the window at a pretty coed strolling by wearing jeans so tight he could see the outline of her crotch. What did Annie call that? Cameltoe? Damn, these girls today.
“I talked to a few members last night after the meeting, the ones who are on a friendly basis with Stella-sorry, Sheila -and some of them remembered seeing her talking with that new guy I told you about.” Fisher cleared his throat. “His name was definitely James. A couple of the female members described him as good-looking.”
Jerry smirked. Apparently not even sex addiction therapy could turn off your radar. He scribbled in his notebook.
Fisher continued. “Also, James left in an SUV. Another member saw him in the parking lot getting into something big and black. American-made, he thought. Washington State plates. Didn’t get the plate number, though.”
“Good observational skills.”
“That’s Kenneth,” Fisher said. “He notices everything. He said for you to give him a call, but I pressed him and there’s nothing else he knows.”
“Give me his number just in case.” Jerry jotted it down. “That it?”
“Yeah. Hope it helps. And listen, I’m sorry about that comment-”
“Forget about it.” Jerry thanked him and hung up.
He looked up through the windshield at the old building in front of him. The George Herbert Mead Department of Psychology. Jerry had long forgotten what kind of psychologist George Herbert Mead was, but the man must have made a significant contribution to the field if they’d named a whole university department after him.
In light of her sudden absence, the three courses Sheila was teaching this semester had been divided among her colleagues-none of whom, according to the secretary whose voice had dramatically dropped to a whisper, had been happy about the increased course load. But the teaching assistants for each class were still the same.
Ethan Wolfe kept office hours on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Jerry was interested to find out exactly what the graduate student might know. The TA’s e-mails were more suggestive than he’d told Morris, and considering his client’s reaction at the restaurant the other day, that was probably a good call. Pulling his lanky frame out of his small car, Jerry headed inside.
The smell of the psychology building instantly brought him back to the four years he’d spent in night school studying to get his bachelor’s degree. That would have been ten years ago now. Pine floor-cleaner and slightly stale air, shiny hallways with thickly painted brick walls. Nothing had changed. The two main lecture halls were in the center with several smaller classrooms dotting the first and second floors. Administrative offices were on the third floor, and the top three floors were reserved for teaching staff.
Jerry rode up the elevator in silence beside a girl with glossy brown hair who couldn’t have been older than twenty. Her jeans were tight, too, and her sweater hugged breasts so high and firm they seemed to defy gravity. Did any of these girls wear baggy clothes anymore? How did the male professors resist temptation? It would be so easy to slip. He wondered if that was what happened with Sheila.
Jerry remembered Morris Gardener’s fiancee well. She was attractive and confident with a healthy sense of humor that kept her lectures fresh. She had the ability to remember almost every student’s name, and those damned sexy red lips-it hadn’t taken long for Jerry to form a little crush on her, another tiny detail he’d refrained from mentioning to Morris. Jerry rather liked his face and didn’t want Morris’s ham fist breaking it.
Had Sheila Tao been a sex addict back then? It was hard to picture, but it just proved that people were almost never who they seemed. Everybody had secrets.
Ethan Wolfe’s office was at the end of the hall. Jerry hadn’t called in advance to let the TA know he was coming. People’s reactions after the initial surprise were always telling.
The door was open and Jerry paused in the doorway. Wolfe was at his desk, typing studiously on his keyboard, eyes focused on the computer monitor in front of him. The office was nothing to write home about. A desk, a computer, two chairs, and a bookshelf stuffed with textbooks. Beige paint on the walls, a plastic plant in one corner. A Seahawks bobblehead sat on the desk beside the computer, nodding at nothing.
Jerry stood for a moment to observe the younger man, who didn’t appear to notice he was being watched. Wolfe didn’t look like a particularly small guy, but Morris had to outweigh him by at least seventy pounds. Not a smart move on the kid’s part, getting involved with Sheila.
Jerry cleared his throat.
Wolfe, without looking up, said, “Be right with you.” The student’s fingers continued to type out words Jerry couldn’t see from where he was standing. It seemed everyone under thirty could type nowadays, Jerry thought, noting Wolfe’s perfect hand position at the keyboard. In his day, only secretaries could type.
The bobblehead nodded in rhythm to Wolfe’s movements, and the spring in its neck produced a squeaking sound that didn’t take long to get on Jerry’s nerves. He resisted the urge to reach out and make it still. Not that he was easily distracted, but damned if that bouncing head wasn’t annoying as hell.
Standing politely in the doorway, he waited for Wolfe to finish. Finally the younger man looked up. His handsome face displayed genuine surprise to see the tall black man watching him.
“Can I help you?” Wolfe asked, standing up. Jerry noticed that his eyes, a striking pale gray, were rimmed with red. Fatigue, or staring at the computer screen too long? Or something else? His face had a hollow look, but since Jerry had never met this kid before, he couldn’t tell if this was normal or not.
“Jerry Isaac.” He eased into the little office and slid a business card across the desk. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m here to ask you some questions about Dr. Sheila Tao.”
Wolfe shook his hand. “I didn’t think you looked like a student, but you never know, do you? I’m Ethan Wolfe, but you look like you already know that.”
“Mind if I sit?”
“Please.” Wolfe looked over Jerry’s card. “Private investigator, huh? The police were just here last week. Kind of freaked everybody out. We thought Dr. Tao left for personal reasons, but they made it sound like something bad happened. Are you working with them, or did the family hire you?”
Jerry smiled. “Yes to both,” he replied, the answer rolling smoothly off his tongue. “I’m just here to follow up.”
“But I thought the police weren’t concerned about Dr. Tao.” Wolfe seemed confused. “We called them for an update a couple of days ago and they told us they’d closed the investigation. Confirmed that she’d left of her own accord.”
“That’s why the family hired me. To look into it a bit further. Police investigations aren’t always as thorough as my clients would like. Thank God for that, or I’d be out of business.” Jerry chuckled. “I understand you’ve been working with the professor for about a year now.”
“This is-was-my third semester with her, yeah.”
“Anything you can tell me about her?”
“Like what?”
“Does her sudden disappearance surprise you?”
“Disappearance?” Wolfe repeated. He rocked back in his chair and appraised the private investigator coolly. “They’re no longer calling it an absence?”
Jerry waved a hand. “Just words. Does her absence strike you as weird?”
“Totally. She’s not the kind of person to just take off. She was very organized, very meticulous about her schedule.”
“Rigid.”
Wolfe looked thoughtful. “No, not rigid. She would make time for anybody. She’d often meet with students outside her regular office hours, and I don’t know many professors who did that. But she was very particular about getting things done, very committed to her work. So, yeah, I’d say it’s surprising for her to just up and leave.”
“She didn’t say anything to you that might have hinted this was coming?”
“No. Why would she tell me?”
Jerry’s gaze didn’t waver. “Why do you think she left?”
“I have no idea. I couldn’t say.”
“If you could speculate…”
“I don’t speculate.”
Jerry chuckled again. “So you’re telling me that you guys-you and the other TAs-haven’t sat around talking about why you think she’s gone? Come on now, Mr. Wolfe. You’re a psychologist in training. Isn’t that just human
