Read Herring Hunt Page 9

  Dawson shook his head. “I don’t wanna talk about any of that.”

  Jenna looked down. “Unfortunately, some of it’s going to come out anyway. I talked to a friend at the River Bend Times, and some of the information from child protective services has already been leaked.”

  Nana Jo and I were indignant.

  I asked. “Aren’t juvenile records supposed to be confidential?”

  Jenna shrugged. “Dawson’s records are, but his father’s aren’t.”

  “Well, I’ll be . . .” Nana Jo said.

  “This will be your chance to show the public who you are. There’s been so much negative publicity in the news about athletes behaving badly and getting away with it, the public may not be supportive.”

  “Jenna’s right.” Nana Jo turned to Dawson. “This is your chance to show them you’re just a poor kid trying to pull yourself up by your jockstrap.”

  I nearly choked on my coffee. “I think the phrase is bootstrap.”

  “Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “Show them how you bake to unwind. Heck, let them taste your cookies.”

  Dawson groaned. “I’ll never live this down. When the guys on the team hear I like to bake, they’ll never stop raggin’ me.”

  Nana Jo patted him on the back. “Honey, I hate to break this to you, but the guys on the team are the least of your problems right now.”

  Jenna and Nana Jo were right, but I was still reluctant. Agreeing to this could expose Dawson to public ridicule, and there was no guarantee anyone would believe him. “This seems risky to me.”

  My sister wasn’t someone who took risks. There was more to this than she was revealing.

  “What aren’t you telling us?”

  Jenna sighed. “Okay. I’ve talked to a friend in the DA’s office. He wants to be seen as tough on crime, so he plans to come down hard on you, just to show how tough he is.”

  Nana Jo mumbled something that sounded like weasel.

  “But what about my dad? He said he knew who the real killer is.”

  Jenna paused for a moment. “Frankly, no one is taking him seriously.”

  I exchanged a glance with Nana Jo.

  Jenna took a deep breath. “Your dad could be facing more jail time. He’s been trying to extort money.”

  “From who?” I asked.

  “Anyone . . . everyone. The media, the police, the district attorney, you name it. He says he knows who the killer is, but he won’t talk unless he gets a quarter of a million dollars.”

  Nana Jo whistled.

  Dawson stared openmouthed but then dropped his head and looked away.

  “My source at the police station doesn’t believe he knows anything, but they’ll investigate, provided he gives them something.”

  We discussed the interview for a while longer. Finally, Jenna looked at Dawson. “Well, what do you think?”

  Dawson looked at Nana Jo and me. “Do you think I should?”

  Nana Jo nodded. “I do. I think it will be your chance to tell your story. Plus, if you want, I’ll be there to support you.”

  Everyone looked at me. I stared in my empty coffee cup, then took a deep breath. “I think you should do it too. But, it’s totally up to you. You have to follow your gut. What do you think?”

  Dawson took a moment before responding. “I don’t really want to do it—”

  I started to interrupt, but he held up a hand to stop me. “But I think I should. Mrs. Thomas is right. It will give me a chance to tell my side of things.”

  Jenna exhaled. “Great. I was hoping you’d agree, especially since I already told them to come around noon.”

  Dawson looked as though he was mustering up his courage to speak. Finally, he said, “I’ll do the interview.” He turned to Jenna. “But can you do me a favor, please?”

  Jenna said, “Sure, if I can.”

  Dawson took a deep breath. “Can you please help my dad? I know he’s a big jerk and he’s done some bad things, but he’s still my dad.”

  Jenna stared at Dawson for a moment. “Dawson, I don’t know if I can help your father. He—”

  “But he really needs someone—”

  “Wait. It’s not that I don’t want to help. I may not be able to help. I have to be careful there’s no conflict of interest. I’m your lawyer, and I have a responsibility to represent you to the best of my ability.”

  Dawson hung his head. “I understand. I just thought maybe you could talk to him.”

  Jenna stared at him. “Okay. I’ll talk to him. But, I can’t promise anything. I have to check with his PD. And as long as she’s okay with it, I’ll talk to him. Okay?”

  “Great. Yeah. That’s great.” He perked up and smiled. “Thanks.”

  We talked for a bit and decided we didn’t all need to hang around for the interview. Since I’d already made arrangements to go on campus and meet Jillian, I’d let Nana Jo and Jenna handle the media.

  Jenna left not long afterward.

  I did some paperwork for the bookstore until the twins arrived to help. I would miss them when fall break was over and they went back to school. They were such a great help.

  * * *

  I met Jillian at the student union as arranged. She was dressed in a miniskirt with leggings and a sweater with ballet flats. Last night her hair had been slicked back into a bun. Today it was thick and wavy and loose.

  “I like your hair.”

  “Thanks. It takes a lot to get it under control for performances.” She laughed.

  She took me to Melody’s dorm. The door was slightly open, but we knocked and were instructed to come in.

  “Mrs. Washington, this is Emma Lee.” Jillian turned to Emma. “This is . . . Mrs. Washington.”

  “Please, call me Sam.” I extended my hand.

