Tunnel Vision (11 page)

“Your husband is a professor?”

“We both are. I offered to go with him, but he said he’d only be gone a few minutes. We live over on Maple, a few blocks from the university, near fraternity row.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Helen, but about what time did he leave?” Maggie asked.

“Between seven and seven-thirty. Right after dinner. It’s about a fifteen minute walk so he should have been home by eight or eight-fifteen.”

“He walked to the campus?”

“We always do. Elliott doesn’t drive. I do, but he likes the company and it gives us a chance to talk on the way to work every morning.”

“What does your husband teach at the

university?”

“Microbiology.”

“And where is his office located?”

“In the Biology Building, third floor.”

Maggie felt her heart skip a beat at the mention of the Biology Building. “I see. And is your office in the same building?”

“No. I’m in the building next door. Chemistry. My students told me there was a problem in the Biology Building yesterday. Is that true?”

“Yes, but I’m sure your husband wasn’t involved with that.”

Helen Brauner looked relieved. “I’m terribly worried about Elliott. This just isn’t like him. I called Tony, but he said he hasn’t seen Elliott. And neither has Malcolm.”

“And who are they?” Maggie inquired.

“Tony is Elliott’s graduate assistant. A brilliant student, but a little rough around the edges. Malcolm Roth is another professor in Elliott’s department.”

“Do you know Tony’s last name?” Maggie asked.

“Obregon. Antonio Obregon.”

“What did you mean when you said he was rough around the edges?”

“Well, it’s just that he doesn’t have many social skills. Has a rather nasty temper, according to Elliott, but such promise.”

“I see. Do you happen to have a picture of Dr. Brauner?”

“I thought you might want one.” Helen smiled as she reached for the worn leather shoulder bag resting against the leg of her chair. “I tried to find a recent picture, but this was all I could find.”

She pulled a Polaroid picture from the bag and handed it to Maggie. It showed Helen Brauner standing next to a man who was nearly a head shorter than she. Helen was resting her right elbow on his shoulder and touching his face with her left hand, gazing down at him. Elliott Brauner had his left arm around his wife’s waist and appeared somewhat stiff as he posed for the picture. The contrast between the two was striking. Helen wore a floor length evening gown, resplendent with jewelry, her hair a silver halo surrounding a smiling, almost youthful looking face. Elliott, on the other hand, seemed out of place, wearing a rather ill-fitting tuxedo. The red cummerbund made him look shorter than he probably was. Wire-rim glasses sat halfway down his nose at a slight angle. The stockiness of his body betrayed the fact that Helen must have been a good cook.

“It was taken two or three years ago, the same year Dr. Ramsdell was made University President. His inaugural dance. I’m sure you can tell that Elliott wasn’t exactly happy to be there. Called it a total waste of time and money.” Helen laughed. “Despite his grousing, Elliott actually loves to dance and is quite good at it.”

“Um, how tall is Dr. Brauner, Helen?”

“You noticed. Elliott is five feet five inches tall and weighs, oh, about a hundred and seventy-five pounds, I think. We used to make quite a striking couple, Detective Weston. The first time I went out with Elliot, in graduate school, I tried to make myself look shorter. But he told me, no, he ordered me, to stand tall. The difference in our height didn’t bother him and if it bothered me, then I should look elsewhere for an escort. Then he said something quite off-color about the advantage of being shorter than me.” A slight blush spread over her cheeks as she remembered a private conversation.

“First thing in the morning, I’ll get a copy of the report you’ve already filed and check a few things. The picture will be very helpful. Where can I reach you, in case I need to ask you a few more questions?”

“I’ll either be in class or in my office most of the day. I’m worried sick about Elliott, but I can’t let my classes go to hell. Elliott would chastise me severely if I neglected my students. My office is 224 in the Chemistry Building and my last class ends around three o’clock. But that class is a lab so it may take me a little while longer to clean everything up. That’s in Room 312. Please let me know if you find out anything. Good or bad, I have to know.”

Suddenly, Helen Brauner looked older. Maggie placed her hand on Helen’s and said, “You’ll hear from me tomorrow, Helen, no matter what.”

