Chapter Fifteen

Tony is in the shower when Daniel listens to the message.

It must show on his face, though, because Tony immediately asks, “What happened?” when he returns to the room.

Wordlessly, Daniel sets his phone on speaker and replays the message.

Hi, Professor Rosenbaum. This is Detective Taylor. I’m calling to inform you that Professor Ravel has been arrested on suspicion of accessory to murder in the Lombardi case. She’s using her phone call to get in touch with you. A public defender has been made available—

Daniel stops the message before she starts going through the legalities.

“Shit,” Tony says.

Daniel nods.

“Shit,” Tony repeats. “No way. She didn’t do it, right?”

For a moment, Daniel breathes. Colette was the last person to see Mario alive. He was hiding quite a few things from her, his closest friend. She disapproves of several of the things he was hiding, most notably that Mario was taking advantage of students, although not because they were students but because they were taken advantage of.

Daniel remembers her, the morning they found the body, crouched over the gutter and vomiting.

He remembers her completely ignoring him for a full day after it happened and giving only the weakest of excuses for why.

He remembers her doing the utmost to draw the police’s suspicions away from herself, from her rehearsed speech at the memorial to the moment she decided to tell the police about Gianna behind Daniel’s back.

Colette would never be stupid enough to dump a body right next to their building.

“No.” Daniel shakes his head like that will shake off the possibility. “No, she can’t—no way.”

“Okay. Okay, so we need to get you to the police department.”

“Yeah. Um. Okay. I guess…I’ll drive over and call you later?”

“Okay.”

Daniel must look about as lost as he feels because Tony grabs him in a short, tight hug and holds him close.

“We’ll figure this out,” he promises, which is only comforting because he uses the first-person plural.

Climbing down the fire escape feels no less weirdly illicit in the morning, not least because Tony’s mom is shoveling snow in the driveway.

“Hi Daniel,” she calls brightly.

“Good morning, Mrs. d’Angelo. Happy New Year.” It comes out with the inflection of a question.

“Happy New Year to you, too! I was hoping you’d stay for breakfast.”

This is news to Daniel. “I’m sorry? Something came up. I have to—”

She waves him off. “That’s all right, honey. But you had better come over for dinner one of these days.”

“I’d love to,” Daniel hears himself say.

“Great.” She beams. “How about tomorrow?”

“Um, okay.” Daniel has no idea what he’s doing tomorrow, but given Colette is in prison, presumably he doesn’t have plans.

By the time he gets to the bridge, he’s thought himself into a panic. What will they even talk about? How Daniel’s closest friend has been accused of committing the murder that got Gianna’s illicit baby daddy killed? In the parking lot of the sheriff’s department, he types out a quick, frantic message to Tony, trying to sound like this is a perfectly normal state of affairs and not at all like he’s losing his mind.

He hasn’t been here since that first awful morning. Stepping inside, the smell of stale coffee and the fluorescent lighting awakens dread in the pit of his stomach.

An empty chair sits behind the Plexiglas protective wall in front of the reception desk.

“Hello?” he calls. “Anyone here?”

From an office to the left of the atrium, Detective Taylor emerges. “Ah. Professor Rosenbaum.”

He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say to her.

She seems to realize this after a moment of silence in which they stare at each other across the empty room.

“Professor Ravel is in the holding cell at present,” She offers eventually. “I’m afraid she’s refusing to speak to me without an attorney present, and the state attorney can’t make it till later.”

“Can I see her?” Daniel asks instead of commenting. He’s pretty sure his intuitive response—good, she shouldn’t speak to you—would be unwelcome.

The detective shakes her head. “Visitation is only possible once a person in custody has been—”

“All right. Well, what can I do?”

The detective sighs. “You can speak on the phone. I’ll call your cell phone and put you through to her.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m right here.”

“I don’t make the rules” is all Detective Taylor answers.

This is how Daniel finds himself sitting on one of the green plastic chairs drilled into the wall of the atrium, clutching his cell phone, and waiting for a call from the next room over.

As soon as she knows it’s him, Colette begins with, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” he asks, alarmed. “Why are you—you didn’t—you’re not—”

“No, of course I didn’t kill Mario. Don’t be ridiculous.” Her saying it is neither a defense nor is it proof, but Daniel is still relieved to hear it. “I need you to call Jeff.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” Why he didn’t think of it is beyond him. Jeff is the only lawyer either of them knows. He’s not the type of lawyer who does murder cases, but at least he’s a lawyer. “I’ll call him right away.”

“Thank you.”

