'Yes, I suppose so, but I've seen the same things happen to students who weren't on drugs. The stress of grad school can drive anyone temporarily mad.'
'How true,' I said.
She rubbed her nails, glanced over at the photos of her family.
'When I found out she'd been murdered, it changed my perception of her.
Up till then I'd been absolutely furious with her. But hearing about her death-the way she'd been found... well, I just felt sorry for her. The police told me she was dressed like some kind of punkrocker.
It made me realize she'd had an outside life she'd kept hidden from me.
She was simply one of those people to whom the world of ideas would never be important.'
'Could her lack of motivation have been due to an independent income?'
'Oh, no,' she said. 'She was poor. When I accepted her she begged me to get her funding, told me she couldn't enroll without it.
I thought of the carefree attitude about money she'd shown the Murtaughs. The brand-new car she'd died in.
'What about her family?' I said.
'I seem to remember there was a mother an alcoholic. But the policemen said they hadn't been able to locate anyone to claim the body. We actually took up a collection here at the school in order to bury her.'
'Sad.'
'Extremely.'
'What part of the country was she from?' I said.
'Somewhere back east. No, she wasn't a rich girl, Dr. Delaware.
Her lack of drive was due to something else.'
'How did she react to losing her fellowship?'
'She didn't react at all. I'd expected some anger, tears, anything-hoped it would help clear the air and we'd reach an understanding. But she never even tried to contact me. Finally, I called her in, asked her how she was planning to support herself.
She told me about the job at your hospital. Made it sound like something prestigious-was quite snotty, actually. Though your Mr. Huenengarth said she'd been little more than a bottle washer.'
No bottles in Ashmore's lab. I was silent.
She looked at her watch, then over at her purse. For a moment I thought she was going to get up. But instead, she moved her chair closer and stared at me. Her eyes were hazel, hot, unmoving. An inquisitive heat. Chipmunk searching for the acorn hoard.
'Why all the questions, Doctor? What are you really after?
'I really can't give any details because of the confidentiality issue,' I said. 'I know it doesn't seem fair.'
She said nothing for a moment. Then: 'She was a thief. Those textbooks in her locker had been stolen from another student. I found other things too. Another student's sweater. A gold pen that had belonged to me. So I won't be surprised if she was involved in something unsavory.'
'She may have been.'
'Something that led to her being murdered?'
'It's possible.'
And what's your involvement with all of this, Doctor?'
