Grey Zone (24 page)

No, Dulcie shook her head. There was a lot she didn't know, that Rogovoy wasn't telling her. But the basic idea of Corkie fighting with Herschoft, of somehow overpowering him and throwing him out the window in the few minutes she had been in the building? It didn't seem possible. Besides, Corkie had no connection to Herschoft. Her sole concern, as far as Dulcie could tell, was Carrie Mines.

Carrie was in trouble, that much was clear, and all the signs pointed to abuse by a person in authority. Maybe Professor Herschoft had been helping her evade someone else. Merv? He was tall enough to have been the man in the archway. Tall and lean. Had he come down to the police station that morning to ask questions, or to answer them?

Without realizing where she was heading, Dulcie found herself on the steps of the English department. And as she opened the door, she realized there was a third candidate she hadn't considered. Someone who was tall enough to have been the man she saw. Someone whose pursuit of an undergraduate would be against every ethical rule. Someone, she remembered as she stepped inside the little house's alcove, who had written to the student's new adviser in a vaguely threatening tone and who already had a grudge against the professor – and the very building he'd been thrown out of.

The sound of hard soles on old wooden stairs caused her to look up. Ducking to keep from hitting his head on the low, even so slightly sagging ceiling was her thesis adviser, Norm Chelowski.

THIRTY-THREE

‘
M
iss Schwartz! How nice to see you.' Her adviser straightened up as he stepped off the stairs, and Dulcie was struck by how big a man he really was. ‘Did we have an appointment?'

‘What? No.' Dulcie found herself backing away. That letter: maybe it hadn't been about the shadow of the building. Maybe Herschoft had been about to file some sort of official grievance, and Chelowski was trying to stop him. ‘
It is imperative that we resolve this
,' the note had read. But maybe Herschoft had refused to settle it quietly. Maybe he had refused to withdraw the complaint. Maybe Chelowski had found a way to sneak in, up to the other professor's office. Herschoft wasn't the only struggling academic who was up for tenure.

‘Ms Schwartz?' She looked up into her adviser's face, aware that she'd been standing, frozen. The idea of Norm Chelowski pressuring a student for sex was doubly horrible, now that she saw him up close. ‘I'm here to pick up papers. To pick up my students' papers.'

‘Got to keep a tight rein on those undergrads.' He nodded in a way that turned her stomach. ‘Some of them just have no idea of the discipline that's necessary.'

This was getting creepier and creepier, and Dulcie ducked into the office, desperate for the comforting presence of the departmental secretary.

‘Were you looking for Nancy?' Chelowksi was right behind her. ‘She stepped out. Dentist or something. May I help you with something?' He smiled, and Dulcie drew back in horror. She'd seen him as a figure of fun, a slightly ridiculous character. But maybe her instincts had been correct when she'd envisioned him as a weasel. A dangerous and sly creature. Muttering something about deadlines, Dulcie turned and fled.

‘Chris?' Dulcie fished her phone out of her bag and answered without looking. What she really needed now was support.

‘You still haven't spoken to him, Dulcie?' It was her mother. But, for once, Dulcie was grateful.

‘No, it's a long story. Hey, Lucy?' She was walking fast, heading for the Yard. ‘Do you really think that maybe I'm psychic?' She paused before adding: ‘Too? I mean, really?'

‘Of course, dear. I've known that about you since infancy. Why, one of your first acts was to grab my grandmother's cameo to teethe on. I had to take it away, of course. You probably don't remember it; that all went when we had to incorporate the colony. But I knew then, because she had been quite a seer in her day. Almost like a Philadelphia version of the Fox Sisters.'

Dulcie had to get her mother back on track. ‘But since then, I mean, do you think I see people as they really are?' She'd felt so guilty when she had first decided Chelowski looked like a weasel.

‘Yes, dear. I mean, you've made some mistakes. I remember that room-mate of yours – the summer sublet fellow?' Dulcie nodded in agreement. That had been a big one. ‘But in general, yes. You're quite a good judge of character.'

‘Lucy – Mom – I don't know what to do with this. But I think maybe my thesis adviser is a criminal.'

For the first time that Dulcie could remember, her mother was speechless. ‘Mom?' she asked finally. ‘Are you OK?'

‘Yes, yes, dear. I'm just – flabbergasted.' Dulcie heard rustling on the other end of the line. ‘Hold on, let me get my cards.'

