Inconstant Moon - Default Font Edition (27 page)

He doesn't know if he could stay here if it came out. Damn. Oscar feels the discomfort level increase exponentially. Understanding it is just an interrogation technique doesn't help, and suddenly the oppressive silence is more than he can bear.

Oscar says, “We go out when we can, to the pub, computer lab, library or the caf. Sometimes Callaghan's or a film for a change. Mostly people only stay in when they're short of funds.”

“What's your relationship with Natasha Panov?” asks the male detective standing behind him. Oscar fancies he can feel the man's glare of the on the back of his neck. Disconcerting. Oscar has to twist around to address him.

“There isn't one, then, is there, other than that we're both in Fyfield. To be perfectly honest, this is the first I've heard her surname. Don't really know her, you see.”

“She's not your girlfriend?” Detective Wolfrom asks.

“No, no, nothing like that. She's always with that weight lifter. They're both in the photography program, aren't they.”

Wolfrom says, “You'd like to get to know her a little better though.”

Oscar shrugs. “I rather doubt we've anything in common. Girl didn't even come to the Ubuntu party.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Not that it's anyone's business, but my own, but no. No, I don't.”

“Are you gay?”

“Certainly not, “Oscar says, “Just I'm rather more interested in getting a degree at the moment.” Oscar meets the man's eye, starting to feel a bit more confident. “There's actually very little fraternization.”

The woman detective snorts derisively; Oscar turns back to her as she says, “That's not what we've been hearing. It sounds as though there's a lot of fraternization.”

Oscar is getting angry. This is absurd. He's not some stupid kid for them to push around, he is a bloody grown up. He served in the 31st Southern Brigade for godsake. Why is he letting these wankers make him feel like a child? Shite. Don't get angry. Stay calm, and answer their questions.

Taking a deep breath, Oscar decides it would be better get it over so life can get back to normal. Or as normal as it can get.

“Oh, there's a fair bit 'o that in the Res, but it's cross program fraternization I was meaning. There's not so much as you'd think between students in the photography and computers, considering photography has gone digital, you see.”

“That's all very interesting, but that's not what makes me curious.” The woman detective narrows her eyes at him. “What makes me curious is why you would come here.”

“Christie is a very good school.”

“Still, it's a long way from Tipperary.”

“Seeing the world is a fine part of getting an education.”

The woman studies him carefully. Oscar can feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck. Damn. Damn and damn. “Still, you could have gone to university in Ireland for free. Christie is expensive for foreign nationals. It doesn't make sense.”

Oscar can feel his jaw tightening. This one's done some homework. The question is, how much. Does she know? He stares back, examining her. Looks like it is still a question.

“There were some family issues. I'd rather not say.”

She frowns. “That could mean any number of things.”

Oscar asks, “Why can't you just leave me in peace?”

She answers quietly, “Because there has been a particularly brutal attack on one of your classmates.”

Studying her he decides she probably doesn't know. Yet. But if he tries to lead her along the garden path, she'll see it. And then she'll find out anyway. He sighs heavily. Father Ted always said confession was good for the soul. Maybe.

“Can what I tell you be kept in confidence?”

The woman shrugs. “It depends. If it isn't material to the investigation, we'll do our best to be discreet. But.”

“Anything can happen in a paramilitary organization,” Oscar nods. “I know the drill. Army Reserve in Limerick was where I got into computers.”

From behind him, the man says, “Family issues?”

Oscar wonders if the chip on his shoulder is playing havoc with his judgement. He thought it was all over. An ocean away. Maybe it will never go away. Like they say, you can run but you can't hide. “Yes, family troubles.” Oscar deflates back into the chair. “Do your best to keep it to yourselves then.”

Breaking eye contact with a sigh, Oscar leans back and closes his eyes before continuing. “My family was what they call dysfunctional. Textbook. My Da was crazy jealous of my Ma.” Oscar stops a moment, takes a deep breath and decides, fuck it.

They'll find it out anyway. Better from him, and be done with it. “One fine day me Da up and killed her . . . murdered me Ma, strangled her with his hands.”

