Three-Ways: A Detectives Seagate and Miner Mystery Page 17

  “So you were out in the living room? With this guy? The two of you?”

  She looked up at me and stuck her chin out. “That’s right.”

  “What’s this guy’s name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When we track him down, what’s he gonna say you were doing?”

  “Fooling around.”

  “You had sex with him?”

  “That’s none of your fuckin’ business.”

  “Let’s get this straight, Tiffany. I don’t give a shit about you fucking Brian and Austin and this guy you don’t even know his name. As many times as you want. You can fuck one of them at a time, two at a time, or all three together. The only thing I care about is if you stopped by Austin’s place around midnight and strangled him.”

  She shook her head. “The two guys had some weed. I was completely wrecked. I think I sucked him off. I might’ve fucked him. I can’t remember. Maybe the other guy, too. So, if you’re asking me if I have an alibi, the two guys will say I was there at Emily’s place. I know I couldn’t’ve drove over to Austin’s, the shape I was in. Wouldn’t have even tried. I got a DUI last year, and my parents were all up my ass about it. I’m not an idiot.

  “Besides,” she said, “I was over at Austin’s place earlier. If I’d wanted to kill him—which I didn’t—I’d’ve did it then.” She looked at me, then at Ryan. “You two geniuses ever consider that?”

  I nodded my head. “We’ll be in touch if we want to talk to you again.”

  “Can’t fuckin’ wait.” She stood up, pushed her phone into her jeans pocket, and crashed her way through the tables and chairs at the Starbucks.

  I looked at Ryan. “Well, genius, did you ever consider that?”

  Ryan smiled. “To tell you the truth—”

  “Yes, that would be a refreshing change.”

  “The fact that she could’ve killed Austin earlier doesn’t mean she couldn’t have killed him later.”

  “You mean she knew Austin would probably be nailing someone later on, so she wanted to contaminate the scene more by getting more DNA on his dick?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Tiffany lives in the present tense. Two guys come over with some weed, she smokes it, starts giggling. Next thing you know, she’s got her clothes off. No, I don’t buy her reasoning because it simply doesn’t logically follow that she didn’t kill him later because she didn’t kill him earlier.”

  “Well, you put it that way …” I rubbed my forehead. “What the hell did you just say?”

  He laughed. “All I said is she doesn’t have an alibi. It might be true that she could have killed him at seven, but maybe the conditions weren’t right. Or maybe she didn’t want to kill him then. She just wanted to screw him then.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But you’re saying you think she didn’t kill him at all, right?”

  “That’s right. It’s not that she couldn’t have killed him. It’s that she didn’t want to kill him. She doesn’t hold a grudge—especially if there’s a dick involved.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You want to track down the guys with the weed?”

  I thought for a second. “Not at the moment.” I drank a few gulps of coffee. We sat there, silently, for a little bit.

  “We haven’t checked to see who her current English teacher is, have we?” Ryan said.

  I nodded. “You thinking it might be May?”

  “If it turns out to be May, that would be interesting. Otherwise, I don’t see any reason to keep going at Tiffany. My gut tells me that what makes Tiffany such a skank is what doesn’t make her a murderer.”

  “Like when she said she wouldn’t have driven over to Austin’s because she was wrecked?”

  “That’s right,” Ryan said. “Her parents were all over her about it. Morally, she’s an eight-year-old. She thinks in terms of rewards and punishments. She stays out of trouble, she incurs no punishment. She kills someone, she risks the biggest punishment of all.”

  “No more dick?”

  “Sure, no more dick.”

  “Can you look up and see if May is Tiffany’s teacher?”

  He reached over and fished the tablet out of his briefcase. “Give me a minute.” It was more like forty-five seconds. “No, Tiffany’s instructor is Haley, Jennifer, not Eberlein, May.”

  “We’re running out of women to track down.” I looked down at the dregs of the coffee in my paper cup. “Maybe Haley, Jennifer was nailing him, too.”

