Jeffry Lindsay - Dexter in the Dark

As we peeked in, looking for some way to signal the house that we had arrived and wished to enter, the front door swung open and a man came out, wearing a bright yellow rain suit. He headed for the car parked in the drive, a blue Lexus.

Deborah raised her voice and called out, “Professor? Professor Wilkins?”

The man looked up at us from under the hood of his rain suit. “Yes?”

“Can we speak to you for a moment, please?” Deborah said.

He walked toward us slowly, head cocked at Deborah on a slight angle. “That depends. Who is us?”

Deborah reached into her pocket for her badge and Professor Wilkins paused cautiously, no doubt worried that she might pull out a hand grenade.

“Us is the police,” I reassured him.

“Is we?” he said, and he turned toward me with a half smile that froze when he saw me, flickered, and then resumed as a very poor fake smile. Since I am an expert on faking emotions and expressions I was in absolutely no doubt about it-the sight of little old me had startled him somehow, and he was covering it by pretending to smile. But why? If he was guilty, surely the thought of police at the gate would be worse than Dexter at the door. But instead he looked at Deborah and said, “Oh, yes, we met once before, outside my office.”

“That’s right,” said Deborah as she finally fished out her badge.

“I’m sorry, will this take long? I’m kind of in a hurry,” he said.

“We have just a couple of questions, Professor,” Deborah said. “It will take only a minute.”

“Well,” he said, looking from the badge to my face and then quickly away again. “All right.” He opened the gate and held it wide. “Would you like to come in?”

Even though we were already soaked to the skin, it seemed like a pretty good idea to get out of the rain, and we followed Wilkins through the gate, up the driveway, and into his house.

The interior of the house was done in a style I recognized as classic Coconut Grove Rich Person Casual. I had not seen an example like this since I was a boy, when Miami Vice Modern took over as the area’s dominant decorative pattern. But this was old school, bringing back the memory of when the area was called Nut Grove because of its loose, Bohemian flavor.

The floors were reddish-brown tile and shiny enough to shave in, and there was a conversation area consisting of a leather couch and two matching chairs off to the right beside a large picture window. Next to the window was a wet bar with a large, glassed-in, temperature-controlled wine cabinet and an abstract painting of a nude on the wall next to it.

Wilkins led us past a pair of potted plants and over to the couch, and hesitated a couple of steps in front of it. “Ah,” he said, pushing back the hood from his rain jacket, “we’re kind of wet for the leather furniture. Can I offer you a barstool?” He gestured toward the bar.

I looked at Deborah, who shrugged. “We can stand,” she said. “This will only take a minute.”

“All right,” Wilkins said. He folded his arms and smiled at Deborah. “What’s so important that they send someone like you, in this weather?” he said.

Deborah flushed slightly, whether from irritation or something else I couldn’t tell. “How long have you been sleeping with Tammy Connor?” Deborah said.

Wilkins lost his happy expression and for a moment there was a very cold, unpleasant look on his face. “Where did you hear that?” he said.

I could see that Deborah was trying to push him off-balance just a bit, and since that is one of my specialties I chimed in. “Will you have to sell this place if you don’t get tenure?” I said.

His eyes snapped to mine, and there was nothing at all pleasant about the look he gave me. He kept his tongue in his mouth, too. “I should have known,” he said. “So this was Halpern’s jailhouse confession, was it? Wilkins did it.”

“So you didn’t have an affair with Tammy Connor?” Deborah said.

Wilkins looked back to her again and, with a visible effort, regained his relaxed smile. He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t get used to you as the tough one. I guess that’s a pretty successful technique for you two, hmm?”

“Not so far,” I said. “You haven’t answered any of the questions.”

He nodded. “All right,” he said. “And did Halpern tell you he broke into my office? I found him hiding under my desk. God knows what he was doing there.”

“Why do you think he broke into your office?” Deborah asked.

Wilkins shrugged. “He said I sabotaged his paper.”

“Did you?”

He looked at her, and then over to me for an unpleasant moment, then back to Deborah. “Officer,” he said, “I am trying very hard to cooperate here. But you’ve accused me of so many different things I’m not sure which one I’m supposed to answer.”

“Is that why you haven’t answered any of them?” I asked.

Wilkins ignored me. “If you can tell me how Halpern’s paper and Tammy Connor fit together, I’ll be happy to help any way I can. But otherwise, I’ve got to get going.”

Deborah looked at me, whether for advice or because she was tired of looking at Wilkins, I couldn’t tell, so I gave her my very best shrug, and she looked back at Wilkins. “Tammy Connor is dead,” she said.

“Oh, my,” Wilkins said. “How did it happen?”

“The same way as Ariel Goldman,” Debs said.

“And you knew them both,” I added helpfully.

“I imagine that dozens of people knew them both. Including Jerry Halpern,” he said.

“Did Professor Halpern kill Tammy Connor, Professor Wilkins?” Deborah asked him. “From the detention center?”

He shrugged. “I’m only saying that he knew them, too.”

“And did he have an affair with her, too?” I asked.

Wilkins smirked. “Probably not. Not with Tammy, anyway.”

“What does that mean, Professor?” Deborah asked.

Wilkins shrugged. “Just rumors, you know. The kids talk. Some of them think Halpern is gay.”

“Less competition for you,” I said. “Like with Tammy Connor.”

Wilkins scowled at me and I’m sure I would have been intimidated if I was a university sophomore. “You need to make up your mind whether I killed my students or screwed them,” he said.

“Why not both?”

“Did you go to college?” he demanded.

“Why yes, I did,” I said.

“Then you ought to know that a certain type of girl sexually pursues her professors. Tammy was over eighteen, and I’m not married.”

“Isn’t it a little bit unethical to have sex with a student?” I said.

“Ex-student,” he snapped. “I dated her after the class last semester. There’s no law against dating an ex-student. Especially if she throws herself at you.”

“Nice catch,” I said.

“Did you sabotage Professor Halpern’s paper?” Deborah said.

Wilkins looked back at Deborah and smiled again. It was wonderful to watch somebody almost as good as I am at switching emotions so quickly. “Detective, do you see a pattern here?” he said. “Listen, Jerry Halpern is a brilliant guy, but…not exactly stable? And with all the pressure on him right now, he’s just decided that I am a whole conspiracy to get him, all by myself.” He shrugged. “I don’t think I’m quite that good,” he said with a little smile. “At least, not at conspiracy.”

“So you think Halpern killed Tammy Connor and the others?” Deborah said.

“I didn’t say that,” he said. “But hey, he’s the psycho. Not me.” He made a step toward the door and raised an eyebrow at Deborah. “And now, if you don’t mind, I really have to get going.”

Deborah handed him a business card. “Thank you for your time, Professor,” she said. “If you think of anything that might help, please give me a call.”