Oscar opens his eyes, and sits up straighter, as though relieved of a weight. “See the world, Ma used to say, and if you must know, that's what it was that brought me here. After that there was nothing there for me. My sainted sister visits the bastard every weekend but as far as I'm concerned he can rot in hell, thanks. To be honest, I don't want to talk about this shite, so I left. No one here knows any of it and that's how I want it to stay.” Oscar glares at the cop defiantly. She looks stunned. He asks, “So is that it then? Can I go?”

Lewis nods, says, “I'm sorry for your loss. We may have more questions later, but you can go.”

Oscar leaves with alacrity, pushing his way past the man, striding into the hall, pushing out the door into the fresh air. Heading down the path, he fumbles in his pockets for the cigarette case. The one he inherited from Ma. Right now he doesn't care who sees him smoking. Even Maggie.

He fookin' needs it.

Lewis asks, “Any more?” as Wolfrom opens the door and peers out.

“Just one.” Wolfrom beckons, and Quentin gets up then comes in, taking the empty seat across from Lewis. He looks at them expectantly.

“Hey, how's it going? Have you got a bead on the guy yet?”

Wolfrom and Lewis exchange glances, then Lewis says, “The investigation is ongoing. I'm sure you understand.”

“Okay, sure. Can you tell me how Nat's doing?” he asks.

“Sorry, you'll have to get that information from the hospital.” Answers Lewis curtly. “And you are?”

“Quentin Bradbury. Photography, I know Natasha.”

“I don't remember your name from the residence.”

“I'm in Res, just not at Fyfield.” The cop looks confused, so Quentin explains, “My wife and I live in a cottage. I helped Jake and Liz find Nat, and I already spoke to officers at the hospital last night, no I guess it was this morning.”

Lewis flips through paperwork. When she finds his original statement she nods and skims it. “You spoke with PC McKay?”

“Yeah. I was wondering do you have any leads?”

“We're looking . Any idea who might have done this?”

“No. It just blows my mind. I hope you get the prick.”

“So what can you tell us about Natasha?” she asks.

“She's a great girl, anybody knows that girl likes her. She's feisty, and there's definitely a mouth on her, but she's real, you know? Not a damn mean bone in her body.”

“No ex-boyfriend? Bad blood with room mates, like that?”

“She's just . . . here let me tell you what I mean. I've been having a tough year. Okay, I have to say it was really dumb to get married before college, you know. Well, I know now, anyway. Too many big adjustments all at once. So I've been screwing up. My marriage is on the rocks, my work has been for shit, I'm been drinking too much. But Natasha, she doesn't judge, you know? The gal finds me passed out the other night and she doesn't call security, she kicks me awake and drags me back to the Res and shoves me into the shower. When I come to she sat beside me holding my hand while I threw everything up. Then she sits up all night with me, just talking. Or letting me talk, really. And I don't know how she did it or anything. Maybe just by letting me talk, cause she never even told me what to do.”

“I'm sorry. Mr. Bradbury, I'm not sure I'm following you.”

“It's that Natasha just, you know, she helped me see how much I've been screwing up. Of course my wife's pissed I came in so late, and I ended up sleeping most of the day, but when Liz was getting people to look for Natasha last night, I was right there. I'm in even bigger shit with my wife because of it, but finding Nat was more important, you know? She's a friend. I'm just glad we found her.”

“So you were home alone sleeping for most of yesterday?”

“Yeah, that's right.”

“Anyone to verify that?”

“Verify? Well no. I mean, it's a married student residence. They're those tiny little cottages. It's just me and Tamara and she was in class. I guess she'll be able to verify that I left a mess.”

Lewis and Wolfrom exchange glances and Quentin is starting to feel as though he's just pinned a bullseye to his chest. Shit. He knows better than to talk to cops. Hell, his brother is a cop. He's heard the stories. James would be some pissed he knew baby brother was babbling like a fool. James always said never talk to cops. Especially if you're innocent. But he needs to help. Natasha's a friend.

“What about Boris?”

“Boris is a great guy.” Taking in their sceptical faces, Quentin is now just as certain that they're fitting Bo up for this. Hell, he can't let that happen either. Bo is a friend, too.

