Eye of the Beholder

If you love me, then tell me your plan.

Shhhh… please don’t worry.

Leo puts his face close to the photo, brushes his lips against her forehead.

I have to go now, but I’ll be back soon.

ROUND TWO WITH BRANDON MITCHUM. He looks calmer now,as the sedatives do their work. He chews on his lip as Stoletti and McDermott resume their places.

McDermott realizes that Riley is right. The offender was sloppy this time. He’s off plan now. He must have Evelyn Pendry’s computer, which is why they can’t find it. He’s reading what she had written about her investigation. He found Brandon Mitchum’s name and paid him a visit, but he worked quickly-just one day after killing Evelyn-and didn’t have time to scout out the place. He didn’t know that the security door on Brandon’s building was busted. Didn’t think he had time to break into the apartment and ambush him, like with the others.

And he’s good. He’s skilled at controlling people, and he knows how to pick locks.

Evelyn was on the right track, and now the offender is following the same trail she was, trying to clean it up. Evelyn talked to Ciancio and he’s dead. Evelyn talked to Brandon and he was next. They know Evelyn talked to Professor Albany, too, which is why McDermott just put in a call and sent a patrol car to Albany’s house.

Stoletti begins. “Did Evelyn Pendry tell you what she was up to?”

“Writing about Terry Burgos, I assumed.” Brandon’s voice is scratchy and flat now. He’s wearing down. “Doing some expose or something.”

“An expose,” McDermott says, joining in again. “Something beyond background.”

Brandon brings a hand to the bandage on his face. “Evelyn-y‘know, she’s a reporter, so-she was pretty coy about the whole thing. Protective, y’know, about her story. But she seemed concerned. I got the feeling that she thought there was more to the Burgos murders than everyone thought. She was all interested in Cassie and Ellie and Gwen, like I said. Seemed like, as much as anything, she was just trying to get down their personalities.”

“So give them to us.”

Brandon’s eyes move to the ceiling. “Mansbury, y‘know, it fancies itself one of the elite liberal arts colleges, right? And it is, I guess. But you get an elite school, you get a lot of money. Lots of trust fund babies, y’know? Me, I came from downstate, but Cassie and Ellie? They had money. Cassie, obviously-but Ellie’s family owned some big steel manufacturer, I think, in South Africa.”

“Anyway?” McDermott prompts.

“Yeah, anyway. Ellie? She was one of these rich girl partiers. Nice enough girl, don’t get me wrong, but she didn’t have a whole lot of-I don’t know, what’s the word?-substance, maybe? Yeah.” He chuckles. “Not a lot of substance. Trendy clothes, expensive hairstyle, all the right connections. Oh, she was okay, I guess. But the only reason she ever gave me the time of day was Cassie.

“Now, Cassie,” he says, realizing that the detectives are listening closely, “was a real sweetheart. I mean, that girl had soul. Know what I mean? She had more money than God, but she was such a generous spirit. She did volunteer work, she studied hard, she was always there if you needed her. But here’s the thing-”

McDermott rocks on his toes.

“Cassie was so fucking messed up. I mean, look, she’s got all this money and everything, so I’m not saying we should play the violins for her. And she wouldn’t have wanted that, either. It’s more like, she just wasn’t really sure who she was.” He sighs. “She could never make herself happy. I had no idea why. She was kind, she was intelligent, she was beautiful, but she was a train wreck inside. And then, after that fight with Gwendolyn-I mean, there was no talking to her. She was a basket case. Here, everyone’s cramming for finals, so we’re all a little off-kilter, right? But Cassie? I mean, she wouldn’t eat. She wouldn’t talk. And as far as anyone could tell, she wasn’t even studying. After finals that year, we’re all heading out for one last hurrah before summer break, and Cassie sat in her dorm room with the door locked. I mean, she even gave Ellie the cold shoulder, and Ellie lived with her.”

McDermott sneaks a peek at Stoletti. He knows what she’s thinking. This sounds a lot like a girl who had just found out she had an unwanted pregnancy.

“And I was thinking to myself,” Brandon adds, “I didn’t know who Cassie was talking to about whatever was bothering her. She hated her father-”

That’s interesting.

“-And her mother? Nat? I mean, I never met her, but-well, that lady was ‘overmedicated.’ That’s the PC way of saying it. She was a pill popper. And that was her family. Well, there was Gwen, the cousin, when she was around, but even when she was she was no help. I mean, that girl was a freak. She partied harder than Ellie. Those two were peas in a pod. Cassie wasn’t like them.” Brandon comes out of his memories and looks at McDermott.

McDermott watches him a moment, a common tactic-stare at someone and he’ll keep talking. But Brandon seems finished, and, if anything, his eyes are beginning to cloud as exhaustion and sedation do a one-two on him.

“All of this, you told Evelyn,” he gathers.

Brandon nods.

“And what did she say back to you?”

“Well, she asked me the same thing you’re gonna ask me-if Cassie was pregnant, and, if so, who would have been the ‘fucking father’?”

McDermott smiles tightly.

“I don’t know if she was pregnant,” he continues. “I understand the suspicion. Hell, most people thought she was gay. I admit, I was curious about that myself. So now we’re taking a big jump to not being gay, and being pregnant to boot.”

“So,” McDermott says, “let’s jump.”

“Look, I don’t know.”

There’s an obvious name here, but McDermott doesn’t want to be the first to say it. It would make sense, too. It wouldn’t be the first time a college professor slept with a beautiful coed. And said professor would be none too pleased about that coed turning up pregnant. He could see how Professor Albany might play the risks: If Cassie turned around and accused him, he could always deny it. It would be a he- said, she-said. But if she were pregnant, it would be an entirely different story. Paternity tests. Tangible proof. End of promising career.

“Cassie didn’t have a lot of friends-certainly not male friends,” Brandon says. “I was pretty much the only guy.”

Another obvious thought, but McDermott has already discounted it. He trusts his gut, and this kid isn’t pulling any chains-especially now, after he stared death in the face and has a strong sedative calming him. Mitchum isn’t lying. He wasn’t the father.

Come on, Brandon.

“Well, okay-here-this was something Evelyn and I talked about, too. There was one guy, a C.S. prof. A-a professor in cultural studies. Oh, right, of course.” He snaps his fingers. “The guy who taught the class that Terry Burgos sat in on. Professor Albany was his name. Frank Albany.”

Stoletti says, “Why does his name come up?”

“Oh, he was-” Brandon makes a face. “He was one of those- you know, these professors who socializes with the students? I always thought the guy was kind of creepy, personally, but Cassie really thought he was the shit.”

“The shit.”