Seventeen

Wes stood on the sidewalk in front of the Tudor-style stucco home for several minutes before approaching the front door. He wanted to get a feel for the place, to understand the layout of the property. To the right was the driveway, at the end of which was a two-car garage that mimicked the architectural style of the house. The house and garage were connected by a brick path, and the front and back yards were separated by a white lattice fence with a gate. Rosebushes climbed high and stretched from the house to the roof of the garage. At either side of the property was a stand of very large evergreens. A low hedge ran across the front of the house, and large holly bushes obscured the windows on both sides of the front door. The house and garage were set back a bit from the street, so that the overall impression was of a tidy house that fit snugly in its seclusion.

He wasn’t really sure that this wasn’t a waste of his time. On the drive over from the police station, he’d asked himself what he wanted to accomplish by coming here, to the house Stephen Madden had shared with his wife and his daughter. The best answer Wes had been able to come up with was that he wanted to get a feel for the three men who had been close to Olivia. Somehow, her relationships with them—and with Stephen—felt pivotal to the case, and his gut told him it would be wise of him to get to know her, too.

He walked to the door and was raising his hand to ring the doorbell when it opened. A man who appeared to be in his late thirties or so stood in the doorway. He wore a light green crewneck sweater and olive Dockers and a cautious expression.

“Mr. Stillman?” Wes inquired.

“Yes. Detective Powell?” The man’s voice was smooth and steady.

“Right.”

“Come on in.” Kyle Stillman stepped aside to permit Wes to enter the house. “I was just about to come out to get you. You looked as if you weren’t sure this was the right house.”

“I wasn’t certain at first. I had a hard time finding the house number.”

They stood in the foyer, which, like the living room, appeared to have been freshly painted. Wes commented on that.

“Oh, yes, I’ve been busy,” Kyle told him. “Just sprucing up the place, since I’m thinking about selling it. I guess you spoke with my stepsister. I imagine she told you about the deal with the house.”

“I don’t know that she mentioned it.”

“Come on in the kitchen.” Kyle gestured toward the arched passage behind him. “We can sit and talk in there. I just finished the last of the coffee, but I’d be happy to make a fresh pot, if you’d like some.”

“No, thanks. I’ve had my two-cup-per-day limit already.” Wes went directly to the table and took the chair facing out from the corner. There was something about Kyle Stillman that made him uneasy, something that made him want to not sit with his back to the room. “So what was the deal with the house and your stepsister?”

“Nina’s father owned this place before he married my mother, but after they were married, he never put Mom’s name on the deed. Turns out he made provisions for Mom to livre in the event he died before she did, but upon her death, the house was supposed to pass directly to Nina.” Kyle sat down across from Wes.

“So you’re telling me that Nina owns the house.”

“Nina did own the house. She signed it over to me. You believe that? She gave me the house. Said she’d never been happy here, it only held bad memories, that it should have belonged to my mother, and if it had, the house would now belong to me. So she signed it over. You ever hear of anyone doing something like that?”

“No, actually, I haven’t. That was very generous of her.”

“It just shows you the type of person she is.”

Before Wes could respond, Kyle said, “So, you said on the phone you wanted to talk about the letter Stephen wrote to my mother shortly before he died. I’m assuming you read it. What did you think of it?”

“Strange idea he had.”

“Strange? It’s ludicrous.” Kyle laughed. Wes thought it had a hollow ring. “How someone as smart as Nina could take that seriously . . . I just can’t fathom it. It’s a crazy idea.”

“Well, no doubt Dr. Madden’s affairs had to have hurt your mother terribly.”

“You have no idea what she went through on his account. He just . . . “ Kyle looked away. “She was just destroyed by him.”

“Wouldn’t she have wanted to destroy him in return?”

“Mother?” He shook his head. “She wasn’t the murderous type. She was really a very good, very sweet woman. Everybody loved her.”

“But she had to have been angry with her husband.”

“I’m sure she was for a while, those first few years they were married especially.” He shrugged. “But after a while, I think she accepted that that was the way he was and he was never going to change.”

“Well, just to set your mind at ease, I agree that it’s not likely that your mother was the killer. But I am interested in his claims to have found the weapon.” Wes kept his eyes on Kyle’s face. “If Dr. Madden had found the murder weapon here, in or around this house, I would imagine that he’d have immediately suspected she’d been the one who’d hidden it. No one else had access to the house, except for her. Who else could have hidden it?”