  “What about Suzannah Montgomery?”

  I looked up at Ryan. “I thought you said she was too old.”

  “No,” he said, “she wasn’t doing him. But she’s the one who told us about his father running out and his mother dying of cancer, right? Maybe she can help us with why he was donating to cerebral palsy.”

  “Okay, let’s go back to campus and see if we can track her down.” We stood up and squeezed our way between the tables. I tossed my cup in a garbage can near the door. “Maybe I’ll get a chance to ask her if she was nailing Austin, too.”

  He pointed with his chin to two young women working the machines. “How about the baristas? Want to ask them if they were nailing him, too?”

  Chapter 21

  We walked the thirty yards to the lot where the Charger was parked. I started it up and we made the five-minute drive to campus, where we parked in the lot at the Humanities Building.

  “What’s her office number?” We were on the third floor.

  “It’s up here,” Ryan said, pointing down the hall. “314.”

  I looked in the window in her door. The lights were on, and the computer screen was lit, but she wasn’t in. I tried the door; it was locked. “Let’s go to the main office, see if they know where she is.”

  The department secretary greeted us. “Can I help you, Detectives?”

  “We’re looking for Suzannah Montgomery. She’s still on campus, but she’s not in her office.”

  The secretary put on a pained expression. “Suzannah had to rush home.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s her son, Adam. He had a seizure.”

  “Does that happen a lot?”

  “I think it does. He has cerebral palsy. Sometimes it’s mild, and his caregivers can handle it. Other times it’s severe. He panics and starts screaming.” She shook her head. “It’s just terrible.”

  “Is Professor Van Vleet in?” Ryan said.

  The secretary turned to him, wearing a confused look. “Let me see if he’s available.” She walked toward the chair’s office, tapped on the door, and stuck her head in. She was back in ten seconds. “Yes, he can see you.”

  Jonathan Van Vleet was standing at the door to his office. “Come on in,” he said, gesturing for us to sit.

  “We’re sorry to barge in like this,” Ryan said as we sat down. “But your secretary was just telling us about Suzannah Montgomery having to go home to take care of her son.”

  “I didn’t know he was having a problem,” Van Vleet said. “What Suzannah does … she’s just terrific with that boy.”

  “Adam has cerebral palsy, is that right?”

  “Yes, he’s the sweetest little boy.” Jonathan Van Vleet paused. “Is there something I can help you with, I mean, related to Suzannah?”

  “We were hoping she could help us with our investigation,” Ryan said.

  Van Vleet tilted his head, telling Ryan to continue. I didn’t know where Ryan was going, but I know him well enough to get out of the way when he wants to lead an interview.

  “We wanted to ask her if she could help us by suggesting the names of any other people who Austin Sulenka associated with.”

  “Did you have a chance to talk with that freshman, the one he was involved with last semester?”

  “Yes,” Ryan said. “Yes, we did. That was very helpful. And we’ve talked with his former girlfriend, May Eberlein, and a few other people.”

  “Presumably, you’ve hit some kind of barrier.”

  Ryan n
odded. “We can’t go into any details—I’m sure you understand—but we’re trying to find out more about his associates.”

  Van Vleet put out his hands. “I’m sorry, I really can’t tell you any more than I’ve already told you about Austin. He and I weren’t close.”

  “One of the things we learned about Austin is that he donated money to United Cerebral Palsy. Were you aware of that?”

  Okay, I thought. Now I knew where Ryan is going.

  Van Vleet looked puzzled. “No, I didn’t know that.” He ran his fingers through his beard, like he was still getting used to it. “You mean he gave them a small donation, twenty-five dollars or something like that?”

  “He gave them quite a bit of money. Many hundreds of dollars, in regular donations every few months. In fact, he used to sell his plasma and sperm to bring in extra income.”

  “That’s a side of him I didn’t know.”

  Ryan held his gaze but said nothing. He was waiting.

  Then, the bulb went on in Van Vleet’s head. “Do you think he was donating that money because of Suzannah Montgomery’s child?”

