Текст книги "Fair Game "

Автор книги: Josh lanyon

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“I have no idea. I don’t know that that’s the case. I’m suggesting Zahra might not have all the facts.”

“Zahra? You know Gordie’s aunt well?”

“I know Gordie well. He’s one of my most gifted, most promising students. Zahra is part of the package. In my opinion, and it’s a knowledgeable one where the gentle sex is concerned, the woman is a harridan.”

Harridan? Now there was a word you didn’t hear every day. “When was the last time you saw Gordie?”

Corian stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Monday? Yes, Monday I think.” He met Elliot’s gaze and raised his eyebrows. “The day he disappeared, according to you. Does that make me a suspect?”

“How did he seem?”

“Like always. Energetic. Enthusiastic. Alive. He was looking forward to the art show.” At Elliot’s inquiring look, Corian said dryly, “The annual students’ art show. It starts on Thursday.”

“Oh. Right.”

Corian was still thinking it over. “He said nothing about leaving. In fact, nothing in his behavior struck me at the time, but looking back, maybe Gordie was…preoccupied? Distracted? Nothing definite. Nothing I can put my finger on and say, Ah ha, Watson!”

Elliot ignored the mockery. “If Gordie was in trouble of some kind, would he come to you?”

“I’m his faculty advisor, not his father confessor.” Corian shrugged, admitted, “I suppose I’ve filled the role of mentor since Gordie came to PSU. At the least, I’d like to think we were friends.”

“He’s had a troubled background. At least before he attended PSU.”

“Gordie was more sinned against than sinning.”

“You sound pretty sure of that.”

“I am. Talent of that magnitude breeds envy.” Corian spoke with the sweeping certainty of one who has suffered the same slings and arrows. Elliot managed not to snort. Corian added, “Can I ask why exactly you’re questioning me about Gordie?”

“Zahra Lyle asked for my help.”

“Is Gordie flunking history?”

Elliot met Corian’s bland gaze. “I wouldn’t know. She was afraid that Gordie’s disappearance might have been connected to Terry Baker’s.”

“Baker? The boy who killed himself? That’s a bizarre idea even for Zahra.”

“I don’t know if it’s so bizarre. The Baker kid was missing for four weeks before his body was found.”

Corian’s devilish eyebrows arched. “You seem to know a lot about it. I thought you gave up being a superhero for teaching?”

Elliot kept his response neutral. “Isn’t it the same thing?”

This was how it had been since nearly the first day Elliot showed up at PSU. Something about him rubbed Corian the wrong way. Well, some people instinctively disliked law enforcement. Maybe it was a political thing or the fact that Elliot had formerly worked for a “fascist” organization. Or maybe it was because Corian believed Elliot had obtained his teaching position through Roland’s influence. Whatever it was, Corian didn’t try to hide his dislike.

Corian laughed a genuine laugh. “Touché. You’re Roland’s boy after all.”

Elliot smiled, but his thoughts circled round once more to Gordie Lyle. Given the problems he’d had at Cornish, was it likely he’d endanger this second chance by skipping classes for a week without a damn good reason? His aunt didn’t believe so.

“Do you have any idea where Gordie would go if he did want to get away for a while?”

“No. To be honest, if I did, I wouldn’t be comfortable telling you, knowing that you’d report back to Zahra. But if I do hear from Gordie, I’ll ask him to get in touch with his aunt. More than that I can’t promise.”

“You’re not at all worried about him?”

“No,” Corian said with convincing certainty, “I have no doubt Gordie’ll turn up eventually.”

Chapter Thirteen

On Wednesday, as prearranged, Elliot met Anne Gold for dinner at a steakhouse in Tacoma. He arrived a little early and found her already settled in the dining room and picking unhappily at hors d’oeuvres.

“I hope you like calamari,” she said by way of greeting. “They do an incredible marinara sauce here.”

