An Educated Death (32 page)

"I've tried. No one knows."

"Someone knows—the person she went away with. And Carol Frank. I'd bet a hundred dollars that they're not the only ones. Never knew a teenage girl who could keep her mouth shut." He levered himself up out of his chair and headed for the door, his mind already on his next task.

"Rocky?" He hesitated, half turned toward me. "What about Merri Naigler? Do you think she's in danger?"

"Does she know something?"

"I think so. Laney was her best friend. They'd arranged the abortion together. Laney was supposed to be staying with her that weekend."

"I'll talk to her mother," he said, and left, leaving me feeling as dissatisfied as if the waiter had cleared away my dinner when it was only half-eaten. At least today we'd fenced with blunt swords. A few more decades and we'd be downright civil.

Outside the window, a brilliant sun was trying hard to melt the snow that had fallen overnight. A noisy group of students in bright jackets were sculpting an elaborate creature in the circle. In the background there was the ugly scraping sound of shovels on asphalt. I heaved myself up—and heaved was the right word, my body was doing nothing easily today—and went to my office, lugging my briefcase with me. The first thing I did was take out my notes from interviewing Carol Frank and reread them, hoping I'd find something I'd missed.

There was a knock on the door. I expected either Lori or Dave, but it was Ellie Drucker, carrying a steaming mug, her face solemn and concerned. "I am terribly sorry, dear," she said. "I heard about your awful accident. This is peppermint tea to help settle your stomach." My hesitation must have shown on my face because she quickly added, "I don't blame you for being skeptical, after yesterday. I brought the bag from home this morning and I just made the tea myself two minutes ago with Lori Leonard as a witness." She set the mug in front of me and sat down on the edge of the chair. "I can't believe what's happening. Bucksport has always been such a wonderful place... it's been home for Chas and me for almost twenty-five years, and now, suddenly, it seems like danger is lurking behind every bush. Do you think they're going to catch this person?"

"I hope so." The tea smelled delicious. I thanked her for bringing it and was about to take a sip when the phone rang. It was Lori, ready to review the day's schedule.

"I won't keep you," Ellie said, rising swiftly from the chair. She was very agile, despite her weight. She left so quietly I almost didn't hear her go, but maybe that was because I was distracted by what Lori had to tell me.

"You can see Kathy and Bill right now," she said, "but they'd like you to come to them because Kathy isn't feeling very well. After that you can see Russ Hamlin down in the green room—he's going to be there all morning—and I haven't found Chas Drucker yet but I left a message with his daughter, Angie. She says he's out running some errands and should be back soon. I can call you over at Bill and Kathy's and let you know when I've heard from him, okay?" Yeah, right. I felt really sorry for Kathy Donahue. No one should have to go outside on a winter day when they aren't feeling well.

"That's fine, Lori. Can you call Kathy and Bill and tell them I'm on my way?"

I opened the door and summoned Officer Hennessey, who was gazing longingly out the window. "Wish you were playing in the snow, Officer?" I said.

"With my kids," he said. "They love making snow forts and my wife hates going out in the cold."

"They can't go out by themselves?"

He shook his head. "Jed is four and Caitlin is three. They need a grown-up just to roll the balls...."

"I'm sorry. I wish you could be with them. You're going to get bored out of your mind today, I'm afraid."

"Better bored than the alternative," he said grimly. "I've been a cop eight years. It doesn't get any easier, seeing what people will do to each other."

"You were there when they found Laney Taggert?" I picked up my coat and started struggling into it. He quickly grabbed it and helped.

"We going somewhere?"

"Over to Oakley Hall and then over to the Stannard Theater building. You need to tell somebody?"

He already had a radio out and was giving the information to someone back at police central. His leather jacket creaked like a saddle when he shoved the radio back and picked up my briefcase. "Ready," he said. "Is there someplace where we're going that I can loiter inconspicuously?"

"There's no place on this campus where
you
can be inconspicuous, Officer. You'll just have to hang around the halls and get stared at."

He shrugged. "I'm used to it. You'd be amazed at the way people stare at us."

