Fated (23 page)

“He’s too old for you, Freddie.”

Her smile was deceptively innocent. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

Wu’s door stood open, and he rose to his feet as soon as they appeared on its threshold. He held out a hand as he walked toward them, and Hart took it.

“I’m so sorry,” Wu said. His thin black glasses slid slightly down his narrow nose, and he pushed them back up with his free hand before cupping that too over Hart’s. “So very sorry for your loss, Lieutenant. So unexpected, we’re all still in shock, I’m afraid. I’ve wanted to contact you, but I didn’t want to intrude on your time. I was hoping to catch you at the service on Sunday.

“Not at all, President Wu. Thank you.” Hart stepped aside a little and turned toward Freddie. Wu let go of his hand. “This is Chief Inspector Lesley from the Brightly Police Department.”

“Call me William, please.” He shook Freddie’s hand and indicated two dark leather chairs in front of his desk. “Can I get you a drink? Coffee maybe, or some tea? Water?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Freddie said, taking a seat.

“Not for me, no.”

William sat down behind his desk, elbows on the polished top. His black hair had grayed nearly all over, the dark kind of gray that made it hard to tell where one color began and the other ended.

“So Ms. Flint was right. You are here on official business.”

Hart leaned forward. “Partly. I want to go through my father’s things, obviously. But we have reason to believe someone was after certain research he did. Folklore, mythology, that sort of thing. There was a break-in at Professor Gutmann’s house yesterday afternoon. Nobody was home, but two men were apprehended while attempting to steal his research.” For now he kept quiet about the death threats toward his father.

“A break-in?” Wu’s glasses slid down his nose again as a deep
V
appeared on his forehead. “I know your father sometimes conferred with Professor Gutmann, but I’m afraid I’m not very up to date with what he’s been working on.” Wu paused, his dark eyes smiling up at Hart. “You are very like him, aren’t you? I would’ve known immediately, if I’d met you somewhere else. I see him in you.”

“Thank you,” Hart said, because it was the right thing to say. They sat in silence for a moment, and then Wu reached for his phone. “I’ll give Mr. Carlton a call—Jonathan’s secretary. He should know where everything is in case you’re looking for something specific. Why don’t you go and have a drink in the cafeteria? They have some lovely croissants this morning. I’ll make sure Mr. Carlton finds you there and takes you to Jonathan’s office.”

“Thank you, William.” Hart rose to his feet, as did Wu, who held out his hand again.

“Anytime, Hart.” He smirked a little, eyes dancing, then took Freddie’s hand and lifted it to his mouth without actually kissing it. “Enchanted, Madam.”

Freddie’s cheeks flushed dark red, and she mumbled something incoherent. Hart managed not to laugh until they were back at the stairs. Just.

T
HE
CLOSEST
cafeteria sat on the top floor of the psychology and philosophy building where Jonathan Hart had his office, so that was where they went. The high arched windows let in the sunlight spilling over Shadow Mountain. In contrast to the rest of the architecture, the cafeteria was very stark and modern. In the four corners of the room stood four different islands presenting different kinds of food. Hart and Freddie automatically went to the one with coffee and pastries. From a clean rectangular table in the corner of the room, they could keep an eye on the entrance.

“So, what do you think?” Freddie swapped a croissant for a mug of coffee.

“I think he’s a gentleman and very distinguished. You’d make a great couple.”

“Fuck you,” Freddie said, but she guffawed under her breath. “Or I’ll start in on you and Toby playing doctor all night. Tell me, were you the nurse? Or a patient?”

“All right, all right, I surrender! God.” Hart laughed as he held his hands up. “But seriously, as far as I know, he’s not married—”

“By all means, carry on, and I’ll start using your first name.” Hart’s mouth dropped open, and he nearly dribbled coffee on his front. “What? You think I don’t have access to your file, H—”

“Mr. Hart?”

“Yes.” Grabbing the chance of escape with both hands, Hart turned so fast he made the man who appeared by their side flinch. The guy was very thin and very tall, with square glasses perching elegantly on a handsome, longish face framed by wispy blond curls.

“I’m Alexander Carlton, I’m—I was your father’s secretary. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Hart rose to shake the man’s hand, then indicated a free chair. “Thank you. Please take a seat. This is my partner, Chief Inspector Lesley.” Fascinated, Hart watched a steady flush creep from Carlton’s throat up to his hairline as he shook hands with Freddie.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Carlton.” Judging by the grin, she’d noticed. “Please, call me Freddie.”

“Uh.” Carlton tugged at the shirtsleeves of his dark blue shirt, which matched his checkered sweater-vest. “Alex, you can… call me Alex.”

Freddie propped an elbow on the table and put her chin in her hand. “Alex,” she said dreamily, and Hart rolled his eyes.

“President Wu said you’d be able to let us into my father’s office.”

“Yes,” Alex said, focusing on Hart. “I’ve already packed up most of his things because I assumed you’d have enough to do at the house. But all the boxes are labeled, so of course you can go through it all. There are certain things that can’t leave campus like student exams and essays, and I’ve set a few things aside that are yours to do with as you please but that would be valuable to the university and its, uh, staff.” Alex swallowed and looked down at his white-knuckled hands. It could’ve been the light, but Hart thought his eyes were moist behind their glasses. He patted Alex’s wrist.

“If there is anything of his that you would like, of course you can have it. Were you friends?”

Alex blinked, startled. He tripped over his words a little as he said, “Yes. I mean, we worked together for four years, so obviously… but, yes. I’d like to think we got on very well. I liked Jonathan very much, Mr. Hart, and I hope that over the years he had come to like me too.”