As a matter of fact, Elliot didn’t like calamari. He didn’t like rubbery textures in general. But that wasn’t what made him frown as he slid into the leather-lined booth.

“What’s wrong?” He was startled at the difference in Anne within five days. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a week. There were bags under her eyes and tiny stress lines around her mouth.

“What a way to greet a gal. Are you absolutely positive you’re gay?” Tonight’s glasses were horn-rims. Unusually studious.

“It’s been a while since I checked, but I’m pretty sure.”

“Then why can’t you be like the gay best friend in movies? They always have fabulous fashion tips and advice for the lovelorn.” She was joking, but there was a brittleness there that was new.

Elliot watched her shake the ice in her empty glass. “Do you need fashion advice?” he asked quietly.

Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them hastily away. “Sorry, Elliot. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Any reason?”

She shook her head quickly. “Let’s order.”

For the next half hour they talked shop, and Anne slightly relaxed, but Elliot remained conscious of an underlying strain. He observed her while trying not to be obvious about it, mentally cataloging what he knew about her. She lived in Tacoma—had grown up in Washington state. She had two failed marriages and no children. She was tenured and perennially rated as one of PSU’s most popular instructors.

The last time he’d seen her she was being stood up by her date in a bar in Seattle.

Why Seattle? It was well out of her way. Had she been meeting someone she didn’t want to be seen meeting? His impression was it took a lot to discomfit Anne.

He considered all this as they ate their meals. An idea had occurred to him. He didn’t like it, but studying Anne’s strained, pale face, he couldn’t help but recall her reputation for sexual adventuring and her own comments about age being a state of mind. And he couldn’t help remembering Zahra Lyle’s remarks about the college professor who was pursuing Gordie, continuing to call after he disappeared.

In the lull between having their plates removed and waiting for dessert, she unexpectedly offered the perfect opening. “I feel like I haven’t stopped talking since we sat down. What about you? Someone mentioned to me that you were working with the FBI to find poor Terry Baker?”

“That’s true.” He watched her face. “Now I’m looking for a student by the name of Gordie Lyle.”

Her expression went rigid, her spoon clattering against the saucer of her coffee cup.

Into the stricken silence between them, he said, “Do you know him?”

It was painfully, nakedly obvious that she did, yet she made an attempt. “Gordie.” She swallowed. “Lyle?”

And then neither of them said anything.

“How did you know?” she whispered.

Elliot shook his head. “PSU is a small university.”

“How dare—has anyone suggested?” She caught herself. “I don’t know why I’m getting angry. It’s true.” She stared down at her coffee cup. “Yes, I know Gordie. Very well.”

“But you don’t know where he is?”

She moved her head in negation. “I’ve been a wreck ever since Zahra Lyle did that damn TV interview. Wondering when someone was going to put two and two together.” Her eyes met his. “To be honest, until that press conference I wasn’t sure that he wasn’t—that is, I was afraid Gordie was avoiding me.”

“No. That’s highly unlikely. Do you have any idea why he’d take off without telling anyone?”

She sighed. “Pressure? The annual student art show is this week. I know he was pinning a lot on attracting critical attention with his exhibit.”

“Was he the type to cave under pressure?” That wasn’t the impression Elliot had formed.

“He had a vulnerable side. Not everyone realized that. He took a time-out once or twice when things got too heavy for him.”

“Do you have any idea where he went on those occasions?”

“No.”

“Any idea where he might have gone this time?”

“No.”

“What about friends? Does he have friends in the area that he could stay with?”

Anne said dryly, “I don’t know about his friends. We didn’t socialize much. Anyway, Gordie was sort of a lone wolf.”

“His aunt doesn’t believe he walked away voluntarily.”

“Ugh. That woman.” Anne shook her head dismissively. “What a ridiculous thing to suggest.”

“Have you met Zahra?”

“No. Thank God. I’ve spoken to her on the phone a couple of times. She’s…unpleasant.”

“How did Gordie get along with her?”

