Always Kiss the Corpse (9 page)

An instant smile. “May I help you?”

Noel introduced himself and Kyra and handed her a Triple-I card. When he explained they were private detectives, the two other women tuned in. He and Ms. Rachel needed to locate a student here, Cora Lipton-Norton. “Does she have any classes today, Ms.—?”

“I'm not sure I can help you, we—” She glanced over her shoulder. “Sheila, this gentleman wants to know about a student here?”

Sheila looked up from her keyboard. “What would this be about?”

Triple-I's tactics normally called for Kyra to begin when they dealt with men, Noel with women. But maybe this time, Kyra thought, she should've started the interview. Oh well.

Noel said, “It's important we talk with Ms. Lipton-Norton.”

“It's the college's responsibility to protect the students from outside intrusion. While they're here on campus, I mean. What do you want her for?” Sheila, a woman in her fifties, gray eyes that looked hard through lightly tinted glasses, glanced from Noel to Kyra.

Kyra, recognized, decided to step in. “We need to talk to her about another student. Well, possibly ex-student, as you may know. Sandro Vasiliadis.”

“Ex, you say? Did he graduate?”

“No,” and Kyra made full eye contact with Sheila, “we have reason to believe he may have died. Last week.”

“One of our students? Was he in the Navy?”

“No, he lived on the south end. Used to work at the hospital.”

“Oh dear, no, we hadn't heard.” Sheila's hardness dropped away. “The poor man.”

Noel asked, “Did you know him?” and caught Kyra's glance: Let me play it. Okay, she was right on this.

“No, I didn't. We have many students.” She turned to the others. “Did you know him?”

“No,” and “Nope.” Sheila said, “But what do you want from—?”

“Cora Lipton-Norton,” said Kyra. Triple-I protected client confidentiality as much as possible, but in this case Kyra could see no way of doing so. In the hope that at least one of these women was a mother, she told the sad story of Sandro's mother's doubts, despite other identifications. “Mrs. Vasiliadis is clinging to the hope it's not her son who died. But certainly someone's son is dead.”

“Oh, that's terrible,” said Sheila. The others' heads nodded, agreeing.

“We can help you track down Cora,” Sheila continued. “Would it help to talk to any of the professors of the student, Sandro was it?”

“Sandro Vasiliadis, yes. We'd appreciate that.”

She sat at her computer. “That was V-a-s—?”

Kyra spelled the name. “Likely registered as Alessandro.”

Sheila entered the information. She squinted at the screen. “You did say Alessandro?”

“That's right.”

“We seem to have a mis-entry here. We don't have any Alessandro Vasiliadis.”

Kyra squinted. “No?”

“Mistakes happen, it's rare, but sometimes. We have a Vasiliadis. But it's Alessandra.” She stressed the final
a
.

“Typos, yes.” But, Kyra thought, Mrs. Vasiliadis had said, Rudy had said: no beard, no five o'clock shadow.

“It must be the same person. Alessandra, or dro, Vasiliadis is, was?—oh, the poor dear—taking two courses. Professor Atkinson in American History, that would be the US between the World Wars course. Atkinson's popular, a large lecture course, he might not know his students well. And a course in Sociology, gender politics, cross-listed in Women's Studies.”

“Who's teaching that one?” Kyra asked.

“That would be,” Sheila pecked at the keyboard, “Harriet St. Clair. The names are in the catalogue.” She strode toward a shelf, took down a book and handed it to Kyra.

“Is either professor on campus today?”

Sheila gazed at Kyra, and sighed. “This is all—quite terrible. When a student dies. I can look.” She moused her way through several computer windows. “Professor Atkinson doesn't have classes or office hours today. Professor St. Clair teaches at three, so she's likely in her office now.” Sheila told them the office number.

Kyra bulldogged on. “We need to speak with Ms. Lipton-Norton as well.”

Sheila, back to the computer. “She should be leaving a science methods course in ten minutes. Elementary education, third floor, down the hall, room 349.”

“Thank you.”

In the hallway Kyra started to speak but Noel took her by the elbow. “Outside.” They sat on a low cement wall. “Okay. What have we got here.”

“If you're thinking what I'm thinking, we know what we're thinking. But we need to talk to a friend. Like Lipton-Norton.” She glanced at her watch. “Who'll be leaving class in about five minutes. Come on.”

