Power of Suggestion (5 page)

So far, Dave wasn't giving Nancy anything new to go on. “Think carefully, Dave. Did you see anyone else at all in or around the building?”

Dave wrinkled his brow and clasped his hands behind his head. Then his eyes lit up. “Come to
think of it, there
was
someone. He was going in as we were leaving!”

“Who was it?” Ned asked urgently.

“Just some bald middle-aged guy in an overcoat. I never saw him before—figured he was a professor,” Dave answered.

“I'm sure that some of the professors fit that description,” Ned said thoughtfully. “Maybe we should look through the faculty photos in a yearbook.”

“Dr. Cohen is balding,” Bess put in.

“You mean from the infirmary?” Dave asked. “He does the team physicals. It wasn't him.”

Bess frowned. “I wonder who it was, then?” she asked. “I mean, if he was still in the building, he could be a witness!”

“Or a killer—don't rule that out,” Nancy added grimly. “Dave, keep an eye out for that man, okay?”

Dave promised he would, then got up to go. “I don't want to be late for class,” he said. He was heading for the closet when Nancy stopped him.

“Oh, Dave. You said there were three girls in the group.”

“Yeah, pretty ones, too,” he replied, grinning. “One of them isn't on campus right now—her father died. The other two are roommates, Janis Seymour and Diana DeMarco. They live over in Packard.”

“That's where we're staying,” Bess said.

“Diana DeMarco,” Nancy repeated, searching her memory. “Wasn't she the girl who stopped
Wayne in the student union last night?” she asked Ned.

Ned snapped his fingers. “That's right! She seemed pretty angry with him, too.”

“I think we'd better talk to Janis and Diana next,” Nancy declared.

• • •

“I hope they're here,” Bess said later that morning. She and Nancy were standing in the first floor hall of Packard, knocking on the door to Room 106. Ned had gone to class, leaving the two girls to investigate on their own. After walking to the dorm, they had gotten the number of Janis and Diana's room from the directory inside the entrance.

A few moments after Bess knocked, the door opened, and a slim, pretty girl peered out. Although it was late morning, she still wore a bathrobe, and her short black hair was uncombed. She had enormous brown eyes, which were rimmed with red, as though she'd been crying.

The girl sniffled, then asked, “Yes?”

This definitely wasn't the brunette Nancy had seen with Wayne at the student union. “Janis Seymour?” Nancy guessed.

“Yes. And you are . . . ?”

Nancy quickly introduced herself and Bess, then said, “We're friends of Parker Wright. Would you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

“You know Parker?” Janis's brown eyes widened. “Then this must be about Wayne.” As she
gestured for Nancy and Bess to enter, tears slipped down Janis's cheeks.

Nancy glanced around as she entered the room. The walls were covered with posters, and bottles and tubes were scattered across the dresser tops. There were two desks, both covered with books and papers. A laptop computer sat on one desk, and a small electronic typewriter was on the other.

“Sorry about the mess,” Janis said with a wave of her hand. She sat on one of the beds, while Bess pulled up a desk chair and Nancy leaned against a desk.

“I guess you've heard about Wayne Perkins's death,” Nancy said, getting down to business.

Janis nodded. “Everyone was talking about it in the hall. I've been a wreck ever since I heard!”

“I guess word travels fast, huh?” Bess said.

“It's a small school—it's hard to keep secrets here,” Janis agreed. “I've never seen you two around, though. Are you students here?”

“No, we're just up for the weekend. I'm trying to learn a little about Wayne,” Nancy explained.

“Nancy's a detective,” Bess explained.

Nancy shot her friend a warning look. She had learned that it was often better not to announce being a detective when she was on a case.

“A detective?” Janis echoed, a doubtful expression on her face. “I don't know what to tell you. They say Parker killed Wayne, but that's impossible, isn't it? I mean, I know they had some arguments, but Parker's so nice.”

“What about Wayne?” Nancy asked.

Janis smiled. “He was a really sweet guy. Half the girls on campus had crushes on him.”

“Really?” Bess asked, arching a brow. “I thought people didn't like him.”

“He acted tough, and he was a hard grader, but that was just because he had high standards,” Janis said defensively. “He'd do anything to help if he thought a student was trying. And he was so good looking—but so mysterious!”

“Mysterious?” Nancy asked, her ears perking up.

Janis nodded. “He wouldn't talk about where he came from or about his life before coming here. But he made it sound as if he'd had things tough.”

Mmm, thought Nancy, maybe someone from his past had caught up with him. “What about your roommate,” Nancy asked. “How well did she know Wayne?”

Janis's friendly attitude suddenly vanished. It was as if a curtain had dropped between her and Nancy. “Diana? You'll have to ask her,” Janis said coolly.

Nancy and Bess exchanged a questioning glance. “Do you know where she is?” Bess asked.

“I suppose she's at class. I really couldn't tell you.” She eyed them suspiciously. “How do I know you're really a detective? You don't look like one. Maybe you're just a couple of morbid snoops! I think you should leave now.”

Nancy could see that it would be useless to
question Janis any further. As Nancy and Bess headed toward the door, Nancy said, “When you see Diana, could you please tell her we'd like to talk to her? We're staying upstairs in Room two-twenty-seven. Or she can call Omega Chi and leave a message for me there.”

Janis's only response was a withering look.

“Boy, she sure iced up all of a sudden,” Bess said once they'd left the room and were out in the hallway.

Nancy frowned. “That's for sure. It happened as soon as we brought up Diana DeMarco. I wish we could talk to Diana, but since we can't, I'll settle for Professor Edberg. Maybe he can shed more light on Parker's problems with Wayne.”