  The dorm room was small, about the size of my bedroom at home. Small bedrooms are fine when it was just one person and all you needed to do was sleep in the room. However, this room was shared by two people. So there were twin beds, two desks, two dressers, and two closets. One side of the room had posters, family pictures, and a colorful comforter on the bed and looked homey. The other side was barren with nothing except a nondescript blue coverlet to prove anyone lived there.

  Emma Lee was petite. She might have been five feet and one hundred pounds if she wore weights. She was Asian with dark almond eyes and long dark hair, which she wore pulled back into a ponytail. She looked uncertain, but good manners always showed and she stepped forward and shook my outstretched hand.

  Jillian went to Emma’s bed and sat.

  Emma pulled out her chair for me and I sat. She sat in the other chair and waited.

  “I wondered if you could answer a few questions about your roommate for me.”

  Emma was silent.

  I intercepted a look between the two girls. Jillian nodded as if to say “she’s okay.”

  “Fine. But I’m not sure how much help I can be.” Emma spoke with a distinct southern accent, which made me smile to see that southern belles came in all different shapes, sizes, and colors.

  I couldn’t hide the surprise on my face and I heard it in my voice. “As her roommate, you must have gotten to know each other pretty well.”

  Emma shook her head. “I hardly ever saw her.”

  I looked at the bare side of the room.

  “Melody rarely used this room.” She went to the closet and opened it. “She kept a few items of clothing here, but that’s about it.”

  “But if she didn’t stay here, where did she stay?”

  Emma shrugged. “Beats me.”

  “Do you know if she had any family?”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea. When we met, I tried to ask the normal questions, like ‘where’re you from?’ I tried to get to know her. But she shut me down so fast it made my head spin.”

  “How long were you roommates?”

  “Only since the start of the semester.”

  “Is there anything you can tell me about her?” I got up an
d walked over to Melody’s side of the room. “Mind if I look?”

  “Help yourself, but there ain’t much to see. When I realized she wasn’t planning to stay, I took a peek.” Emma got up and joined me.

  There were three sweaters, a warm leather bomber jacket, and a pair of tennis shoes in the closet. The dresser had two pairs of underwear, a bra, a nightshirt, and a small bag of toiletries.

  “Is that it?” I closed the last drawer.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I stood in the room and looked around, mentally comparing Emma’s side of the room with Melody’s. “But where are her school items?” I walked over to the desk and opened the drawer. There wasn’t even a pencil.

  “Beats me.” Emma shrugged.

  I stared at her. “Did the police remove anything?”

  “No one from the police came by. Well, not while I’ve been here at least.” She looked confused. “That’s odd, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I would have expected someone would have come by.”

  A sudden thought made Emma gasp. “Sweet Jesus, you think they notified her family?”

  “I’m sure someone from the school has if the police didn’t,” I said with more confidence than I felt.

  It must have been enough to put Emma at ease, because she breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, thank the Lord for that.”

  “Did you have any classes with Melody?”

  Emma shook her head. “No, ma’am.”

  “What was her major?”

  She shrugged. “Beats me.”

  I was confused. “But she was a senior. That means she’d be graduating in a few months. Surely she mentioned what she was getting her degree in?”

  “All I know is she transferred here from the East Coast. Melody wasn’t talkative.”

  Jillian mumbled, “At least not to women.”

  “Help me understand.” I looked from one of them to the other.

  Emma said, “She didn’t talk much, but from what I gathered, she was majoring in M-r-s.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Emma smiled. “You know, M-r-s.” She pointed at her ring finger.

  “You mean she was just here looking for a husband.”

  They nodded.

  I turned to Jillian. “But aren’t you in the same class?”

  “Supposed to be, but that’s what’s weird. I’ve only seen her there once all semester.” Jillian pulled her laptop out of her book bag, typed something, and navigated for a few seconds. When she was finished, she turned the laptop to face me. “Here’s the online link to our class. We use a program called Canvas.”

  “I’m familiar with Canvas. I used to be a teacher.”

  Jillian smiled. “Great. From here, anyone enrolled in the class can see the syllabus, the homework assignments, and exams, pretty much everything.”

  I looked at the familiar site.

  Jillian navigated to the grades section.

  “I can see all of my grades because I’m logged into the system. But, if I click here”—she clicked on a link on the navigation bar—“I can see everyone’s grades in the class. That way, I can see how I stack up against everyone else.”

  I stared at the screen. “But there are no names listed, only student identification numbers. How do you know which one is Melody’s?”

  “They do that for privacy,” Emma added.

  “True. But, it doesn’t take much to figure out who’s who.” Jillian looked sheepish. “Process of elimination. Look. This is me.” She pointed to a line on the screen. “There are only fifteen people in this class and the rest of us talk to each other. “

  “They tell you their grades?” I asked.

  “Sometimes. But you can pretty much figure out who got what. Last month, Martin was complaining about getting a low grade. He said he had a perfect score up until then. So that has to be him.” She pointed at a line on the screen. “Eva had a family emergency and had to go home. So the incompletes for the last two assignments are hers.”

  Emma added, “Regina was telling everyone how she aced the last test, which made up for her getting low scores on the two previous ones.”