BRODIE TOOK A beer from the refrigerator and headed for the living room. As she stretched out on the couch, Max strolled up next to her and laid his massive head on her lap, looking up at her with soulful eyes.
Might as well get it over with
, she thought as she reached for the telephone receiver and dialed, waiting as the phone on the other end rang.

“Goddammit, Max. Don’t you ever stop

shedding?” she mumbled as the big dog nuzzled harder against her. She took a long drink of the beer as she continued petting Max’s head until she heard a familiar voice on the phone.

“Hi, Camille. How’s it going?” she asked more cheerfully than she felt.

“I was hoping you’d call, RB. I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Camille said.

“I’m sorry about last weekend. I don’t know what got into me.”

“Sometimes things just happen,” she said warmly.

“How are things at work?”

“You mean how is it having Maggie Weston

around, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to pry into your life. I’m just concerned about you.”

“I know that. We’ve been busy the last couple of days, so I didn’t have much time to think about the past,” she lied. “Listen, do you have any plans for tomorrow? I need to pick your brains a little.”

“I don’t think so, but I don’t have my appointment calendar here. New case?”

“Yeah, a nasty one and I need to get a handle on this guy as quick as I can.”

“How do you know it’s a man you’re looking for?”

“It’s not a female crime, honey. Take my word for that much.”

“That sounds a little like stereotyping, RB.”

“Well, I’m an equal opportunity cop. After you see the file you can tell me if it could be a woman. It goes without saying, of course, that the department can’t pay your usual consulting fee.”

“Why don’t you drop by my office tomorrow around five?”

“I could pick up a pizza or something and drop by your place later this evening,” Brodie offered. Camille paused before responding. “I don’t think that would be a good idea right now, RB. We need to talk anyway.”

“That doesn’t sound good, babe.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Brodie stared at the phone for a minute before hanging up. Until three days ago she had been enjoying what she considered to be a satisfying relationship with Camille. She took a long drink of the beer as she looked down at Max. The dog looked like he was asleep and she closed her eyes, too. THE DAY AFTER Wheeler was killed, Brodie

awakened in the hospital, a dull throb in her right thigh. She barely remembered what had happened the night before. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt like it was sewn to the roof of her mouth. She looked around for water and saw a nurse adjusting an IV

line. She opened her mouth to speak, but had to struggle to say anything.

“Water,” she finally croaked.

The nurse poured a glass of water and raised the bed far enough for Brodie to drink through a straw.

“You had us scared for a while, Sergeant Brodie,”

she said. “There’s someone waiting outside for you to wake up.”

The nurse left the room quietly, returning a few moments later followed by Maggie. She had been in one of the units that responded to her call for help the night before. As soon as the nurse left them alone, Maggie took her hand and kissed her lightly.

“Damn, baby, you look like shit” she said. She looked exhausted.

“It’s just a leg wound. I’m not likely to die from it.” “You were in surgery long enough for a transplant. The doc said the damn bullet traveled halfway down your leg. It’ll be a while before you can go back to work.”

She looked at Maggie and blinked a few times.

“Wheeler...”

“He didn’t make it, Royce. I’m sorry.”

Brodie was suddenly furious as tears pooled in her eyes and escaped down her cheeks. “That bitch!

That fuckin’ little bitch! It’s my fault, Maggie.”

“That’s not true, Royce. You couldn’t have known she had a gun.”

“I should have been more careful, but she was just a kid.”

“You both should have been more careful. The shooting team thinks she may have been on

something.”

“When is Stan’s funeral?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

She grabbed Maggie’s arm and pulled her closer.

“I have to be there, Maggie.”

“You will be, I promise.”

Two days later Maggie helped Brodie out of her car. She felt like shit and so far the painkillers weren’t doing their job the way they were advertised. She and Maggie were both in their dress uniforms. It took her a while to get used to the crutches, but Maggie stayed at her side until they made it up the front steps of the church. Police officers from cities around the state had turned out to honor the fallen officer and scores of police vehicles from various police departments lined both sides of the street in front of the church. Brodie paused inside the church entryway to remove her hat. As she made her way down the church aisle, other officers looked at her as she passed and she knew they were whispering that she had been with Wheeler the night it happened. It seemed like a million years ago. She and Maggie took seats with other members of the Austin Police Department near the front of the church and she saw Commander Tim Weston turn to glare at them.

