Fear Familiar Page 8

  Locked in her apartment with Familiar on guard and Wessy alerted, she was reasonably safe. For the moment. But he wanted an explanation of what was happening in her life. In the last few hours, he’d gotten the distinct impression that she wasn’t telling him the whole truth.

  He paced the area where she’d been sitting, but there was not a trace of anything. The concrete floor was clean of even a scrap of litter. He moved to her car. Someone could have been hiding in her back seat. He pushed the image from his mind and examined her tires.

  There was no sign of anything amiss. The only thing he saw at all was a cigarette butt. He nudged it with his toe. The brand was Dunhill, a trademark he didn’t recognize. He locked the car doors and headed back to the ground level. If there had been anything else in the parking garage, it was gone now.

  He left through the street exit, his mind still full of Eleanor. He’d taken a cab after his car was crippled, but he felt as if he needed the clarifying feel of the wind on his face now, so he walked. The night air carried the smell of snow.

  Washington was often thought of as a city of lights. Along the Potomac, the yellow brilliants were reflected again and again in the river and the pools before the many monuments. But on this night, Peter felt as if a dark hand had clutched the city and was slowly choking off the power. As he rounded the block and crossed an almost empty street, he realized that his sense of gloom came from his worries about Eleanor.

  Was it possible that she was involved in some sensitive research? Something so sensitive that the CIA could be concerned? Had Familiar actually strayed up to her as she’d said, or was there more to the story?

  He cut across a side street and headed into a small, neighborhood park. Almost fifty acres in size, it was typical of Washington’s insistence on greenery in the midst of progress. In the spring, when the border of trees leafed out, it would be a tiny patch of paradise.

  It was in the brittle leaves that had collected under a tenacious sycamore that he heard the distinct sound of someone else’s footsteps.

  He slowed his pace and the footsteps slowed. He walked faster, and they increased. Peter forced himself not to turn around, but to continue walking at a steady rate.

  The choice of entering the park had been a poor one, especially on a blustery winter night. As he quickly scanned the area, he saw that except for the follower, he was alone. There were floodlights in the park around the swings and games, but the periphery was in dark shadow. Peter kept walking, hoping to emerge on the park’s outer rim before the person behind him drew any closer. He cast a quick glance backward. An overcoat-clad figure was a hundred yards behind him.

  Unable to tell if the figure was armed, Peter decided against a confrontation. The attack by the owl could have been lethal, and it had been an effective warning of intent. If he maintained his distance and kept moving, he might luck into a policeman. He walked faster.

  The footsteps behind him increased in tempo, too.

  He was two-thirds of the way across the park, following a narrow bicycle path that flashed back and forth among shrubs and trees. It was the perfect place for an ambush, and Peter was aware of his vulnerability.

  Turning for another look, he saw again the dark figure behind him, inexorably following at the same distance as before. It was as if fate had magically linked them.

  At last Peter broke free of the trees and found himself on the outer edge of the park. Directly ahead was a well-lighted sidewalk; people were milling about the front door of a restaurant. He crossed the street quickly and stopped at the restaurant. The door opened and a young couple came out, laughter bouncing on the walls and pavement as they waited for their cab.

  Peter turned back to face the park. His gaze found the overcoat-clad figure. Backlighted by a street lamp, the man’s head was covered with a wide-brimmed hat. As Peter watched, the figure inhaled on a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke in his direction.

  A city bus cut between them. When it passed, Peter scanned the edge of the park again, but the figure was gone, as if it had vanished into the night.

  “so, you took a weekend off,” Betty Gillette said as she fell into step with Eleanor on the way to the English department. “If you keep up that kind of behavior, I’m going to get the faculty grant I’ve been coveting for so long.”

  Eleanor smiled at her red-haired friend. Betty was more competitive than anyone had a right to be, and she was direct as hell about it. Since Eleanor had come to the English department two years ago, her research had won the grant offered to the university faculty. Betty wanted that grant and she didn’t mind letting Eleanor know.

  “Cheer up, Betty. Maybe next year the faculty will view your work as more deserving of notice. Lord knows, I’m interested. But I keep telling you, the problem with your research is that it isn’t exactly the thing universities lust after. It’s more psychological, or even sociological.”

  Betty made a wry face. “That’s the bureaucratic line, for sure. But if we fully understood the modes of communication between all species, we’d have a better idea of how important the written word is. My work isn’t that far afield from linguistics. It’s all part of the same ball game.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir, Betty.” Eleanor picked up her pace.

  Betty laughed and shook her head. “I missed you yesterday. I stopped by your apartment and talked with your doorman. He assured me that you were fine. Why did I get the impression that he was worried about you?”

  Eleanor hesitated. She was tired, worn out from the weekend, but eager for a friendly ear. “It’s been the wildest time,” she said. She started to say more, but the sight of a solitary student running across the green alerted her to the time. “Let’s have some lunch and talk.”

  “Is it a man?” Betty’s blue eyes were dancing. “Did the studious Dr. Duncan spend the weekend with a man?”