  Ryan shrugged his shoulders. “It could be,” he said. “Does that strike you as unusual?”

  Van Vleet sat back in his chair. “Yes, it certainly does. And I’d add extremely generous.”

  “Professor Montgomery’s child is about how old?”

  “I’m just guessing. Ten or twelve.”

  Ryan nodded his head but didn’t say anything for the longest time. “Do you think there might have been a relationship between Austin and Suzannah Montgomery? I mean, something that went beyond the adviser-student relationship?”

  Jonathan Van Vleet stood and walked over to the door. He closed it, then pushed on it to make sure the latch had caught. Back in his chair, he frowned. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of a stretch? I mean, from his donating money to a charity?”

  “Well, it suggests that maybe they were social friends.” Ryan paused. I could tell he was setting up the interrogation. “Does Suzannah bring her son to campus much?”

  “No,” Van Vleet said. “I’ve never seen her do that.”

  “It’s possible, then, that Austin has been to her house. You know, for a cookout or something. It stands to reason Austin might have met her son there.”

  “Yes, of course, Suzannah’s a very outgoing person. She’s friendly with all the grad students—and a number of our undergraduates, too. And she does have a lot of social events at her house. In fact, she’s volunteered her house for a number of our Fall socials for the department.”

  Ryan nodded his head again.

  Van Vleet looked uncomfortable. He ran his hand through his beard. “I’m sorry, I thought for a moment you were suggesting that they might have had some kind of intimate relationship.” He offered an embarrassed smile.

  Ryan was doing a good job. It’s best to let the interviewee connect the dots himself. That way, he doesn’t automatically reject the idea because it came from a cop.

  “We really have no idea, Professor. It’s only been a day and a half since we began the investigation.”

  “I have to tell you: I haven’t seen any indication that something like that might have been going on.”

  Ryan nodded. “Like you told us yesterday, a relationship like that would violate the terms of her contract.”

  “Oh, absolutely. She could be fired. Immediately. In fact, I would expect it.”

  “So you don’t know of any relationships like that here on campus?”

  “No,” he said. “Nothing like that. There are personal relationships—marriages, in fact—between faculty and their former graduate students. For the most part, however, the former students have finished their programs and left the university. Certainly they are no longer students who might be subject to exams or thesis review by the faculty member.” He was using his official tone. “The regulations on that are crystal-clear.”

  “We do know, however, that Austin was carrying on an inappropriate relationship with a student.”

  Van Vleet put up a hand and tilted his head. “Yes, yes, that is very true. But I ask that you consider he was twenty-four years old, just a few years older than the student. He was relatively new to the profession. Hadn’t had a chance to think through his responsibilities. I remember, when I began my own career, now many years ago, that it was a very heady experience walking in front of that classroom. All those faces looking at you. Some of the girls—you could see from their body language, their expressions—they saw the instructor as … how should I say this? … a kind of authority figure, but—no, that’s not the term I’m looking for. It’s not like they saw the instructor as a police officer. More as if the instructor had earned the right to open doors for them—”

  “What kind of doors, Professor?”

  “An English teacher simply comes across as more refined, more cultured. He can introduce the students to literature, the arts, humanities.” His forehead was starting to shine a little bit. “It’s tied up with the gender roles in our culture, in a way.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “The older male introduces the younger student to the habits, the perspectives, the ways of doing that the student needs to understand in order to become proficient in the … the whole enterprise of college.”

  “Wow,” I said. “It does sound kind of sexual, the way you put it.”

  Van Vleet turned to me. “I am not condoning the relationship between Austin and that freshman, mind you. I want to be very clear about that.”

  “Of course not.” I shook my head. What a preposterous idea.

  “And some students are fully aware of this dynamic—the symbolic sexual initiation. I wouldn’t be surprised if that student was exploiting it, in fact. Her admission, in the disciplinary hearing, that she wanted a higher grade could be seen as an admission of that. I’m saying, simply, that while Austin’s actions were inappropriate, that sort of thing has been going on as long as women have been in the academy. That doesn’t excuse it, of course.”