Seeing a pay phone, Nancy used it to call the psychology department for the professor's schedule. “He's getting out of class in about five minutes,” she told Bess, hanging up. “Let's go!”

Nancy started for the door, but Bess held her back. “Wait—I just want to call the fraternity to see if Parker's okay.” Bess got the number from information, then dialed.

“Can I speak with Parker?” Bess asked. A moment later, Nancy saw her friend's face pale. “What do you mean he's not there? Where did he go?”

“What is it, Bess? What's wrong?” Nancy asked.

In response, Bess handed her the phone. Nancy quickly pressed the receiver to her ear.

“Hello? Bess?”

Nancy recognized Howie Little's deep voice. “Hi, Howie—it's me, Nancy. What's going on?”

“I was telling Bess that Parker's lawyer called with some bad news, and Parker ran out of here.”

“What do you mean, bad news? How bad?”

“Real bad. Apparently Edberg said some terrible things about him to the police, but that's not the worst of it. The police traced the gun that killed Wayne,” Howie explained. “It was registered to Parker's father!”

N
ANCY COULD HARDLY
believe her ears. Her mind was buzzing as she thanked Howie and hung up the phone. The gun was yet another clue that implicated Parker.

“Nancy? What else did Howie say?”

Nancy blinked, then realized that her friend was looking at her expectantly. When Nancy told her about the gun, Bess grabbed Nancy's arm.

“But that still doesn't prove he killed Wayne! I'm sure he's innocent!” Bess protested.

“The gun could have been stolen by someone other than Parker,” Nancy said. Still, she had a feeling it wasn't going to be easy to prove that to the police.

“So what do we do now?” Bess asked.

Nancy shrugged. “We keep following whatever leads we get. Let's go talk to Dr. Edberg.”

It was a sunny day, but the air was crisp and cold as they walked across campus to the psychology building. Nancy was glad that they'd worn jeans and warm sweaters under their down parkas.

When they reached the three-story stone building, the girls consulted the directory. There were classrooms and labs on the first and second floors, and faculty offices on the third. Nancy and Bess climbed up the stairs to the third floor, arriving at the professor's office just as he was returning from class. Nancy recognized Edberg from having seen him that morning. As he unlocked his office door, she and Bess intercepted him.

“Professor Edberg, may we have a few moments of your time?” Nancy asked.

Edberg turned to her with a smile. “Why certainly,” he answered. “I'm sorry, I don't recognize you. Are you in one of my classes?”

Nancy thought quickly. He didn't remember passing them on the courthouse steps that morning. That was good. He might be reluctant to talk with them if he knew the girls were friends of Parker. “No, we're reporters from the student newspaper,” she lied.

Edberg scowled. “I'm sorry, young lady, I've already given a statement to the press. Didn't your editor tell you that?”

Nancy didn't miss a beat. “Of course, Professor. But it's not the murder we want to ask you about. The editor-in-chief thought a background piece explaining your work might be helpful. But if it's too much trouble . . .” She gave him a downcast look, then started to turn away.

Edberg's expression immediately softened. “No, no, certainly not. It's always a pleasure to talk about my work. Please, come in.”

The walls of his small, comfortable office were lined with bookshelves and filing cabinets. There was barely enough room for the professor's desk and two wooden chairs. As the girls sat in the chairs he explained, “I'm afraid I'm on edge over this horrible business. Wayne Perkins was more than a student to me. He was a protégé—almost a son. I've taken his death quite hard. When I learned that one of my undergraduate students was to blame, well . . .” The professor sighed and leaned back in the desk chair.

Nancy took a pen and notepad out of her purse and began to write. She wanted to make the reporter act convincing. “I understand Parker Wright was in a special study group?” she prodded.

“Yes. He seemed like such a nice kid, although I knew he was troubled. You see, he was under a great deal of pressure from his parents, and he just couldn't meet their expectations. But I never imagined he would crack so violently!

“It's so tragic,” the professor went on. “The police do seem certain they have their killer . . .
although, of course, the investigation is continuing. I hear they've been interviewing people on campus all morning. I gave my statement earlier—they needed me to identify the body. Terrible . . .”

Edberg had been looking off behind the girls, as though he were thinking out loud rather than addressing them. Now he refocused on Nancy and Bess, saying, “I'm sorry. I said I wouldn't talk about the killing, and here I am doing just that.”

If only she could keep him talking about it a little longer, Nancy thought. Then she said, “There's a rumor going around campus. People are saying Parker Wright doesn't remember anything about last night. How is that possible?”

Edberg's attention perked up. “That's a good question, young lady. Actually, that's not an uncommon response,” he said, his voice taking on a smooth, professional tone. He took an unlit pipe from his pocket and began to chew on its stem. “You see, his conscious mind can't deal with what he's done, so he's blanked out all memory of the event. No doubt some time soon it will all come pouring back in a devastating rush.” He shook his head sadly. “It may well shatter the poor young fellow.”

“I understand the study group was using subliminal suggestion tapes,” Bess spoke up. “Could that have anything to do with Parker's memory loss?”

“Absolutely not,” the professor replied. Then
he wagged a finger at Bess and Nancy. “You're skillful reporters, young ladies. You've cleverly turned me back to your original question. You're interested in my work, right?”

Nancy smiled back at him. “Bess and I want to know about your research and how the study group fit in.”

Edberg leaned back in his chair. “The study group is a part of more extensive research, but it's a very important part. You see, my work is based on the principle of subliminal persuasion. I believe that students—indeed, all people—succeed or fail according to their attitudes about themselves and what they are trying to accomplish. A positive attitude brings success; a negative one, failure. These attitudes are deep-seated, existing for the most part in the subconscious mind.”