  Eleanor laughed. Betty was also incorrigibly nosy. “Not in the way you think, but I did spend the weekend with a man. And a cat. And an attacker. And a woman from a radical animal rights group.” Her voice lost its touch of humor. “And the ghost of my dead husband.”

  “Where did you put all of those people in such a tiny apartment?” Betty asked.

  Eleanor laughed. “We’ll talk at lunch.”

  “I can’t wait,” Betty agreed as she waved Eleanor toward the classrooms. “I don’t know whether to ask about the cat, the man or the ghost. Meet you in your office.”

  Eleanor knew that she barely had time to rush into her office and grab the papers she’d left, already graded, on Friday afternoon. She felt a short note of panic. Even after two years, teaching was sometimes difficult, especially student conferences. With classes out for the holidays, she was surprised when several of her pupils scheduled meetings. Now she felt ill-prepared, especially after skipping her normal Sunday afternoon work session. She was out of kilter with her job. She smiled at the expression, one she’d often heard her grandmother use, and hurried down the maze of halls to her door.

  “Dr. Duncan?”

  The unexpected voice almost made her scream. She whipped around, sending her hair flying in a black circle about her head.

  “Joey,” she exclaimed, trying to breathe and talk simultaneously. “You scared me nearly to death. Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to sneak up on people?”

  “I didn’t sneak up,” he said. “I just wanted to talk with you a minute. I was worried about that paper I turned in before break.” Joey Knight shrugged and looked at the toes of his high-top sneakers. “I always try harder in your class. It’s important to me that I do well.”

  Feeling as if she’d overreacted, Eleanor managed a smile. “You really did startle me, but I’m glad you came by. I’m surprised that you aren’t home for the holidays. I thought your folks lived pretty close to here.” Seeing the hurt expression that passed swiftly across his face, she rushed on. “What can I do for you?”

  “How was that paper?” he asked. He was a good six inches taller th
an her, but stood there like a small boy.

  “I have to tell you that I wasn’t very impressed. I got the feeling that maybe you wrote it between television programs.” She smiled. “You can do better work.” She unlocked her office. “Just a minute and let me grab some papers. We can walk to the mezzanine together. I have an appointment with Tina.”

  She pushed open the door and flipped on the light.

  “Oh, no.” The soft whisper of words escaped her.

  “What is it?” Joey pressed behind her. At the sight he grasped her shoulders, pulling her from the office. “Somebody wrecked the place,” he said. “I’ll get campus security.”

  He was halfway down the narrow hallway before Eleanor was able to stop him.

  “Wait, Joey,” she called. “Hold on a minute.”

  He turned, disbelief on his young face. “Why? The sooner they get here, the sooner they’ll catch whoever did this. They’ll have to take fingerprints and all.”

  She held up both hands. “Hold on. If it’s a case of student vandalism, we’ll get security. But I want a chance to see what damage has been done, okay?”

  “If you go in there tampering with things, it’ll destroy evidence.” He walked toward her. “You could get hurt, Dr. Duncan.” His hand touched her shoulder. “I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m fine, Joey,” she reassured him, moving away from his touch. He was a sincere student, a hardworking one. His concern was slightly unnerving, though. “I’ll take care of this, if you’ll help me by going to meet Tina. Just tell her that something came up and I won’t make it. Tell her we’ll meet at the same time tomorrow.”

  Joey turned and started to rush down the hall again, but she called him back.

  “Joey, I have to ask a favor of you.”

  “Anything,” he answered.

  “Don’t tell anyone about this. No one at all. Not another student or faculty member. Just let me handle it, okay?”

  Understanding registered on his face. “Is there something else wrong?”

  “A few odd things have happened to me lately,” Eleanor answered. “Nothing I can’t handle, but I want it managed in a certain way, if you get my meaning.”

  “Whatever you say, Dr. Duncan. You have my word. I won’t tell a soul.”

  “Thanks, Joey.”

  She watched him hurry away with a sinking feeling. How long would it be before the whole English department learned of the destruction? She had to make a report, but she wanted a few moments alone to see what damage had been done.

  Walking into the office, she shut and locked the door behind herself. Despair mingled with anger as she took in the books that had been tumbled from the shelves. Her desk drawers were upturned and flung about the room. Her desk top had been swept clean of everything; it had all been pushed onto the floor. Even the trash can had been upended.

  “Wanton vandalism?” she asked herself. “Or is there method to the madness?” She wouldn’t be able to tell until she sorted through her things, and she couldn’t do that until a report had been filed with security. She could only probe a little.

  The clamor of the telephone almost made her jump. She picked it up automatically. The receiver was at her ear before she realized that her hand was shaking. What if it was Carter’s voice?

  “Hello.” She almost choked on the word.

  “Eleanor, are you okay?”

  Peter’s warm voice seemed to free her emotions. She felt a tide of relief and a desire to see him.

  “I’m fine, Peter, but someone destroyed my office at the university. I’m standing in the middle of it now, trying to get up my nerve to call security.”

  “So you’re going to report this incident?”

  “I don’t have a choice. The university’s computer is on the floor, and I’d say the repair bill is going to be high.”