No, I wouldn't, I thought. I was used to it, too. His remark brought to mind my brother Michael's nasty inquiry about whether I'd gotten over my obsession with guys in uniforms. They'd all met Andre several times and yet no one in my family seemed to have noticed that he didn't wear a uniform. Michael could be such a jerk. I wouldn't mind missing Christmas with Michael and his wife, Sonia, even if it meant, as it now appeared, that I'd be playing catch by myself on the beach. Maybe listening to "Rockin' around the Christmas Tree" on my portable boombox. Maybe I'd just spend the day in bed. Maybe I'd give myself a festive bottle of bourbon and drink the whole thing.

He cleared his throat as a tactful attempt to recall me to the present. "The chief said you were interested in what it was like when they found her?"

"That's right." The sun off the snow was blindingly bright. I had to squint to see. My sunglasses were in the car and the car was back in town, hopefully even now receiving the tender ministrations of a glass installer. I'm hard on cars, hard on clothes, hard on men. One tough gal. Phooey. Today I felt as tender as a marshmallow.

"I was the first one on the scene, about ten minutes after we got the call from Sawyer's people. Sawyer and a couple other guys were out on the ice. I approached them, determined that there was someone under the ice, or at least, some brightly colored cloth under the ice, and that the person, assuming it was a person, could not be reached without equipment, which I didn't have. I radioed that information to dispatch, who informed me that EMTs and the fire department were enroute to the scene. Within ten or twelve minutes the firefighters were there with grappling hooks. They were able to retrieve the victim, and the paramedics started trying to revive her."

"They tried to revive her, even though she'd been missing all night?"

"No one knew that. It's standard procedure. People can be revived after significant periods of time underwater, you know. We didn't learn until later that she'd been missing all night." He hesitated, reluctant to say any more.

"What was she wearing?"

"A heavy jacket, very bright, lots of colors. You know the type, all the kids have 'em. That's probably what killed her, her jacket got waterlogged and pulled her down. A long skirt, black tights. No shoes. Maybe she'd kicked them off."

"No hat?"

"No hat. That coat and skirt made her look big, but she was just a little bitty thing. Poor kid."

I liked Hennessey a lot. He had a refreshing openness unlike everyone else, who saw Laney's death as the beginning of their own problems. He simply seemed sorry she was dead. "Did you find a duffel bag anywhere around?"

"No. They're looking for it in the pond this morning."

"Rick McTeague says when he passed the pond that there were two sets of footprints going out to the ice and one set coming back. Did you see those footprints?"

"I wish I had. You've got to understand... when Sawyer's people went out there... when I went out there... when the EMTs and firefighters went out there... we were all trying to save somebody. I don't recall seeing two sets of prints... but it would have been hard. Sawyer's people had tramped all over the place by the time I got there. You've also got to realize... I guess I can tell you this, we're all on the same side here... McTeague is kind of a nutcase. Guy I know had the brakes fail on his car. He slammed into a tree and McTeague shows up at the hospital and asks him all these questions about what it felt like to be out of control and know he was going to crash. The man is sick. McTeague, I mean, not my friend. Even went and took pictures of the car and the tree."

I agreed with Officer Hennessey. It was sick. It was exactly the sort of thing my fellow reporters used to do. On the other hand, I wished McTeague had taken pictures of the footprints. They would have been enormously helpful to us now. "If that bag is in the pond, how will you find it?"

"Grappling hooks, just like we found her."

"Did anyone look through her room?"

"After we heard she was pregnant. Didn't find anything. We asked her roommate if anything was missing but she didn't seem to know. I got the impression she didn't like the dead girl much."

The conversation brought us to the doors of Oakley Hall, a nice, sturdy, Georgian building with a slightly battered, lived-in quality. There was a big plastic-draped hump of bikes on the porch, a few pairs of cross-country skis leaning against the walls, and just inside, a small array of shoes and boots lined the walls. Straight ahead was a staircase and the sound of feet and voices echoed down to us. We went past the staircase and I knocked on the Donahues' door. Across the hall there was a lounge with a television set, several couches, and a piano. "I'll wait in here," Hennessey said, handing me my briefcase.

