Murder at Birchwood Pond Page 7

  Darian frowned. “Sins? I understood he slipped and fell into the pond.”

  “Ah, so you really don’t know. Sure, that was the story they put out. My father was headmaster then, so he made sure everyone believed it, or at least said they did. But I heard what they discussed behind closed doors.”

  “We all knew the truth.” Everett nodded. “Suicide, without question. The poor fellow left a farewell note in his own writing and walked right into the water early one morning, right before his first class. So there really wasn’t any doubt.”

  “It seemed shocking at the time, but when you stop and think about it, he did fit the mold of the sort who would off himself—introverted, nervous. You’re an academic, Darian. You know the type.”

  “Does anyone know why he did it?”

  “We all have our demons,” Everett said cryptically. “To this day, there is nothing more than speculation. Rumors. But rumors, as you know, can be as deadly as truth under certain circumstances.”

  “Perhaps it would be wise to leave it at that,” Quin suggested. “Life has moved forward since that terrible day. All of us have moved forward as well. We’ve had to.”

  “Okay. I understand. Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. With everything that’s been going on this past week, it’s only natural to wonder about possible similarities between the two cases. But there aren’t any beyond ordinary human frailty. Try not to dwell on it, Darian. You’re too young to have such a bleak outlook. Leave the cynicism to Everett. He expresses it so much better than we ever could.”

  His tone made it clear he intended to say no more, so Darian let the issue drop. Maybe it didn’t matter. At the time of Talbott’s death, he hadn’t started kindergarten yet, and Timothy Pryor hadn’t even been born. Argo Sullivan would have been in his late teens. The world had changed a lot in just two decades, though he suspected that Birchwood itself hadn’t.

  After the coffee, he set off to complete his morning run. His steps took him in the direction of the Birchwood campus—specifically, to the pond. It seemed eerily silent now, not even disturbed by morning birdcalls. The yellow police tape was gone from the bushes and tree trunks. A lone figure sat by the banks, looking out into the water.

  “Sebastian?” he asked when he got close enough to see who it was.

  Sebastian Grant, another gap year student who had roomed with Timothy, jumped to his feet too quickly. He pinwheeled his arms for balance, but relaxed when he recognized Darian.

  “Oh, Mr. Winter. Hi.” He gestured around him. “The cops are gone. Headmistress says it’s okay to be down here now.”

  “It’s all right. I wasn’t going to say anything. Looks like we had the same idea, in fact.” Darian walked down to the bank to join Sebastian. The boy’s face was pale, and his eyes had a hollow, haunted look.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Darian said. “I know Timothy was your roommate.”

  “Yeah. It’s okay. I mean, I’m okay.” Sebastian scowled. “The cops sealed off my room, so I have to stay in the infirmary until they’re finished searching. It’s okay, though. They have a flat-screen TV and Wi-Fi in there.”

  He didn’t look okay, as far as Darian concerned, but he thought it better not to say so directly. “Has anyone called your parents to tell them what happened?”

  “No. Why should anyone? I can take care of myself. Anyway, they’re both overseas. Business trip. At least that’s what they like to call it. Tax purposes.” He grimaced and scrutinized Darian’s face. “You found him, they said.”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “Everyone’s talking about it. Someone even said you tried to jump in and save him. I figured that wasn’t true.”

  “It’s not,” Darian said, horrified. “I’m afraid that by the time I got here, it was clear there was nothing I could do.”

  “I knew that. And I knew the other stuff I heard couldn’t be true, either.”

  “Other stuff?”

  “Yeah. I won’t repeat it. It wasn’t very nice.”

  This time it was Darian’s turn to grimace. He could guess the content of such rumors, but agreed it was best left unexpressed. “Well, thank you for the vote of confidence.”

  “It’s obvious you didn’t do it. You’re the one who called the cops in the first place. Why would you do that if you’d killed him?”

  Darian hid his shock. “Sebastian…is it a good idea for you to be down here?”

