The Deadhouse by Linda Fairstein Read Free Book Online Page B

pranks. This is a college in the
middle of a neighborhood that used to boast one of the highest homicide
rates in the city. Just look next door at Columbia— they've had
students murdered in their dorm rooms and apartments, kids who've been
robbed and raped by other students, as well as by strangers from the
street."
    Recantati opened his mouth to speak but Chapman wouldn't be
interrupted. "There's been more drugs used in some of these halls than
Keith Richards and Puff Daddy have seen in their combined lifetimes.
This isn't the time to hide behind your cap and gown, pal."
    Foote broke in to relieve the president. Chapman's directness didn't
make her happy. "Alex, for the moment, since Lola had personal contact
with you, can't we just discuss this one-on-one? The police don't have
to be included until we get official word that this wasn't an accident.
After all, that's our understanding of the findings at her apartment
last night."
    Chapman got up and walked to the phone on Foote's desk. "Mind if I
call the morgue? I'd hate to waste your time if the docs can step away
from the table in the middle of sawing Lola in half to assure you this
was only a slip and fall."
    Recantati's stunned gaze moved back and forth between Chapman's face
and Foote's hand, which she had clamped over the telephone receiver. He
seemed caught in the glare of the headlights and longing to be back in
the library instead. "Have you and Ms. Cooper worked together on this
kind of thing before?"
    Chapman laughed. "Seventy years."
    Recantati's brow furrowed more deeply. "But—?"
    "I count 'em in dog years. Every one I spend with Coop feels like
seven."
    Recantati was responding to Mike in a way Sylvia Foote never would,
looking as though he hoped the police would help him out and take the
entire matter off his hands. "So, what is it you need from us?"
    Foote cleared her throat. "Not that we can promise you anything
before the middle of next week. We've got to clear this
administratively."
    "How about a command decision, Mr. President." Chapman ignored Foote
completely and spoke only to Recantati. "Next week's gonna be too late.
I'd like to get into Ms. Dakota's office this weekend, start checking
her files, her correspondence, her computer records. I'd like to find
out who knew her best, which students were in her classes, what faculty
members worked with her, who liked her and hated her, who slept with
her ..."
    Recantati's face reddened at the mere thought, it seemed, that we
would be exploring such intimate aspects of Dakota's life. He was
silent.
    "We could walk right over to her office now, with both of you. That
way you can make sure that Ms. Cooper and I don't do anything to cause
trouble here."
    Time to soften the approach while we had him on the line.
    "You understand, sir, that not everything Detective Chapman is
talking about may be necessary," I said. "It's entirely possible that
Lola's death will prove to be related to her husband's efforts to get
rid of her, and not to the campus community at all. We're exploring
that angle first, of course. Nobody wants to involve the school or the
kids, except as a last resort."
    Foote was harder to fool. "Suppose I can gather together some of the
political science faculty for you on Monday morning. We'll make the
library available to you for interviews, so our staff members don't
have to be carted downtown. Then we'll move on to talk with the
students, but only if we must."
    Not a bad compromise. "I've got to be in court for a hearing at
nine-thirty on Monday. So if we can say two o'clock for you to have
some people lined up, that will give you the morning to contact whoever
you haven't been able to reach over the weekend. Shall we take a look
at Lola's office while we're here?"
    Foote buzzed the secretary and asked her to have the head of
security bring the passkey up to us as quickly as possible. Within
minutes, Frankie Shayson knocked on the door and came into the room.
"Hey, Mike. Alex. Haven't seen