Ariel’s picture was still on the counter in the Political Science office. In front of it was a bud vase holding a single, perfect ivory rose. When I called hello, Rosalie looked up from her computer. She had done something new to her salt-and-pepper hair. For as long as I could remember, she had worn it tightly curled in the style my daughter Mieka called a Kurly Kate do. Now, the curl was relaxed into soft waves, and the colour was a uniform and becoming silver. “Nice look,” I said.
Rosalie reached up eagerly to touch her freshly feathered bangs. “The bridal book says not to try a new style the day of the wedding, so I thought I’d practise.” Her voice was as tentative as that of a girl preparing for her first date.
I tried not to smile. Until she met Detective Robert Hallam, Rosalie had approached life with the flexibility of a sergeant major. She knew exactly how life should be lived, and she was not forgiving of those of us who didn’t measure up. Love had come late to Rosalie. She was in her late fifties, and Robert was her first romance. When they met, he had been as intransigent and judgemental as she, and their mutual transformation had been a joy to watch.
“If I were you, I’d stop practising,” I said. “You’re not going to improve on that look. Now, come on. Fill me in. How are the wedding plans coming along?”
Her brow furrowed. “Pretty well, I think, except Robert’s been assigned to Ariel’s case, so he’s going to be putting in some long hours. He warned me last night that I’m going to have to be making some decisions for both of us.” She reached forward to save the work on her machine. “Joanne, did you go to the vigil for Ariel last night?”
“Yes.”
“I should have,” Rosalie said. “But I was still so upset, and I know it sounds selfish, but I want to enjoy this time before my wedding.”
“That’s not selfish,” I said. “You were better off at home. The evening got pretty unpleasant towards the end.”
“Robert had reports from some of the officers there. They said the situation was explosive.”
“I didn’t notice any police,” I said.
“They were female detectives, in plainclothes,” she said. Her voice lacked spirit. It was obvious her mind was somewhere else. She adjusted the diamond solitaire on her left hand. “Joanne, do you have a minute to talk?”
“Of course.” I pulled up a chair, so we could talk face to face. “Is there something I can help with?”
She laughed nervously. “It’s this business of being engaged to a policeman. I thought, since you and Inspector Kequahtooway are a couple, you might be able to help.”
“If I can.”
“I never know how much I should ask Robert about his work. I don’t want him to think I’m nosy; on the other hand, I do want him to know I’m interested.”
“Maybe it’s best just to follow Robert’s lead. A lot of the time, police officers live in a grim world. If Alex is any indication, sometimes they need to talk about anything except the case; other times they seem to need to talk it through.”
Rosalie looked thoughtful. “Last night, Robert must have needed to talk it through. I’ve never seen him so upset. Ariel’s case is really getting under his skin.”
“I guess until they have a suspect…”
“But they do have a suspect… at least they’ve brought someone in for intense questioning.”
“Who is it?”
“His name is Kyle Morrissey. He’s the young man who found Ariel’s body. His company sent him to work on some problem with the air conditioning in the sub-basement. He says he just took a wrong turn and ended up in the archive room.” She glanced around quickly to make sure we were alone. “Joanne, the police have had dealings with him before. Apparently, he has a violent temper.”
“So, why is Robert uneasy?” I said.
Rosalie’s face registered her distress. “He’s not certain they have the right man.”
“Why?”
“Instinct. Robert says that crimes like these typically involve rape. This one didn’t.”
I could feel the pinprick stirrings of anxiety. “So there was no evidence of forced sex?”
“None. She was just… slumped onto a table facing the front door. She was stabbed in the back. Robert said death was instantaneous.” Initially, Rosalie’s words had been halting; now they began to tumble out. “Robert said Ariel died from a single wound, surgically clean – doesn’t that sound terrible? And she didn’t struggle. There was nothing to indicate that Kyle Morrissey had tried to force himself on her. In fact, he called for help as soon as he found the body.”
“How did he get in? I thought those rooms were always kept locked.”
“They are – at least the doors the public uses are. But there’s a back door that workmen use. It opens up from the crawl space that has all the heating equipment and plumbing for the building.”
I leaned towards her. “Rosalie, maybe you shouldn’t say anything about this to anyone else.”
She looked stricken. “You mean I might compromise the case?”
“I guess, until the case is solved, the fewer people who know about the details the better.”
“I haven’t told anyone but you,” she said.
“Good.” Her eyes still sought reassurance. I did my best. “Rosalie, it’s okay. When you told me, you knew it wouldn’t go any further.”
“Because you’re in a relationship with a police officer, too.”
“Right.”
The cloud lifted. “It’s like a sisterhood, isn’t it?” she said.
“That’s what it is,” I said, “a sisterhood, so if you want to talk about this to anyone, you can talk to me.”
“What can she talk to you about?” Neither of us had heard Livia come into the office. Her hands clutched the poppy-painted silk scarf draped around her shoulders, and the shadows under her deep-set eyes were so dark she looked as if she’d been beaten. I remembered her hopes for Ariel and felt a pang in case I had made things hard for her on the phone.
I turned to her. “We’re just ironing out the details about the class.”
Rosalie rose with a start. “I’ve made up a file with copies of the syllabus and the class list. Ariel kept her grades on our shared drive on the computer, so I’ve printed them out for Joanne.”
“Sounds like everything’s in order,” I said, standing.
“Not quite.” Rosalie frowned. “I called the bookstore. Ariel was using Political Perspectives as her text in that class, but the bookstore is out of it, and by the time they can get it in, the class will be over.” She took a key from her desk drawer. “Joanne, would you mind going to Ariel’s office and getting her copy of the text? I should have done it, but I just couldn’t bring myself to open that door.”
I took the key. “There’s no reason you should,” I said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
I tried to be matter-of-fact, but the truth was I dreaded going to Ariel’s office. I’d been in it only a handful of times, but it was as characteristic of her as her thumbprint. She had surrounded herself with a cheerful clutter of books and journals, and a gallery of soft-sculpture figures of family and friends that she’d made from scraps of odd and lovely material. She was a person who loved process. A few weeks earlier, she’d called me in to show me how she’d placed a low table in front of her window and begun to grow a flat of tomato plants from seeds.
The office had celebrated the many pleasures of her life, but when I turned the key in the lock, I walked into a room that was oddly impersonal. Ariel’s desk was clear; the books on her bookshelves were neatly arranged according to subject and author, but the folk art and the photographs were gone. So were the table she’d placed under the window and the tomato plants that sprouted to life on it. I checked the section of books devoted to introductory politics: Political Perspectives was not there. I glanced through the other texts: Political Perspectives was still among the missing.
I walked back to the main office. “Rosalie, did someone take away Ariel’s things?”