  “Why not? I’m not going to fall in. I mean, Timothy didn’t fall in either, did he? If he had, he would have been wearing his clothes.” Sebastian swallowed and he stared out at the pond’s glassy black surface. “Why would he be in there, Mr. Winter? The water is cold and disgusting. Timothy didn’t like dirt. He used to complain about the showers in our dorm not being clean enough. He even got his father to send a letter to Headmistress complaining about mildew. From then on the housekeeping staff started scrubbing the stalls twice a day. There’s no way he would have gone swimming in that muck.”

  Privately, Darian agreed with that assessment. “I know it’s hard to visualize what happened,” he began gently. “The truth is, though, we can’t always see what lies beneath the surface. We can’t see inside anyone else’s head. Sometimes things are going on in there we can’t even begin to guess about.”

  “Not in Timothy’s case. Like you said, Mr. Winter, Timothy and I were roommates. Friends. I knew him better than anyone.”

  Darian didn’t miss the slight emphasis on the word ‘friends.’ Apparently Everett was correct in assuming Timothy specialized in friendships that included certain benefits, and Sebastian obviously had no problem with providing them. “Okay.”

  “So he told me stuff. And I knew what was going on with him. Timothy wasn’t weak or depressed. He had goals in life, even if people didn’t always approve of them.”

  “I agree he seemed confident and ambitious. But just the same….”

  “He didn’t kill himself, Mr. Winter. I know that’s what people are saying, but they’re wrong. Or they’re lying.”

  “Maybe there’s another way to look at the situation. Could something have happened to Timothy that affected him emotionally? Could something—or someone—have upset him? Maybe he didn’t feel comfortable talking about it, even to you.”

  “Timothy told me everything,” Sebastian insisted.

  “Maybe it was something he couldn’t even put into words. For example, did Timothy feel pressure from his family to…you know…live up to their expectations? Behave a certain way?”

  “Pretend he was straight, you mean? Yeah, his old man freaked when he found out Timothy liked guys. But I don’t think he cared what anybody thought, even his parents. In a way, he enjoyed shocking them. He was like that.” Sebastian’s face briefly took on a look of dreamy admiration. “He always did what he wanted. Answered only to himself. That’s another reason he would never have killed himself.”

  Was there anything worse than being forced to disillusion optimistic young people? It was definitely one of the downsides of teaching.

  “Look, Sebastian, I’m not a trained counselor, so I shouldn’t even speculate. But I guess what I’m trying to say is that people find themselves troubled by things the rest of us might not understand or even notice. They can’t see their way out, and they act out in ways that don’t seem to make sense.”

  “Oh.” Sebastian’s eyes widened briefly. “You mean he was heartbroken over something—or someone?”

  “Well, think about it. Could Timothy have developed feelings for a person who didn’t return them?” Darian was careful not to specify a gender. He knew Sebastian understood what he meant. “Timothy might have been depressed over a rejection. It’s at least possible, isn’t it?”

  “No, it isn’t.” Sebastian sneered. “I’m sorry, Mr. Winter, but you’re missing two important points. One, no one ever rejected Timothy. And second, Timothy didn’t love anyone. He took what he wanted from people. But that’s not the same as love.”

>   “No, it certainly isn’t,” Darian agreed, startled.

  Sebastian stared at the pond again. “You don’t think one of the cleaning people took revenge on him? You know, for making them do extra work. You know how resentful those menial-labor types can be. And violent.”

  “I seriously doubt it.”

  “Don’t believe me if you don’t want to. But I’m telling you, somebody lured him down here and killed him. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  While he spoke, the wind swept a handful of yellow leaves past them and toward the water. Darian watched them tumble past the spot where Argo’s team had flattened the grass and weeds in their effort to retrieve Timothy’s body.

  “Sebastian…do you have any specific information that might explain what happened to Timothy? If so, you need to tell Sheriff Sullivan. He’ll listen to you and whatever it is, he’ll understand.”