Daniel’s not sure what the right thing to do is now. He could hang up and get right to calling Jeff, or he could try to commiserate even though it’s not his strong suit. “Um, how did—” He realizes he has no idea how to finish. “Why…”

“I don’t know.” Colette sounds absolutely wretched. “I don’t know anything. She said something about new evidence, but she won’t tell me more until I agree to speak without a lawyer present. I have no idea if I should just answer her questions to find out or—”

“No. Definitely stick to your guns. Don’t answer questions.” He’s shocked at the surety in his own voice; he’s not sure at all. He’s read several Twitter threads emphasizing no one should ever talk to the police without a lawyer present, but he’s also never had a friend be accused of murder before. He can tell that the last thing Colette needs is to start questioning herself. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“If you can find out anything…”

“I’ll try,” Daniel promises.

He calls Jeff as soon as he’s hung up with Colette.

“Daniel?” Jeff answers the phone, sounding incredulous.

“Hi.” Daniel abruptly realizes he has no script for this conversation and no clue how to get from the opening to the massive favor he’s about to ask. “Happy New Year.”

“Right,” Jeff answers. “Happy New Year.”

Just as Daniel’s gearing up to trying to talk about this, Jeff continues, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t think I’d hear from you again. It’s been a year.”

“I know. It’s… Wait, did you want to hear from me?”

He can practically see the frown line in Jeff’s forehead deepen as he considers.

“I’m really not sure,” Jeff says finally.

Daniel almost laughs. It’s no wonder they didn’t work out.

“It’s Colette.” Daniel rips off the Band-Aid rather than draw out this discussion. “She’s been arrested as an accessory to murder.”

“Did she do it?”

“What the fuck, Jeff, of course, she didn’t.” Daniel guiltily remembers his own moment of doubt this morning.

“I haven’t seen her in a year.” For a lawyer, it’s an incredibly weak defense. “Who is she supposed to have helped kill?”

“Mario.”

“Mario’s dead?”

“It’s been a really rough couple weeks, okay? Look, I hate to ask, but Colette doesn’t have any family in this country, and I don’t want her saddled with a public defender who won’t help her. Do you know anyone? Or can you help?”

“Gimme a second.” Jeff sounds distracted, and then there’s a crack in the line as if he’s muted the speaker. Moments later, he’s back. “I’ll be there by tomorrow. Is your address still the same?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

The line goes dead.

Of course. Bizarre. Daniel hasn’t seen or thought much of Jeff in months. As far as he’s aware, Jeff hasn’t kept in touch with anyone at Lobell. He only lived in the area for a year and a half, and he spent most of that being a homebody with Daniel. Given Jeff hasn’t even heard about Mario, that assessment is probably accurate. Daniel’s thankful he cares enough to make the effort, but he’s more than a little surprised. Maybe it’s another instance of people being better than he imagined them.

He thinks of the vigil for Mario and how his family didn’t come.

Maybe Jeff would have.

Maybe Jeff, who hasn’t seen Mario in a year and didn’t really like him all that much in the first place, was closer to Mario than his own family. Maybe Mario had every reason to look for connection and comfort in all the wrong places.

Maybe Mario was the reason his family didn’t come, and the only reason they’re all mourning his death is because they didn’t know him well enough.

Daniel leans his head against the wall and tries to breathe. He needs to figure out what evidence Colette is being accused with. He needs to call Tony.

Fuck, he needs to figure out what he can bring along to Tony’s parents when he goes over for dinner tomorrow. Tomorrow, when his ex will also be in town and possibly sleeping on Daniel’s couch.

This would be the right time for hysterical laughter if Daniel could work up the energy for even that.

Deciding he can’t trust himself to call, he types out a second text message to Tony, trying to sound like a rational human and not a ball of nervous energy.

He should have asked about Colette’s family and whether he should call them. She doesn’t have the easiest relationship with them, but she still goes home for visits regularly. Maybe they could help somehow.

“Daniel?”

Stacy’s voice pulls Daniel out of his haze of confusion.

“Stace?” He sits up straight to look at her.

She’s wearing a lumpy Christmas sweater under her thick winter coat, and she looks harried, like she’s running on empty. Her hair is a mess.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. “You should be with your family.”

Stacy sighs. “I wish. The detective called me in because of the stupid email server. Apparently, she needs to see something right now, and she doesn’t know how to navigate it properly even with access codes. My husband is losing his mind because it’s a holiday, as if he hasn’t been gone for every—whatever.”

Colette said she thought it invasive for the police to get access to their emails, a traitorous part of Daniel’s psyche points out. Maybe she was hiding something.

“What are you doing here?” Stacy asks.

“Colette’s been arrested.”

Stacy gasps. “Oh no!”

Daniel nods.

“Oh, Daniel, this must be so hard for you.” Stacy pats his shoulder, which she can reach pretty effectively when he’s sitting and she’s standing. “First, Mario gone, and now Colette—oh, you poor thing! You’ll have to come over for dinner tomorrow and let us take care of you.”

