Dark Truth (15 page)

“Makes you think about what? That there’s a copycat killer on the loose at St. Ansel’s?”

“Makes you think maybe Stephen Madden was telling the truth when he said he hadn’t murdered those girls.”

“You have to be kidding. Stephen was guilty, all right. He’d had affairs with each of those girls, and then what happened? He wants to end the relationship, they threaten to tell the dean, he kills them. It’s as simple as that. I can’t believe no one put it together sooner than they did.”

“No one put what together?”

“Well, that it was Stephen’s girls who were getting killed.”

“But I was under the impression that, at the time, no one knew he’d been having these affairs.” Wes caught Overbeck’s gaze and held it, refusing to let the man look away. “That until Madden was arrested for the last of the murders, no one had known he’d had any involvement with the others.”

Wes let that sink in before asking, “Are you telling me now that you knew Dr. Madden had been involved with the others?”

Overbeck continued to stare.

“Because if you knew, I’d have to wonder why, after the first girl was found murdered, you didn’t come forward and say something. There was, what, something like five or six months between the first murder and second? And if you’d known about his affairs, surely you would have wanted the police to know, right?” Wes leaned forward and rested his forearms on the desk. “I mean, given your relationship with Mrs. Madden, I’d think you wouldn’t have minded if Dr. Madden had been taken out of the picture sooner.”

Dr. Overbeck broke eye contact at the mention of Olivia Madden.

“You were having an affair with Dr. Madden’s wife, correct?”

Overbeck sighed heavily. “Yes, I had an affair with Olivia.”

“You know, what I find interesting is that you managed to keep that a secret during the entire investigation and trial.” Wes shook his head. “I was one of the investigating officers back then, and the only time I heard your name mentioned was as a colleague of Madden’s.”

Wes stopped and looked around Overbeck’s office. He stood and walked outside, and looked up and down the hall, then came back in.

“Now that I think about it”—Wes sat back down—“this was his office, wasn’t it? Madden’s?”

Dr. Overbeck cleared his throat before answering. “Yes. Yes, it was Stephen’s office.”

“I also seem to recall that back then, Dr. Madden was next in line for the head of the English department when . . . help me out here, who was the head of the department back then?”

“Father Candelori.”

“Right. Father Candelori.” Wes nodded. “Madden was his choice to take over the department when he retired. Which was supposed to be the following year, right?”

Overbeck nodded.

“Who was finally named head of the department back then, Dr. Overbeck?”

“Actually, I was.”

“Really,” Wes said flatly.

“Really.” Overbeck stood. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, Detective, but I think you’ve taken enough of my time for one day. I’m devastated that another young girl has lost her life here at St. Ansel’s, but I don’t know what the point is to your bringing up Stephen or Olivia or any of that. It was all a long time ago. Stephen was convicted, he went to prison, he died. Olivia, as I’m sure you’re aware, has died recently. I can’t see where there’s anything more to be said.”

“Well, here’s the thing. Without boring you with the details, Madden’s daughter just got her hands on a letter that Stephen had written to Olivia shortly before he died. In the letter, he tells her about having found what he believed to have been the weapon that killed those four girls, way back when.” Wes paused to watch Overbeck’s eyes begin to widen. “Apparently the weapon was hidden in Madden’s house; at least, that’s what the letter seemed to indicate. He seemed to think the weapon implicated Olivia somehow, though that’s crazy, right? I mean, since the girls were all raped, Olivia couldn’t very well have been the killer.”

“I don’t know anything about any of that.” Overbeck had gone pale.

“But you knew Olivia well, didn’t you? Your affair lasted . . . how long? Two years?” Wes stood. “Two very critical years in Olivia’s life, wouldn’t you say? Her husband gets arrested and charged with murder, she finds out about all of his affairs . . .”

Wes rubbed his chin, as if something had just occurred to him.

“Unless, of course, she knew about them. I don’t suppose she ever told you that she knew he was having these affairs with his students?”

Overbeck considered the question carefully before answering. “Olivia knew Stephen was having an affair. I do not believe she knew with whom.”

“Well, that helps.” Wes started toward the door, then stopped and asked, “What was she like, Olivia? I met her years ago but, of course, didn’t get to know her. My impression of her is one of a very beautiful, very strong woman.”

Overbeck nodded slowly. “Yes, she was beautiful. And strong.”

“Were you in love with her?”

“Absolutely,” Overbeck said without hesitation.

Wes took out his wallet and retrieved one of his business cards. Handing it to the professor, he said, “All of my numbers are on here. Will you give me a call if you think of anything that might be helpful?”