Bill Donahue opened the door, a sour, wary look on his face. "I'm going to tell you right now," he said, "that you aren't to do or say anything which will upset my wife."

"I'm not sure I can do that, Mr. Donahue," I said. "This is about murder and attempted murder. Those are inherently upsetting topics. Are you going to let me in or should I go and get Chief Miller and let him ask the questions?"

Reluctantly he stepped aside and let me in. Kathy Donahue was sitting across the room in a rocking chair, her feet on a hassock, wrapped in a soft pink mohair throw. Obviously she believed pink was her color. Her hair needed washing and was held back by a cheap plastic headband. She didn't get up, extend a hand, or say hello. She just sat and stared at me, her lips set in a thin line. "Now what do you want?" she demanded.

I looked around for a movable chair. There were none nearby and I was too tired myself to do this interview standing up. Bill Donahue, his arms folded over his chest, stood behind his wife and matched his glare to hers. Ignoring their determined hostility, I said, "I'm afraid I'm not very well myself today. Could you get me a chair?" He responded grudgingly, too polite to refuse a direct request. He went into the other room and came back with a faded director's chair, which he shoved in my direction. I sat down, took my notes of their previous interviews out, and went to war.

"Other than Merri, who were Laney's friends?"

They looked at each other as though the question puzzled them. Kathy shrugged. "The theater crowd," Bill said.

I had had that answer before. "Can you give me some names?"

"Maybe Nadia?" Bill suggested.

"Nadia Soren?" He nodded.

"Anyone else?" This time they both shrugged.

"Where did Laney Taggert go on Columbus Day weekend?"

"To the beach," Bill said.

"I don't know," Kathy said.

"She filled out a card and attached a note from her father. Did she go away with her parents?"

"I don't know," Kathy said. "I guess she did."

"Her father says she didn't. Was she here on campus?"

"No," Bill said, "she went to the beach."

"How do you know?"

He shrugged rudely. "They all did. A whole bunch of them."

"If you knew that, then why did Laney go through the elaborate charade of getting the note from her father?"

"They all did," Bill said again. "We couldn't let them go off with some teenaged older sister."

"But you did."

"On paper, I mean," he said lamely. This was something else besides sign-out cards they'd been lax about. I made a note for my report, holding back the follow-up questions that jumped to mind—questions I'd have to ask as part of my job. I didn't want to alienate them yet.

"Laney's mother said that her daughter was very fond of you, Kathy. That you were her confidante. Did Laney tell you that she was pregnant?"

"No!" They both said together.

"You didn't notice anything unusual about her? She wasn't unusually tired, didn't have morning sickness, anything like that?" Again a collective no. "None of the other girls suggested to you that Laney might be pregnant?" They shook their heads. "What about Josh?"

Kathy turned and looked back over her shoulder at Bill. He shook his head. She looked back at me, her lips pressed firmly together, and said nothing.

"So it was Josh who told you she was pregnant?"

"Why would he do that?" Bill Donahue asked.

"So you did know she was pregnant. Did you talk to her about it?"

"That's none of your business," Bill said.

"That's precisely my business. Did she come to you to find out what she should do?"

"She didn't want her parents to find out," Bill said. "We told her to go see Carol Frank."

"We told her about a good maternity home," Kathy said. "She didn't want to keep the baby."

"Was it Carol who advised her about the procedure for obtaining an abortion?" Neither of them responded.

"Whose baby was it?"

"We don't know," Bill said. "We don't know anything that can help you figure out what happened to Laney. Now, please, go away and leave us alone."

"Did you know that Laney was planning to have an abortion? Did she tell you? Did Josh tell you?" Once again they stonewalled me with their collective silence. There was no sense in holding back for fear I might offend them into not cooperating. They had no intention of cooperating. "What did Russ Hamlin mean when he said Kathy had been neglecting Laney Taggert because of her own troubles? Is that what you're afraid of? That someone will accuse you of neglecting her? It's a little late to worry about that now. This is no time to be thinking of yourselves. We need to know what happened."