“You’re not taking this seriously, are you?” Kyle asked.

“Just dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. We do have these new allegations . . . and the mention of finding the murder weapon. Which as you probably know, we never did find.”

“I seem to recall that.” Kyle nodded.

“Well, here’s the important part, Kyle. Yesterday morning, a young woman named Allison Mulroney was found dead in her apartment on campus. She’d been stabbed to death.”

“I saw that on the news. Kind of like déjà vu all over again.”

“Here’s something you didn’t hear on the news, Kyle. The wounds on this girl are identical to the wounds on those girls who were killed sixteen years ago. Same width, some length, same depth. One would venture to guess, same knife in the same hand.”

“How could that be?” Kyle frowned. “Stephen Madden’s been dead for almost fifteen years now.”

“That’s what I’m going to find out. You think of any likely suspects, anyone you recall having spent a lot of time around the house back then, you be sure to give me a call . . .”

“Well, you know, Father Whelan spent quite a bit of time here. I don’t think a day passed when he did not stop by to see my mother. And then, of course, there was Dr. Overbeck.”

“Dr. Overbeck?” Wes asked with a straight face, as if he hadn’t already heard the story. “Who is Dr. Overbeck?”

“He was—still is—a professor of English at the college. My understanding was that he was a bit of a rival of Stephen’s.”

“A rival for what?”

“For the top position in the department. Stephen definitely had the inside track there. Or at least he did until he was arrested.” Kyle stared at Wes for a moment, then said, “And there was also my mother.”

“What about your mother?”

“She and Dr. Overbeck had an affair.”

“Really?” Wes raised his eyebrows and tried to look surprised. “When was that?”

“I believe Mom said it started about a year or two before Stephen was arrested. She ended it after Stephen died.”

“Was he married?”

“He wasn’t at the time. I think he may have married since, but I’m not sure about that.”

“So you’re saying that Dr. Overbeck would have had access to the house because he was here occasionally with your mother?”

“It was more than occasionally. Quite frequently is more accurate.”

“Would he have been here often enough to find a good hiding place if he’d had something to hide?”

“Sure.”

“What do you suppose his motive could have been for killing Dr. Madden’s girlfriends?”

Kyle shrugged. “Hey, it’s just a guess on my part, but maybe he thought, with Stephen out of the way, he could just skate right into his life. You know, the job, my mother . . .”

“Why not just kill Dr. Madden, then? Surely if he was smart enough to kill four girls and get away with it for—what was it, eighteen months or so?—he’d have been smart enough to have killed one man and gotten away with it.”

“Who knows what he was thinking?”

“You think it could have been him?”

“If it wasn’t Stephen, then, sure. It could have been him.”

“How about Father Whelan?”

“I don’t see him as having a motive. Oh, yeah, he was in love with my mom, I guess Nina told you that. But it’s too easy, you know? I just don’t see it.”

“Who else might have had a motive, Kyle? Can you think of anyone else?”

“No, really, I can’t. But if I think of someone, I’d be happy to give you a call.”

“You do that.” Wes stood to leave. “Say, do you mind if I ask what you do for a living?”

“I’m a security guard. I’m on disability right now, damaged the tendons in my shooting hand, can’t use my gun anymore.” Kyle shrugged. “Can’t send a one-handed man out on the street with a gun, and my company does almost all armed work, so they put me out on disability.”

“You having any therapy for that?”

“Oh, I was, for several months. They said I’d reached, what did they call it?”

“Maximum medical improvement?”

“Yeah, something like that. So unless they can find something for me to do that doesn’t require me to use my right hand too much, I’m pretty much at home these days.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

“Yeah. I miss the job.” Kyle stood and walked partway to the door. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“No, I think we’re okay for now.” Wes rose and followed him.

The two men walked outside together.

“What’s the name of the company you work for?” Wes asked.

“White Shepherd. Why?”

“I was just thinking, I know a few guys who own guard services. If I hear anything you might be interested in, I can give you a call.”

“That’d be great. Thanks. And if anything else comes up, or you have any other questions about my mom or whatever, give me a call.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.” Wes shook Kyle’s hand and got into his car.

Wes glanced in his rearview mirror as he drove toward the stop sign at the end of the street. He could see Kyle still standing on the sidewalk, where Wes had left him, watching the car drive away.