A few moments passed, and Dulcie realized she was humming. When she recognized the song – the sultry ‘Teach Me Tonight' – she stopped. ‘You still there?'

‘Yes, I'm sorry, dear. I haven't used this deck in a long time. Here we go.' To the gentle sound of paper slapping, Dulcie relaxed. Her mother used to read the cards regularly when Dulcie was little, and she'd grown up with the Rider-Waite imagery. ‘Would you tell me what the trouble is, Dulcie?'

Briefly, Dulcie outlined her suspicions, focusing on the sexual harassment and leaving out the possibility of murder. Her mother had enough to deal with.

‘You don't know his birth sign, do you?'

That was odd. ‘You never needed that before.'

‘I'm getting confusing signs, dear. If what you say is true, I should be getting different cards. The two of cups, or perhaps something similar.'

Dulcie wracked her memory, trying to come up with what that particular card meant.

‘Unbridled passion. Sex without love,' Lucy said. She might not be psychic, but she knew her daughter.

‘Well, that's interesting, but I'm still worried.' What was she doing, asking her mother for advice? Dulcie didn't want Chelowski to be an abusive creep, but she wasn't going to be reassured by long-distance magic.

On the other end of the line, her mother was still reading. ‘I'm wondering, dear, do you think you could have it wrong? I'm just not seeing it.'

‘I wish.' The idea of Chelowski being criminal sat like a cold weight on her shoulders. She'd never really liked him, but she'd finally made peace with him. The thought of confronting him, of turning him in, was enough to make her feel vaguely ill. Add in the prospect of finding another thesis adviser, once again . . . ugh. What she really needed to know was what her own future held.

‘Lucy, would you do something else for me?' Before her mother could even answer, the words rushed out. ‘Would you pull a card for me, like you used to?' Dulcie hadn't asked since she was a child. But now, she wanted the comfort.

Dulcie waited, visualizing her mother. She could picture her now, in the commune's big common room as she sat back and thought of her daughter and then chose a single card from the oversized deck. It would be the Sun. It always was. And even though Dulcie had long suspected her mother of a little sleight of hand, she'd grown used to Lucy pulling the bright card for her. Used to seeing herself in its image of a smiling child on a white horse, accepting its promise of happiness in love and life.

Only, this time the silence went on a bit too long.

‘Lucy, are you there?' Dulcie asked the silent phone. ‘Did you get the Sun?'

‘Oh, Dulcie, I did.' Something was wrong, very wrong. ‘But your card? Your usual card? It was upside down.'

Dulcie tried not to think about it as she continued into the Yard. But all her years in the commune had taught her something. Reversed cards meant just that – all the traits turned upside down. Not just a different fortune, one lacking in contentment and fulfillment. But the loss of happiness, of love and joy. The loss of everything you held dear.

THIRTY-FOUR

‘
I
wanted to shield you, dear.' Lucy had been so upset that Dulcie had ended up comforting her. ‘I thought, maybe I shouldn't tell you. But I had to, you see?'

It all had to do with the cards, Dulcie thought. If Lucy had betrayed the cards, she'd lose some connection, some ineffable power of divination. Far better to dump bad news on her only child.

‘I get it, Lucy. No, it's fine. Really.' She'd wanted to get off the phone ten minutes ago. ‘You shouldn't have to lie to protect me. That's not what parenting is about.' She parroted back Lucy's excuses and waited till her mother sounded reassured before signing off.

With a mood that now matched the glowering gray sky, Dulcie marched through the Yard – and stopped. Where, she wondered, had she been headed? Ostensibly, she wanted to seek out Corkie, to find out what had happened that day at the Poche. In truth, she realized, she'd been heading toward her basement office. But the idea of meeting Lloyd, of having to chat with another man in an inappropriate relationship, was suddenly extremely distasteful. She knew Lloyd and Raleigh were different, but still . . .

And then there was Dimitri. He was somehow involved in all of this. Could she have been wrong about Chelowski? Could it have been Dimitri, as she'd originally suspected, who had been so wrongly involved with Carrie? The idea was a lot less distasteful. And that note had mentioned ‘the department.' It wasn't inconceivable that the two professors were discussing a problem between students.

Unless, Dulcie had to admit, she was simply looking for an easier way to understand what was happening. After all, if Chelowski were guilty, that meant a lot more hassle for her.

