Deception

Nod.

“Why didn’t she?”

“Money.”

“What’d she have to say about her family?”

“Nothing,” said Skaggs.

“Nothing at all?”

“She avoided talking about her family, Lieutenant. As to why, I can only conjecture that her memories weren’t pleasant.”

“Avoided, how?”

“I just got a general sense of… avoidance. Okay, here’s an example: Once, before Thanksgiving, I was talking about how much I looked forward to seeing my family. Elise said, ‘Sounds nice,’ and there was a wistful tone in her voice. I mistook that for her missing her own family, said something along those lines. Elise shook her head, rather… vociferously. Then she smiled and changed the subject but I felt I’d touched a nerve. On the other hand, maybe I’m reading too much into it.”

“What else did you and Elise talk about?”

“Work stuff, girl stuff. She hadn’t dated in a long time, said she might be getting ready for that but wasn’t sure.”

“When did she tell you that?”

“I’d have to say a few months ago… three?”

Well past the time when she’d started seeing Sal Fidella.

Milo said, “Where’d you have those girl chats?”

Blink blink blink. “We went out a couple of times after work. Had a drink to unwind. Not at bars, at restaurants with bars. Because of me, I’m not into places where people just sit and get drunk. Even at Wellesley I wasn’t much for the bar scene. Poor Elise, I can’t believe anyone would do that to her. Did she suffer?”

“Sounds like you really liked her, as a person.”

“I did.”

He frowned. Shook his head. “That makes it a little tough, Pat.”

“Makes what tough?”

“Having to tell you something that might conflict with your opinion of Elise.”

“I’m not following.” Moisture darkened the armpits of her jacket. Enough sweat to seep quickly through heavy twill.

Milo pulled his chair closer, leaned in close. Pat Skaggs’s lower lip shook.

“Pat,” he said, “the sad truth is you may have thought Elise was a nice person but the feeling wasn’t mutual.”

“I—what are you saying?”

He summed up the DVD.

Patricia Ann Skaggs screamed and ran from the room.

We caught up to her in the hallway near the vacant kitchen, where she’d slumped against a wall and was sobbing into both palms.

“I’m sorry, Pat.” Milo placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s not true! It’s an ugly, ugly, ugly lie!”

We waited until tears gave way to snuffles.

“Let’s sit back down and hear your side of it, Pat.”

She pulled away. Red-faced, and some of the color had spread to the sclera of her eyes.

Red, white, and blue; the patriotism of fear.

“Let’s sit down, Pat.”

“There is no other side! If she said that—I can’t believe she’d say that, why would she say that?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out, Pat.”

“She lied about Jim Winterthorn and Rico Hauer, too?”

“Why would you ask that, Pat?”

“They’re the only other faculty members summoned to talk to you.”

“Who told you that?”

“Marlene.”

“Pat, have you discussed anything related to this case with Winterthorn or Hauer—or anyone else?”

“Absolutely not,” she said.

“I need you to be straight about that, Pat.”

“I am being straight, I’ve had no time to talk to anyone.”

“So you tried.”

Silence.

“Pat?”

“After Marlene told me, I tried to call both of them but neither picked up their phones.”

“When?”

“An hour ago. I assure you there was no attempt to dissemble. I was merely curious about why only the three of us.”

“Was any other faculty member at Prep as friendly with Elise as you?”

“I really wasn’t that friendly, myself.”

“Same question, Pat.”

She chewed her lip. Shook her head. “Truthfully, I never saw Elise with Jim or Rico.”

“Do you know Jim and Rico pretty well?”

“Uh-uh, no way, I’m not getting into personalities. Not when you drag me here and make vicious accusations.”

“The accusations are not ours, Pat. They’re Elise’s.”

“How do I know that’s true?”

“Why else would we be talking to you?”

“And Jim and Rico.”

“Let’s concentrate on you right now, Pat.”

“There’s nothing to concentrate on. I want to get out of here.”

“That’s your right,” said Milo. “But it will result in a subpoena and further questioning at the police station.”

Pat Skaggs gaped. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“A woman’s dead and leaves behind a taped accusation. If we didn’t follow through on something like that, would we be doing our job?”

No answer.

“What kind of grade would you give us for that type of sloppiness, Pat? D? F?”

Pat Skaggs ground her teeth. “She may have said it, but it never happened. Elise’s death has nothing to do with me.”

“That’s why we need to sit back down and hear what you have to say.”

“Oh, God,” she said. “This is Kafkaesque.”

Same adjective Hauer had used. If a tormented, tubercular Jew hadn’t penned a handful of stories, what would academics do for emotional shorthand?

“I’m sure it feels that way, Pat. Let’s head back and clear everything up.”

“There’s nothing to clear up,” she said, but his gentle prod got her walking.

When she was back in the chair, I said, “So the sex was consensual?”

Milo’s turn to blink.

Pat Skaggs didn’t notice, her eyes were on me, wild and red-veined and bulging. Stricken as if I’d stripped her naked.