TUESDAY 2:42PM
Yellow police tape, guarded by uniformed officers, cordoned off the Whitmore Building. Vehicles from the Stuyvesant County Sheriff’s Department, the Coroner’s Office, VBU Campus Police, and the local ambulance company were scattered like confetti across the sidewalk. Fifty students milled about, recording the spectacle on their phones.
Jerry spotted the chancellor and the police chief near the building entrance. Dr. Thornton-Gaston was sitting in the passenger seat of a golf cart. She pointed at Jerry. Characopus nodded and spoke into his radio mic.
“Let’s find out what’s happening.” Jerry motioned for Rachel and Darla to follow. He walked away from the crowd and picked out a young campus cop, maybe twenty-five, far from the action. “Excuse me, Officer. I’m Jerry Williams with the school newspaper. Can I ask you a few questions about what happened?”
“Keep on that side of the tape, and I’ll see what I can tell you.”
“Thanks!” Jerry retrieved his notebook from his backpack. “What happened in there?” He motioned toward the building.
“It’s still pretty preliminary, but it appears we have one deceased. White female in her seventies. The—”
“Kerkorian! Shut your trap!” Chief Characopus appeared out of nowhere, his belly bulging under his white dress shirt, and stepped between the officer and Jerry.
“Uh, sure. Sorry, Chief.” Kerkorian lowered his head and stepped back.
Jerry adopted a conciliatory tone. “Chief Characopus, all I want—”
“Mr. Williams, this is your first, last, and only warning.” The chief puffed out his chest and moved into Jerry’s personal space. “Do not bother any of my officers or any other law enforcement, or I’ll have you arrested for obstruction.”
Jerry scrunched up his nose as he was engulfed by the chief’s garlic breath.
“Is that clear?” The chief jabbed his finger into Jerry’s chest.
Rachel stepped forward. “You try that, and we’ll slap Van Buren, the campus police, and most importantly you, with a multi-million-dollar lawsuit so fast it’ll make Usain Bolt look like a turtle with arthritis.”
Characopus looked down his nose at Rachel. “And who is we, young lady?”
“My parents. They’re both lawyers. You met my father, Alan Berg, earlier today. You saw what he can do. And my mom’s twice as tough. I’m not bluffing.”
Characopus frowned at Rachel. “Fine.” He sneered at Jerry. “I’m watching you.” He jabbed his finger at Kerkorian. “Don’t say anything and keep them outside the line. If they cross the tape, arrest them.” The chief glared at the trio of students, then shuffled off toward the chancellor in her golf cart. Jerry looked at Rachel. “Thanks for the save.”
“Way to go, Sam!” Darla slapped her on the back.
“Actually, my name’s Rachel.”
Darla squinted at her. “Nope, you definitely look like a Sam to me.”
Rachel ignored that. “Glad I could help, but it doesn’t sound like we’re going to get much official cooperation in finding out what happened.”
“Let’s spread out, talk to some students, and see if they heard anything.” Jerry spotted Laurie Inverso from The Chronicle chatting with a deputy. “I may have a lead.”
Laurie, in a white blouse and an olive ankle-length skirt, finished her conversation and walked in the opposite direction.
Jerry rushed after her. “Hold up, Laurie!”
She turned, shook her head, and laughed. “No way, Jerry. Vanessa told us you went over to the Dark Side.”
“Relax Laurie, I’m not after a story for The Underground. I want to know what happened. The cops won’t tell me anything.”
“You’re persona non grata. Vanessa would have my head if she knew I was even talking to you.”
“You can’t let Vanessa boss you around like that.”
“Vanessa is the boss, Jerry. I think your problem is you never really understood that.”
“Forget Vanessa, we’re friends.”
“We weren’t friends; we were colleagues. Emphasis on were. Want to know what happened? Pick up a copy of tomorrow’s paper.” Laurie’s phone buzzed. She tapped twice. “I’ve got to go.” She walked off in the direction of The Chronicle’s offices.
Jerry milled about the crowd and talked to a couple of students, but they were in the dark as much as he was. Jerry was about to give up when he spotted an older man who he thought he recognized but couldn’t remember where. The man had a bullet-shaped bald head and wore a blue sports coat over an open-collar white shirt and khakis. He spoke briefly with a deputy, then walked toward Jerry. As the man passed by, Jerry spotted a press credential hanging around his neck. Something clicked in Jerry’s mind. He’d seen the man’s photo on The Stuyvesant Whig website.
“Mr. Grant?”
The man stopped and stared at Jerry. “Do I know you?”
“We’ve never met, but I’m Jerry Williams. We talked on the phone the other day.”
“Mr. Williams, a pleasure.” Grant offered his hand, and Jerry shook it.
“I’m surprised to see you out here.”
Grant’s smile was replaced with a subdued look. “It’s the first murder in the county in eighteen months. My few remaining reporters were out on assignment, that left me.”
“Can I ask you what you learned? Campus police isn’t cooperating with us.”
“I’m having the same issues with the Sheriff’s Department.” Grant flipped open his notebook. “One deceased. Professor Ellen Harding. White. Female. Seventy-one. That’s all they would give me. Nothing about cause of death or any suspects.” Grant checked his watch. “Great talking to you, but I’ve got to get back. I have a newspaper to run.”
Jerry waved goodbye. He spotted Darla leaning back against a tree across the street. Rachel was walking toward her.
Jerry jogged over to them. “You guys learn anything?”
