9

Matt passed the binoculars over. I wrapped the strap around my hand so I wouldn't accidentally drop it; put it to my eyes; thinned out the graininess by adjusting the focus; swung the business end across the campus until I'd centered on copse of detectives rooted into the ground, coffee cups billowing and keeping digits functional.

This was the first time I really paid attention to the scene. The caution tape was anchored by several trees and a lamp post set in front of the practice gym, the vertical braces tugging the material in a landscape-hugging cat’s cradle. The ground would be nondescript under any other circumstance, grass and shrubs crowding a solitary walkway; but now the white sheets and evidence tags lent morbid accents, shades and overtones straight from government payroll. Police vehicles had cut muddy swaths in the beyond the tape, from the access road surrounding the school. The catty-corner gym stood watch over the investigation taking place at the feet of its steps.

It looked like the murder happened close to the gym steps, judging by the positioning of the bulk of sheets and clear tarps. Matt elbowed me. “See the guy on the left?”

“With the camera?”

“Yeah. What’s he doing?”

I panned over minutely. "He's--hang on--he looks mad. No, upset, sick even."

Matt inched closer to the edge. "Where is he looking?"

"Um--" I followed his line of sight to something obscured on the ground. "Something metal."

"Ah." Matt put his hands down, like he was about to do a push-up. "A pipe."

I pulled the binocs away from my face and turned. "How...?"

Matt worked his elbows out from under him and rested on them. "I noticed the guy snapping photos earlier. Newspaper, I'm guessing--probably local. Catching up for when the, uh, the power comes back on. He was paying a lot of attention to a few particular areas, but I couldn't get a good view."

"Right. You're thinking that the rumors were true." It was a statement, not a question. "About the pipe being the murder weapon."

"Yes."

"Cathoway is still a lying shit, though."

Matt motioned for the binoculars. I handed them over as he responded. "I didn't hear that from Cathoway."

"Really."

"Someone else."

I didn't push it. Matt would avoid the question if I prodded him. He crawled forward an inch and peered down with the binoculars. "Yeah, definitely a lead pipe." He squinted into the lenses. "Definitely."

"Tell me what you think happened."

Matt waited, his mouth slack, for half a minute--maybe a little more--before starting. "The guy is doing what he's doing. It's early in the morning, he's out on the campus--God knows why. Someone is hiding in the gym, in the entrance. Waits 'til he's close; maybe his back is turned or his peripheral vision doesn't catch someone sneaking around." He made a motion with his free hand, swinging it down. "Clunk. Probably got a pipe from the gym--it's full of them--and just left it there when done. It's quiet, effective, doesn't require permits or a lot of money."

"Yeah. I can see it."

"What I want to know is...." He let the declaration float in midair before picking up again. "What I want to know is the 'why?' bit."

I stared down at the figures on the ground, then turned to look at the jimmied trapdoor hiding a ladder. Inside was warm, and my hands were getting cold despite the gloves. Maybe if I got to know Linda better she'd warm my hands for me. "Hmm?"

"'Why?' is what I'm asking."

I gave a shrug, half-hearted, tightened the strap on a glove. "Eh."

"Someone had a reason."

"Maybe not," I suggested.

Matt set the binoculars down, put the caps on the end of the lenses. "I hope there was a reason."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Matt scooched back, down the slope of the roof behind us, and found purchase enough to skim back to the trapdoor. We'd propped it open with the same screwdriver used to pop it out of its housing, and used it again to replace the screws once we both crawled in.

With care, we descended a few ladders into a storage area on the third floor of the humanities department building. Sneaking out was easy; classes were canceled, for one, but all four of the guys in the band were fairly adept at getting in and out of places were weren't supposed to be. Came in handy when you needed to access gear or practice space that you weren't really allowed to access.
Hands in coat pockets, we sat a wooden bench outside. "I have an idea."

I hooked my heel against the curve of the bench. "Go."

"By this point, I'm guessing the faculty and staff knows who it was. I'm sure the police told them already, and I'm sure they'll tell us once the power is restored. But I don't plan on waiting that long."

"The idea."

"Right. You keep track of the albums you own, don't you?"

"I do. Where i--"

"Someone borrowed one of your CDs, but you can't remember which. How do you find out?"

I paused, bit my lip. "I'd, well--I'd probably see which ones I do have befo--ah, OK, I see what you're saying."

Matt removed a hand from his pocket, pointing toward the student center. Toward the duplicating office. "We see who is there today, mark 'em off in the directory. That'll narrow it down." Before I could ask another question, he cut me off. "And duplicating isn't that big of a department, so we can find out who is missing like this," he finished, snapping his fingers, the gloves muffling most of the sound.

I stared at the student center. "I can do that if you want."

"Why don't you let me do that. How about you..." he scanned the campus, whistling something off-key. "Try brainstorming, see if you can come up with a reason someone--someone from duplicating--was out in the wee hours."

"Sure," I accepted begrudgingly.

"We'll meet up in an hour. How does that sound?"

I looked back at the student center, then Matt, then started walking back to the crime scene, a maroon fire lapping in the back of my mind.