.' Dulcie had an idea. ‘May I give you a note for her? I mean, I understand that maybe you don't know her and never will or anything. But just in case?'

Corkie's smile looked real this time. ‘Sure, and thanks for understanding.' She looked around. ‘Hang on. I'll get a pad and some paper from Reneé.'

She walked out of the room, pulling the door half closed behind her. Dulcie could hear her voice, talking to the receptionist. She looked around. It was bad. The wrong thing to do. But she couldn't resist. That olive green; it
might
have been Carrie. And the pile of files was sitting there, almost asking to be opened.

‘You don't have to say it, Mr Grey,' she muttered into the silence. ‘This makes me glad you're not here.' She pushed back the covering clipboard to look at the top file. CARRIE MINES. The name jumped out at her. She paused – and opened the file.