  “That sexual dynamic,” Ryan said, “do you think it occurs in the other direction: a female instructor and a male student?”

  “Yes, I think it does. The power relationship is the same, even though the gender roles are reversed. But in a way, it’s essentially the same thing: a more-knowledgeable, more-experienced teacher initiating a less-knowledgeable, less-experienced student.”

  “But I imagine there is a difference. After all, a graduate student is older than an undergraduate. The whole notion of in loco parentis no longer applies.”

  “That’s very true,” the professor said. “But the same dynamic could be at work.”

  Ryan can do a lot of things I can’t do. Getting a professor to stumble so far into a theoretical discussion that he forgets what he’s trying to do and ends up telling us what he really thinks—he’s much better at that than I am.

  “You say you’ve been over at Suzannah Montgomery’s house,” Ryan said. “For department functions?”

  “Yes,” Van Vleet said. “Many times. For department functions, as well as informal dinners. My wife, Lauren, and I consider Suzannah and Aaron personal friends.”

  “What can you tell us about Aaron?”

  “He’s a wonderful man. He founded an organization called Rivers United. It’s an environmental group.”

  “Oh, yes,” Ryan said. “I’ve heard of it.”

  “I think he’s an architect by training, but the environmental stuff has kind of taken over his life. He did well enough as an architect to be able to pursue the activism almost full-time, I believe.”

  “And the relationship between Suzannah and Aaron?”

  “Well, given the obvious caveat that one person cannot ever truly know another person—or that person’s relationships—my impression is that their marriage is quite strong. I know he takes his role as father very seriously. Raising Adam requires a considerable amount of time and patience, and I believe he takes that commitment very s
eriously. They both do, Aaron and Suzannah.”

  “My father is a professor,” Ryan said. “I know that the hours can be tough, particularly when you have graduate seminars, thesis committees, reference letters. All of it.”

  Van Vleet nodded and smiled sadly. One comment that everyone seems to agree with is, “Boy, you’ve got a really hard job.” You tell a beach bum you don’t envy him, what with having to drink all that beer, smoke all those cigarettes, and hit up all those strangers for spare change, he’ll nod and say you don’t know the half of it.

  Ryan continued. “With all her commitments to Adam, does anything ever fall through the cracks here at work?”

  Van Vleet’s cheeks puffed out and he exhaled slowly. “I’ve spent my whole career in academe,” he said, shifting in his chair. “The typical professor goes through phases. Sometimes they’re a little more absentminded than at other times. And, to be frank, Suzannah does need a little more prodding than some other faculty. You know, routine paperwork, that sort of thing. But the staff all love her—all the things she does for our students—and they make sure to remind her if she’s late on something.”

  “Has this problem ever made it to your desk?”

  “I will mention one incident. Six or seven years ago, I think. I wasn’t chair at the time, but I know from conversations with the former chair that it did occur. I mention it because many of the other senior faculty know about it, and I don’t want you to hear about it from one of them without the benefit of the context. But I’m absolutely confident it was a result of some stresses at home. I’m certain of it—”

  “What happened, Professor?” Ryan said, leaning in. He had picked up the scent. He’d realized that Van Vleet’s reason for leveling with us about Suzannah was the same as Tiffany’s reason for telling us about how she was really in town Sunday night to fuck Austin: since other people knew about it, we might find out, and that wouldn’t look too good.

  “She was coming up for tenure and promotion—you know what I’m referring to, correct?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Our process here is quite baroque. We have a department committee that makes recommendations on tenure and promotion. Those recommendations go to the department chair, who sends a recommendation to a college-level committee, which sends its own recommendation to the college dean. He or she recommends to the provost, who issues a recommendation to the university president. The president makes a recommendation to the state board of education.” He raised his eyebrows. “Just describing it now, it sounds incredible.”