Through a glass slit in the 349 door they could see students shuffling, standing, collecting notebooks and jackets. The door opened to release a young man in a hurry. Others followed. A thin young woman wearing heavy eye makeup and thick brown lipstick, a tough face, came out. Her short hair was emerald green.

Kyra stepped toward her. “Excuse me, are you Cora?”

“Huh?” But suddenly she smiled and her face was transformed to lovely. “Oh, no. You want her,” she pointed into the room, “that's Cora.”

A while since he'd seen such a finely formed face, thought Noel. Kyra thanked the girl. They waited for a second woman with short green hair. As she passed, Kyra again asked, “Cora?”

“Yes?” Hesitation. Taller, also thin, ears with rings as Claude Martin had mentioned, and the green hair. Maybe an inch of it, but the fuzz held a lot of color. She wore jeans and a short-waisted pullover which revealed three rings in her navel. Her thumb hooked a sweatshirt over one shoulder, the other hand grasped two books and a notebook.

“May we speak with you? It's about your friend Vasiliadis.”

“Oh. Oh. Okay, yeah.”

Noel asked, “You want a coffee?”

“Uh, okay. The cafeteria? Tea, maybe.” She led the way down two flights into a large space with a stage at one end. The dominant sound, students' voices at a hundred tables. Cora led them to the drinks section, a vending machine. She chose tea, Kyra coffee, Noel nothing. They found an empty table. “Like, what do you want to know?”

Kyra slid Cora a Triple-I card. “You were at the viewing of the body?”

“Oh, it was awful. When the mother came.”

“What was awful?” Noel spoke his gentlest.

“Her face. She, like, didn't know.”

“What?”

Tears now at the corners of Cora's eyes. “About her child. Trying to deal with herself.”

“How?” Noel asked, just as Kyra echoed, “Herself?”

Cora answered Noel. “Sandra was my friend. I tried to, like, help.”

“By?”

“Telling her things. She was confused.”

“About?”

“How to live like a woman. Much as she could. Outside herself she'd always been a man, except like inside she wasn't. Now at last she could live like a woman. Dress like a woman, think out loud like a woman. She did a lot of that already. She was pretty much a woman really.”

Kyra said, “Sandro was a transvestite, then?”

“I guess you could say that. But it was like much more complicated. Jeez.”

“Did she wear women's clothes at the college?”

“Well, yeah, sorta. You know how it is, what's women's clothes anyway. Like, jeans, T-shirts, everybody wears those. But Sandra liked wearing dresses, pantyhose, heels, all that. And makeup too, jewelry.” Cora giggled, and wiped away a tear streak. “But she wore, like, jeans, too.”

“Did she have friends at the college? Who'd she hang out with?”

Cora sighed. “See, this was like her first semester. She was just like starting. She was getting to know herself. She didn't have time, right, to meet a lot of people?”

Noel said, “How'd you get to be friends?”

A small blush from Cora, and she rubbed her cheek. She paused and blinked before she said, “Oh what the hell. I, like, picked her up.” She laughed lightly, forced.

Kyra said, “That sounds complicated.”

“No big deal for me, before I figured it out. Well, I'd just about figured it out when Sandra told me. But it was like a real big deal for Sandra.”

“I bet,” said Kyra.

“We were already at my place. She was wearing like a black silk blouse and she smelled great, and we kissed for a while. Then she like says to me, ‘I got to tell you something.' And she does. For a couple of seconds it blew my mind. And then I thought, like, this is really interesting. And we started talking. We talked a lot after that. And hugged a lot. I really do think I helped Sandra.” Cora stared at her undrunk tea. “Then she died.” The tears came back. “I think I loved her. Or him.”

Kyra said, “It's awful.” Meaning his—or her—death. Noel nodded in agreement.

“She was like so—so brave. And so beautiful. Already.”

For a few seconds no one spoke. Then Noel said, “Cora, you've helped us a lot. And what you've told us will help Sandro's—Sandra's mother too. Maybe not right away, but soon. May I ask you another question?”

“Sure,” said Cora.

“You say Sandra was beautiful, and brave. Was she—happy, too? Or upset?”

“Oh no, it was great, she was really happy. Well, till about a week ago, I mean a week before she died. I didn't see her that week. We like talked on the phone a couple of times.”