“I’m sure he did, Alex. I’m glad he had such good friends.” Four years was a long time, and he pushed down the sour stirring in his gut. His father deserved to have surrounded himself with people who wanted to be near him. Alex didn’t say anything, and Hart didn’t think he’d have been able to if he tried. His lips were white from pressing them together, and as Hart stared at the young man’s anguish—unable to give him the privacy he needed—he realized he did feel grateful for the friendship this guy had offered his father in the years he hadn’t been there.

“Shall we go take a look, then?” Freddie asked, keeping her voice kind and low.

Alex gave her a small smile. “You can finish your coffee, if you like. I’m in no hurry.”

“Well, in that case,” Freddie wiggled in her chair. “Tell us about yourself, Alex.”

Alex cast a wide-eyed plea in Hart’s direction, but Hart pushed his chair back a little and rose to his feet. “I’ll go grab you some coffee too, Alex. Sugar? Cream?”

“Oh. Uh, three sugars no cream, please.”

As he walked away, he bit back a laugh when he heard Freddie say, “So you like it sweet and black, do you?” Poor Alex.

W
ALKING
INTO
his father’s office was a little heartbreaking. The old leather swivel chair stood empty behind a familiar desk, but the antique typewriter was gone, along with the picture frame of his mother in a blue summer dress, a two-year-old Hart sitting on her hip.

The wall behind the door was hidden by a stack of boxes, the room stripped of its very last personal touch. Hart wished he could’ve seen it the way his father had meant it to be one last time. He imagined Alex carefully going through everything and packing away item after item, readying the room for the next professor to come along.

A coveted office like this one probably had a waiting list. Elsewhere someone could be packing up their very own things to move in here and erase the last of the stamp his father had left on the room.

Every shelf in the office stood empty, a faint layer of dust outlining where the books had been. Hart had spent a lot of time here as a child, when his father had come in on weekends to catch up with work or during the days he had off from school. The chaise longue underneath the window never did lose the chocolate stain he’d put there when he was eleven. Hart moved toward the open window and looked out. Shadow Mountain showed its prettiest side here, the hill sloping innocently into mist. As a child he’d fantasized about trekking into those woods and facing fearsome monsters. The Predator, yes, but others too. Larger than life bears, wolves gone rabid, zombies that rose from the earth at night. The Mountain was a fantastical place in his youth, a source of fairy tales. Now all it seemed to do was cast shadows everywhere he went.

Behind him, Alex coughed gently.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he said when Hart faced him. “I’ll be in the office down the hall if you need me. Or you can just dial three, and you’ll end up with me.” He nodded toward the phone, the only item left on the desk.

“Thank you, Alex.”

“Want me to go for a bit too?” Freddie asked when Alex closed the door. “I can give you some time if you want.”

“And get a sexual harassment case slapped on your ass? I don’t think so.” He smirked but sobered quickly. “No, I think we might find what we’re looking for faster with you here. We can pretty much discard anything labeled term papers, university property, and philosophy books and start with the rest. We can go through those later if we can’t find anything.”

Hart pulled a box toward him that read “personal” and began to go through it.

Sunlight crept from one end of the room to the other as he painstakingly lift
ed every item out of box after box before putting it back. After the first hour, he’d become so overwhelmed by memories he’d had to stop thinking entirely, until Freddie had put a hand on his arm and offered him a tissue. He hadn’t realized he’d been silently crying.

“This is going to take forever,” he said. The sun had arched its way over the university, the window showing the shadow of the Mountain. When he checked his watch, it showed two in the afternoon. “We’re going to have to open every last one of these boxes.” And he was tired and hungry and reaching the end of his tether.

“Unless he kept anything on his laptop.”

Hart froze. “What laptop?”

“Here.” Freddie dug into the box she was currently emptying and handed him a sleek, silver design. Hart took it from her, found a socket beside the couch, and plugged in the cord. It fit.

“He used to hate computers so much. I don’t understand why he changed his mind.” He booted the thing up only to be confronted with a demand for a login.

“Hard to keep up without one nowadays.”

He shook his head. “Dad didn’t care about that. Shit, I need a password.”

Freddie came to sit beside him on the couch. “Try names first.”

Hart tried every combination of his dad’s name, his mom’s, his mom and dad’s combined, and then threw a sideways glance at Freddie, who was grinning at him.

“Don’t look at me like I don’t already know your first name.”

With a sigh, he typed it in. The entry screen loaded. Thankfully, Freddie said nothing for once.

It took some weeding to get through his father’s files, all saved in an odd numeric system that started with “one” for his classes and ended with “nine” for his bills and taxes. Under seven, which turned out to be folklore and mythology, they eventually found a file titled LION. With his heart battering against his ribcage, he began to read through the torrent of information.

Vaguely the opening and closing of a door registered, and then again some time later, but Hart didn’t straighten until Freddie pushed a Styrofoam box under his nose.

“Eat,” she ordered. “And talk. Preferably not with your mouth full, but I’ll take anything at this point.”

His stomach growled when the box revealed a burger and curly fries. Taking a large bite, he nodded toward the laptop. “Unwittingly or not, Dad has been following the same cases I have, only he has been one step ahead of me. I don’t know how he managed to find these people, but he talked to Mr. Drake before he went into the coma. See—” Hart clicked on a file. “There are interviews. He goes to people on the pretext of writing a book, so he can ask them questions on whatever it is they would likely know much about. In Drake’s case it’s about his mother and the sudden change in wealth, can he remember it at all, and so on. Then at the end, there is a note of his own thoughts.”

Freddie leaned closer and made an annoyed noise. “What? What is this? Miraculu—what now?”

He laughed softly. “It’s in Latin. Dad used to do this to me all the time.” Pointing at the words, he read, “Evidence of interference, extreme changes in life, miracle healing. That’s the gist of it anyway. My Latin is a bit rusty.”