Rachel groaned. “Those rubberneckers are less than worthless. One guy told me he heard this was an attack by radical Islamic terrorists. Another girl wanted to know if it’s an automatic ‘A’ if your professor dies.”
“Aside from confirming it was Professor Harding and that it’s only her who’s dead, I struck out too.”
Darla grinned. “I learned something.”
“Really?” Jerry and Rachel replied in unison.
“Yup, I talked to this cute deputy.” Darla pulled a business card from her purse. “Corporal William Brick. He invited me to the gun range.”
“He did?” Jerry’s face burned red.
“Relax. I’m not going. My mom would flip if I went out with a cop. But I did lead him on enough to learn that Professor Harding was shot three times by what appears to be a small-caliber handgun. Multiple witnesses report hearing the shots at about one-forty. But no one saw anything, according to Billy.”
“Billy?” Jerry narrowed his eyes.
“That’s some fine investigative work.” Rachel smiled at Darla.
Darla laughed. “You guys make this reporting stuff sound hard, but it really isn’t. I’d like to see you try a back flip sometime.”
Jerry rubbed his chin. “Shot to death? That doesn’t sound like bad luck, just plain old murder. Maybe Professor Harding’s death isn’t related to all the others. Could be some sort of domestic situation? Or a student upset over a perceived unfair grade?”
Rachel pointed at the entrance to the building. “On the other hand, after we dropped Fallon off, she had plenty of time to go to her dorm, pick up a gun, then go to Professor Harding’s office.”
“You told me I didn’t mention the professor’s name at lunch. But if Fallon is the student who asked about magic, she might have figured out from our conversation that the professor and I talked. I said stuff that only Professor Harding could have known.”
Darla frowned. “There’s that name again. Fallon. I asked before, but I never got an answer. Who is she?”
“She worked with me on The Chronicle, and she also writes for The Underground. Fallon was on a list of suspects that Professor Harding gave me. And she hates football.”
“How could anyone hate football?” Darla shook her head. “Not liking it is one thing. I don’t understand it, but I can accept it. But hate?”
“We’re drifting off subject.” Rachel pointed out.
“I don’t know this Fallon, but I don’t think it’s her. She’s vegan, right? That's why you had lunch at Salad Co-op? Fallon the Vegan is the killer? If she won’t eat eggs, or even drink milk, how can she murder someone?”
Rachel sighed. “Murder is rarely logical.”
“Thanks, Mr. Spock.” Jerry held up his fingers in the form of the Vulcan greeting.
Darla shrugged. “Just trying to help puzzle it out.”
“Why don’t I talk to Fallon? See if I can find out where she was at one-forty.” Rachel looked at Jerry.
“Don’t tip her off,” Jerry said.
“I think I can manage that. Let’s exchange numbers so we can keep up.” Rachel pulled out her phone.
Jerry gave his number to Rachel, and she texted him.
“I should get going. I still have a lot to do at The Underground. Jerry, if you could work on a story about Professor Harding, not only the murder but also about her career, that would be great.” Rachel faced Darla and offered a hand. “And Darla, good work, I mean that sincerely.”
“Thanks.” Darla ignored the hand and hugged Rachel.
Caught off guard, Rachel went limp in Darla’s arms, a mixed look of surprise and distress on her face. “Okay guys I’m off.” Rachel headed toward East Campus.
Jerry put a hand on Darla’s shoulder. “Look at you making new friends.”
“Yeah, that was a sweet move she pulled on the chief, but she has questionable fashion sense. I mean those T-shirts?” Darla poked a finger in her open mouth. “And berets should be reserved for Special Forces and mimes.”
“We’re done here. Go back to my place?”
“On the way, you can fill me in on your day.”
Jerry entwined his fingers with Darla’s and recounted the committee meeting, what Fallon said at lunch about Professor Johnson’s disappearance, and the visit to Johnson’s house. “I was on the fence about going back tonight, but with Professor Harding’s murder, I need to ask him some questions.”
“You can’t do that. It’s too dangerous. What if he’s the murderer? What if he tries to shoot my sweet boy?” Darla stopped, looped her arms around Jerry’s neck, and kissed him. “Tell the police about Professor Johnson.”
“Tell the police what? I have no evidence that Professors Johnson and Harding even talked in the last forty years. And if I try to explain about bad luck, I’m the one the cops will lock up. In a mental institution.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“Relax. He’s probably not connected to this. I just need to eliminate him from consideration.”
Darla pressed her lips into a thin line. “I approve, but on one condition.”
“I wasn’t aware I needed your approval.”
“Who got you the details on Professor Harding’s death?”
Jerry sighed. “Fine, what do you want?”
“I’m coming with you.”
“What? Out of the question.”
“Why?” She crossed her arms.
“It’s too dangerous.”
“But you said he’s probably got no connection to any of this.”
“Probably. What if I’m wrong?”
Darla pushed out her lower lip. Her green eyes boring in on Jerry with laser-like focus. “You should know that I’m used to getting my way.”
Jerry held up his hands. “Okay, you can come. But you have to do everything I say.”
“Of course.” Darla poked Jerry in the ribs.
“And none of that.”
“But I want to play. When are you planning on going to the professor’s?”
Jerry looked at the sky. “Maybe eight. I want to wait until after sunset.”
“Outstanding. That gives us plenty of time.”
“Time for what?”
Darla slipped her hands under Jerry’s shirt.
“Ah, cold!”
She winked. “Time for another round of ‘warm things up’ back at your place.”