J. Bertrand - Pattern of Wounds

“But there were no witnesses, right? Nobody saw her being taken, nobody saw her being returned.”

“No, but UH security did several sweeps after she was reported missing and didn’t locate her car. So we at least know it wasn’t here.”

“She could have driven anywhere, though.”

We get out of the car and walk around a bit, but there’s nothing to see. Cavallo checks her watch a couple of times as I work things out in my head. At the same time Dr. Hill was having trouble with Zachariassen, a former student of hers from Poland named Agnieszka was living in her home, carrying on with her husband. After the harassment suit, he and the girl moved out and eventually split up, leaving Hill on her own. And she turns around and invites another girl, Simone Walker, to move in. Six months later, Simone is dead.

“Where’s Shayna Zachariassen now?” I ask.

Cavallo shrugs. “Do you keep up with people after a case is closed?”

“Only the dead ones.”

I motion her back into the car and we drive around the stadium, crossing Cullen to enter the campus proper at University Park. I snag a metered space near the Agnes Arnold Building. Since Cavallo doesn’t know the territory, I have to guide her now, taking the cut-through behind the Science building past the placid waters of the man-made lake where, in sunnier weather, students are prone to congregate by the hundreds.

It’s been a while since I was on campus. The squared concrete buildings, the aging modernist landscape, used to remind me of fascist architecture-an ironic association for a university. Now it seems almost futuristic. A vision of the future from the late sixties, anyway.

We climb the steps to the Roy Cullen Building, home of the English Department, ascending to the second floor. Dr. Hill’s office is tucked at the end of a short corridor. The door is shut. I knock, but there’s no reply.

“The department office is just down there,” I say, pointing to the far end of the main hallway. A glass wall partitions administrators and their secretaries from the rest of the building. “The problem is, I’m supposed to keep my inquiry low-key. If I go in, flash my badge, and start asking a bunch of questions, that’ll get back to the professor. You, on the other hand, could walk right in without raising suspicion.”

“And do what?” she asks.

“Do nothing. Just grab some forms to fill out and sit in the waiting area. See what the secretaries are talking about.”

She shakes her head at the idea.

“Give them some time,” I say. “Let them get used to you being in there. Once you’ve got all you’re going to get, ask them if Dr. Hill is around. Say you had an appointment Saturday, but she wasn’t here. See how they answer.”

“Is this why you brought me? To do your legwork? All the sudden I’m remembering what it was like to work with you. And the memories aren’t pleasant.”

“You loved it, Cavallo. It was pure excitement.”

“Right. Getting shot was exciting.”

Getting shot. Last time around, we traded gunfire with a rogue officer named Tony Salazar and his accomplice. I put the sidekick down and wounded Salazar mortally. Cavallo and I came out unscathed, or so it seemed. Afterward, though, Bascombe dug a spent round out of Cavallo’s ballistic vest. It was a scary moment. No wonder she didn’t jump at the opportunity to transfer to Homicide.

“Don’t remind me,” I say. “Look, nobody’s gonna shoot at you in there. The worst that can happen is that they’ll use a thesaurus on you. You’re a tough cop. You can handle that.”

“And what will you be doing?”

“I’ll be outside by the fountain, soaking up some rays.”

Twenty minutes later, she comes outside with a stack of papers in her hand, striding toward the concrete bench where I’ve set up camp. Cavallo’s got a stride to her, a long-legged, intimidating walk that says she’d just as soon trample obstacles as cut around them. The same kind of confidence Charlotte had when I first met her, only with Cavallo being a cop, it’s more a physical than an intellectual thing. She stands over me, hands on hips, triumphant and challenging at the same time.

“How’d it go?”

She jabs the papers at me. “I signed up for a full load next semester.”

“Anything else?”

“Quite a bit, actually.” She sits next to me on the bench. “I did what you said and hung around for a bit. They picked up the conversation and sure enough, they were talking about the girl who got murdered at Dr. Joy’s house. That’s what they call her: Dr. Joy.” She smirks. “It sounds like there was some kind of job opening in the office, and Dr. Joy tried to get your victim the position, only she missed the interview. And apparently there was a scene earlier today.”

“What kind of scene?”

“Dr. Joy bawled out one of the secretaries, that’s all I know. I got the impression the departmental staff doesn’t like the professor all that much. I also got the impression she doesn’t usually keep office hours on Saturdays. When I asked, they looked surprised. They didn’t see her. . but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t there.”

I nod slowly. “She could get into her office without them noticing. Still, that’s great work. Maybe it’s time to interview Dr. Hill again. What do you think about tagging along? I’d like a second opinion.”

“Don’t you have a partner, March?”

“Aguilar’s not the most talkative man, in case you don’t remember. Plus, you have some background with her. If she remembers you, that might shake her up.”

“I do actually have work of my own.”

“Tell you what,” I say. “Come with me to see Dr. Hill, and afterward we’ll grab some dinner with Charlotte. She’d love to see you again, and it’ll save you having to order pizza and veg out in front of the television.”

“That’s your idea of how I spend my off-hours?”

“Isn’t it?”

She ignores the question. “How’s Carter doing? Are they still living in that garage apartment of yours?”

“You’ve just reminded me. Now you really do need to come home with me. I talked to Carter this morning, and guess what he said? He and Gina are having a baby.”

She breaks out in a smile. “That’s great.”

“So you’re in? I’ll call Charlotte right now.”

“Fine. I’m in.”

It takes a few minutes to get my wife on the phone. I tell her Cavallo was asking about them all and I suggested dinner so we could all catch up. Surprised, she agrees to book a table somewhere and make sure Carter and Gina are onboard. We settle on seven o’clock, which will give us time to swing by Dr. Hill’s house again and try to catch her at home.

As we walk back to the car, my phone rings.

It’s Joy Hill.

“I’m sorry I didn’t return your message sooner,” she says, “but I’ve only just gotten home.”

“I’d like to swing by, if you don’t mind.”

“Detective,” she says. “Something strange just happened. A man I’ve never seen before came to the door. I thought he might be one of you people-that’s the only reason I answered the knock. But he asked for Simone. He said he’d been trying to call her, but she wasn’t answering.”

“Did you get his name?”

“Oh,” she says. “I didn’t think to ask. It happened so fast. When I told him what happened to her, he pushed inside the house. He was calling her name up the stairs, like he didn’t believe me, and then he broke down and started crying.”

“He cried?”

“He was sobbing. He said she was going to have his baby, Detective.”

“A baby?”

Cavallo raises an eyebrow at me.

“Over and over he kept saying it. Then all the sudden he got up and left. It was very disturbing.”