Nondisclosure Page 7

  We walked across to the blue house and rang the bell, to be greeted by loud, frantic barking. Karen held up her badge, and a woman opened the door, holding the source of the barking in her arms. The woman was fiftyish, with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. The dog was thirty or forty pounds, white with orange markings. It was squirming and howling as if it wanted to eat the invaders.

  Karen said, “Oh, a PBGV! I love these guys,” and reached out to pet it. The dog immediately stopped barking and nuzzled against Karen’s hand. The owner smiled and said, “Yes, that’s Beantown. Or Beanie, for short. He likes you.”

  I followed Karen’s lead and ventured to pet Beantown, to be similarly rewarded by happy licks. Especially when he smelled Rosie. “What’s a PBGV?” I asked. “He’s lovely, but I never heard of them before.”

  “It’s short for Petit Basset Griffon Vendéen,” the owner said. “He’s a French hound, a hunting dog. I have a friend who breeds them.”

  “A hunting dog? Seems like he’s more of a lover,” I said. Beantown acknowledged the compliment by reaching up to give me a wet lick on the nose. We were all friends now.

  “You should meet his mother, Cleo. Hunts rats, squirrels, opossums. She’s the terror of the neighborhood. I’m AJ, by the way.”

  Karen introduced us and asked AJ about last Tuesday evening. She’d been sitting near the window and had seen a car pull up and a man help Emily to her apartment. The poor girl must have had too much to drink. The lights in the apartment came on for a few minutes. Then they went off again, and the man came back down and drove off in the car.

  “Did you see anyone else on the street?” Karen asked.

  “Not then, but I did see a strange man when I took Beantown out for a walk a little later.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Maybe half an hour or so after the car left, maybe a bit longer. He was walking up the street in the opposite direction from us. He seemed in a bit of a rush.”

  “Can you describe what he looked like?”

  “Big.” She looked at me. “At least two or three inches taller than you and bulky. Not fat but hefty, like a football player or something. He was wearing a hooded jacket, and I couldn’t see much of his face, although I could tell he was white and had a beard.”

  Karen nodded. “Good, that’s very helpful. Anything else about him?”

  “Just that Beantown didn’t like him. He pulled away when we saw him and didn’t want to get near him. And Beanie loves everybody.”

  “So what did we learn from all that?” I asked while we walked back to Karen’s car.

  “Well, quite a bit about PBGVs. And what do you think about the big guy on the street?”

  “He does sound like an odd character. We should try to track him down, but how do we even start to do that?”

  “Hang on,” she said. “I’m a trained detective.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled through it. Then she handed it to me. “How about this?”

  I looked at the photo of a young man with a beard. He was standing next to a car, which gave me a size comparison. Big and bulky, but well put together. Like AJ had described.

  “Where’d this come from?” I asked.

  “I looked up Derek Kilpatrick, Emily’s stalker ex-boyfriend. Who may very well either have a key or know where the spare was hidden, remember?”

  I pursed my lips and nodded. “All of which makes him a good suspect. Especially if he was in the neighborhood that night.”

  “Yup, at least he’s a viable alternative. He’s on the wrestling team and lives in the Delta Tau frat house. His first class is an hour from now, so we could probably catch him at the fraternity now. Want to pay him a visit? I’d like you with me for this one. He looks like kind of a macho customer.”

  “I’m supposed to be meeting with Kristy to continue some financial stuff we started earlier, but I can put that off. Are you afraid he might attack you or something?”

  She gave me a mocking laugh. “No, I can take care of myself in that department, thank you. I just think he may be the type that’ll have more respect and give better answers if a man’s asking the questions.”

  10

  Delta Tau was located on Beacon Street, just a few blocks from my place. Parking on the street was impossible, as always in downtown Boston, so Karen double-parked in front of the frat house and put a police placard on the dashboard. She was blocking off one of the two lanes of traffic, but that was also common Boston practice.

  I knocked on the door. No answer. I kept knocking, and it was eventually cracked open by a sleepy-eyed hulk wearing nothing but sweatpants.

  “What do you want?” Part question, part growl.

  Karen held up her badge and said, “We need to talk to Derek Kilpatrick.”

  Hulk stared at the badge as if he was having difficulty comprehending. Finally, he opened the door, pointed to the right with his head, and said, “Kitchen.” At least his head was good for something.

  I almost tripped over the assortment of bicycles and dirty dishes that covered most of the living room floor. The distinctive smell of marijuana was overwhelming, which was probably good, considering what else the place might have smelled like. Maybe the pot explained his hesitation in letting us in. Karen had the same thought because she said, “Don’t worry—we don’t care about the marijuana.”

  “Legal in Massachusetts anyway,” Hulk muttered. “Screw yourselves.”

  We found the kitchen and spotted another bulky young man sitting at the counter with a mug of coffee. This version was also dressed in sweatpants, but he wore a T-shirt and had a book open in front of him. He had a beard, and Karen asked if he was Derek Kilpatrick.

  “That’s me,” he said. “Can I help you?”

  She showed him the badge. “We’d like to talk to you about Emily Jackson.”

