doors into student rooms where young men and women were in the process of decorating walls and unpacking suitcases, some with parents who helped, or stayed out of the way.
“Coed dorm,” Klayman commented.
“All the floors in Anderson are coed,” Marcia confirmed. “Some of the others have same-sex floors.” She laughed. “I still can’t get used to the notion of coed living. I wouldn’t want it.”
The room that had been Nadia Zarinski’s was occupied by two young men sitting on the floor amidst a pile of half-emptied boxes. Rock music screeched from a boom box at their feet. They looked up at Klayman and Marcia; one of them waved. Marcia stepped into the room and yelled over the music, “Got a minute, guys?” They looked puzzled. “Turn that down?” she said, pointing to the boom box. They got to their feet, and one of them clicked off the recording. Marcia introduced herself, then did the same for Klayman.
“Just take a couple of minutes,” Klayman said. “Maybe you heard about the murder at Ford’s Theatre yesterday.”
One said, “She was a student here.”
“That’s right,” said Klayman. “Did either of you know her?”
“I knew who she was,” the other one said. “Joe used to talk about her a lot.” A knowing smirk crossed his lips.
“Who’s Joe?”
“Joe Cole. He used to date her.”
“That’s right,” the roommate said.
Klayman looked at Marcia: “He’s a first-year grad student,” she said.
“He date her recently?” Klayman asked.
“Yeah. You don’t think—”
“Where is Joe Cole?” Klayman asked.
“Other end of the hall.”
Klayman took down their names in a small notebook and suggested to Marcia that they move on. As they retraced their steps down the hall, Klayman asked her, “Why do you know this Joe Cole? How many students are here, a couple of thousand?”
“Eleven thousand, Detective. Joe Cole is sort of a BMOC. You know what that means.”
“Big man on campus. Popular.”
“Yes. Popular. Handsome, with a great personality. He’ll be something one day.”
Cole’s roommate told them Joe had gone off to work out at the fitness center. Marcia thanked him, and she and Klayman crossed the campus to what a sign indicated was the William I. Jacobs Fitness Center, in the Bender Sports Arena. They found Cole using a weight machine. He saw Marcia motioning for him to join them, slid off the seat, and jogged to them. He stood a solid six feet tall. His black hair was shaved into a military style crew cut. His tanned face was square, his eyes droopy and pale blue, his smile big and friendly.
The girls must trip over one another trying to get to you,
Klayman thought.
“Joe, this is Detective Klayman from the police department. He’s here investigating the murder yesterday of Nadia Zarinski.”
The smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
“I know,” Cole said. “It’s all over the news. I couldn’t believe it.”
“You dated her,” Klayman said flatly.
“Yeah, I did. I mean, it was nothing serious, nothing like that. We went out a few times, nothing heavy duty.”
He’s exaggerating how casual it was.
“I’m told it was more serious than that,” Klayman said.
“Who said that?”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
A bigger shrug of the shoulders than it needed to be. “A couple of weeks ago maybe. At least two weeks. Maybe three.”
Another lie.
“What did you do . . .
three weeks ago
?”
A deeply furrowed brow to indicate serious thought. “A movie, I think.”
“What did you see?”
That winning, boyish grin again. “Jesus, I can’t remember. I go to the movies all the time.”
Klayman lost patience. He turned to Marcia and said in a low voice, “You’ll excuse us for a few minutes, won’t you?”
It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t giving her a choice. “I’ll be right outside,” she said, leaving but looking over her shoulder every few steps.
When she was gone, Klayman leaned against
“Coed dorm,” Klayman commented.
“All the floors in Anderson are coed,” Marcia confirmed. “Some of the others have same-sex floors.” She laughed. “I still can’t get used to the notion of coed living. I wouldn’t want it.”
The room that had been Nadia Zarinski’s was occupied by two young men sitting on the floor amidst a pile of half-emptied boxes. Rock music screeched from a boom box at their feet. They looked up at Klayman and Marcia; one of them waved. Marcia stepped into the room and yelled over the music, “Got a minute, guys?” They looked puzzled. “Turn that down?” she said, pointing to the boom box. They got to their feet, and one of them clicked off the recording. Marcia introduced herself, then did the same for Klayman.
“Just take a couple of minutes,” Klayman said. “Maybe you heard about the murder at Ford’s Theatre yesterday.”
One said, “She was a student here.”
“That’s right,” said Klayman. “Did either of you know her?”
“I knew who she was,” the other one said. “Joe used to talk about her a lot.” A knowing smirk crossed his lips.
“Who’s Joe?”
“Joe Cole. He used to date her.”
“That’s right,” the roommate said.
Klayman looked at Marcia: “He’s a first-year grad student,” she said.
“He date her recently?” Klayman asked.
“Yeah. You don’t think—”
“Where is Joe Cole?” Klayman asked.
“Other end of the hall.”
Klayman took down their names in a small notebook and suggested to Marcia that they move on. As they retraced their steps down the hall, Klayman asked her, “Why do you know this Joe Cole? How many students are here, a couple of thousand?”
“Eleven thousand, Detective. Joe Cole is sort of a BMOC. You know what that means.”
“Big man on campus. Popular.”
“Yes. Popular. Handsome, with a great personality. He’ll be something one day.”
Cole’s roommate told them Joe had gone off to work out at the fitness center. Marcia thanked him, and she and Klayman crossed the campus to what a sign indicated was the William I. Jacobs Fitness Center, in the Bender Sports Arena. They found Cole using a weight machine. He saw Marcia motioning for him to join them, slid off the seat, and jogged to them. He stood a solid six feet tall. His black hair was shaved into a military style crew cut. His tanned face was square, his eyes droopy and pale blue, his smile big and friendly.
The girls must trip over one another trying to get to you,
Klayman thought.
“Joe, this is Detective Klayman from the police department. He’s here investigating the murder yesterday of Nadia Zarinski.”
The smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
“I know,” Cole said. “It’s all over the news. I couldn’t believe it.”
“You dated her,” Klayman said flatly.
“Yeah, I did. I mean, it was nothing serious, nothing like that. We went out a few times, nothing heavy duty.”
He’s exaggerating how casual it was.
“I’m told it was more serious than that,” Klayman said.
“Who said that?”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
A bigger shrug of the shoulders than it needed to be. “A couple of weeks ago maybe. At least two weeks. Maybe three.”
Another lie.
“What did you do . . .
three weeks ago
?”
A deeply furrowed brow to indicate serious thought. “A movie, I think.”
“What did you see?”
That winning, boyish grin again. “Jesus, I can’t remember. I go to the movies all the time.”
Klayman lost patience. He turned to Marcia and said in a low voice, “You’ll excuse us for a few minutes, won’t you?”
It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t giving her a choice. “I’ll be right outside,” she said, leaving but looking over her shoulder every few steps.
When she was gone, Klayman leaned against
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