“Did she—talk at all about suicide?”

Cora turned to stare at Noel. “Sandra? Hell no! Sandra had like everything to live for. She could act how she wanted, dress how she wanted. At last. Why would she like want to kill what she loved most, being Sandra?”

“I don't know. But thank you for telling us about her. You've been very generous.” Noel spoke the words as a kind of apology. He got up slowly.

Kyra stood too. “You've been really helpful.”

Cora looked from Kyra to Noel, and back. “Yeah.” She stared at the table.

They thanked her again and left. Outside, Noel said, “Well, there's a shocker.”

“Like, yeah. Sure explains a lot.”

“Think we need to talk to the gender politics prof?”

“I think we maybe, like, really need to, like, yeah,” said Kyra.

“Okay, sweetheart. Enough.”

“Why didn't Ursula Bunche tell us any of this. Too rushed?”

“Maybe. Maybe.”

They found the gender professor. But she barely knew Vasiliadis who always sat in back, rarely spoke.

They drove back to Coupeville saying very little. By San de Fuca's lagoon Noel turned to Kyra. “Do we tell Maria Vasiliadis directly that her son had become a transvestite?”

“Or?”

“Don't know. Something to take away the sting.”

“Like?”

Noel shrugged. “You know, there's so much I don't get.” He rubbed his palms on his thighs. “I've been openly out for a long time, right?” He considered that. “Nearly twenty-five years. I think I know a lot about the gay community. I'm comfortable there, just as I am in most communities. But with Sandro there's something else. It all sounds too different. I've spent a little time with some cross-dressers. I don't know, they just leave me uncomfortable.” He shrugged. “Could it be Sandro was physically altering his sex? Not just dressing?”

“Must've been taking something to get rid of the hair. We better find out.”

“We don't have to. We're only hired to find out if the body was Sandro's.”

“How would he have gotten rid of the beard?”

“I don't know.” And right now Noel didn't care. The case was over. It was Sandro in the coffin. “But I'm glad we're done with this one.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Sandro-Sandra gives me the creeps.”

≈  ≈  ≈

The Tracker pulled up at the hospital. Ursula Bunche, wearing a black and red mackinaw, waited in front. Her blonde hair hung free. Noel opened the back door. She got in, said, “Let's talk somewhere else. Drive to the water. There's Toby's.”

Kyra drove downhill. At Toby's they sat and ordered beers. “Okay.” Kyra turned to Ursula. “Some questions. Did you know Sandro was a transvestite?”

Ursula looked from Kyra to Noel. “She wasn't.”

“Come on, we just spoke with his friend Cora at the college. And to the registrar. He's even registered as Sandra.”

“That's right. And does Cora believe Sandro was a transvestite? Did you speak with Rudy Longelli?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Sandro was a buddy and a good bowler.”

Ursula nodded. “With Rudy, Sandra wore men's bowling clothes. But other than that, for the last five months she dressed as what she believed she was, a woman. So she wasn't a transvestite.”

Noel let out his breath as if he'd been holding it for the last hour. Which maybe he had. “He thought of himself as a woman? Not just playing a female role?”

“Right. Female to the core. Except for a few male body parts and how they were messing him up.”

Noel feared he knew what was coming.

“Why bowling?” Kyra asked. The beers arrived.

“She didn't want to give it up. She loved bowling, she loved being part of that team, with Rudy and the others. Probably because she was so good, and the team needed her.” Ursula smiled at Kyra. “She told us she was going to enjoy bowling as a woman, too. But she couldn't be in the men's league if she was a woman. Makes sense, right?” She laughed a little.

“Okay,” Kyra said. “Sometimes he-she wore men's clothing, but mostly women's clothing. Wouldn't you say that makes Sandro a transvestite?”

“Don't think in such narrow categories. Sandro was learning to be Sandra, small steps at a time. Five months ago she crossed the line for good. With occasional exceptions. Cora helped Sandra a lot. Brady and I did too. We laughed a lot. We'd laughed together from when I first met him, when he worked at the hospital. He'd wonder what it'd be like, being a woman. The bearded lady in the circus, he'd say, and laugh. Lots of laughing.” Ursula sipped her beer. “They'd have destroyed him, his family I mean, if they'd known what he was thinking. He was scared.”