The Sixes

5

PHOEBE GULPED DOWN her coffee in surprise.

“What?” she said.

Stockton quickly turned his head to the right and then to the left, making sure no one was eavesdropping.

“This has to be under the cone of silence, all right?” He waited for Phoebe’s nod. “I think there may be a predator out there who gets his jollies from drugging college students and drowning them in the river.”

“But who are the other victims besides Lily?” Phoebe asked, still taken aback. She wondered why Glenda hadn’t mentioned anything about this.

“We had a student drown in the Winamac the April before last. A senior named Scott Macus.”

“But Glenda told me he’d been out drinking and stumbled into the river.”

“That’s what everyone assumed. But after I heard about Lily this morning, I went back and looked at Scott’s file. The blood alcohol report indicated he’d had about three beers. Hardly enough to make most guys disoriented. The last place he was seen was at Cat Tails—sound familiar? Then, according to his friends, he just disappeared. They said it was totally unlike him to go off without telling them.”

“Were there any marks on his body?” Phoebe asked.

“Nothing to indicate a struggle. But if someone’s been drugged, it wouldn’t take much to force them into the river.”

“Two deaths don’t necessarily add up to a serial killer,” Phoebe said.

“You’re right,” Stockton replied. “But those aren’t the only deaths. Ever hear of Parker-Hyde College? It’s about an hour and a half north of here on the river. A male student drowned there a year ago. And there have been a number of similar cases in the Midwest—all involving college students who mysteriously drowned after a night out but who didn’t appear to be inebriated.”

“How awful,” Phoebe said. “Have any of the drowning victims other than Lily been female?”

“Not that I’m aware of. But I’ve just begun to look into this. I haven’t even had a chance to mention this to Glenda.”

Phoebe glanced away, thinking. Stockton’s theory made her skin crawl. Could it really be true? It seemed far- fetched, and yet she’d read that serial killers did migrate from one area to another. God, she thought, if Glenda was concerned about the impact of a secret society on Lyle’s admissions, Phoebe could only imagine what news of a serial killer would do.

“Do you mind if we get back to the Sixes for a minute?” Phoebe asked. “Lily’s death might not be connected to them, but Glenda wants me to look into the group regardless. As you said, it’s a problem in its own right.”

Stockton pinched his lips together again and examined some imaginary thing floating on the top of his coffee.

“I hope you won’t take offense,” he said, lifting his head up. Then he shot her a patronizing smile. “But I’ve got to be perfectly blunt here. This kind of problem should be handled by someone from the administration, or at the very least by a regular faculty member. Not . . . an outsider.”

Phoebe took a breath before answering. “But as we both know, sometimes an outsider has a better shot at obtaining information,” she said.

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.” Stockton sniffed. “But you’ve been at the college for less than two months.”

It took everything Phoebe had to smile nicely at him. The guy was pompous and arrogant, but she needed his full cooperation.

“Why don’t I start with my research and see how it goes,” Phoebe said. “If it doesn’t work, or if it creates problems, Glenda certainly isn’t going to want me to continue.”

He shrugged, forced to resign. “Okay. What do you need to know?”

“Glenda said you first heard about the Sixes when a student ended up in the ER last spring.”

“Correct. It was early May. I received a call one night from the manager of the ER at Cranberry Medical Center—it’s about ten miles north of here. A student named Alexis Grey had arrived there hyperventilating. She was alone, by the way, and it was unclear how she’d gotten to the hospital. After they examined her, it was obvious she was having a panic attack, which intensified when they suggested having someone from the college come and fetch her. She blurted out something about having been a part of this secret society called the Sixes, and that when she’d quit the group, they’d begun to torment her. But that was the most anyone was ever able to get out of her. I went to see her that night, but she refused to talk to me. Her parents arrived the next morning, and brought her home— she’s from the Baltimore area—and she refused to return to Lyle. There were only a few weeks left of classes, but she chose to forfeit the entire term. I tried to get the parents to talk to me, but either Alexis had forbidden them to or they knew nothing.”

“And other than that incident, the only hint of the group has been the number six showing up on campus?”

“Yes, painted in spots, carved in others. Sometimes six things collected in places. But in hindsight, I realized I’d also picked up an odd vibe here and there. For example, at the start of this term I put together a student committee with the so-called purpose of examining quality of life on campus, but really I was following up on what had happened to Alexis. I wanted to see if I could spot any fault lines. At one of our sessions I mentioned that I thought it was a good thing that Lyle didn’t allow sororities. I saw a look flash between two of the girls—it was the kind of look that said, Well, we do have something like that. I tried to probe, but they went instantly incommunicado.”

“Do you think that’s what the Sixes basically is—a sorority? Or is it sinister in nature?”

“Sinister seems far too strong of a word,” Stockton said. “If they’re the ones marking things with a six, then it would seem they’re just about making a little mischief. True, Alexis was pretty upset, but her meltdown might have been due to a combination of other factors.”

Phoebe touched her finger to her lip. “Glenda said you had reason to believe Lily might be involved.”

“Shortly after the term started—we’re talking the first week of September—maintenance complained that someone had been dragging some of the Adirondack chairs from the quad out onto the plaza in front of the student union every night. Turns out it was always six chairs. So I asked Craig Ball to position a guy to watch one night. Lo and behold, at three in the morning, he discovers two girls dragging the chairs across the grass. Lily Mack and Blair Usher.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“You bet. Separately. But they’d worked out their cover story by then. Claimed they’d been up studying and wanted to chill. Said they could see the stars better out on the plaza, away from the trees. And they denied doing it previously. Unfortunately the cop intervened before they’d dragged over more than two chairs, so there was no way to prove they were behind the other incidents.”

“What do you know about Blair?”

“Senior. Excellent student. Varsity field hockey. Beautiful. What your Hollywood pals might call an It girl.”

“I heard that Lily told her roommate she might stay with Blair Thursday night. Don’t you think it could be more than a coincidence that Lily planned to see Blair on the night she disappeared? I’m not sure if Glenda told you, but I spoke to Lily two weeks ago. She said she’d made a mess of things, and she seemed anxious to break free. Maybe the mess Lily wanted to pull back from was the Sixes, and they didn’t want to let her go.”

“College students are always making messes. There’s no reason to believe that the mess she referred to involved the Sixes or that her death has anything to do with what she talked to you about.”

Before Phoebe could respond, Stockton cocked his wrist to check his watch. “I should go,” he said. “I want to follow up on what happened with the parents at the morgue.” He reached back and tugged his wallet from his pocket. More buttery brown leather.