Deception

“I’ll finish the dissertation eventually.”

“Where’d all this education take place?”

“M.I.T. undergrad, U. Mich for grad school.”

Milo whistled. “You teach anything else at Prep?”

“Advanced Placement chem, AP physics, and a seminar in the biophysics of ecology offered to students who get A’s in the AP classes.”

“The lowdown on global warming?”

“We’re a bit more complex than that.”

Milo edged closer. Winterthorn’s startled look said What did I do?

“Chemistry… you work with dry ice?”

Winterthorn giggled.

“Something funny, Jim?”

“My fifth-grade science teacher brought dry ice into class and did volcano tricks, trying to show us science could be cool. No, Lieutenant, we’re a bit beyond that in AP. There’s an emphasis on computation, it’s basically a college-level curriculum.”

“No volcanoes,” said Milo. “Too bad. When my teacher did that I was convinced science was cool.”

Winterthorn turned serious. “Are you saying dry ice had something to do with Elise’s… with what happened?”

“What were your impressions of Elise, Jim?”

Winterthorn’s thin frame pressed against his seat-back, as if trying to will the chair into reverse. “She seemed conscientous.”

“Seemed?”

“I’m sure she was. Occasionally, I’d see her making herself available after hours.”

“You noticed her after-hours because…”

“I do the same thing myself.”

“Do the students appreciate that kind of dedication?”

“I would think so.”

“Did Elise have any particular favorites—students she hung out with more than others?”

“I wouldn’t know—can you tell me what this is about? I’m assuming there’s something suspicious about her death, why else would we be talking to police detectives.”

Milo handed Winterthorn his card.

The young man’s eyes widened. “She was definitely murdered?”

“Definitely?”

“What I mean is… the immediacy,” said Winterthorn. “Something so terrible hitting so close.” He sounded more fascinated than horrified, might’ve been describing a complex molecule.

“So,” said Milo, “no favorites you were aware of.”

“I wasn’t paying attention.”

“What about conflict with anyone at Prep? Students, faculty, janitors?”

“Absolutely nothing like that,” said Winterthorn.

“If she did have problems with someone, would you have known, Jim?”

“What do you mean?”

“Being in the math-science tribe.”

“That demarcation applies to socializing,” said Winterthorn, shifting his weight and scratching the bridge of his nose. “Prep’s an intimate place, significant events can attain broad coverage. If Elise was experiencing significant conflict—something that would lead to… yes, I might know about that. But I never heard a thing.”

“You’re saying there’s a well-oiled gossip mill operating.”

“Not really, it’s just… important facts travel.”

“What did the mill have to say about Elise?”

Winterthorn bit his lip. “I’m not comfortable talking behind her back. Especially now.”

“Now is when you need to talk behind her back, Jim. That back is currently resting on the cold steel surface of a coroner’s dissection table.”

Winterthorn shuddered. “Good Lord, you don’t pull punches, do you?”

“I’ve found that unhelpful when dealing with murder.”

“Murder… this is surreal.”

“Let’s get back to the gossip question, Jim. What did loose lips flap about concerning Elise?”

“Do I have to be quoted on this in your official document—your file, whatever you call it?”

“Not if you’re forthcoming, Jim.” Smooth lie.

Winterthorn rubbed his eyes. “I can’t vouch for this firsthand but yes, there was talk to the effect that Elise had a drinking problem. I certainly never saw it, but people claimed they had.”

“Which people?”

“Other teachers.”

“Names, please.”

“I…”

“Jim, this is important.”

“Please don’t say it came from me.”

“Deal. Who, Jim?”

“Enrico Hauer, he teaches psychology and urban studies. He claimed he’d seen Elise drunk.”

“At school?”

Head shake. “At a bar.”

“Which one?”

“I didn’t ask. He said she was pretty much wasted.”

“Are we talking a single episode or a pattern?”

“He claimed he’d smelled it on her breath at work.”

“And what did Mr. Hauer do with this information?”

“Nothing,” said Winterthorn. “At least as far as I know. I didn’t want to hear it. I try to remain above the fray.”

“What fray is that?”

“It’s an expression, Lieutenant. I don’t like getting involved in other people’s issues.” Winterthorn’s voice had taken on metal. Tightened posture brought out muscle in the thin, pale arms. Small man, but sinewy, with square shoulders, maybe stronger than he looked.

Milo said, “What about drugs?”

“That I never heard,” said Winterthorn. “Are you saying drugs were somehow used in conjunction with dry ice? Because as a chemist I really can’t come up with an obvious scenario—”

“So you never hung out with Elise.”

“Never.”

“So if someone else testified that you did hang out with her, they’d be lying.”

Winterthorn’s eyes raced from side to side. “Who told you that?”

“What would you say if I told you Elise did?”

“I’d say that’s ridiculous.”

Milo summarized the DVD.

Winterthorn gripped the sides of his chair. Burst into tears, lips churning.

Milo said, “That goes beyond hanging out, Jim.”

Winterthorn rocked, clutched his hair, as his mouth continued to work soundlessly. Two strangled words finally escaped:

“Only. Once.”