  “I thought about going to the cops.” Sebastian dug the toe of one expensive sneaker into the soft ground and lowered his eyes. Gap year or not, in that moment he looked young and vulnerable. “But I don’t know, I just couldn’t. Mr. Winter, do you think you could do it for me?”

  “I don’t think I should do that. I’d be willing to come with you to the police station, though. We can go right now, if you like.”

  “No! I mean, the thing is…I don’t want anyone to know it was me.”

  “Sheriff Sullivan will have to know. But don’t worry. He’ll keep it confidential.”

  “No, Mr. Winter. Please.”

  “Sebastian, there’s nothing to be afraid of. You said it yourself—you were his roommate and probably knew him better than anyone else. It makes sense that Sheriff Sullivan would want to talk to you. I promise you won’t be in any trouble just for speaking up.”

  “I’m not worried about that,” Sebastian’s tone suddenly turned snotty. “My father has very good lawyers.”

  “Then I don’t quite see the problem, assuming you have nothing to hide.”

  Sebastian barked out a harsh laugh, no doubt intending to sound cynical. Instead, it came out as nervous and skittish.

  “Okay, you got me. Actually, I’ve been messing with you, Mr. Winter. Making stuff up to see how you’d react. Just forget I said anything.”

  Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he started walking away with exaggerated nonchalance. Darian started after him.

  “Sebastian, wait. You need to talk to someone about this. If not me, then one of the school counselors or Sheriff Sullivan. Do the right thing for Timothy.”

  “No, seriously. There’s nothing to tell. I made it all up. Sorry to be such a pain in the ass. Catch you later.”

  As he watched Sebastian stride back toward campus, an unpleasant idea made the back of Darian’s neck prickle. What if someone really had either lured Timothy here in order to take revenge for some perceived romantic slight—or caught him here, unclothed, with a rival?

  Something else occurred to him, too. Sebastian’s physical build was much slighter than Timothy’s, but a rush of anger and adrenalin could probably compensate for the difference in strength. The two roommates, Sebastian had implied, had been much more than casual friends.

  Was the emotion tormenting Sebastian not just grief, but guilt as well?

  When he got home, sweating more than the three-mile trip justified, he began debating whether to call Argo. On one hand, he didn’t seriously doubt that Timothy’s death had either been a tragic accident or a suicide. Either option was regrettable, certainly, and horrific in its own way, but nothing the police could actively prosecute. Sebastian’s strange outburst was probably nothing more than an immature overreaction to a serious emotional blow. If Timothy had in fact taken his own life, and Sebastian knew or suspected as much, he might very well be trying to downplay his role in the events leading up to the tragedy. It made sense he would try to pin the blame on someone else, however indirectly. Darian would feel foolish passing on such a ridiculous tip on to Argo.

  On the other hand, he hadn’t forgotten his own unnerving encounter with Timothy at the stone shelter only a day before the young man’s death. He’d been meeting someone there—the expression on his face when he’d seen Darian made that all too clear. A clandestine rendezvous could have been what brought Timothy back to the pond—and would also explain both his lack of clothing and the absence of a towel. Since Argo had most likely thought of that already, he would certainly be interested in Sebastian’s theory as well as his conviction that Timothy had no apparent reason to take his own life.

  Complicating the whole question was the fact that Sebastian had asked him to go to the police—and then withdrawn that request. Or had he? His sudden nervousness and transparent attempt to distance himself only made Sebastian’s accusation more plausible. Maybe he really had been trying to confess.

  Before he could clarify his thoughts, the ringing phone made the decision for him. Argo’s voice sounded relaxed, almost cheerful.

  “I wanted to make sure you got home okay,” he said. “I would have offered to follow you back, but I didn’t think that would sit well with you. Most people don’t like having a cop on their tail.”

  “You’re not wrong about that,” Darian said. “Last night was already weird enough without an extra dollop of paranoia on top.”

  “Come on, you couldn’t have been all that surprised to see me there. Don’t tell me you didn’t pick up on the little current fizzing between us, right from the moment we met. I felt it as much as you did.”