“All right, I suppose. He didn’t enjoy being treated like a child, but he was patient with her.”

“When was the last time you saw Gordie?”

“I saw him in passing on Monday afternoon last week.”

“How did he seem?”

“I meant that literally,” Anne said. “Gordie walked past my classroom door. The last time we spoke was the previous Wednesday evening. We had dinner and…every Wednesday.”

And yet she had planned to meet Elliot for dinner on this Wednesday. Was that because she knew Gordie wouldn’t be coming back? Or because she intended to make a point?

“In Seattle?” he verified.

“Yes.”

“How did he seem on Wednesday?”

“Fine.” Something in the way she said it didn’t ring true.

“Yes?”

“Yes.” She said it firmly, but then her shoulders slumped. “No. He was nervous about the upcoming show. Nervous but excited.”

“And?”

“We argued.”

“Over what?”

Her mouth tightened. “It doesn’t matter. It was stupid.”

“What did you argue over?”

“I don’t appreciate being interrogated, Elliot.”

Maybe she had a point. For a minute or two there he’d been back in G-man mode. “Sorry. I’m concerned, that’s all.” He couldn’t help adding, “Why did you and Gordie argue?”

Anne’s face quivered. For an instant he thought she was going to break down, but instead she said calmly, “He said he thought we should…” Her voice wobbled. “Take a break. From each other.”

Elliot had no idea how to respond. This wasn’t a normal interview situation. Anne was a friend and a colleague, and he was deep within no man’s land.

“I’m sorry.”

“He didn’t mean it.”

“No?”

She shook her head.

“Did he give a reason?”

She shook her head again. “It doesn’t matter. He didn’t mean it.” After a moment she said dully, “I think he was seeing someone else.”

“Any idea who?”

“No.”

“And you haven’t had any contact with him since? You have no idea where he might have gone?”

“I’ve already told you I don’t.”

“Sorry. His aunt’s very worried.”

“She doesn’t need to be. Gordie’s fine. He’ll be back for the show on Thursday.”

“That’s what Andrew Corian says.”

“Andrew should know,” she said tartly. “Gordie’s his protégé.”

“Yeah? Well, it should be interesting,” Elliot said, dropping interview mode as the waiter brought their desserts. “I look forward to meeting the kid.”

*  *  *

But Gordie was a no show at Thursday’s art exhibit.

Originally Elliot hadn’t planned to attend the afternoon opening at Kingman Library, but so many people seemed convinced Gordie would turn up, it seemed a good idea to go. Roland had cemented that decision by informing Elliot that he was attending the annual ceremony, and that their regularly scheduled dinner plans would have to be postponed.

Last year, Elliot’s knee had not been up to standing for hours of chitchatting and oohing and aahing over student projects. He’d forgotten what a very big deal the annual student art show was. Everyone was there.

To Elliot’s mild amusement, Roland was greeted like returning royalty by students and faculty alike. Even Andrew Corian treated him with deference.

One thing the two of them shared was apparent irresistibility to women. Even in his late sixties, Roland was a chick magnet. Elliot smothered a grin, watching him in action. Otherwise-staid lady professors were flushed and giggling.

It reminded Elliot of Pauline Baker, and his smile faded.

Charlotte Oppenheimer approached them. “Ah, the Professors Mills.” She and Roland bumped cheeks. “How are you, Roland? How is the book coming?”

“Excellent, Charlotte. The book is coming along right on schedule.”

“Should I fear for the university’s reputation?”

Roland laughed cheerfully and noncommittally, and Elliot thought that if he were Charlotte, he would not be reassured. But then no one really expected Roland to finish the book.

“No Gordie?” he inquired of Corian as Roland and Charlotte drifted, talking.

“Apparently not.” Corian grimaced. “You’re dying to say I told you so, aren’t you?”

Elliot could say with honesty, “No.”