Odd duck were the two words that came to Wes’s mind as he made his left onto Locust Drive.

He was early for his appointment with Dr. Overbeck, so Wes took the opportunity to take a walk around St. Ansel’s campus. Even two weeks earlier, there’d have been leaves on the trees, but with the cold snap they’d had, there was little color left clinging to the branches of the maples that lined the campus walks. Groups of students passed by, all seeming to chat at the same time. He saw few girls walking alone, and wondered if the news about Allison Mulroney had put the fear of God into them. He hoped it did. He hoped, too, that they’d be doubling up at night. The chief had held a press conference earlier that morning, and had suggested that any girls living alone should get together or stay with friends until the killer was caught, but Wes figured most of these girls had probably missed the broadcast. When he returned to the station, he’d suggest that flyers be printed up and passed around the campus, just to make sure everyone got the message: There’s safety in numbers.

He wandered back toward Celestine Hall, and thought about the approach he’d take with the professor. He was still thinking about it when he knocked on Overbeck’s office door.

“Hey, come on in,” Dr. Overbeck greeted him from behind his desk. In seconds he was at the door, his hand extended, shaking Wes’s hand enthusiastically. “You’re Detective Powell, right?”

“Right. It’s good of you to make time to meet with me.”

“Hey, whatever we can do here on campus to help you out.” He gestured for Wes to take a seat in one of the dark green leather chairs that stood on the opposite side of the desk. He was tall and wiry, with blond hair that had grayed and small dark eyes. He was dressed casually in jeans and a sweater vest over a shirt with a button-down collar. He stood behind his chair for a moment before sitting. “Terrible tragedy, that poor Mulroney girl, isn’t it?”

Dr. Overbeck made a tsk-tsk sound and shook his head.

“She was just a lovely girl. Good student. Friendly. A little on the quiet side, but not overly shy. Terrible tragedy,” he repeated. “I suppose you want to know if I’ve noticed anyone following her from class, or if anyone seemed to hang around her, but honestly, I never noticed. I mean, if there was someone bothering her, or following her, she never mentioned it. But then again, why would she? I mean, I only have her for that one class. And as for her social life, I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I did hear that she dated one of the boys on the basketball team, but I don’t know who.”

The professor stopped and looked at Wes, as if waiting for the detective to say something. When he did not, Overbeck said, “Well, that’s what you wanted to know, right? What I knew about Allison Mulroney?”

“While I appreciate the information, actually it was another murder I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Another murder?” Overbeck frowned. “Good God, there’s been another one?”

“I’m referring to the murders sixteen years ago. The ones Dr. Madden was convicted of.” Wes kept his eyes on Overbeck’s face, and watched the surprise register.

“Why would you be interested in those? As you say, there was a conviction in that case.” Overbeck’s face took on a wary expression. “What has that case got to do with this one?”

“There are similarities between the murders.” Wes leaned back in the chair and spoke slowly, drawing it out. Watching Overbeck’s eyes.

“What kind of . . . what are you talking about?” Overbeck drew his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I’m simply not following you at all. Stephen Madden died years ago. So any similarities between those murders and this one . . .”

“Need to be explored,” Wes interrupted him. “We need to take a look at the big picture here, Dr. Overbeck. Sixteen years ago, we had four young women killed in exactly the same manner. The bodies left in the same position, the clothing handled in the same manner. Obviously someone methodical, right? Now here we have a young woman who’s been killed in the same manner, left in the same position. Clothes folded the same as the others. Makes you think.”

“Makes you think about what? That there’s a copycat killer on the loose at St. Ansel’s?”

“Makes you think maybe Stephen Madden was telling the truth when he said he hadn’t murdered those girls.”

“You have to be kidding. Stephen was guilty, all right. He’d had affairs with each of those girls, and then what happened? He wants to end the relationship, they threaten to tell the dean, he kills them. It’s as simple as that. I can’t believe no one put it together sooner than they did.”

“No one put what together?”

“Well, that it was Stephen’s girls who were getting killed.”

“But I was under the impression that, at the time, no one knew he’d been having these affairs.” Wes caught Overbeck’s gaze and held it, refusing to let the man look away. “That until Madden was arrested for the last of the murders, no one had known he’d had any involvement with the others.”