  “Based on what people have said, and through the process of elimination, I know this”—she pointed at one line—“has to be Melody. No one else has gotten a perfect score through the entire course.”

  I stared at the screen and then at Jillian. “You’re amazing. You’ll be a fine detective.”

  She grinned. “Must run in my genes.”

  “I’ll bet if we could find out her student number, we could confirm her grade,” I said. “Although, I’m not sure what that will tell us.”

  “She’s getting a perfect score in a class she never attends,” Jillian said.

  “Seems fishy to me,” Emma added.

  “Me too.”

  I offered to take the girls to lunch to thank them for their help. Thursday was Emma’s short day for classes, but Jillian had a lab and wouldn’t be free until after two. We agreed to meet at the student union at two fifteen.

  MISU wasn’t a large campus, but it could be quite confusing to get around, so I had to ask for directions to the administration building. I hadn’t held out much hope they’d provide information to a total stranger. The Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act of 1974, or FERPA, made it impossible for anyone to get student educational information without written permission from the student. Parents couldn’t even get their son’s or daughter’s grades, so I wasn’t surprised when they refused to provide them to me.

  As I left the administration building, I ran into Peter Castleton, MISU’s athletic director. He’d been very supportive of Nana Jo and me tutoring Dawson over the summer.

  “How’s Dawson?”

  Castleton was about five ten, two hundred pounds. He was bald with the lean, muscular physique of a runner.

  “As well as can be expected. He’s worried, and he misses football.”

  Castleton nodded. “I’m sure, but the policy is very clear. Any athlete charged with a felony must be suspended from all academic and athletic activities until the situation is resolved.”

  “I know.”

  Castleton stared at me pointedly. “You understand I’m in a bit of a difficult situation here. I like Dawson. I think he’s a good kid with a very bright future if . . .”

  “If he doesn’t get convicted for murder?”

  Castleton nodded. “I’m really sorry. We try to warn the boys.”

  “Warn them?”

  Castleton squirmed. “Against honey traps.”

  “What’s a honey trap?”

  Castleton rubbed the back of his neck. “Some young people enter college with the sole intention of finding a spouse, preferably a wealthy one or someone with the potential to become wealthy—a meal ticket.”

  “You think Melody’s only interest in Dawson was as a meal ticket?”

  He waved his hand. “I don’t know anything about her personally, and I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but some of the players talk.”

  “Can I talk to them?”

  He stared at me.

  “We’re trying to figure out who else might have wanted to kill her. The police are stuck on Dawson and aren’t looking for anyone else. I’m hoping maybe some of the players may have seen or heard something that might help.”

  Castleton seemed to think that through. “The players will be watching a film at six tonight in the athletic center’s media room.” He pulled out a piece of paper and an envelope from his back pocket and wrote on it. “Show this and your driver’s license to the guard and he’ll let you in.” He handed me a note which granted me permission to enter, basically a permission slip.

  “Thank you.”

  I still had about thirty minutes before I was to meet Emma and Jillian at the student union, so I made my way to the history department. After asking around, I found a long, narrow closet with Professor Harley Quin’s name on the door. The door was open.

  Jazz drifted from inside, which made
me stop. I peeked inside. A blue-eyed Sean Connery pretended to play the piano along with the music.

  I must have moved because he glanced my way, smiled, and turned down the music.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Caught in the act.” He not only looked like Sean Connery, but he spoke with a British accent.

  “That’s one of my favorites.”

  I could tell by the skeptical look on his face he didn’t believe me. “Really?”

  “I love David Benoit.”

  Surprise and a small amount of awe played across his face. “Ah . . . but what’s the name of the song?”

  I smiled. “ ‘Linus & Lucy.’ ”

  He smacked his leg. “Brilliant. Nine out of ten people would have said, ‘Peanuts.’ You really are a fan. Come in. Welcome to my closet.” He made a grand sweeping gesture with his arm and pushed a pile of papers onto the floor. He had on brown tweed pants and a white shirt with a bow tie. He looked like Sean Connery in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

  I walked into the room, which couldn’t have been more than five feet wide. I could literally reach out and touch both walls at the same time. There were books and papers on practically every surface.

  “Now, what can I do for you? You’re not one of my students. I certainly would have remembered you.”

  I grinned at the compliment. “Well, I was hoping you could help me. I have some questions about one of your students.”

  He looked puzzled. “I’ll try.” He turned in his seat so he faced me.

  I was finding it very hard to look him in the eyes without smiling like a lovesick schoolgirl. I needed to pull myself together. I took a deep breath. “Can you tell me about Melody Hardwick?”

  He looked puzzled. “Melody Hardwick . . . Melody Hardwick, I’m afraid I don’t . . . you don’t by any chance mean the girl who was strangled by that football player, do you?”

  Nothing could have cured my lovesick attitude quicker. I squinted my eyes and my blood pressure rose. “Dawson Alexander is a fine young man, and he did not kill anyone.” I enunciated when I was angry, and I was angry now. “And, in this country, people are innocent until proven guilty.” I rose and turned for the door.

  “Whoa. Wait. I’m sorry.” He jumped out of his seat and grabbed me by the arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Please forgive me?”