“Mills.”
Too brusque as usual. Damn. He heard the disconcerted hesitation on the other end before a female voice said, “Professor Mills. This is Sandie, President Oppenheimer’s assistant. The president would like to speak to you. Please hold.”
Sandie sounded like she thought she was putting through
“Elliot,” Charlotte Oppenheimer’s cool New England tones greeted him a few moments later. “How are you, my dear? We missed you at Monday’s fundraiser.”
Uh oh. Elliot didn’t do fundraisers. He didn’t do sports events. He didn’t do anything resembling a social affair if he could help it. He’d gotten out of the habit, which was probably just as well for everyone else. When you were in law enforcement your circle of acquaintanceship tended to narrow to other law enforcement.
“I was sorry to miss it,” he lied, as though he hadn’t entirely forgotten about it. “How did it go?”
“It went well. Very well. Your department raised fifteen hundred dollars to expand the celebration of Black History Month.”
“Terrific.” The month before that it had been the celebration of Women’s Studies and the month before that the celebration of Asian Studies. He was glad there was so much to celebrate. He was. But there were limits to his patience and nervous energy. Standing around chitchatting with parents pretty much exceeded them.
“It was. We’re all delighted. However, I was calling for another reason. I wondered if you were free for coffee?”
“Now?”
“I realize these are your office hours, but something has come up that’s rather urgent.”
Elliot’s eyes met Leslie’s shining, expectant ones. He said, “Yeah. Of course. No problem.”
“Wonderful. We’ll see you in, shall we say, fifteen minutes? I’m working at home rather than my office this morning.”
Elliot agreed, dropped the phone in its cradle. He ignored Leslie’s obvious disappointment, saying, “I apologize. Something’s come up.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll read this over the weekend and mark down my thoughts. I should have it for you Monday. How’s that?”
“I… Sure. Thank you, Professor.” A polite kid, she managed to summon a smile, though dimmer than her usually brilliant one.
Elliot ushered her out, locked his office and headed across the crowded campus. He overtook and passed Ray’s large, gray-uniformed figure pushing his eternal utility cart, brooms, mops and buckets rattling, as the small rubber wheels jounced over the rough cement walkway.
“Morning, Ray.”
Ray threw him a suspicious sideways look and grunted something that could have been anything from “morning” to “fuck you.”
Elliot’s inner ex-law enforcement officer wondered briefly what the story was with the maintenance man. Granted some people just had an aversion to cops and ex-cops, but Ray seemed to treat everyone to that same sparkling personality. Maybe he just hated his job. Mopping up other people’s shit was no picnic—as Elliot could testify.
The president’s house was one of the oldest buildings on the PSU campus, a brick mansion in the traditional Tudor-Gothic style surrounded by coral rose bushes.
Sandie, President Oppenheimer’s assistant, opened the door to him and led him through to a long room with beautiful windows overlooking the roses. The furniture was all white, the furnishings a clever mix of navy-and-delft-blue florals and checks. The overall effect reminded him of Blue Willow pattern china.
“Elliot.” Charlotte came to meet him, offering both hands. She looked older than her fifty-seven years, but she was still what they used to call a “handsome” woman: a little heavy, a little matronly, but elegant and beautifully groomed in a gray silk pantsuit the exact same shade of her hair.
“How are you, my dear? How are you feeling these days? We get so little opportunity to see you.”
It wasn’t
“And how’s Roland? Still working on the book?”
“That’s what I hear. I think it’s his way of getting out of helping me refinish my kitchen cabinets.” Totally bogus. Roland had done the cabinets all on his own before Elliot was even out of the hospital, but Elliot didn’t want to discuss that book, that memoir of Roland’s misspent youth as an outlaw radical. He loved his dad and admired the strength of his convictions, but his feelings were mixed about a book wherein Roland celebrated trying to bring down the institutions Elliot had sworn to protect and uphold.
“And how are you adjusting to island life?”
“I like it.” That at least was the truth. Elliot hadn’t cared for Seattle. He liked the quiet and solitude of Goose Island for all its inconveniences.
“No problem with the ferry?” She was smiling, but Elliot began to feel uneasy. Why exactly was he here? He sensed that under the gracious poise, Charlotte was worried—thus the stalling with small talk. She was not ordinarily a woman who beat around the bush. In fact, most of the time she reminded him of SAC Montgomery.
As though she read his mind, Charlotte said, “Elliot, the reason I dragged you over here this morning is we’ve had something come up and I thought perhaps I might consult you unofficially.”
“Consult me?”
Charlotte started to speak, but paused as Sandie brought coffee in on a tray. Charlotte thanked her assistant, reminded her to hold all calls, and Sandie departed. Next came the rigmarole of how much cream, how many lumps of sugar, would Elliot like a cookie, and then, finally, Charlotte seemed to steel herself.
“I don’t know if you’re aware that a few weeks ago one of our students disappeared from campus. A young man by the name of Terry Baker.”
Old habits died hard. Elliot raised his eyebrows in inquiry and waited to see where this was going before committing himself.
Charlotte cleared her throat. “Terry was an excellent student and, by all accounts, very responsible, but kids are kids. It’s not that we didn’t take his departure seriously, but there was no evidence whatsoever of foul play.” She held Elliot’s gaze with what he felt was almost defiant steadiness. “However, another young man is now missing.”
Elliot set his cup down. “When you say ‘now missing’…?”
“Gordie’s aunt, with whom he lives, reported him missing to the police. Unlike the Baker boy, Gordie is the kind of young man who takes off at the drop of a hat, but his aunt seems to believe that his absence is different this time and we must respect that.”