“Go ahead. I admit I’m surprised he isn’t here. He worked hard for the privilege.” Corian smiled mechanically and nodded to a beaming couple who could only be student parents. When he turned back to Elliot, his expression was uncharacteristically grave. “This is hard for me, but…perhaps you’re right to be concerned.”

“Did you know Terry Baker?”

“Did I know the Baker boy? No.” Corian amended, “That is to say, I don’t think I ever had him in class. I know his parents, of course. The Bakers are socially prominent and active with the university. They own one of my pieces.” That last seemed to indicate Corian’s seal of approval.

The Bakers could afford one of Corian’s sculptures. When Elliot had once heard in passing what Corian charged for his work, he’d been genuinely shocked. Not that Corian wasn’t talented and well-respected, but you didn’t expect your fellow instructors to be so independently celebrated in their field that teaching was elective.

“Did Gordie have any friends who might know where he would go if he wanted to get away from it all?”

“Get away from what all? Gordie was looking forward to this show. He worked hard for the privilege of having his work included.”

“One of his friends mentioned that he occasionally needed to take a time out.”

“What friend was this? Gordie was a loner. There were girls, of course, but he wouldn’t have confided in them.”

“Why not?”

Corian smiled almost pityingly, but instead of responding said, “Have you seen Gordie’s exhibit yet?”

“Not yet, no.”

“You must.” Corian led the way through the chattering crowd and a maze of pillars and bookshelves to a large corner with a towering construction of wire and forged metal on a square pillar. “If you hope to understand Gordie, you must first understand his work.”

Elliot stared up at the dull gleam of coils and tubes both ceramic and metal. It appeared to be two intertwined bodies. Were they supposed to be human? He wasn’t sure and he didn’t want to ask. Instead, he peered at the name tag at the foot of the structure. “Titan?”

“Yes. Riveting, isn’t it?”

“Literally.”

Corian laughed. “The very response I’d expect. You loathe it, don’t you?”

“No.” Elliot did loathe it, actually. Something about all those thrusting phallic spears and knobs raised his hackles. It was so blunt, so belligerent. Like a fist to the face. It made him want to punch back. “How long did it take him?”

Corian laughed again, seeing through Elliot’s social lie. “Gordie has been working on this piece for nearly two years. He put everything he had into it.”

Clearly he’d had a lot of one thing.

“Impressive.” Elliot leaned closer to inspect the forged iron plate of the figure’s thigh. If that was a thigh. Maybe it was another figure’s arm. Were they fighting or fucking? Or both? “Did he use an anvil on this?”

When Corian didn’t respond, he glanced back and saw the other man was staring across the room. Following the line of Corian’s gaze, Elliot saw that he was watching Anne Gold, who had just arrived. Were there rumors about a former affair between Corian and Anne? Elliot couldn’t recall. If that were the case could Corian have viewed Lyle as a romantic rival? It seemed unlikely given Corian’s supreme confidence in his own attractions.

“Did you say something?” Corian inquired vaguely. He looked back at Elliot.

“Did Gordie use an anvil to forge some of these sections?”

“Yes.” Corian raised his brows. “Why?”

“No particular reason. Where is this anvil?”

Corian’s black brows drew together. “Ah. I see where you’re going with this. In the ceramics building. But it’s not the kind of anvil you’re thinking of.” He glanced across the room again. “Excuse me, Mills.” Without waiting for Elliot’s response, he started across the crowded room, however he was stopped midway by another couple.

“An interesting work,” Charlotte murmured as she and Roland joined Elliot.

“Far out.” Every now and then the vernacular of Roland’s youth crept into his vocabulary. Charlotte and Elliot shared fleeting, suppressed smiles as Roland approached the sculpture. He tilted his head from side to side, trying to get a different perspective on what appeared to be a barbed penis. “Look at the energy here. The passion. This kid’s got something.”

“A lot of anger and frustration, I should say.” Charlotte’s comment was dry.