“No way man, Jake told me about the fight, but it doesn't matter, no way Boris is good for it. He might be pissed at her but he's not gonna lift a hand against that girl. He treasures Natasha. I mean, I didn't see him yesterday, but I know Boris, and he is no creep. Those two are tight. They have a closeness, well, if my marriage was that solid it wouldn't be in trouble, okay?”

“That's all for now, Mr. Bradbury. Thanks for your help. We may have more questions later,” Wolfrom ushers Quentin to the door.

After closing the door, Lewis says to Wolfrom, “What did you think of that?”

“Hey, I think that had the ring of truth, don't you?”

“What, all they have to do is fess up to their little misdemeanors and they're off the hook? We gotta look at this guy, Wolfie. His marriage is in the toilet and he's out all night with the vic? Crying on her shoulder, he says. We check it out. Nobody's in, but nobody's out yet either. Except the ones with iron clad alibis.”

“You mean like a room full of people swearing you were in class with them? Yeah, that works for me, too. But isn't it time we turn the boyfriend? Funny, he's the only one we haven't seen yet.”

“Yeah,” says Lewis, “he 'treasures'her, so where is he? He's gotta know we wanna talk to him.”

“Not at the Res, hasn't been in class.”

“Think, Wolfie. He's in the same place whether he did it or not.”

Wolfrom's grin spreads. “The hospital, right?”

Lewis nods. “That's where he ought to be, either way.”

“We pick up the boyfriend and haul his ass downtown.”

“Yeah, we need to get that one in the box.”

30's jazz plays softly on the radio while Amelia sits perched on the tall bar stool behind the cash register. Other than Billie Holiday's timeless music the store is quiet, and like any dedicated reader Amelia is entirely oblivious of her surroundings.

Until the cuckoo clock erupts in a cacophony of whistles and chirps. It's nine p.m. time to close up. The mood is broken. Amelia smiles as she slips a bookmark in the book before closing it and laying it on the counter. With a feline stretch she glances around the store to see who she'll have to hurry along so she can close up. But she doesn't see anyone. Nobody's here.

She starts the ancient register cashing out and it provides a rhythmic musical score as it spits out the tape. Amelia leaves it to do its thing as she slides off the stool and takes a quick walk around, checking the blind spots.

The place really is empty. Absolutely no one here; that's a first. Funny, it's a little disconcerting to realize she's the only person in the store. The only one. She's never been able to lock up without having to shoo out late browsers before. She goes to the front and slides the bolt into the floor.

Pulling the cash drawer, she drops the register tape in the bottom, then locks the drawer up in the fire safe in back. Good. Walking the aisles she doesn't notice anything gapingly amiss. Also good. What on earth was she thinking, reading something for enjoyment. That's one of the seven deadly sins for an English major. You're not supposed to have free time to read for enjoyment when you're an English major.

Christ, it must have been over an hour ago when she started reading. There were half dozen students scattered through the store then. She didn't notice any of them leave.

Please God don't let them have swiped half the merchandise. Not on her watch. That would be bad. Very bad indeed; she needs this job. Yes, the money's important but what other job lets you read on the job? She'll have to be careful, this can't happen again. Keep track of customers from here on in.

Nothing is wrong that she can see. Good. Sigh of relief. A bit of shelf straightening. Maybe she can hang onto this job at least 'til exams. She re-shelves a couple of misplaced books.

It's a little bit eerie to be the only one here. She's glad to be done. She tosses the paperback book in her backpack, and slips on her jacket. Yup. She needs this job. Student loan money doesn't stretch to luxuries like winter coats. It's not even winter yet, but she's felt half frozen for weeks.

Letting herself out the back door into the service hall she locks the deadbolt with the key and starts walking down the hall toward the back entrance.

Amelia wonders why the store was so quiet tonight. Her heels echo on the tiles as she passes the huge trash compactor, happy the garbage here is just paper and dust. It positively reeks in the cafeteria's back hall.

Suddenly, it hits her. The store was quiet because of the attack. Shit. She hasn't seen a lone woman walking anywhere all day. Only her. Shit. Shit. Shit.

The exit door opens out into the faculty parking lot. The empty faculty lot. She opens the door and stops. Oh. Of course, all the faculty are long gone. Leaving an empty lot. And trees. Shadows. Amelia stares at the shadows. She does not want to step out there. Uh uh.