“Gordie…?”
“Lyle. He’s a junior, but this is his first year at PSU. He transferred in from Cornish. He’d had some trouble there.”
Elliot reached for his cup again. “What kind of trouble?”
“Brawling with other students.” Charlotte hesitated. “He threatened an instructor. We haven’t had any problems with him so far, and to be honest, if his aunt hadn’t gone to the authorities, I would have preferred to let Gordie return to us in his own time.”
“Are you aware of any connection between Terry and Gordie?”
“No. It seems unlikely. They appear to be very different types of young men. They were in completely different fields of study.”
“You don’t think their disappearances are related?”
“I don’t, no. Well, to be strictly honest, I don’t know. But it could very easily be a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Like you, I don’t know.” Elliot finished his coffee and put the cup on the silver tray covering half the coffee table.
“But it is possible?”
“Are you asking my professional opinion? I don’t want to offer it when I don’t know the circumstances of Lyle’s disappearance.”
Charlotte grimaced. “Since Ms. Lyle has seen fit to drag the police into this, it’s only a matter of time before the media gets wind. Once the news breaks that we’ve had two boys reported missing within a month, it’s going to be all but impossible to keep the university out of it.”
“I’m afraid you’re right about that.” Elliot recognized her position, but he couldn’t fault concerned family members for going to the police.
“Given your previous experience with the FBI, I was hoping that you might be able to…shed some insight into what we can expect.”
“Well…” Elliot’s smile was rueful. “It depends on how seriously the police take the aunt’s story. And whether the FBI concludes the cases are connected.”
Charlotte physically recoiled. “The
Charlotte said urgently, “But we don’t want the FBI involved.”
“They’re already involved.”
“Oh my
Not good. Another indication that Tucker had basically written Terry off as a runaway. Well, he always had been one for snap judgments.
Yet, ironically, he heard himself defending the lack of progress. “The Bureau is investigating, but there are contradictory indications. Terry might have left school voluntarily.”
“Of course he did.
Elliot recognized the inevitable signs of wanting to bargain with bad news. “It’s possible this second boy’s disappearance is a coincidence. I don’t know the circumstances obviously, but instinct tells me a second runaway in such a short time span is kind of unlikely. Still, I’ve seen weirder things. Either way, you can best control the spin by taking the initiative and going to the Bureau rather than waiting for them to come to you.”
Charlotte reached absently for a ladyfinger cookie. As she nibbled, she brooded. “Did you say you know the agent in charge of Terry Baker’s case?”
“Special Agent Lance? I’ve worked with him before.”
“And is he…discreet?”
Discreet. Not the first word that came to mind with Tucker. Not that Tucker was
Charlotte said quickly, “It’s not as though we were trying to cover anything up. The university policy is to disseminate information regarding security issues to students as quickly as they arise. We all understand that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”
Elliot nodded, recognizing an official spiel when he heard one. And, in fairness to the university, there
No one but the perpetrator.
Charlotte brightened. “Perhaps you could act as a liaison between the university and the, er, Bureau?”
Elliot instantly opened his mouth to decline, but he hesitated. Really why not? He was already involved and it strengthened his position with Tucker and the Bureau just that bit more. Plus it gave him authority to question Gordie Lyle’s aunt. He said neutrally, “I can do that, if you feel it’ll help. It would probably simplify things.”
Charlotte’s relief was tempered. “Obviously we want to keep the university out of the spotlight as much as possible. We’re very proud of our safety and security initiatives at PSU. Our crime rate is historically low compared to the rest of the city.”
“Right,” Elliot soothed. “I realize that. The truth is, violence can happen anywhere.”
“Exactly!” Charlotte exclaimed. She sounded quite pleased about it.
On his walk back to the Administration offices, Elliot phoned Tucker.
“Lance,” Tucker answered crisply following the second ring.
Like that, it was as though he stood in front of Elliot, all aggressive masculinity, and Elliot’s heart started to pound hard in that fight or flight reflex. It irritated the hell out of him, but there was no denying his physical response to Tucker.
“It’s Elliot.”
A pause. “Elliot.” Tucker’s tone was neutral. “What do you want?”
“I have new information for you. Another student, a kid named Gordie Lyle, has apparently disappeared.”
“Apparently?”
“I haven’t had a chance to look into it, but his aunt reported him missing to Tacoma PD.”
“What makes you think there’s a connection?”
“Gut feeling mostly. It’s one hell of a coincidence.”
Silence. Tucker said, “I don’t put a lot of stock in gut feelings.”
“Do you put a lot of stock in coincidence? Because this is a big one.”
Elliot’s daring to contradict him seemed to be the signal Tucker was waiting for. He said flatly, “Give me a break. It’s a college campus, for God’s sake. Don’t tell me you’re doing bed checks every night. I know better.”
“The Lyle kid has been missing four days. According to his aunt, that’s not typical. And, as we both know, Terry Baker has yet to turn up after three weeks.”
“That’s it? That’s your connection? Two boys from the same college campus don’t show up to class for a few days?”
Elliot understood what Tucker was saying. And fair enough. Boys will be boys. Had Lyle been female, then sexist or not, the rules were different. Even so, given the lack of progress in the Baker case, was there a valid reason not to acknowledge a possible link?
Elliot lowered his voice to avoid the attention of students sitting nearby on the grass, engrossed in their laptops. “Are you telling me you won’t even consider a connection?”
“I didn’t say that. I said it was too soon to draw that kind of conclusion. I’ll follow it up. What’s the contact info on the Lyle kid?”