Do or Die. Barbara Fradkin
Greatest Mom”. She poured two coffees, then pulled her robe over her breasts self-consciously.
“Do you guys mind if I get some clothes on? I’ll be two minutes.”
True to her word, she emerged two minutes later, barefoot but clad in blue jeans and black t-shirt. Her hair tumbled damp and honeyed down her back, swinging as she prepared her own cup.
Joining them at the table she smiled. “How can I help you guys today?”
Her frank smile and the honey hair falling over one eye unnerved him. Control was essential during an interview, and this one was starting off all wrong. To regroup, he dropped his gaze to his notebook and riffled the pages officiously. Normally, he would have let Sullivan take the notes, but this time he sensed he was going to need the prop. “I’d like to review the information you gave Sergeant Sullivan last night, and see if there’s anything else you’ve remembered since.”
Dutifully, she related the events leading up to her discovery of the body. By the time she had finished, Green felt back in full control.
“Did you see anything out of the ordinary? Hear anything? Any voices? Signs of a struggle? Any items on the floor— money, a wallet?”
Her eyes were grave as she searched her recollections. She’s no fool, Green thought. Sexy, but sharp. She knows what she saw, and she’ll be good on the witness stand.
“It’s strange, actually,” she said, “that I didn’t notice anything. I mean, how does a guy get stabbed only a hundred feet away in a deserted room and you don’t hear a thing? Of course, my cart squeaked—I was meaning to fix it—so I only heard the guy groaning once I stopped my cart to get this book.”
“How long was it from the time you left the elevators till you found the victim?”
“Only two or three minutes. I had only returned half a dozen books.”
Green studied the diagram he had constructed. The bank of elevators in the centre was the only exit route from the fourth floor except for the fire stairs at each far corner. It would have been impossible to get into an elevator without being seen by Carrie MacDonald as she sorted books. The paramedics and other medical personnel estimated from the nature of the wound and the amount of blood lost that Blair was stabbed no more than half an hour before the paramedics arrived. If the information in the logs could be trusted, the paramedics arrived on the scene twelve minutes after the 911 call. Allowing a few minutes for university security to relay the call, that meant Blair was stabbed less than fifteen minutes before she found him. Probably a lot less.
To escape, the killer had three options. He could have taken the stairs, in which case he would have escaped unnoticed. He could have walked directly past Carrie and got on the elevator, which meant that he had to wait for it in plain view of her, covered in blood from his shirt sleeves to his shoes. Or he could have hidden in one of the side aisles until she set off with her cart and then slipped to the elevator. It was a mere two or three minutes before Carrie discovered the victim and returned to make the call.
“Did you see anyone around when you called security?”
“Just one student waiting at the elevator. I yelled at him to go meet the ambulance, but he was so freaked, he pulled the fire alarm instead.”
Green’s antennae quivered. “Can you give me a description of this student?”
She searched her thoughts, chewing her lip. “It happened so fast, and…I was so shaken up. Things are just a blur. All I remember is thick dark hair and a red top. Plaid, I think.”
“You said ‘he’. What makes you sure it was a male?” “He was kind of tall. And there was something about his face...” She shut her eyes, remembering. “I think he had a mustache. Yes, a big, dark mustache.”
Green leaned forward, willing her to focus. “Did you notice anything unusual about him? Was he breathing hard? Seem scared? Did you see anything on him that could have been blood?”
She was shaking her head firmly. “He looked more…bewildered than anything else.”
“Did you actually see him pull the fire alarm?”
“No, but it’s right by the elevator.”
Green turned to Sullivan. “Did you get a lead on him, Brian? Did the rescue guys get a name?”
“I haven’t checked with them yet. I ran out of time.”
Green tossed his notebook down. “What? Call over there and tell them to find him right away!”
“Watts and Charbonneau will be—”
“They’ll think you did it! Who the hell wouldn’t follow up a potential suspect and one of the two witnesses in the case?”
Sullivan flushed red. Pushing away his cup, he glanced at Carrie. “Is there a phone I can use?”
Her eyes were sympathetic as she smiled at him. “In the bedroom. Just ignore the mess.”
With a twinge of guilt, Green watched Sullivan stalk across the room and bang the door shut behind him. When he turned his attention back to Carrie MacDonald, he found her eyes on him appraisingly. There was no sympathy in them now, and he felt his annoyance return.
“Hard taskmaster, aren’t you, Inspector?”
“I expect competence from my men,” he said. “Especially him.”
“He was very competent last night, I assure you. But by now I’d say he’s been without sleep for quite a while.”
“He should be used to that,” he replied, his eyes on his notes. Her level tone, and his own resentment, unsettled him.
“Most of us are a long way from perfect, Inspector.”
“A man has died, and we not only have to find out who did it, but we have to prove it in court, so mistakes are not an option. Now, can we get on with this?”
Chastened, she got up to pour herself another cup of coffee, which gave him time to chastise himself. Jealousy, professional or personal, had no place in police work. By the time she returned to the table, eyes averted, he felt he was back on track.
“Okay, let’s go back to the few minutes when you were sorting books by the elevator, just before you left with the cart. Can you remember who came to the elevator?”
She searched her memory for a long moment, shaking her head. Just as he was about to intervene, she held up her hand. “Give me a minute.” She sat back in her chair, folded her hands in her lap and shut her eyes. She remained immobile, breathing deeply. Without her gaze to unsettle him, he allowed himself to study her. There was a peace and control in her expression that surprised him. An unusual woman, he thought, full of unexpected twists. He found himself looking at her chest as she breathed, watching it swell as she inhaled, stretching the black T-shirt. He felt himself stir in response and hastened to return to his notes. Not that he was upset by his response, which was familiar and harmless, only by the scattering of his thoughts, which he could not afford yet again. He was still trying to collect them when she resumed.
“Only one man stands out in my mind. He was the last one to take the elevator before I began shelving.” She remained with her eyes shut, scanning.
Green hoped his voice was neutral. “Describe him.”
“He was gross. Huge and fat. He wheezed as he waited. At least 275 and six-foot-two. He reminded me of John Candy— you know, the movie star?—but his hair was lighter brown, and he had a silly little mustache. He was into leather, but if he was hoping to score points with it, no woman in her right mind— Oh!” Her eyes flew open, intensely blue. “There was a woman too! Dashed in at the last second. She seemed kind of worried, like she was looking for someone.”
“Any physical details?”
“Kind of hard looking. Blonde, but out of a bottle and with one too many perms. Bony face. Full of angles. It’s