  Darian frowned. “That’s an interesting way to put it. At the time, I may have misinterpreted my impression of you. I thought you were trying to flush me out as the killer. ”

  “You English teacher types read too many mystery novels.” Argo laughed and then grew serious again. “Okay, fair enough. I’ll admit that you were right to wonder. I had to do my job. No secret there.”

  “I told you, you don’t owe me any explanation. Your first responsibility is to Timothy Pryor. Believe it or not, I want to find out what happened to him too. After all, I’m the one who…who found him.”

  “I haven’t forgotten, believe me.”

  “Besides, I have a duty to Birchwood Academy.” He recalled a line from the recruitment brochure the admission staff passed out to prospective students as well as job applicants. “We’re not just a school. We’re a community.”

  “Got it.”

  “Anyway, all that is a roundabout way of saying I’m glad you called. We need to talk, Sheriff.”

  The use of his job title did the trick. Argo’s relaxed attitude vanished instantly. Darian could almost hear him shifting his posture, sitting up straighter as his senses went on alert. “Why? What’s going on?”

  “I have some…well, I hesitate to call it information. All the same, I think you’ll want to hear it.”

  “Okay,” Argo said, but cut Darian off when he started to go into detail. “Not over the phone. I’d prefer to speak in person, so I can take a proper statement.”

  “I’m not sure this rises to the level of anything official,” Darian protested.

  Argo ignored his protest. “Can you come to the station? I’m on my way there now.”

  “Give me half an hour,” Darian said, sighing. “I need to shower and change. Then I’ll meet you there.”

  He wasn’t especially excited about spending the rest of his Sunday morning, and possibly part of the afternoon as well, in a police facility.

  Then again, the prospect of seeing Argo wasn’t entirely unwelcome. He’d know how seriously to take Sebastian’s allegation, if it even deserved that name, and would act on it appropriately and professionally. That would put Darian’s mind at ease with respect to what Sebastian had confided in him.

  And beyond that…well, they’d never actually finished the more personal conversation they’d started at the Granite Carnation. In spite of everything, Darian found himself looking forward to talking some more.

  Argo had called it a little current, fizzing
between them. The truth was that Darian had felt it too.

  Chapter 6

  Argo was at his desk when Darian, now wearing jeans and a sweater, arrived at the station. Smoothly he closed a manila folder he’d been paging through and gestured for Darian to take the chair facing him, right in front of a plastic nameplate reading “Arthur Sullivan.” While Darian stared at it, curious about the origins of Argo’s nickname, the man in question appraised Darian through guarded eyes.

  “Thanks for coming down. So what’s on your mind, Darian?”

  Darian moistened his lips. He still wasn’t sure if being here was a good idea, but there was no going back now. “You’ll think this is pretty flimsy as far as evidence goes. But I thought I should tell you anyway.”

  Without going into lurid speculation, he filled Argo in on what Sebastian had told him earlier by the pond. Argo listened without the slightest flicker of a reaction. When he finished, he interlaced his fingers atop the closed manila folder and tilted his head to the side.

  “So his roommate doesn’t think there’s any chance he either tried to swim in cold, dirty water or took his own life. Interesting. What’s your take?”

  “I tend to agree that he probably wasn’t swimming. That fits with you not finding a towel.”

  He waited for Argo to confirm the futility of the search Everett had witnessed. Argo gave a quick nod.

  “Correct. Nothing in the bushes and it wasn’t in the water, either. So it’s safe to assume he didn’t have one.”

  “So most likely not skinny-dipping. I have to admit I’m less convinced than Sebastian that he didn’t commit suicide. Just because he showed a brave face to the world doesn’t mean he didn’t have problems. Some people are good at covering up their pain.”

  “True enough. Places like Birchwood can be pressure cookers, both academically and socially. Timothy was a year older than most of the other students, but that in itself could cause some problems. Maybe he had trouble fitting in. We know he struggled with his schoolwork. It didn’t seem to interest him, your friend Everett said. He was only at the school for a fifth year because his father forced him.”