In the Belly of Jonah (19 page)

She was perfect. Awakening was ready for her photo shoot.

He threw the foundation bottle, lipstick, and used cotton balls on the floor. He would clean up later. For now, he would enjoy the moment, bask in his own glory, revel in his superiority and artistry—snapping picture after picture after picture.

Some photos scattered across the desk in the living room caught his eye. A quick glance outside showed it was safe, so he decided to take a short detour through the FBI’s collection of reports and news clippings. A few quick taps on the keyboard and up popped the document Awakening had been composing right before he had surprised her with a visit. His eyes scanned the computer screen. A slash of a smile split his face just before he punched the delete button.

“Smart girl. As in death, in life you were merely seconds before awakening to the truth of me.”

STREETER’S LUCK WAS CHANGING.

He had had a great afternoon so far and was looking forward to having a successful night, considering that he was going to spend it in bars. Four bars in particular. He hoped to come across the crowd of kids that, according to roommate Kari and sister Julia, Jill hung around with every Saturday night, and he also hoped to find out more about this guy named Jonah if any of them knew him.

But for now, Streeter was sitting at a coffee shop eating a quick bite while he reviewed his notes from his earlier interviews. He had called Henry to see if she would join him, but she hadn’t returned his call yet. He turned his wrist to check the time, gathered his notes, and headed off to his next appointment.

Rebecca Pembroke had agreed to meet Streeter on campus in her office at one thirty. Jill’s academic adviser had been helpful, sharing information with him about the one independent study and one class Jill had been taking that summer, and the four courses she had taken during the previous spring semester. Ms. Pembroke had given him the class schedules, the buildings and room numbers, the names of the professors who taught each class, along with the names of any TAs. Streeter had shown his age by asking Ms. Pembroke what a TA was, and he learned it was an abbreviation for teaching assistant, often a graduate student who was earning both credit and cash by helping to teach. The adviser had also given him the RA’s—residence assistant’s—name and dormitory room number; the contact information for the coach, assistant coach, and athletic director of the women’s basketball team; and all the names of every student in Jill’s classes, on her dormitory floor, and on the basketball team.

Even though it was a Saturday, Streeter had found and interviewed eighteen of the twenty-one coeds living on Jill’s floor. Only eight of them knew her much more than by name or as a casual acquaintance. After spending two hours with those eight young women and Nicole, Jill’s RA, Streeter was starting to get a good picture of Jill Brannigan. He’d also been able to question Jill’s biology professor for an hour, as well as the basketball coach, Pat Beck, for about thirty minutes. Coach Beck was arranging for Streeter to meet with the entire team and coaching staff at the gym the next day. It was clear to Streeter that the halo that Jill’s family and roommate had hung on top of her angelic head seemed to be justified.

He suspected that image would be confirmed when he met with Jill’s art, computer science, and journalism professors on Monday. He would try calling them at home tomorrow on the outside chance one of them would take the time to meet with him on a Sunday.

He collected his notes and headed off toward his last stop on campus for the day. Jill’s statistics professor’s office was in the Mathematics Building, third floor, fourth office on the right. She had answered his call and said she happened to be working that day because of publishing deadlines. Publish or perish. Dr. Yolanda Fischer was oxymoronic: She was large and exotic, approachable and prickly.

“Zachary Rhodes,”she was saying. “The boy who was all lovesick puppy around Jill Brannigan is Zack Rhodes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” she said. “The kid was crazy about her. Jockeyed to find the closest open seat to wherever she sat. Made excuses to talk with her. Paid no attention to my lectures, just sat and stared at Jill.”

It would be difficult not to stare at Dr. Fischer, Streeter thought. She had the proportions of Ursula, the sea witch, but with dark skin and honey blonde hair. Nothing seemed to fit, yet it worked for her.

“And what about Jill?”

“Straight A’s, studious. Statistics is—was—a breeze for her. Sorry, this whole situation with Jill. It’s all so unreal.”She cleared her throat. “She knew Zack and talked with him, was nice to him, but didn’t see him in the same way he saw her. I could tell by her body language, how she pretended not to notice him, by the way she was polite toward him but not overly friendly.”

“How was Zack as a student?”

She shrugged. “This was a fairly easy class for Zack, too, although I wouldn’t have expected any less.”

“What do you mean?”

“Zack’s a graduate student. This was a class he didn’t need for his program and had probably already taken in an undergraduate program somewhere.”

“So why was he taking the class?”

Her basslike mouth pouted. “You ask me, I think it was to stay close to Jill. Bad crush. Really bad.”

“How bad? Like stalking or I’m-going-to-have-to-kill-you bad?”

She shook her head. “No. Not that bad. More like annoying. Lost-puppy-dog bad. You know what I mean.”

“Earlier you thought Zack might be part of Jill’s circle of friends that she spends time with on occasion. What made you think that, if she tried to avoid him?” Streeter asked.

“I never said she avoided him. Just ignored his advances, or maybe I should say she artfully deflected his attentions toward her.”

“Well put. I understand.”

“As to your question about the friendship, my classroom was rather small. And not many students take this level of statistics, particularly athletes. As the kids congregate in my classroom, I normally sit at my desk and pretend to do paperwork or read. Sometimes, it’s more than pretending. The kids talk among themselves and I can hear their conversations.”

