Poisoned Pins

In the alley, the blue lights continued to rotate and the radios to crackle. More car doors slammed, and the beam of a flashlight bobbled on the foliage. There was like1y to be an iota of truth in Arnie’s statement, I thought as I hesitated on the sidewalk and tried to discern what was happening. The alley ran behind several Greek communes, of both the imposing and the marginally renovated varieties, and it was a handy shortcut from the bastions of academia to the bars of Thurber Street. Although I had to drive a short distance on it to park in the basement garage of my duplex, I rarely promenaded down it, being as averse to miasmatic garbage dumpsters as I was to sweat-and to Arnie.

I finally went past my house, turned at the corner, and turned again at the north end of the alley. There were three police cars parked behind the Kappa house, their lights flashing mutely, and spotlights had been placed to illuminate what I assumed was the cause of the official presence.

An engraved invitation was not likely, nor would I be welcomed into the group and offered details. I knew from experience that officers at the scene of the crime could be blustery and indignant over the presence of a civic-minded citizen who was eager to share her insights into the heinous deed. Peter Rosen, for example, could be quite adamant about what he considered meddlesome intrusions.

There was more going on than a case of a cat flattened by a garbage truck, however, and I was determined to find out what it was. I approached tentatively, pausing every step to scan the crowd for Peter or his minion, Jorgeson. I wasn’t at all sure if I’d have more success with them or without them, and I was decidedly ambivalent when I caught a glimpse of Peter’s curly black hair as he beckoned at an ambulance creeping toward the scene from the opposite direction.

“Okay,” I heard him snap, “where’s the medical examiner? You called him-when? Ten minutes ago? Unlike this poor girl, we don’t have all night!”

Jorgeson appeared, consulting his watch, and pulled Peter aside to converse. I was keeping an eye on them as I edged forward, and therefore yelped when a flashlight caught me in the face and an unfamiliar voice said, “Hey, Lieutenant, we got a sightseer You want I should sell her a ticket-or does she already have a season pass?”

This did not amuse Lieutenant Peter Rosen, who shook off Jorgeson’s hand and stalked to the edge of the lights. “Claire,” he said with petulance rather than the enthusiasm for which I’d hoped, “what are you doing here? Just go to your apartment and wait, okay? I’ve got enough problems as it is, and the last thing I need is a nosy neighbor lurking nearby.”

“I never lurk,” I said. “I am merely taking an interest in a crime committed not more than twenty feet from my back door. For all I know, the murderer is lurking in my kitchen.”

“No one said anything about murder,” he growled.

“You and the gang didn’t come out to investigate the theft of a dumpster, did you?” I shaded my eyes and permitted myself a small grimace. “My eyes have been subject to enough abuse tonight. Would you please ask your pyrotechnical expert to give me a break?”

Peter gestured at the officer, then came over to me and gave me a look meant to intimidate me into flight into the nearest haven. “Civilians are not allowed at the scene of a crime,” he said in his steeliest cop voice. “We’ve got the weapon, and in any case, it’s unlikely you could be run down in your kitchen by a 1973 Buick. Please, this one time, let me do my job without your assistance. When I can get away, I’ll come by and tell you what happened.”

“Was it one of the girls from the Kappa Theta Eta house?”

He bit down on his lip in a ma

“Yes, I do. I had di

“We’re not going to find her purse tonight, Lieutenant,” a uniformed officer called. “The undergrowth’s a damn jungle. Maybe it’ll turn up tomorrow when we can see what we’re doing.”

Peter was now biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, and I could see it took an effort on his part to relent and mutter, “See if you recognize her.”

I allowed myself to be escorted between two police cars, and then forced myself to look down at the body sprawled on the eroded asphalt surface. Once I was sure, I spun away and bent over the hood of one of the cars struggling not to lose the beer I’d imbibed. I squeezed my eyes closed, but the image of the lifeless face and ribbons of blood seemed all the more intense, more vivid than the reality.

Peter rested his hand on my back. “Is she one of the girls from this sorority house?”

I gulped back the bitterness that rose in my throat, and stood up. “Her name was Jean Hall. She was…“ I harshly rubbed my temples as if my fingers could erase the image. “She was pla

He pointed at a wide white car that was partially buried in a tangle of brush. “The lab boys are on their way, but we’re fairly certain that’s the vehicle, and we’re ru

“But she was…“ I couldn’t find the word, much less say it aloud in the presence of the badly violated body.

Peter put his hands on my shoulders and drew me across the alley, where he could wrap his arms around me without risking grins from his cohorts. “The initial impact most likely killed her instantly, or at least knocked her unconscious. Go on upstairs, Claire. As soon as I’m done, I’ll join you for a drink. I have to deal with this, but I don’t like it any better than you, especially when it’s a kid.”

“What about the girls in the house, and the housemother? Why aren’t they out here? How could they not see the lights? I don’t understand why-”

He dug his fingers into my back until I stopped sputtering at his shoulder. “There’s no one home at the moment. It’s Friday night, so they may all be out on dates or working late at the library or whatever sorority girls do on weekends. We’ll stay here until someone returns and we can get information about the victim. Now that we have a name, I’ll send an officer to see if he can roust the registrar. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

I was still battling nausea, and the idea of collapsing on my sofa with a cup of tea was enough to make me giddy. I hadn’t liked Jean Hall. Then again, I thought with an explosion of frigid anger, my antipathetic opinion hadn’t given someone tacit permission to kill her She hadn’t deserved to be run down so brutally, so dispassionately.

It was not yet time for tea. “Listen, Peter,” I said, “all four of the girls were staying in a wing off the lounge. I don’t know which room was Jean’s, but I can tell with a quick look. Maybe you can find an address book or some correspondence that will indicate where her parents live. They should be notified as soon as possible.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he said gloomily. “I’ll send for a campus cop to unlock the house for us. They’ve already made it clear that the alley is city property and in our jurisdiction, but they’ll assist us.”