Wes let that sink in before asking, “Are you telling me now that you knew Dr. Madden had been involved with the others?”

Overbeck continued to stare.

“Because if you knew, I’d have to wonder why, after the first girl was found murdered, you didn’t come forward and say something. There was, what, something like five or six months between the first murder and second? And if you’d known about his affairs, surely you would have wanted the police to know, right?” Wes leaned forward and rested his forearms on the desk. “I mean, given your relationship with Mrs. Madden, I’d think you wouldn’t have minded if Dr. Madden had been taken out of the picture sooner.”

Dr. Overbeck broke eye contact at the mention of Olivia Madden.

“You were having an affair with Dr. Madden’s wife, correct?”

Overbeck sighed heavily. “Yes, I had an affair with Olivia.”

“You know, what I find interesting is that you managed to keep that a secret during the entire investigation and trial.” Wes shook his head. “I was one of the investigating officers back then, and the only time I heard your name mentioned was as a colleague of Madden’s.”

Wes stopped and looked around Overbeck’s office. He stood and walked outside, and looked up and down the hall, then came back in.

“Now that I think about it”—Wes sat back down—“this was his office, wasn’t it? Madden’s?”

Dr. Overbeck cleared his throat before answering. “Yes. Yes, it was Stephen’s office.”

“I also seem to recall that back then, Dr. Madden was next in line for the head of the English department when . . . help me out here, who was the head of the department back then?”

“Father Candelori.”

“Right. Father Candelori.” Wes nodded. “Madden was his choice to take over the department when he retired. Which was supposed to be the following year, right?”

Overbeck nodded.

“Who was finally named head of the department back then, Dr. Overbeck?”

“Actually, I was.”

“Really,” Wes said flatly.

“Really.” Overbeck stood. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, Detective, but I think you’ve taken enough of my time for one day. I’m devastated that another young girl has lost her life here at St. Ansel’s, but I don’t know what the point is to your bringing up Stephen or Olivia or any of that. It was all a long time ago. Stephen was convicted, he went to prison, he died. Olivia, as I’m sure you’re aware, has died recently. I can’t see where there’s anything more to be said.”

“Well, here’s the thing. Without boring you with the details, Madden’s daughter just got her hands on a letter that Stephen had written to Olivia shortly before he died. In the letter, he tells her about having found what he believed to have been the weapon that killed those four girls, way back when.” Wes paused to watch Overbeck’s eyes begin to widen. “Apparently the weapon was hidden in Madden’s house; at least, that’s what the letter seemed to indicate. He seemed to think the weapon implicated Olivia somehow, though that’s crazy, right? I mean, since the girls were all raped, Olivia couldn’t very well have been the killer.”

“I don’t know anything about any of that.” Overbeck had gone pale.

“But you knew Olivia well, didn’t you? Your affair lasted . . . how long? Two years?” Wes stood. “Two very critical years in Olivia’s life, wouldn’t you say? Her husband gets arrested and charged with murder, she finds out about all of his affairs . . .”

Wes rubbed his chin, as if something had just occurred to him.

“Unless, of course, she knew about them. I don’t suppose she ever told you that she knew he was having these affairs with his students?”

Overbeck considered the question carefully before answering. “Olivia knew Stephen was having an affair. I do not believe she knew with whom.”

“Well, that helps.” Wes started toward the door, then stopped and asked, “What was she like, Olivia? I met her years ago but, of course, didn’t get to know her. My impression of her is one of a very beautiful, very strong woman.”

Overbeck nodded slowly. “Yes, she was beautiful. And strong.”

“Were you in love with her?”

“Absolutely,” Overbeck said without hesitation.

Wes took out his wallet and retrieved one of his business cards. Handing it to the professor, he said, “All of my numbers are on here. Will you give me a call if you think of anything that might be helpful?”

“I will. Yes, I’ll do that.” Overbeck appeared to be relieved to see Wes go. He walked with the detective to the door, and the minute Wes was in the hallway, Overbeck closed it.

Smiling with satisfaction, Wes walked to the stairs and down to the first floor. Once in the lobby, he checked his watch. He had plenty of time before he had to meet with Father Whelan. He’d grab lunch, then head back to the building on the other side of the campus where Father Whelan’s class was being held.

There was only one of Olivia’s men left to talk to. He wondered what the priest could tell him that he didn’t already know.