Inconstant Moon - Default Font Edition (33 page)

“People will still be confused. Besides, 'sexual assault'doesn't sound as bad as rape.” says Maggie.

Mouse interrupts. “What does it matter what you call it if we have to give up our own freedom and cower in our beds?”

“Come on. It isn't that bad,” says Maggie.

“I am already tired of travelling in a pack.” says Mouse.

“All I care about is not ending up like Natasha.”

“Maybe we could go and visit Natasha.” suggests Mouse.

“That's a good idea,” Amelia nods. “We could find out what really happened. Exactly. All I heard is she was found in the woods. Is that where she was attacked or what? Did she know him? Was he wearing a mask? If we know what actually happened we can all take better precautions.”

“That sounds like writing a story.” says Maggie flatly.

“Not at the moment. I'm not a journalist, Maggie. But I probably will write something eventually,” agrees Amelia. “That's what I do. I'm a writer.”

“That's sick. This is somebody you know.”

“Yes, I do know Natasha, which is why I want to visit her to see with my own eyes that she's OK. If she wants to talk about it, fine. We're friends, I'm there for her. If I were to write it, it wouldn't be her story anymore. It won't be tomorrow, and it wouldn't be her life, it would be a story. Fiction.”

“That sounds even worse. It just doesn't sound right.”

“You're looking at it all wrong. Think about it like . . . you know when you guys talk about how an operating system is built around a kernel? Like that. Fiction is built around kernels of truth. Mixed up with imagination and reassembled as something completely different and new. Even fantasy and science fiction need to ring true or no one would read them.”

“It still sounds creepy. Like you're being a vampire, sucking out all her pain and suffering to use in a story.”

Mouse silences their bickering by telling them, “Do you think Boris did it?”

Maggie says, “That's just silly. It must be somebody else.”

“Why?” asks Mouse. “No one but you has seen the flasher but Boris is here all the time.”

“And why not Boris?” adds Amelia.

Maggie is exasperated. “Boris is the last guy who'd harm Natasha. He loves her.”

“I've done enough research to know women are usually hurt by their nearest and dearest. Cops always look at the husband or boyfriend. Boris has to be the prime suspect.” Amelia sighs.

“It could be random, you know. It could have been any man hiding in the trees.” says Mouse.

“Like my flasher.”

Amelia says, “Yes, like your flasher. But it could be any guy. A teacher. A janitor. A security guy. But odds are it's another student, because predators almost always go after their own.”

Maggie glares at her house mates. “But I don't want it to be somebody we know. Stop trying to scare me.”

Amelia says, “It's smart to be aware. But being careful doesn't mean we have to run scared and hide. But being a little on edge can keep us from doing stupid things.”

Mouse nods, “The world is wonderful but dangerous too.”

Maggie says, “I just want to feel safe again.”

Detectives Lewis and Wolfrom cross the expanse of concrete outside the ostentatious Molony and Mulroney office tower and enter the M&M lobby.

On the left are yogurt shops and boutiques while the right funnels visitors past the wide expanse of security desk before culminating at an impressive bank of elevators. As the detectives make their way to the security desk, Lewis pulls out her ID wallet to present to the guard. He nods after a cursory glance then looks expectantly up from scrutinizing the bank of security monitors spread out before him.

“Help you officer?” he asks.

“We're looking for the owner of the red Schwinn bicycle chained up outside there. If you can direct us to the owner, that'd be fine. If not just point us to the personnel department.”

The guard looks a little shifty, glancing back at the monitors so as not to meet anyone's gaze. “Uh, well, I'm not really sure.”

Wolfrom crosses his arms, not a sidekick anymore, but a stern representative of the law. Menacing even. “We need sure.”

Bereft of his usual power to mess with those on the other side of the desk, the security guard knows he's out of his depth. And when he thinks about it, really, the little creep isn't worth running afoul of the law over.

“I don't know one bike from another, but I know Neil comes in on a red bike. I can't swear it's that one.”

Wolfrom asks, “Where will we find this Neil?”

“He's on twenty nine, in marketing.”

“And that would be Neil who?” she presses.

The guard drops his gaze, sighing. This had been such a good gig. “ Molony. Neil Molony.”

