Red Leaves by Paullina Simons
‘This is Detective…’
‘Excuse me,’ Spencer said to the girl. ‘Could I get your name, please?’
‘Conni. Constance Tobias,’ the girl stammered. She was visibly nervous. In a way, she reminded Spencer of twitchy Milton.
‘What’s happened?’ Conni said in a small voice.
Turning to her, Albert said, quietly, ‘They found Kristina dead today.’
Conni broke down. She cried so immediately, so furiously, and so hard that Spencer was taken aback. Albert’s arm went around her shoulder. ‘It’s all right,’ he whispered. ‘It’s all right.’ Conni cried harder.
Spencer watched her very carefully. In a matter of seconds, Conni went from apparently normal to hysterical.
Clearing his throat, Spencer said, never taking his eyes off her, ‘I’m terribly sorry. You knew her.’
‘Knew her?’ sobbed Conni. ‘She was our best friend.’
Our, echoed Spencer to himself. Well, this is interesting.
‘I’m sorry again. I’ll try to be brief.’
Conni could not stop crying. She was shaking, and her nose was running. Albert’s comforting hand on her shoulder did nothing to stifle her sobs. In fact, she sobbed harder.
Spencer watched them carefully. Conni Tobias was a small, pretty girl, pretty, that is, theoretically. It was hard to tell at this moment whether she was pretty or not. Her face was wet and red.
She was wearing a tank top and short shorts. She was thin and big-breasted. Spencer looked down at her bare feet, and then into the room behind her. He was trying to see some shoes.
His gaze reverted to Albert, who was muscular without being brawny, and good-looking without being perfect. Spencer noticed a small gold hoop in Albert’s left ear and an elaborate tattoo on his left arm. That was interesting. Tattoos were rare on Dartmouth College students; Spencer stared at it. It was the picture of Anubis, this time with wings, and underneath him the initials KM.
‘Nice tattoo,’ said Spencer. ‘Who’s KM?’
‘My mother,’ said Albert. ‘Kay Maplethorpe.’
‘I see,’ said Spencer, suspicious. ‘Couldn’t just write “Mom,” huh?’
Albert flashed his teeth at Spencer. ‘Pathetic for a guy to write “Mom” on his arm.’
‘Disagree,’ said Spencer. ‘Love for your mother is a commendable thing. The sort of thing that will get you elected to public office.’
‘Thank God, I will never run for public office,’ said Albert.
Conni was still crying. Spencer was wary of people who reacted too swiftly to devastating news. Paling was good and nonreactions were good. From mothers and fathers he expected hysteria. From friends he expected less, yet this girl was giving him more and more and more.
Also, nobody had asked what had happened to Kristina.
‘Are you sure?’ said Conni. ‘Are you absolutely positive about her?’
‘Miss Tobias,’ Spencer said evenly, ‘it is my job to tell the difference between people who are dead and people who are alive. Your friend was found frozen in the snow, where she had obviously been a number of days. We don’t yet know how she died, but we are sure that she is, unfortunately’ – he swallowed; the word stuck in his dry throat – ‘dead.’
‘Would you like to come in?’ asked Albert.
Spencer leveled his gaze at Albert. He could’ve meant come in so that the students curiously poking their heads out of their rooms won’t be privy to our informal talk, or he could’ve meant come in because you look like you need to sit down.
‘No, thank you,’ said Spencer. ‘I was wondering if Kristina had a dog.’
‘Dog?’ said Conni, sniffling. ‘Yes. Dog. She’s got a dog. Where’s Aristotle, Albert?’
They both looked back at the room and then at each other.
Spencer waited. ‘Is Aristotle the dog?’
They nodded.
‘Funny name for a dog. Did you misplace Aristotle?’
‘Why do you ask if she had a dog?’ asked Conni, wiping her face.
Spencer made it his policy never to answer questions from people who had no business asking them. He didn’t answer this one.
‘Do you know where the dog is?’
‘It’s not here,’ said Albert.
‘That much is obvious. It’s a big dog. Maybe a Labrador, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, how did you know?’