“I have a dinner thing tomorrow,” Daniel answers absently, glad of the excuse. Then, her words catch up with him. “Colette didn’t do it! You don’t think—”

Stacy bites her lip. “Oh, well. I only thought—they wouldn’t arrest her without proof, right?”

Apparently, Stacy’s faith in the police is greater than Daniel’s ever was.

“I don’t know what I think, but I know she didn’t do it.” The more often he says it, the more he’ll believe it himself.

Stacy pats him on the arm again. “You’re such a good friend.”

Daniel doesn’t know what he could possibly say to that. Peevishly, he wants to accuse Stacy of being a bad friend, although he supposes she and Colette were never exactly friends. It doesn’t matter anyway; Stacy bulldozes right on.

“I’ve been meaning to pick your brain. With the overhaul of the Title Nine office, I really think we could use an LGBTQ-plus perspective. And the students love you, so maybe you could stop by one of our meetings in the new semester—”

“Sure, Stacy.” Daniel mostly wants to get her to stop talking about work right now. She does mean well. And the Title IX office has been a mess ever since Daniel got to Lobell.

“You’re a peach!”

This is not something Daniel has ever been accused of before.

Detective Taylor peeks out of her office. “Oh, Professor Abrams, I’m glad you’re here. Come in, please. Professor Rosenbaum, you can leave.”

“Can I?” Daniel asks icily. “Can I also speak to Colette again?”

“No.” The detective shuts the door behind her and Stacy.

Daniel can’t go home.

He considers it for a while, sitting in his car in the parking lot and wondering what he can possibly do. But he has nothing to do at home besides obsess about Colette not being downstairs, and he can’t face the thought.

Instead, he drives to Lobell.

It’s kind of tragic to be there when no one else is, and the campus is basically a ghost town. Maybe he should wander around and see if he spots Mario lingering, waiting to tell Daniel what the fuck actually happened to him.

He can’t seem to settle into his office chair and start anything. He’s pacing back and forth through the office when Tony gets there.

“You didn’t have to come,” Daniel says. Tony texted to ask where he was, and Daniel told him, but he didn’t think Tony would be so quick.

Tony gives him a look. “You’re freaking out.”

“Yeah, and I don’t want you to think I’m always like this.”

Tony raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, I don’t want you to know I’m always like this before it’s too late and you can’t get rid of me.” Daniel grimaces. “Did I tell you my ex is flying in? As if I could make a worse impression on you.”

“You also said he’s a lawyer, and he can help your friend.” Tony is so calm. Daniel wonders how he does it. Maybe his brain doesn’t run entirely on anxiety. “Come on. Get your coat; we’re going for a walk.”

Daniel obeys on instinct.

“Take some deep breaths,” Tony advises as they exit Condelmuir. What snow there has been so far is piled up on the sides of the pathways, leaving nothing but gravel on asphalt for them to walk through. It crunches under the soles of Daniel’s boots, and he tries to think of nothing but that noise.

They’ve walked the entire loop past the administrative buildings, down toward the student center where they once ate mozzarella sticks before Tony speaks.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Try to stop me,” Daniel tells him grimly.

“I am.” Tony shoots him a grin. “Look, I’m a sure thing. I like how crazy intense your brain is. It’s pretty sexy when you’re not, you know, panicking. Not that I like you less when you’re panicking. It’s just not— I’m going to stop myself there. You have every reason to be worried right now, and calling your ex is obviously the right thing to do in this situation, so that’s not even worth thinking about. Don’t add me to the list of things you’re worried about.”

Daniel takes a deep breath as if that will let him inhale Tony’s words and hold them in his heart. “I really, really like you. In case I haven’t mentioned it.”

Tony bumps their shoulders together. “Ditto.”

The student center is closed because it’s the first of January, and even the skeleton staff running the café for the few workaholic professors who come to campus during break took the day off. They walk around it instead, to the quad on the other side with its bare cherry trees planted evenly around the wide, empty space no one ever seems to use for picnics, not even in summer. It’s probably too close to authority. Daniel’s been told the students like to smoke weed when they picnic.

As they round the path, passing by the squat little dorms for freshmen and sophomores, Daniel spots a man standing outside one of them. He’s too old to be a student, easily in his fifties, and his body language screams discomfort. The closer they get to the building, the more curious Daniel becomes until he spots a woman of about the same age bustling out through the double-glazed glass door and then holding it open for a familiar face.

“Lily!” Too late, he reconsiders that he probably should have left her alone.

“Hi, Professor Rosenbaum.” Lily Peterson looks pale—the dye at the tips of her hair is lackluster as if it needs renewing—but otherwise healthy.