  He snorted. “I haven’t seen her in weeks. She broke up with me.” He turned his back on us and concentrated on his coffee.

  Since Karen had suggested he might be more susceptible to a male touch, I took over. I used the voice I reserved for intimidating students, which was sometimes a necessary part of being a college professor. “But you still keep an eye on her, don’t you? And know where she keeps her spare key.”

  “Who gives a shit? Everyone knows where that bitch keeps a spare.”

  He hadn’t bothered to look up from his coffee, so I decided to go still more forceful. “So where were you last Tuesday night when she was assaulted? Did you use the key to get into her apartment while she was asleep?”

  “Go screw yourself! Whaddaya think I am?”

  “For all I know, you’re someone who assaults women in their sleep.”

  The transition to movement was surprisingly quick for a guy with so much bulk. He jumped up and swung at me with a roundhouse right. It would have hurt if he’d connected, but I managed to duck and let it go harmlessly over my shoulder. Then I hooked my left leg behind him and shoved hard on his chest. A maneuver I’d learned on the playground in the fourth grade, when I was the target of a bully who didn’t like my new glasses. It still worked. Derek Kilpatrick went down hard on his ass, just like Johnny Frank had nearly forty years ago.

  He looked at me in shock for a minute before he spoke. “You son of a bitch, how the hell’d you do that?”

  I shrugged. “Pretty easy when the only punch you throw is a big, sloppy roundhouse.”

  He groaned and looked at the floor. “Shit.”

  “So are you ready to answer our questions now? Where were you last Tuesday night?”

  He glared at me, and I wondered if he was going to jump up and try another shot. But then he relaxed, and I could see the fight go out of him. “I was at the library studying for a chemistry exam the next day. Can’t exactly study around here. And unlike some of these guys, I’m a good student. Premed.”

  At least premed fit someone Emily might have dated. But he needed to work on his bedside manner. I started to tell him so, but Karen stepped in before I had the chanc
e.

  “What time did you get there?” she asked. “And when did you leave?”

  “I had dinner here with the guys first, so I probably got there around seven or seven thirty. I think it was around eleven when I left and came back here.”

  “Did anyone see you there? Maybe someone you chatted with.”

  “Shit, lady. I went there to study, not to socialize. I guess the students at the front desk saw me.”

  Maybe it was an alibi of sorts, but I wasn’t convinced. I looked over at Karen. She shrugged. Nothing more to get from him. We left him on the floor, probably still trying to figure out how he’d gotten there.

  “You handled him pretty well,” Karen said when we got back to the car. “Had some training?”

  “New York public schools. Bullies were the same then as now. Glad I was there to take care of him for you.”

  She snorted. “Thanks, but dealing with a big jerk like that isn’t a problem. I would’ve ducked his punch like you did. And then kicked him in the balls instead of knocking him on his ass.”

  I inclined my head in a gesture of acceptance. “You said you could take care of yourself. What’d you think of his story?”

  “Let’s see if any of it checks out.” She started thumbing through her phone, ignoring the angry drivers honking and trying to get around us. “Okay, he is taking a chemistry course.” She paused as she continued scrolling. “And yes, its syllabus does list an exam scheduled for that Wednesday.”

  “So that part’s real,” I said. “But it doesn’t mean he was at the library Tuesday night.”

  “No, of course not. I’ll see if we can pin anything down by talking to the students who were at the front desk that night. But we’ll have to keep him on our list for now.”

  Her phone beeped to announce an incoming text. “Hang on a minute—let me look at this. I just got a message from the lab.”

  Maybe this would be the break we needed. I mentally crossed my fingers.

  Karen smiled grimly when she looked up from the phone. “Well, I think this helps. There was plenty of Upton’s DNA all over the place, including on Emily’s clothes. But nothing from any third party. So we don’t have any suggestion from the forensic evidence that anyone else, like our friend Derek, was at the scene. Looks like Upton’s our guy.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “We knew Upton’s DNA would be there. I don’t see how that finding adds anything.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, but the point is that we didn’t find any trace of anyone else. No mythical other assailant.”

  “Sure, but they could have cleaned up after themselves. Or worn gloves.”

  “C’mon, Professor, use some of your brain power. They couldn’t have gotten rid of their own DNA but still have left Upton’s, right? And as for gloves, you’d have to assume they went in with gloves on, planning on the assault. The only way that makes sense would be if someone saw Upton hauling Emily up to her apartment, so they knew she was vulnerable. But we have two witnesses to her being dropped off, and neither of them saw anyone else on the street.”

  “What do you mean? AJ saw somebody who looked just like Derek.”

  “But that was later, remember? Not when Emily was taken up to the apartment.”

  “Okay, fine. I see where you’re coming from. But I don’t think we can eliminate Derek. Maybe he just came by later, let himself in, and found her vulnerable on the couch.”

  “And how would he have known to wear gloves? That’s asking for a lot of coincidence. Look, I’ll check out Derek’s alibi further. But all the evidence says that Upton’s the straightforward pick for this. He was in the restaurant to drug her, took her upstairs, and did his thing. And his DNA’s all over the place. Why are you having problems with it?”