Lewis tenses, then writes it in her book. She thanks him then they head for the elevators.

“Must be your lucky day,” says Wolfrom, pushing the buttons. “Gonna get a shot at the other M.”

The police on-site incident room is vacant when Ethan and Liz stop in. “They can't be done. What's happening?”

A quick look around reveals the police file boxes are gone. “I guess they talked to everybody already.”

“They were ready to arrest Boris. How much can they have learned since then?”

“I don't know. Maybe the security people have an idea.”

“Yeah, maybe. Lets check their office.”

“Uh,” Ethan looks uncomfortable, “I have to get to class.”

“Yeah, I know. Go ahead. I just want to find out what's happening and then I'll head over too.”

“OK. See you there.” He starts for the door, but then turns back, gathers Liz in a big hug, gives her a kiss and a wink, then he's out the door and gone.

Liz smiles, touching her lips. Maybe this boyfriend thing will be okay. She heads down the hall toward security. Like most students, she's never been there but she knows where it is. The door is ajar so she walks in, noting a duty schedule on the board beside the desk.

Behind the desk the swivel chair is vacant. Keys hang from a rack, monitors span the desk. Liz peers over trying to get an idea of what areas are covered by cameras. It's hard to see from this side, so she slips around the desk and into the chair.

The monitors mostly cover the school's exterior entrances, parking lots, interior views of the lobby, cafeteria, corridors of this building. Liz glances at the closed door on the other side of the desk. It's marked Authorized Personnel Only. She pulls out her camera and rolls the chair toward the windows to get a better composition. Adjusting the camera settings for the daylight she takes some shots of the monitors.

Rolling back she slumps in the chair to shoot some low angle shots over the monitors with the daylight streaming brightly around them. Messing with the settings she brackets the exposures so she'll be able to choose from different versions. She's just getting into it when a flushing sound from behind the door brings her back. Snapping off the camera Liz hustles back to the civilian side before the running water stops and the door opens.

The security guy who helped find Natasha does a double take when he sees Liz leaning on the desk. Val says, “Hey there.” Liz notes how gray and haggard he looks today. “Hi, I just stopped in to see how the investigation is going. The cops seem to have gone.”

He nods, “Liz, right?” She thinks he looked perfectly fit the other night but today he'd be a perfect candidate for one of those vampire movies Natasha likes.

“They've finished the preliminary student interviews. The neighbourhood canvas turned up a description of the flasher, so they're following up on both of those things.”

Liz says, “That's good, I guess. You look terrible, you should be home in bed or something.”

He laughs. “Not likely. Not til the campus is safe.” “Oh, well. You still look terrible.”

“I'll catch up on my z's after things settle down a bit. How's your friend . . .” he glances down at a file spread open on the desk. “ . . . Natasha?”

“Better than expected. She thinks they'll be letting her out of the hospital soon. So that's it for the cops on campus then?”

“Fingers crossed. They may re-interview people. I'm not sure if that'll be here or downtown though. We'll take it as it goes.”

“Do you think it really is the flasher guy?”

Rubbing the beard stubble, Val shakes his head slowly. “I don't know. They haven't picked up the guy yet. I'd want more information before commenting. Better to err on the side of caution. But you might want to keep an eye on your boyfriend.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I shouldn't say this, but the cops are interested in him.”

“Ethan? That's crazy.”

Val shrugs. “He didn't give the cops an alibi. He wouldn't talk to them at all, actually.”

“Oh.” Liz frowns. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you saying you think Ethan is the rapist?”

“I'm just saying be careful.”

Lewis and Wolfrom step out of the elevator and onto the gleaming golden hardwood floor. The word “Marketing” has been spelled out with a range of ornate hand carved wooden letters affixed to a stark white wall behind the wide reception desk.

Crafted from darker shades of wood, the massive desk almost looks as though it's growing into the space, dwarfing the tiny receptionist. She eyes them warily as they approach the desk. “Can I help you?”

Lewis raises an eyebrow and proffers her ID wallet. The receptionist accepts it, making a show of examining the badge before passing it back across the wide expanse of wood. Lewis tells her, “I see you've been expecting us. We're here to see Neil Molony. If you can just point us . . .”