“I will. Yes, I’ll do that.” Overbeck appeared to be relieved to see Wes go. He walked with the detective to the door, and the minute Wes was in the hallway, Overbeck closed it.

Smiling with satisfaction, Wes walked to the stairs and down to the first floor. Once in the lobby, he checked his watch. He had plenty of time before he had to meet with Father Whelan. He’d grab lunch, then head back to the building on the other side of the campus where Father Whelan’s class was being held.

There was only one of Olivia’s men left to talk to. He wondered what the priest could tell him that he didn’t already know.

E
ighteen

Wes had just made it to the other side of the campus when the students from the two-fifteen classes were beginning to spill out of St. Ambrose Hall and down the wide double stairs in the front of the building. He was halfway up the steps through the crowd when his cell phone rang.

“Powell,” he answered and stepped to the side of the staircase.

“Detective, it’s Mitch Peyton. I thought I’d give you a call and let you know that we have a date for the profiler to meet with you. She’ll be available all day Thursday.”

“This coming Thursday?”

“Yes, day after tomorrow. Where would you like to meet? She said she’ll go to the police station, or she’d go to Regan’s, your choice.”

“Do you think Ms. Landry would mind if we met there?”

“Are you kidding?” Mitch snorted. “She wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

“And I suppose Ms. Madden will be there as well?”

“Oh, yeah, she’ll be there. Regan says Nina took some personal time—apparently she has a lot of days accumulated, and with everything that’s going on, she thinks she’d rather stay around for a while than continue to travel back and forth between here and New York.”

“Well, maybe by Thursday I’ll have something to bring to the party.”

“What do you mean?”

“I spent my day divided between Kyle Stillman and Dr. Overbeck.”

“And . . . ?”

“And frankly, I don’t know which of them I dislike more.”

“This has promise. How about the priest?”

“He’s next up.” Wes turned his wrist to look at his watch. “As a matter of fact, he’s up right now.”

“Great. I’ll be interested to see how your impressions fit in with Annie’s psychological profile. Wouldn’t it be nice to find a neat fit?”

“You ever see a neat fit, Agent Peyton?”

“Nah. But we all have our dreams, Detective.”

Father Timothy Whelan leaned on the dark oak podium in the front of the large room on the second floor of the last building on campus. He appeared to be listening patiently as first one student, then another, stopped to say a few words. The priest had a response, or a smile and a pat on the shoulder, for each kid. Wes waited until only the priest remained. When he entered, Father Whelan was packing some papers into a leather briefcase.

“Father Whelan,” Wes said, and then introduced himself, “Detective Powell. We met very briefly, years ago. I was part of the Madden investigation.”

“That explains why your name rings a distant bell.” Father Whelan set the briefcase on the desk and turned to Wes with very blue eyes that stared out from a ruddy face. “How are you coming along with your investigation of this horrible murder?”

“Still looking for leads, Father.” Wes sat on one of the seats in the first row. “I have to admit, right now we have none.”

“Well, surely there’s some evidence, fingerprints, shoe prints, whatever.”

“The crime scene techs found lots of prints in the apartment, Father. But unless one of them goes through the computer and bounces back with a match on record, we may never know whose prints we’re looking at. And as for footprints—” Wes smiled. “Father, have you been watching
CSI
?”

“Oh, guilty, there.” The priest smiled, too. “I’m afraid I’m addicted to crime shows. I never miss one, if I can avoid it.”

He glanced down at several papers on the podium, then stacked them and added them to the briefcase.

“Of course, with my class here, and my classes at St. Ansel’s Prep, I don’t have as much time as I might like some nights to just relax and watch TV.” The priest closed the briefcase with a snap. “Now, tell me what you think I can help you with.”

“We’ve been talking to some of the instructors who had Allison Mulroney as a student. We’re looking for any information you could give us about her personal life, her friends, that sort of thing.”

“I would think you’d get more of that sort of information from the students who lived in her apartment building.”

“Oh, we’re talking to them as well.” Wes nodded. “But we’re looking at this from every angle. Sometimes you might notice something in class that the victim’s friends or roommates might have missed.”

The priest nodded. “Of course, of course. I can tell you she was a good student. Quite a fine writer, by the way. She did a paper last month on Christopher Marlowe that was just terrific.” He leaned on the podium as if in thought. “She usually came in to class alone, but almost always walked out with Andrea Bollen. They always sat together there in the front.” Father Whelan pointed toward the left side of the room. “I seem to recall she liked to look out the window. I didn’t blame her for that. There’s a pond down there with a pair of swans. I watch them myself when I can sneak a peek.”

Wes took his notebook out of his pocket and scanned the first few pages.