  “Because Emily swears it wasn’t him, and the stories about his coming on to students don’t seem to hold up. And my gut tells me it wasn’t him either. Plus, I don’t think we can eliminate Derek. He’s a premed student. He could have had gloves with him from a lab or something.”

  “Emily might very well be protecting her advisor so that she doesn’t lose momentum in her thesis work. And you’re asking for an awful lot of coincidence with Derek. Even if he had gloves, how would he have known to use them?” She paused and looked at me with a frown. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re looking at this objectively. What’s your relationship with Upton anyway?”

  “What do you mean? I’m on good terms with him, like I am with most of my faculty.”

  “It’s a little more than that, isn’t it? Didn’t Upton say when we met him that one of your students is collaborating with one of his—Josh, the guy he introduced to us? How’s that going? Sounded like they had some good results.”

  I returned her stare. “Maybe they do. So what? What are you implying?”

  She continued to glare at me. “What do you think? I’m worried that you don’t like him as a suspect because it would endanger your research.”

  Now I was angry. “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Is it? Perhaps, but I can’t afford to work with someone who has a conflict of interest in a case. Or even the appearance of a conflict.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that I need to back off and get some distance from you.”

  It felt like a slap in the face. “Karen, c’mon, that’s ridiculous.”

  She turned away and started the car. “I also need to get back to my office for a meeting. You’ll hear from either me or the dean at some point about our next steps.”

  I got out and watched her drive away. Great. Instead of a nice lunch, Karen was pissed at me about Steve Upton.

  I went a block out of my way and walked back to my office along the river, trying to enjoy watching the people walking their dogs. It didn’t work. I was too preoccupied.

  Why couldn’t I accept Upton as the guilty party? It seemed clear enough to Karen. But I had the same feeling in my gut that I sometimes got about a research project in the lab.

  Something just didn’t seem right about the obvious answer.

  11

  Kristy gave me a big smile when I got back to my office. I was grateful. It was nice to feel like someone was happy to see me. Her desk was covered with notebooks and spreadsheets, which I guessed must be a source of good news.

  “You look busy but happy,” I said. “Still hunting for the missing twenty thousand?”

  “Yep. And I think we’re getting there. Ed’s been a big help.”

  “Ed?”

  “Ed Carlson. You know, the college financial guy.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “The same Carlson who acted like such a jerk at our meeting with the dean?”

  “You wouldn’t know it, but yes, the same guy. I traced the deficit to a shortfall in our travel reimbursement from research accounting, but I couldn’t figure out what went wrong. So I went to him and admitted defeat. At first, he acted like I was a moron and went back through all my numbers himself. But when he hit the same blank wall as I had, he started to get interested.”

  “Hold on, you mean it’s not some kind of simple mistake in the books?”

  “Not on my end anyway. And once Ed was convinced of that, he dug in and wanted to help figure it out.” She smiled. “We’re buds now.”

  I wished I could say the same about Karen and me, but I wasn’t so sure at the moment.

  “Congratulations, I guess accounting makes strange friends.” Although given Kristy’s sexual orientation, not bedfellows. Which was where I had to admit that I hoped Karen and I were heading.

  I mentally slapped myself to refocus. “So what’s going on?”

  “It’s a discrepancy in our travel budget and reimbursements from central research accounting. Basically, I gave out more money in travel funds to our faculty than I got back from central.”

  “I’m not sure I follow. How could that happen?” I had to admit that I didn’t know how the process of travel reimbursements worked. It was one of th
ose bureaucratic details I avoided worrying about. That’s what administrators like Kristy were for.

  She looked at me with a faint smile. “You don’t even know how the process works, do you?”

  “Actually, no. It’s one of those things I’m happy to leave to you.”

  “Okay, here’s a crash course. You know that our faculty members travel to attend all sorts of conferences and meetings. Their trips usually wind up being covered by grant funds, but it can often take several months before those expenses get paid. So I give out advances from department funds first and then send people’s receipts on to the research accounting office for approval and processing. Then the department gets paid back from research accounting when the money eventually comes in from whoever is paying for the trip.”

  “Seems simple enough. What’s the problem?”

  “Last year I apparently gave out twenty thousand more than I got back from central. Nineteen thousand, four hundred and fifty-two, to be exact.”

  “Can’t you just check the travel advances you gave out versus central accounting’s records?”

  “That’s the way it should work. And why Ed thought I was an idiot when I couldn’t reconcile it. But their records match mine, except the actual money we received falls short.”

  “I don’t get it. You mean there were bills that went to central, and they didn’t actually pay the money back to us?”

  “That’s what it looks like. But I can’t figure out what requests those were, and research accounting won’t tell me. At first, they insisted the problem was in my records. Then Ed pushed them, and someone higher up finally said that some of our reimbursements were being delayed because of a random audit, but he wasn’t at liberty to provide any details. That got Ed really mad, so he had Dean Houghton send them a memo, and he thinks that’ll get them to tell us what’s going on. And hopefully give us our money.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What a nuisance. Mysterious random audits, like the IRS or something. Oh well, at least you’ve got the dean’s office on our side now.”