Again he did not answer.
When Spencer was young he had had a golden retriever, old and half-blind. The dog had died in the wintertime. Its slow-moving paws on the snow in their backyard were etched into Spencer’s childhood memories.
‘Albert, Conni,’ Spencer said firmly. ‘All I want to know is whether you’ve seen the dog and where the dog might be.’
‘Maybe Jim’s got her,’ said Conni uncertainly.
‘Jim Shore?’
‘Jim Shaw. He’s her boyfriend,’ Conni said mournfully. ‘Did she fall?’
‘Fall?’ Spencer was instantly alert. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing, nothing,’ Conni said quickly. ‘Just thought maybe that’s how she died.’
‘Where would she fall from?’ Spencer never put his notepad down.
‘The bridge,’ said Conni. ‘That awful bridge she walks on.’
‘The bridge at the side of Feldberg Library?’ He remembered driving under the bridge; he also remembered walking across the bridge in a procession after the paramedics who were carrying Kristina. ‘Why would she fall off the bridge?’
Albert shook his head. ‘She walks the ledge. There and back.’
‘Why would she do that?’
Shrugging, Albert said, ‘For fun. She’d have something to drink and then walk that stupid thing.’ Albert shook his head violently. ‘We just thought she might’ve fallen off this time.’
‘How often did she do that?’
Albert and Conni both shrugged. ‘Once in a while.’
‘While drunk?’
‘Yeah, the drink steadied her,’ said Conni.
‘Steadied her?’ Spencer wrote it down on his pad. He breathed in heavily before asking the next question. ‘She was – naked – when we found her.’ When I found her. ‘You know why she might be naked?’
Albert said simply, ‘She walked the ledge naked.’ He paused. ‘Did she fall?’
Spencer answered this time. ‘No, she did not fall. Why would she walk naked in the freezing cold?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Conni, sniffling. ‘We’ve been asking her that for three years.’
‘I see. Where does Jim Shaw live?’
On the first floor, Conni told him. Spencer informed them that they had to dress at once and come to the police station to answer a few more questions. He then turned to go.
‘Oh, one more thing,’ he said. ‘Do you know where her parents live? I need to call them.’ When they didn’t answer, Spencer said, ‘We need someone to come identify the body.’
Conni started to cry again. Albert looked terrible. ‘Her father is dead. We don’t know where her mother is,’ he said.
‘I see,’ said Spencer. ‘Do you know where her home is?’
Albert turned away from Spencer and toward Conni. ‘Conn, do you know? Where Kristina’s from?’
‘I think New York. She graduated from some prep school in Brooklyn Heights. I’m not sure, though,’ she said, her voice trembling.
‘Yes. That must be it.’ Albert turned back to Spencer. His gaze was impenetrable. ‘Brooklyn Heights.’
Spencer felt uneasy as he left.
He waited for five minutes after knocking on Jim Shaw’s door. No one answered. There were no sounds coming from the room. Spencer thought Jim might be out walking the dog, and so he leaned against the door and waited. Another student walked down the hall and said, ‘Can I help you?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Spencer pleasantly.
‘If you’re waiting for Jim, I saw him out earlier. Can I give him a message?’ The student seemed curious.
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‘I don’t know how long he’ll be,’ said the student. ‘Sometimes he’s gone quite a while. Sure you don’t want to leave a message or come back?’
‘Positive,’ Spencer said. He had a feeling Jim wouldn’t be too long.
And he was right.
About fifteen minutes later, around six o’clock, the yellow Lab came barreling down the hall.
The dog ran up to Spencer, who bent over and lavishly petted him. Spencer had always loved dogs and wished he were allowed to have one like his childhood pet in the little apartment. He also got a good look at the shoes of the dog’s present owner.
‘Good dog, good dog, Aristotle,’ Spencer said, straightening up and facing a bundled young man wearing a ski cap and scarf. ‘Are you Jim Shaw?’
‘I guess so,’ replied the young man sourly, taking off the cap and scarf. ‘Who are you?’