She winced, listening to her own confession, and caught Streeter’s attention. “It’s not like I’m eavesdropping or anything. I do have a life of my own and am not some weird prof living vicariously through my students like some professors do around here. I’m just a geeky stats professor trying to be better at my job. It interests me to know what the kids talk about each year so I can stay current with how to motivate them, make analogies, relate the material to their worlds.”

Dr. Fischer’s cheeks reddened when Streeter threw her a lifeline. “I bet the kids appreciate your efforts, even if they aren’t aware that you’re observing them.”

“Jill Brannigan, Zack Rhodes, and Micah Piquette were always talking about their plans, their friends, where they were going. The other two would plead with Jill to break away from the team for a few hours to spend time with ‘the gang.’That’s what they called themselves.”

“The gang?”

“Yeah. I got the impression they had a study group of sorts that carried beyond the library and out to the bars each week.”

“What would Jill Brannigan have in common with a bunch of art students?”

Dr. Fischer chuckled. “You mean a jock amid the artsy? I wondered about that too, until I found out that Jill and Shelby Goodman had been what Shelby called ‘BFFs’ ever since they had arrived at CSU.”

“BFFs?” Streeter asked.

“Best friends forever,” Dr. Fischer said with a smile. “The world of texting has forced me to learn the acronyms.”

Streeter gave a nod.

“Jill was not jocklike in any way. She was fairly shy, actually. Compliant. So I suspect she frequently acquiesced to whatever Shelby suggested, which was likely how Jill ended up in the art clique.”

Streeter mulled that over and wondered if de Milo preyed on compliant victims. “Ever hear Jill or the others mention someone named Jonah?”

Dr. Fischer shook her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell, but I didn’t know all the kids’ names. Sounded to me like there were at least a dozen or so that made up their gang. Have you talked with Dr. Bravo yet?”

“The computer science teacher?” Streeter guessed, not remembering which class he had seen the professor’s name associated with on the list Rebecca Pembroke had given him earlier.

“Jill’s art teacher,” Dr. Fischer said. “That’s the class she’s taking this semester. Sculpting. I think that’s where all the gang hooked up with one another. They had all taken a class with Dr. Bravo at one time or another. I think they were all in the same class this spring, if I recall.”

“Tell me about Dr. Bravo.”

Dr. Fischer added, “He’s a popular teacher. Well liked. His art classes are an elective many of the students here at CSU take. Mostly because of Dr. Bravo’s reputation. He really makes classes interesting for the kids and teaches a lot about the artists behind the art. Many undergrads take his classes for several semesters because they enjoy him so much.”

Dr. Fischer’s words were kind, but her expression was harsh. Streeter asked, “You don’t seem to agree.”

“Well, let’s just say his teaching techniques are a bit . . . unconventional.”

“How so?”

She stretched back in her chair and adjusted the colorful tunic that had crept under her ample breast by ironing it flat over her belly with her large hands.

“For starters, he holds class out in the courtyard on sunny days, in the library on others. When he is in the classroom, he lets them watch movies, like
Amadeus
. I hear all about it from kids like Zack, Jill, and Micah as they gather for my class. And he lets the kids call him by his first name. They all call him Dr. Jay.”

Streeter sensed a hint of jealousy in her tone.

“And worst of all, he fraternizes with his students.”

“How so?” Streeter encouraged.

“He goes to bars with them, goes to the library on weekends, hangs out with them whenever he can. Even dates a few of the students on occasion, or so I’ve heard.”Dr. Fischer blushed again. Streeter was beginning to think Dr. Yolanda Fischer was a bit prim despite her sexually alluring appearance.

“Do you think he dated Jill?”

She shook her head. “Zack would have killed him.” She slapped her hand over her mouth. “That was such a stupid choice of words. When I say Zack would kill Dr. Jay, I don’t mean that literally, of course; just a figure of speech. Zack was protective of Jill and wasn’t a fan of Dr. Jay’s, even though he was the TA for the sculpting class this summer. I heard Zack and Micah talking this week in my advanced statistics class about Dr. Jay and a student named Trina, or Trisha, when they weren’t all consumed about Jill’s murder and this horrible de Milo character.”

“Isn’t it against some code of conduct for a professor to fraternize or act inappropriately with his students?” Streeter asked.

“Of course, but how are you going to prove something like that? He’s going to get away with it until one of those bimbos wises up and files a complaint against him. So far, he must be treating them well, because he’s like a celebrity, a rock star around here.”

“Do you think Jill would have been one of the bimbos?”

Dr. Fischer shook her head. “Jill wasn’t that way at all. She was different. I told you how she treated Zack with patience and kindness while staying firm. She wouldn’t have crossed that line with Dr. Jay Bravo despite his dashing looks and slick tongue.”

It was Streeter’s turn to blush. He may have misunderstood what he had earlier taken to be Dr. Fischer’s jealousy of Dr. Bravo. Maybe she wasn’t jealous of the students liking his class more than hers. Maybe she was jealous that he hadn’t made a play for her. Streeter noticed there was no ring on her left hand.

“How could Dr. Bravo get by all these years as a professor here at CSU and not have one student file a complaint?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, I should have told you. Dr. Bravo arrived at CSU just last year. He moved here from Florida. He’s part Cuban or something. Couldn’t be more than thirty or thirty-five. He’s a real looker.”

Dr. Fischer looked away, shuffled some papers on her desk, and glanced up at the clock. “Oh, forgive me, Agent Pierce, but I have another appointment I must be dashing off to. Anything else I can help you with?”