“Frustration doesn’t seem to be one of his problems.” Corian was still talking to the couple, so Elliot was unsure if he’d been attempting to speak to Anne or simply trying to get away from Elliot and his incessant questions. “Not sexual anyway. Not by all accounts.”

“Yes, well, a very interesting young man,” Charlotte observed. Clearly “interesting” equaled “dubious” in her mind.

Elliot asked, “Do you know him?”

“No,” she said without hesitation. It seemed pretty comprehensive: past, present and future.

The three of them studied Gordie’s sculpture in polite silence.

“He still hasn’t shown up?” Elliot knew the answer. He’d been keeping an eye out for Gordie since his own arrival.

“Not that I’m aware.” Charlotte’s smile was slightly pained. “Students, even gifted students, do elect to leave us. Rarely are the reasons sinister.”

That was certainly true. Most people who disappeared chose to do so. It wasn’t a crime to be a missing person. No matter how much it hurt the people who loved you.

Elliot murmured something noncommittal as Roland moved around to the back of the sculpture.

Charlotte added quietly, “His aunt isn’t here either. That’s interesting, don’t you think?”

Interesting. Mildly. Hardly conclusive. Elliot had talked to Zahra after his dinner with Anne, in an effort to find out what she and Gordie had argued about the morning Gordie had disappeared. Zahra had initially denied arguing with Gordie, then she had claimed she had been worried he would make trouble for himself by pursuing a relationship with a professor.

He’d been unable to get a straight answer as to what Gordie’s response had been. But maybe that was because Gordie’s reaction to Zahra’s concern had not been clear cut. It seemed to Elliot, that for all Gordie’s reported bad temper, he had restrained himself with Zahra. Gordie appeared to be genuinely fond of his aunt, which lent some credence to her belief that he wouldn’t take off without a word to her.

He made a so-so gesture to Charlotte.

She chuckled as though he was deliberately being stubborn. “You do enjoy your mysteries.”

He did? Maybe he did.

She squeezed his arm affectionately and moved away as Roland rounded the pedestal. He rejoined Elliot.

“What was that all about?”

“I agreed to look for the Lyle kid. Charlotte thinks I’m wasting my time and energy.”

“Oh yes? I saw the mother making an appeal on TV. On the KONG station. Very touching.”

“That was his aunt. According to her, he’s been missing for about a week. She’s worried.”

“The boy’s a student of yours?”

“No.”

“Then why are you getting involved?” Roland’s tone was curious.

“I wish I knew. Maybe it pisses me off the way everyone is so ready to dismiss this kid’s disappearance—and his aunt’s concern. My experience has been that most people aren’t concerned enough.”

Roland laughed and patted him on the shoulder. It seemed to be Elliot’s day for atta boys. “Like it or not, you’re a chip off the old block, Elliot. Even if you did choose to express your desire to help mankind in the pay of a repressive, authoritarian institution.”

Elliot sighed. “Dad, go tell it to your pal Andrew Corian. I get enough of that rhetoric from him.”

“Corian’s all right. Maybe a pinch over-opinionated.”

He left Elliot chewing over that sweeping irony, and Elliot moved to the next exhibit, a very well-done male nude in limestone.

“I may not know a lot about art, but I know what I like. I like that.”

Jim Feder stood next to him, his shoulder brushing Elliot’s. He offered a smile that was slightly shy, but determined.

“It’s a beautiful piece,” Elliot agreed.

“Terry’s funeral is Sunday.”

“I’d heard.”

“Are you going?”

“I haven’t decided. I’m not sure that’s what Terry’s parents would want.”

“I’m going.”

“You should go,” Elliot assured him. “I didn’t know Terry. You did. You cared about him.”

Feder took a deep breath. “I was wondering,” he began very casually, “if you would want—”

“Elliot,” Roland said, strolling up to them. “A few of us are going to dinner at Giacometti’s. Are you coming?”

“I’ll be right there.” He gave it a moment, and then turned to Jim. “It’s nice seeing you again, Jim. Take care.”