“I’m glad to see you looking well.” Daniel wants to kick himself for sounding like a Dickens character. “Healthy, I mean. We’ve all been very worried about you.”

“Thanks, Professor.” She tucks her hair behind her ears, and he’s struck by how young she is. There are freckles on her nose and a zit under her lips. Then, she squares her shoulders and looks him directly in the eye. “Will you tell me what happened to Professor Lombardi?”

Her father sags against the door, groaning, rubbing a hand across his face. “Lily…”

“My parents won’t talk to me about him.” Lily lifts her chin, defiant. “But I want to know.”

Daniel looks to Lily’s parents. Her mother has frown lines drawn tight around the sides of her mouth. Her father’s looking at the ground as if he’s embarrassed. Daniel can’t imagine what it feels like to almost lose a child, nor can he imagine what it feels like to know she was involved with a professor.

He looks over to Tony. Tony can definitely imagine at least some of that.

Tony nods in Lily’s direction.

“I’m not sure I know much, to be honest,” Daniel says. “A student—Andrew Clayfield, I don’t know if you know him—has been arrested. So has a professor. Professor Ravel.”

“Not Andrew,” Lily gasps.

“So you do know him?” Daniel lets it out before he can stop himself.

Lily nods, her hair escaping from behind her ears and sliding across her face. “We were in the same dorm freshman year. He was…sweet in a really intense way.”

“Maybe he was jealous,” Tony offers.

“I don’t think so.” Lily makes a face as if to indicate that the thought is ridiculous.

At Daniel’s quizzical look, she adds, “I never got that vibe from him. He never tried anything. He did keep telling me to stay away from Professor Lombardi, but he always said it was because there were things I didn’t know about him. And he kept trying to get me interested in other people.”

“He probably did know something,” Tony points out. “Last year, Professor Lombardi was seeing my sister, Gianna. She was friends with Andrew.”

Lily gasps. “He was what?”

“Yeah.” Tony gives her a gentle smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t wanna make things worse. I just thought you should know.”

She nods slowly. “Thanks. Is she, um, is your sister okay? I think I met her, once or twice. I haven’t seen her around though.”

“She’s pregnant. She had to drop out.”

“Oh my god,” Lily groans. “Andrew knew?”

“Pretty sure.”

“I’m an idiot,” Lily says.

Lily’s father huffs a noise like he wants to agree.

“No, you’re not.” The words come out more forcefully than Daniel intended, but seeing Lily here reminds him of Stacy’s words. It’s Mario’s fault this has happened to her. “Professor Lombardi was in a position of authority at this college, and he used that to his advantage. It’s not your fault you thought better of him.”

It earns him a shadow of a smile, both from her and her mother.

“I can ask Gianna if she wants to get in touch sometime if you want,” Tony offers. “Might help to talk to someone who’s been through it? Her, too, I think.”

Lily’s eyes light up, and she’s nodding eagerly before she thinks better of it and hastily adds, “I mean, it’s not the same at all. I was never actually with him. I just thought—he kind of gave me the— Well, I’d love to talk to her. And thank you both for being honest with me.”

“Anytime,” Daniel tells her warmly. “I look forward to seeing you next semester if you’re ready.” He debates telling her she can still submit her work from this semester for credit but decides that can wait.

“I’ll definitely be back.” Lily’s jaw is set even though her parents both look more than a little skeptical.

“Your daughter is a wonderful student,” Daniel tells them for good measure. “We’ll let you get on with things.”

He and Tony are quiet almost all the way down the drive past the student dorms.

“It was nice of you to tell her about Gianna.” Daniel bumps his shoulder against Tony’s.

Tony shrugs. “Now we know Lombardi never slept with her.”

Daniel draws to a halt to stare at Tony. “That is impressively sneaky.”

“I learned from you.”

For an incredulous second, Daniel thinks Tony is being serious.

Then Tony adds, “Mostly what not to do.”

“Ha, ha,” Daniel grumbles.

They’ve reached the vast field by the Wordstone Mansion, which is older than most of the buildings on campus. It’s shut up for a good part of the year except for rare occasions when especially rich donors stop by and want to be wined and dined, but it’s beautiful, throning above gentle slope leading down toward the woods by the river.

They trek down in silence until they hit the woods. One of Daniel’s students told him about the little footpath his first year here.

“This is my favorite place on campus,” he tells Tony as they reach the large, flat rock looking out over the Hudson.

“Oh,” Tony says quietly. It’s started snowing a little, nothing that will stick, only a light flurry. The cold is biting. “Can we stay a while?”

“Sure. One condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You tell me what I’m bringing your mom when I come over for dinner.”