Taking out his ID and shoving it into Jim’s face, Spencer said, ‘From now on, let’s get it straight. I am the only one allowed to ask questions, okay? I need you to come with me.’
‘What for? I haven’t done anything,’ said Jim loudly.
‘See, that’s my trouble with you, Jim. I think you either did plenty or not enough. In either case, I’d like you to accompany me to the police station so I can ask you a few questions.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Jim, but Spencer, looking into Jim’s flushed face, into his racing eyes, thought Jim knew precisely what he was talking about.
‘Come now.’
‘I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what this is all about and I have my lawyer with me.’
‘And where is your lawyer, Jim? Do many Dartmouth students have lawyers on call? Can he get here in an hour? Because my shift was over at five, and I’m not going to wait another second. I will place you under arrest for suspicion in a capital felony and will hold you in our jail cell until I return to work tomorrow morning. Or you can come with me now, so I don’t have to stand in this claustrophobic little hallway and yell at you.’
Jim just stood there, dumbfounded.
‘What’s this all about?’ he finally said, averting his eyes and staring intently at Aristotle.
‘Look at me, Jim,’ Spencer said, wanting to put his fingers under Jim’s chin and lift up his head. Jim looked up. ‘Your girlfriend, Kristina Kim. She’s been found dead.’ Staring at Jim intently before speaking again, Spencer waited.
Jim blinked and blinked again. He slumped against the door, and when he lifted his hands up to his face, Spencer noticed they were shaking. ‘Oh no, oh no, oh no,’ Jim said quietly. ‘Oh my God, oh no.’ His shoulders heaved, and for a moment Spencer was afraid Jim was going to cry. Spencer wanted to stay sharp, and sympathy would destroy that.
‘Keep yourself together, Jim,’ said Spencer, gentler. ‘I’m sorry to have brought you bad news.’
Jim’s shoulders were still heaving. He did not look at Spencer, who wished to hell he didn’t have to look at Jim.
‘I’m sorry, man,’ said Spencer with emotion. ‘It’s awful, I know.’
Jim lifted his eyes up at Spencer. In a low voice he said, blinking rapidly, ‘She’s not my girlfriend.’
Spencer shook his head. ‘That’s good. Show grief,’ he said sarcastically.
‘No, no,’ Jim said quickly. ‘Just wanted to clear that up in case of further confusion.’
Jim stood dumbly outside his door. Aristotle paced about. Other doors opened and closed.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Jim finally said. ‘Let me just leave Aristotle some water.’
‘Actually, the dog should come with us.’
‘What for?’
‘Jim, I see you’re forgetful. The rule is, I ask the questions, you answer them. Got that? Now, the dog comes with us. Let’s go upstairs.’
‘Upstairs where?’
‘Upstairs to Kristina Kim’s room.’ Spencer never took his eyes off Jim, who winced noticeably at the mention of Kristina’s name.
‘Aristotle is Kristina’s dog, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. How did you know?’
Because I know everything, Spencer wanted to say, but it wasn’t true. He hardly knew anything.
Jim said quietly, ‘I saw the cop cars outside. When I saw you, I thought it might be about Kristina.’
Spencer tilted his head in an effort to keep it steady. ‘You were right. It’s about Kristina.’
When they got upstairs, Aristotle began to whine. He lay down in the hall, refusing to move or go in the room.
Jim’s back was to Spencer. There was no sound coming from him. It was almost like watching someone’s sorrow with the mute button on.
Jim’s heaving shoulders reminded Spencer of his own deep-down boiling-over grief, and he felt bad for the boy.
Spencer pulled out of his pocket the roll of yellow fly tape, the one that said POLICE LINE – DO NOT CROSS, and stretched it over the wall, the doorknob, the door itself, and a foot or so over the other wall.
‘We’re done,’ Spencer said, ripping the tape off with his teeth. ‘Let’s go.’
They got Conni and Albert, took the dog back to Jim’s room, and left for the station.
Spencer led Conni into one small room, Albert into another, told them to wait and that someone would be with them shortly.