“We did talk to Andrea Bollen. She lived with two other girls in the apartment across the hall from Allison. She was the one who told me about your class, by the way. She said she and Allison had different classes right before this one, but would meet here and after class would go to the coffee shop for a snack, then stop at the library for an hour or two, then go home. She said the routine rarely varied.”

“So anyone watching her for any period of time would know where to find her,” Father Whelan said.

“All those crime shows appear to be paying off. You’re starting to think like a cop, Father.”

“Unfortunately, this isn’t our first brush with a killer here at St. Ansel’s, Detective Powell.”

“The Stone River Rapist.” Wes nodded. “I remember it well.”

“Do you now?” The priest stared at him. “Did you live here in Stone River then?”

“I did, but I was also on the force at the time. It was my first big case. And you know, you never forget that first homicide.”

“Well, that was an easy one, though. I mean, in terms of solving it. It was obvious who the killer was.”

“Not to us,” Wes told him. “At least, not until we found that book Dr. Madden had left in the apartment of the last victim.”

“Lucky thing, that. Who knows how much longer the killings would have gone on had you not caught him then.”

“Luck?” Wes leaned forward in his seat and rested his arms on his thighs. “I never thought about it being luck. At the time I thought it had been uncommonly stupid for a killer who had been so clever up until that point.”

“Well, it was an oversight on Stephen’s part, I’m sure. But it doesn’t matter, since it led to his arrest and conviction. And no more of our girls had to die.”

“I understand that you were close to Dr. Madden’s wife.” Wes decided to toss that out there.

“Why, yes, I was.” Father Whelan’s hands gripped the podium, and he stared at Wes. “Olivia and I had been friends for years.”

“Yeah, so her son told me.” Wes stood and walked to the window and looked out. “Oh, yeah, the swans are out there on the pond. Don’t they fly away in the winter?”

“No. You saw Kyle recently?”

“Just this morning, as a matter of fact.” Wes turned back to the room and leaned on the wide windowsill. “It seems that after Olivia’s death, Nina—Stephen Madden’s daughter—came into possession of a letter that her father had written to Olivia.”

“Yes, she did. I delivered it to her, as Olivia had asked me to do before she died.”

“Had you read the letter before you passed it along, Father?”

“Of course not.” The priest crossed his arms over his chest.

“You weren’t tempted? As close as you and Olivia were, you weren’t interested in what her husband had to say to her from prison?”

“Not at all.”

“But you were aware of the problems in their relationship. Of Stephen’s wandering eye.”

“Olivia told me that Stephen had been unfaithful to her.”

“Why do you suppose she didn’t leave him?”

“I never asked her that. I guess she must have loved him.” The cleric averted his eyes.

“Were you her confessor, Father?”

The question seemed to catch the priest off guard. “On occasion, yes. When she was ill the first time, several years back, then later, toward the end, yes, I heard her confession.”

“Were you aware that she’d had an affair with Dr. Overbeck?”

“I can’t discuss her personal life with you, Detective. It would be a breach of confidentiality, of her trust.”

“Only if she confided in you during her confessions. Did she do that, Father? Did she talk to you about her affair in her confessions?”

“You know I cannot discuss anything that was revealed in the course of a confession. As a priest, I am bound to silence by the church, by my vows. I’m sorry, Detective Powell, but if you’re looking for ‘dirt’ on Olivia Madden, you’re going to have to find it elsewhere.” Father Whelan picked up his briefcase. “I fail to see what this has to do with Allison Mulroney.”

“There are several striking similarities between this case and the Madden case,” Wes told him, “so we’re taking a second look at that.”

“You can’t be serious.” Father Whelan stared at Wes as if he’d suddenly sprouted a second head.

“Serious as a heart attack. That’s not for publication, by the way. We’re still looking into it, but there are too many similarities to ignore.”

Father Whelan stood riveted to the spot.

“Why would . . .” he wondered aloud, then stopped. To Wes, he said, “I have a meeting in ten minutes on the opposite side of campus. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll walk with you. I left my car over by Celestine Hall.” Wes walked to the door and waited for the priest to follow him.

Wes tried to engage him in further conversation, but Father Whelan appeared distracted as they made their way back across campus. When they reached Celestine Hall, Wes tried one more time.

“Father, what can you tell me about Olivia Madden?”

“What do you mean?”

“What kind of person was she?”

The priest seemed to consider the question carefully.

“Olivia was very beautiful. Very emotional. She had depths of emotions . . . “ He shook his head, then said, as if nothing further was necessary, “She wasn’t like anyone I ever knew.”

“Kyle seems to think you were in love with her.”

“Detective,” Father Whelan smiled weakly, “I never met a man who knew her who wasn’t.”