  “I’m not all that busy this morning. Would you like me to come over and help?” He’d wanted to get into her office, but it sounded as if someone had beaten him to the punch. “Could you hold off calling security until I get a chance to look around?”

  Something in his voice made her withdraw. “You shouldn’t get involved in this any further, Peter. I thought it would simply stop, but it hasn’t.”

  “Have you found anything important disturbed?" he pressed.

  “Yeah, two years’ worth of work and a lifetime of accumulated office junk. You’re nice to offer to help, but I think I’d better handle this alone.” She replaced the receiver, her emotions in complete turmoil. Why was Peter so consistently interested?

  She righted her desk chair and sat down, a weary sigh escaping her.

  “So, here we are again,” she said aloud. “More destruction.” She decided to heed Peter’s warnings and to check out what was missing before she filed a report.

  She bent to the pile of papers at her feet and began the long process of reordering her work. Fifteen minutes later she was sitting on the floor when she heard a knock.

  “Litter patrol!” Peter’s voice came through the wooden door.

  She scrambled up and unlocked the door. She let him in and then relocked it.

  “Looks like the same story as your apartment,” he commented.

  “Yeah, just more papers. I’d like to find the creep who did this.” She picked up a sheaf of papers and put them onto her desk. “I’ll never get all of this sorted in time for my eleven o’clock meeting with Rhonda.”

  Peter went to the bookshelves. The destruction appeared to be random. Entire shelves had been swept to the floor, while others were virtually untouched.

  Something about Peter’s intense interest unnerved Eleanor. She made the call to security with the telephone scrunched against her shoulder as she reordered another stack of papers with her hands.

  While she talked, Peter walked the office. He picked up her coffee cup and desk calendar, her clock and an empty pencil container. Under the pile of rubble he noticed a printed flyer. The pitiful picture of a dog on an examining table caught his eye. It was a flyer from an underground animal rights group. His eyes flashed to Eleanor. She was either a very good liar, or she was being framed.

  “Is it possible some student had it in for you?” he asked, slipping the paper into the pocket of his coat.

  “I don’t think so. All teachers have students who dislike them, and I’m no exception. But I don’t remember any student who violently disliked me. Not to this extent.” She waved her hand around the room.

  “I’m not making light of it, but we can’t rule out the possibility that it might have been student orchestrated.”

  “I wish I could believe that.” Eleanor dropped the papers onto her desk and attacked another pile. “My students aren’t vicious.”

  “It could be a student with a crush.” Peter remembered the photograph of her at the fish market. It had been signed with the words ‘my love.’ And Wessy had mentioned the possibility of a student infatuation.

  “I don’t think so," Eleanor argued. She felt her temper begin to rise. “Normal kids don’t react to a crush with destructive tendencies.”

  “No, and normal dogs don’t bite. But you have to allow the possibility that it might happen.” He was surprised by her adamant denial. She was certainly protective of her students. Maybe that was the link! A student activist group. He remembered his college days, the idealism. And Arnold Evans!

  “Why are you so certain it’s a student?” she asked irritably. She knew he was trying to be calm, to find a reasonable explanation. And she knew she should be grateful to him for coming up with something that was far less scary than the conclusions that had been tumbling around in her mind. “You’re right, Peter. It’s something we should consider.”

  “Just keep the thought in mind,” he said.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the security team. The officers were clearly aggravated by the sight of Eleanor and himself muddling through the mess. Their questions were cursory and hurried before they began to dust for fingerpri
nts.

  “Let’s grab some coffee while they do their job,” Peter suggested. “There must be a student hangout around here somewhere.”

  “The Hub,” Eleanor agreed. “Good coffee and that never-changing atmosphere of college.” She looked at her watch. “I guess I missed my eleven o’clock appointment. It’s nearly noon.”

  “Then I’ll buy you lunch,” Peter said.

  “Will you be available for questions?” one of the officers asked. He gave them a disapproving glance. “It might be better if you stayed around.”

  “We’ll be at The Hub,” Eleanor told him.

  The walk across campus put them into the weak winter sunlight that brightened the bare campus, but the sun’s rays did little to boost Eleanor’s mood.

  “I could stand some snow,” Eleanor commented. “It doesn’t seem like it’s getting close to Christmas without some of that white stuff to slip and slide in.”

  “So, you prefer the traditional image of Christmas, white lawns, big fires, wassail. A lot of single people go to the islands during the break.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve never been one to do that. If I could go anywhere, I’d go back to the Smokies. My dad’s asthma forced them to move out to Arizona, so there’s no home there now, but I love the mountains more than anything, especially during Christmas.”

  They entered the student hangout, a tall building with high, Corinthian arches. There was a small gift shop, the coffee shop, cafeteria, and the student mailboxes.

  “Nice place,” he said, nodding toward the art display that was one of the features of the building.

  “The students do a great job of using the space for their art shows and posters. It’s their building, and they also manage the cafeteria. Everything they serve is fattening and delicious. They have the very best malteds in the world, and their hamburgers aren’t far from being ideal.”

  “You’ve just made my order,” Peter said. “Can I get the same for you?”