He took Jim into a rectangular room in the back. After speaking to Will Baker about the students he had interviewed at Hinman Hall, Spencer asked Will to sit in on the questioning. They got a tape recorder and some coffee, which Jim refused.
They sat in uncomfortable plastic chairs in a room with a single light above a white round table. Will sat to Spencer’s left. Under his breath, Spencer cursed the modern table that belied the gravity of any questioning he might do at it. The table looked more like a snack table at a suburban corporation’s canteen.
He cleared his throat.
‘Jim Shaw, this is Detective Will Baker, my partner. He’s assisting me on this case.’
Will nodded. Jim was motionless. Trying to inject a little humor, Spencer said, ‘You know your Dartmouth library? It’s named after Will.’
Jim raised his eyes but said nothing.
Spencer made a face at Will, and sat down. ‘Okay, let’s get on with this. Tell us a little about yourself.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like anything, Jim. We don’t know you. Tell us anything you want us to know.’
Clearing his throat and keeping both hands under the table, Jim said, ‘I was born in Bonn, Germany –’
‘You’re German?’ Spencer interrupted. Will laid a gentle hand on Spencer’s arm. Spencer moved away.
‘To American parents. My father was a vice president in the international division of the Coca-Cola Company. We traveled a lot, and when my dad retired, we moved back to Wilmington, where the rest of my family’s from.’
‘Any brothers or sisters?’
‘A younger brother.’
‘Where’s he now?’
‘Back in Wilmington. He works for Delaware National Bank.’
‘I see.’ Spencer fell silent, sorting through his notes. Will silently rubbed his hands, and Jim looked at Spencer. Jim was a good-looking guy. He was wearing a tweed jacket over a white-collared shirt, and a royal blue wool sweater. His deep-set eyes alternately flashed intelligence and exasperation, defiance and fear. His light brown hair was parted on the side and neatly combed back. Jim looked like a good son and a good student.
‘Jim, as you know, Kristina Kim is dead.’
Jim remained stationary.
‘Can you tell us when you saw her last? I need you to remember everything, every last detail.’
Jim twitched. ‘It must’ve been last week.’
‘Last week when?’
‘Last week before Thanksgiving.’
‘Okay. Before Thanksgiving. Sunday? Monday? Tuesday?’
‘Guess it must’ve been Tuesday.’
‘Jim,’ said
‘Tuesday, I told you.’
‘Why Tuesday?’
‘Because I left for home on Wednesday, and didn’t see her then.’
‘You sure?’
‘Positive.’
‘When on Tuesday?’
‘Late. Maybe eleven. We played cards that night.’
‘In the Hinman lounge?’
‘Yes, how’d you know?’
‘Who is we?’
‘Me, Kristina, Albert, Conni, and Frank.’
‘Who is Frank?’
‘Frankie Absalom, he’s Albert’s good friend. Conni was Krissy’s roommate a few years back.’
‘I’ve met Conni. And Albert?’
‘Albert is Conni’s boyfriend.’
Spencer noticed Jim winced when he said that.
‘How long have they been going out?’
‘A few years.’
‘So…’ Spencer glanced at Will. ‘What’s Albert’s connection to Kristina?’
Jim became jittery and wouldn’t answer until Spencer asked him again. ‘Through me, through Conni, I guess. We were good friends.’
‘Were?’
‘Are, I mean. Are.’
‘You said through you?’
‘Yes. Albert and I were roommates in our freshman year.’
‘So Albert and you were roommates, and Kristina and Conni were roommates.’
‘Yes, that’s right. Can I have a glass of water? My throat is dry.’
Will went to get Jim water. Jim emptied the tall glass immediately. Without being asked, Will left and brought back a pitcher. While he was gone, Spencer and Jim did not speak.
Once Will sat down, Spencer resumed. ‘When did you say you all met?’
‘During freshman year.’
‘How?’
Spencer could see Jim was struggling to keep calm. This is hard for him, Spencer thought. Am I beating a confession out of him?
‘I don’t know how we met,’ Jim said at last. ‘It’s a difficult question.’