Forty minutes later they were standing on the grass in the cemetery. The painkillers either still hadn’t kicked in or had and were now wearing off. She tried to think about other things to take her mind off the incessant throbbing in her leg, but she was startled when the honor guard fired its volleys. She wanted desperately for it all to be over, but knew she couldn’t leave until she spoke to Stan’s wife. When the gravesite service ended she made her way through the line of well wishers to speak to Gloria Wheeler. When she saw Brodie approaching, she went to her and hugged her tightly. Brodie blinked back tears as she told Gloria how sorry she was. She moved on and waited for Maggie to rejoin her.

“Get me out of here, Maggie. My leg is on fire.”

“Let me take you back to the hospital, Royce.”

“Let’s just go home.”

They were halfway to Maggie’s car when Brodie heard someone call her name and stopped. She saw Tim Weston striding purposefully in their direction followed by Maggie’s brothers.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Brodie,” Weston spat as he stopped inches from her..

“The doctors already told her that,” Maggie said.

“I’m not talking about the fuckin’ doctors, Officer,” Tim snapped as he looked at his daughter.

“She doesn’t belong here.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Dad? She was Stan’s partner, for Christ’s sake,” Maggie said before Brodie could speak.

“And her carelessness cost him his life!”

Maggie started to respond, but Brodie stopped her.“Is that what you think, Tim? That I’m responsible for Stan’s death?”

“You’re goddamn right. You know it and I know it, Brodie. You were supposed to be covering his back and you didn’t. What the hell were you doing?”

“It happened too quick.”

“Everything we do is quick. If you can’t handle it, you don’t belong on the force.”

“That’s not fair, Dad,” Maggie intervened. Whipping his head toward his daughter, he spat,

“And I suppose you believe that bullshit because she’s fuckin’ you.”

All of Brodie’s pent up emotion came to the surface and she forgot about her leg. Dropping her crutches, she grabbed Tim, and shoved him against the nearest tree.

“Don’t you
ever
talk to her like that again,” she seethed.

“The thought that Stan died because his partner was a fuckin’ cowardly dyke turns my stomach,”

Weston snarled as he shoved her away. “You should have been the one who died and done us all a favor!”

Before she thought about what she was doing, she swung her fist and caught Weston on the jaw, knocking him down. All the adrenalin in her body kicked in and she would have continued pummeling her commander if she hadn’t been stopped by Maggie and her brothers.

By the time Maggie got her back to her car, the wound had reopened and was bleeding again. She pressed her hand over the wound as Maggie drove away from the cemetery.

“Dammit, Royce. You need to go back to the hospital,” Maggie said as she saw the blood on Brodie’s hand.

“It’ll be all right. I need to stay off my feet for a while and let it heal a little longer. Just take me back to my place,” she insisted.

SHE CLENCHED HER hands into fists to keep

them from shaking as the memories overtook her. She downed the remainder of her beer in one long swallow and fought back the tears that found their way to the surface. Rubbing her face with her hands, she couldn’t believe the appearance of one woman had opened up every bad memory she had worked so hard to forget. Just a few days earlier she had had her past under control.

Chapter Four

MAGGIE SWUNG HER forest green Subaru into a visitor’s parking space and looked around. There were a few cars parked in an area designated for faculty members and she smiled when she saw them. Some were a little beaten up with a few patches of Bond-O. The university may have been considered a center of higher learning, but many of the vehicles looked as if they belonged in front of a honky-tonk. There was a distinctly Texas appearance to the vehicles. She counted six pick-up trucks with the usual paraphernalia hanging in the back windows. Racks for rifles. Window decals from various countrywestern radio stations in the area. Advertisements for the owner’s favorite alcoholic beverage. Keep Austin Weird bumper stickers. There were two or three small foreign sports cars that seemed to have taken the wrong off-ramp on their way to an Ivy League college huddled among the pick-ups.