‘Ow!' A sharp pain, like a bite on the back of her calf, caused Dulcie to stop short. Had some biting insect survived the winter cold? Or, no; Dulcie smiled. ‘You're right, Mr Grey.' She had lost all sense of proportion. This wasn't about her thesis. This was harassment, and possibly murder. She had delayed long enough. It was time to tell Rogovoy what she'd discovered. She reached for the phone, just as it began to ring.

‘Detective?' Maybe she did have psychic powers.

‘Huh? No, it's me, Dulce. How are you feeling?' Trista's bouncy tone was so foreign to Dulcie's mood that, for a moment, she didn't even recognize her friend's voice. ‘It's Tris, Dulcie. Are you doing OK?'

‘Yeah, I'm fine.' She smiled. It was comforting to have her friends check in on her.

‘So, are you well enough to come out to the People's Republik tonight?'

‘Drinking?' It wasn't what she expected. Somehow, a pub night didn't seem to fit with everything going on.

‘It is Saturday night, Dulcie. A girl's got to have some fun.' There was an edge to Trista's voice that gave Dulcie pause.

‘I don't know, Tris. There's been so much going on. I don't even know where to start.' She put her hand up to her head automatically. She could still find the swelling, but it was already much less sensitive. Not a good excuse. ‘You wouldn't believe what's up with Chelowski.'

‘That greasy giraffe? You can tell me about it tonight. I'll buy the first round.' Trista was definitely pushing more than usual, but when Dulcie failed to respond, she settled down a bit. ‘Was it about the spring status update?'

‘Oh, hell – I mean, oh, Goddess.' Dulcie could have slapped herself. How could she have forgotten? If she accused her thesis adviser of impropriety – or worse, murder – it would look like a counter offensive. A political move to distract the department. Unless she could be very, very sure, she couldn't mention this to anyone. Certainly not to Rogovoy. She tried to imagine the furor that would erupt if she embroiled her adviser in this and he ended up being innocent. Had Chelowski shared his concerns about her ‘malingering'? Suddenly, her head started to throb.

‘What?' Trista asked.

Dulcie'd been so caught up in this nightmare scenario, she'd forgotten that Trista was on the line. ‘No, it's not that. But, well, it's true, I've not gotten much done.'

‘Well, I don't want to put a damper on your weekend, but maybe you can crank something out today and tomorrow? Hand him something early next week?'

‘I don't know, Tris. I need to talk to some people.' She paused. ‘Would you know where I could find Dimitri?'

‘He'll be at the Republik tonight. Why, is there something going on that I don't know about?'

‘Not – not like that.' Dulcie wasn't sure how to respond to this new Trista. ‘But I do need to talk to him.'

‘More reason, then.' The line was silent for a moment, and when Trista came back on, her voice was softer. ‘Seriously, Dulcie, I hope you come tonight. Things have been a little hard for me lately, and I could use the moral support.'

‘I will try, Trista.' Dulcie heard herself speak and wondered if she sounded as odd as her friend. ‘I promise.'

Knowing it was probably useless, she called Chris's voicemail. ‘Hey, sweetie.' He had stayed with her when she'd been hurt. But that could have been spurred by guilt. ‘You wouldn't believe the day I've had.' Too late, she remembered his advice that she stay in bed. ‘Let's just say, you were right. So, I'm wondering if you might be free tonight, even for a little while. A bunch of us are going to be at the Republik.' She paused. ‘But if you'd rather it be just us, let me know?'

The beep at the end of the voicemail was far from satisfying. Maybe it was just as well she hadn't called the detective yet. If she could talk to Dimitri in a casual setting, maybe she could get to the bottom of this. Maybe he'd walk into the bar with his ‘friend' Lylah and dispel all of Dulcie's suspicions. Or maybe Carrie would show up on Dimitri's arm.

With that unlikely thought, she shoved her phone back in her bag and headed up the Widener steps.

But no matter how hard she tried, Dulcie couldn't concentrate. First it was her carrel, the seat too hard, the rattle of the occasional footstep on the metal frame floor too distracting. Then it was the lighting. Despite the upgrade of a few years back, the overhead lights still cast the kind of gloomy shadows that could make reading difficult. Finally, Dulcie admitted it was her. Not the bump on her head, but everything else that had been going on. While her thesis should be the top priority in her mind, at least for the next few hours, she couldn't stop thinking of Carrie and Chelowski. Of Herschoft and Dimitri. Of an abused student and a dead professor, and of two brief notes, either of which might explain it all.