What Janie Saw(60)

                “So, what do you think happened?”

                Nathan’s gaze moved from Patricia’s office to down the hall, where the dean of students again was on the phone, to the other end of the hall where yet another officer blocked an entranceway. “I think this killer is in some way connected to the college and to the police.”

                “Then you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Rafe said. “I’ve got a few people to question, so I’ll get out of your way. You’ve got this under control. We’ll meet later when the medical examiner arrives. I want to hear what he has to say.”

                “I’ll keep you informed.”

                Rafe walked down the hallway, noting the office doors on each side and their corresponding nameplates. Most of the faculty had personalized their doors in some way, such as taping up cartoons, kids’ pictures, news articles about the state of education in Arizona, etc. Soon, Nathan’s officers would open every one of these offices, search them, and question the occupant.

                He ducked under the tape again, nodded to the officer and the dean, and sat down in a chair next to Janie. He angled his chair so he could see past the elevator.

                “Did they say when she died?” Janie whispered.

                “Why are we whispering?” Rafe whispered back. He couldn’t talk to her about the crime scene, not while he could be overheard, anyway.

                She narrowed her eyes.

                Rafe simply whispered louder. “The medical examiner hasn’t arrived yet to give an estimated time of death, and I’ve learned to never guess.”

                “If I were a cop,” Janie said at her normal volume, “I’d always be trying to guess.”

                “It’s only on television that a time of death is given as a fact,” Rafe said. “In real life, it’s a guess, nothing more.” And he didn’t want guesses, he wanted facts.

                But Janie was pale and tired, so Rafe was willing to cut her a little slack. “I’ll tell you as soon as I find out.”

                The chairs in the students’ waiting area were as uncomfortable as the chairs in his police station’s waiting room. Rafe shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable and forcing himself to remain seated. He was a guest on this case. He had to let Nathan take the lead.

                Students came and went, all pressing against the cordon tape that blocked the double doors to the art department. Some were clueless about what had happened, but most wanted to find out what was going on. Many were in tears. An officer dutifully copied down each and every name. Rafe didn’t envy Nathan having to run down so many long-shot leads. But if Patricia’s death was deemed a homicide—and there wasn’t an officer involved, including Rafe, who believed it was an accident—murderers too often came back to the scene.

                At the moment, Nathan was busy questioning Georgia Stratton, the liberal arts division secretary. He’d not invited Rafe to join in. That turf thing again. Of course, it might have to do with numbers: two’s company; three’s a crowd.

                Rafe shifted on his chair again, reminding himself that the more he pushed Nathan to work with him, the less chance he had of getting any cooperation.

                It wasn’t easy. From his vantage point, he could see Georgia through the glass windows of the private office. She looked about ready to faint, not good for a woman of her age. She’d been here when Rafe was a student.

                “You on a first-name basis with Georgia?” he asked Janie.