“I can have coffee brought in,” Ellen said.
“Relaxes people sometimes, having something to do with their hands,” he said amiably. He picked up a chair, carried it across the room to the wall with the other extras. “Did you know him?”
She started. “No. I knew who he was, that’s all.”
He picked up another chair. “What did you know about him?”
“Nothing. I mean, he was a teacher here, people said he was rich. He was handsome. He came to the store a few times.”
“He wasn’t a gardener, was he?” He continued to rearrange the furniture.
Ellen shook her head. “He bought cut flowers, or potted plants.”
“Did he have them delivered?”
“We didn’t deliver. He just took them with him.”
“Talk to you?”
“No.”
He surveyed the table; he had left four chairs, one at the head. “That’s better. Now the windows.” He went to the wide windows and gazed out. Beyond and below was a view of the rhododendrons in bloom, and massive fir trees that towered over the building. “Don’t know,” he said. “Might be distracting, but it’s familiar. What do you think?”
“About what?”
He grinned at her. “Would you rather look at the trees or at me if I’m asking you questions?”
She stared at him.
He laughed and returned to the table and pulled out a chair. “Sit down, let’s talk a minute.” She sat down and he took a chair opposite her; she was facing the windows. He nodded. “I’ll leave the drapes open, I think. See, Blair, by the time you get out of here today, everyone in town will know I’ve recruited you. You’re going to be hit with a zillion questions. Rumors will be thicker than bees in a swarm. Maybe you’re the only one who’ll have the straight story, so I thought I might as well give it to you. They’ll believe what they want, regardless of what you say.” He shrugged. “I’m from a small town myself, I know how that works. Okay. First, why me and why not the sheriff. The Seymour family is very wealthy, richer than you’d believe a family could be. And they know everyone; they’ve been on the phone to the governor, the FBI, Congress... They are not happy with the sheriff. They say if he hadn’t bungled his investigation thirteen years ago, this would have been settled then. They seem to believe the sheriff and the college have a cozy arrangement whereby he never makes trouble for a student, and his sons get scholarships, something like that.” He spread his hands. “Me, I don’t know from nothing. Everyone believed Philip Seymour left under his own power in his own van, and you can’t fault them. No signs of violence, nothing was there to indicate otherwise. Anyway, I’m in charge.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Ellen asked. “I can’t repeat anything like that.”
“You don’t have to. But there will be rumors, and they’ll be nasty before this is all over. If you’re going to help out, it will be easier if you know my position. You didn’t go to school here, did you?” He waited for her to shake her head. “See, no old loyalties to get in the way. Next thing, the forensic lab guys say Seymour was naked when he was killed. That’s going to be all over town, too.”
She swallowed hard and felt her stomach spasm. “He was killed? How?”
“His head was bashed in.” He regarded her for a moment, then said, “Stretch out your hand, Blair, this way.”
He was mad, she thought then. They had put a madman in charge. He nodded at her and reluctantly she stretched her arm out across the table; she could not reach the other side.
“My point,” he said softly. “Out of reach. Someone was close enough to a naked Philip Seymour to hit him over the head.” He touched his own temple. “Right about here. I’m afraid the rumor mill will run overtime with this one.” He stood up. “Let’s take a walk. The psychology building, dorms, faculty housing, archives storage... I’ll think of the rest while we’re walking.”
It was after five when he walked with her through the terraced gardens to the president’s mansion. At the top of a flight of brick steps he paused to look back over the campus. “Don’t they get younger every year.”
All afternoon more and more students had appeared on the grounds until now it seemed that most of the student body was visible, moving without too much obvious purpose toward the student union building and the cafeteria in the basement. A few months ago she would have been more comfortable down there with them than up here. Today they looked like children.
He started to walk again. The campus was terraced throughout; up here the terraces were gardens, a rose garden, spring bulbs in full bloom, rhododendrons, azaleas...
At the entrance to the house, he stopped and said, “Thanks for the tour, Blair. Bright and early tomorrow. Go on in for your grilling now.” He grinned.
Hilde opened the door. “Come in, Ellen.” She nodded coolly to the lieutenant. He turned and walked away.
“Ellen, I can’t tell you how sorry I am to saddle you with his work,” Hilde said as she led her through the wide entrance foyer, past the formal rooms to a small sitting room in the rear of the house.
The parts of the house that Ellen had seen before were all formal interior-decorator rooms; this was personal. Shelves were cluttered with artifacts from around the world, Indonesian dolls, African masks, pottery... Walter Melton had been an archaeologist, had traveled extensively, and had collected whatever took his fancy. One wall was covered with diplomas, certificates, plaques. Tables were laden with books; wall hangings from Brazil, silk prayer rugs... It was like walking into an eclectic museum.
Janice Ayers was seated in a leather-covered chair holding a drink. She smiled at Ellen and mouthed, “Sit down,” pointing to another chair.
Janice Ayers was in her forties, tall and graceful, with long pale hair that she wore in a loose chignon at the nape of her neck. She lived with Michael Wyland when he was in town and rumor had it that when the former president of the college had suggested that she either marry the man or give him up, she had laughed. Most of the time Wyland was in Seattle, where he had a computer business.
“That lieutenant,” Hilde was saying, “said he would bring in people to go through the files, and he would interview all of us down in City Hall. The idea of going to town one by one to be questioned! To have strangers pawing through files...” She went to a table with liquor, wine, glasses. “What would you like, Ellen? Wine? Something stronger?”
Ellen said wine.
“We’re mapping our strategy,” Hilde said, pouring white wine. “No statements to the press, first of all. I already posted that. All statements come from the president’s office.” She handed the glass to Ellen. “I’ll want a record of everything he copies. I already told him copies only; he can’t have originals of our files.”
Janice laughed. “Hilde, forget it. You’re not in charge. I think the police will take what they want.”
Hilde’s mouth tightened. “We’ll see. He intends to drag the college into whatever mess he stirs up; I intend to limit the damage.” Janice laughed again.
Ellen felt as if she had intruded on an ongoing argument between two old friends. Janice was mocking and sardonic, Hilde was angry, but there was a deep understanding between them. Ellen avoided looking at either of them, looked instead at the commemorative wall ahead.
Janice took a sip of her drink. “What we really want, Ellen,” she said, “is a blow-by-blow account. Tell.”
Ellen glanced at Hilde, who nodded, and she repeated everything the lieutenant had said to her, and described the tour. “Stuff is in boxes, as well as the files, it’s a mess in archives. He said someone will be there to help me. I suppose he really means to keep an eye on me, make sure I don’t hide anything.”