The woman shakes her head, no, but Lewis smiles and says, “That's alright. I'm sure I'll be able to find our way,” and heads for the exceptionally dark wood panel door. The receptionist realizes there isn't any way out of it, so she comes out from behind the desk.

“I'll take you back.” The receptionist snaps as she slips in front of Lewis, and hurries through the door ahead of them. Wolfrom and Lewis exchange glances as they follow along the elegantly appointed corridor. The doors inside the corridor are plain slab doors, differentiated by the objects affixed to their smooth surfaces rather than numbers.

Lewis notes a Kewpie doll, a tambourine, and a shimmery guitar-clutching frog interspersed with unlikely objects like gears and tire pumps framed and mounted on the walls between. Stopping just short of the end of the hall, the receptionist knocks on a door distinguished from all the rest by the representation of a hand tooled cowboy boot. As she pushes open the door to admit them, Lewis realizes that the cowboy boot is actually a real leather boot that's been sawn in half and somehow attached to the door. Glue maybe.

What a waste, she thinks as she gets a whiff of rich leather as she steps inside. Old fashioned venetian blinds cover the window, admitting bright stripes of sunlight into the room. The contrasting shadow seems all the darker because the sunlight is so bright. A drafting table leans against one wall, a desk and several file cabinets against the other with a long desk in between. The young man seated there looks up from the video game he's playing. He's hard to see in the harsh strips of light, so Lewis moves to the window and adjust the blinds. The young man watches her warily. Wolfrom pulls the door behind him closed and extends a hand with a badge.

“Mr. Molony, I'm Detective Wolfrom, and this is Detective Lewis. We have a few questions for you.” Molony nods, waving away the badge after a cursory glance, and Wolfrom perches on a corner of the desk. There are no other chairs in the room, so Lewis leans up against the cabinet beside the window.

“What can I do for you, officers?” asks Molony haughtily.

“You own a late model red Schwinn bicycle.”

Molony nods, not sure where this is going. “It's more of a burgundy, but yes, It's a 2009 Classic Seven Deluxe.” He looks at them and frowns. “It hasn't been stolen has it?”

“No,” Wolfrom tells him, folding his arms across his chest, “But it was spotted on the Christie campus.”

“At Christie?” Neil Molony goes very still. Then, “But that doesn't make any sense.”

“It was seen there Mr. Molony. It's a very distinctive bicycle.” Wolfrom watches him.

Neil splutters, “I never went there. That school is for losers. I went to UCLA. Even my bike wouldn't be caught dead at a dive like Christie.”

Very softly, from behind, Lewis leans in and says into his ear, “It was used by a flasher, Neil.” Molony has almost forgotten she's there, and nearly jumps out of his skin. Twisting around to face her, he insists “It wasn't me. Wasn't my bike. It had to be somebody else.”

Wolfrom asks in a neutral tone, “When were you in college Mr. Molony?”

Molony swivels back to face him. “Uh, oh about five, no six years ago.”

“And that prepared you for this job here, did it?”

“Uh, well, no, actually. I decided to help out here until I can find a suitable job in my field. This is really just a stop gap, just until I can put something better together.”

“And your job here is?”

“I pull press clippings and keep the publicity files.” Wolfrom nods, glancing around the spacious office. Although somewhat sterile, this office is far too grand for the job description. The guy is connected.

Again from behind Lewis asks, “What did you take?”

Without jumping this time, Molony swivels back to look at her. He's starting to feel more confident now. “I majored in film. That's where Spielberg and Lucas went too.”

Wolfrom looks suitably impressed. “Wow, I'll bet that's hard work to find.”

Neil haughtily explains “I'm an auteur, I don't work for some schmuck doesn't know from nothing. I intend to direct, which entails putting together a project and packaging. I'm not sure why you're here, though. I do have work to do, you know.” Neil is trying for an imperious dismissal.

“Well,” says Lewis as she comes around the desk, crossing her arms authoritatively. “What we want is for you to come downtown for a line-up.”

Trying to hang onto imperious, “A line-up? That's ridiculous!” he says, now visibly nervous. Clenching her jaw, Lewis pins him with her flinty-eyed stare. Neil tries to keep it up, but cracks. “Uh, when do we do this?”