Chapter 11 #2
Roland’s lips parted and shut, a flush climbing out of his collar. Then something cleared in his expression, and he straightened in his chair an inch as if he’d figured out his salvation.
“A colleague called me,” Roland shared before tapping his desk in triumph. “Friday night, at the house. I answered my landline. So he can tell you. He can verify it.”
“And what is this colleague’s name?”
“Knox Hudson. He teaches history here, two doors down from the lecture hall downstairs.” Roland nodded to himself, gaining speed now that he’d found his footing.
“We overlap on a number of students. There’s one in particular, a young man, who’s been having a difficult time of it at home this term, and Knox and I have been comparing notes on how to keep him from slipping.
Anyway, Knox called me Friday evening about the boy. That’s a fact you can check.”
Hadley would follow up with Knox Hudson, but the alibi was thinner than Roland wanted it to be. A call proved he’d answered, but it didn’t prove a location. A landline could be forwarded to a cell, and the caller would never hear the difference.
“You never answered my earlier question, Mr. Mercer. Why were you in Earl Vinton’s cornfield last year?”
“I told you, Chief Dawkins. Research.” Roland’s irritation came back fast. “Everyone in this county has had the Threshing Man wrong since before either of us was born, and I am going to be the one who proves it.”
“Proves what, specifically?”
Roland had lowered his hands below the desk, but she’d bet her last paycheck that his knuckles were white with frustration. He wasn’t keen on her questioning his motives for trespassing on private property.
Had he reacted the same way with Reed?
“To prove that the Threshing Man is a protector, not a predator.” Roland had the tone of a teacher about to admonish a student for not paying attention in class. “Society views him as a—”
“Mr. Mercer, I respect your passion for your project,” Hadley said, realizing Roland wasn’t going to give a direct response.
She set both boots down flat on the floor and stood, smoothing the front of her blazer.
“But I won’t have you walking onto people’s land in the middle of the night.
The next time I catch you anywhere near private property, you won’t be getting a verbal warning.
I’ll put you in the back of my vehicle and book you. Are we clear on that?”
Roland was clearly stunned by her candor, but she’d lost his attention when his gaze drifted past her, out the open door. The sight of someone pulled him up out of the chair so fast that the laptop’s foam lost its alignment with the edge of the desk.
“Knox,” Roland called out, his voice climbing as he stepped around the edge. “Knox, a moment, please?”
Hadley peered over her shoulder to find a man in his thirties walking side by side with a woman twice his age. The two of them were halfway down the hallway, mid-conversation. The man turned at the sound of his name, a travel mug in hand. The woman was holding her cell phone loosely at her side.
The two began to retrace their steps in unison, but only after exchanging a glance of curiosity. There was a familiarity between them. Maybe a shared, practiced patience for the man at the end of the hall?
“Roland,” Knox greeted, the name landing just shy of a question. He stopped a few feet short of the doorway, his interest in Hadley evident. “What can I do for you?”
“I need you to confirm we spoke on Friday night.” Roland came up beside Hadley, closer than she would have preferred.
He seemed to realize the minimal distance, as well.
He edged a step to his left, but not before she registered the lack of cologne.
In its place was a sweet, pipe tobacco fragrance that must have absorbed into his wool blazer.
“You called me on my landline. I answered. Please, tell her.”
Knox’s eyebrows rose. He took in the badge on Hadley’s lapel and the firearm holstered at her hip, and his gaze returned to hers more slowly than it’d gone down.
“I, ah…” Knox tilted his head in interest. “Yes, I called Roland on Friday night. Around nine, maybe a little after. What’s this about?”
“Nothing to do with the college,” Roland rushed to say before Hadley could respond to Knox’s question.
It was her understanding from Matt Rutledge that his sister had been near Vinton’s east field closer to eleven.
Roland seemed to realize that Knox’s information might work against him. “Thank you, Knox.”
“Has something happened?” The question came from the woman. She was staring at Roland with what could only be described as contempt. Hadley got the distinct impression that she would be elated should Roland be forcibly removed from the campus. “Anything we should be aware of?”
“Routine questions,” Hadley replied vaguely, not willing to offer too much information to Roland’s colleagues. “I’m Police Chief Hadley Dawkins from Whistlerun. And you are?”
“Annette Belkin.” She slowly rolled her gaze over Roland before settling her attention back on Hadley. “I teach several psychology classes here at the college. Speaking of which, I have a class starting in a few minutes.”
Annette appeared to be in her sixties, with brownish-red hair styled to perfection.
The sleek bob was cut approximately one inch below her jawline, accentuating her high cheekbones.
The thin silver bangles jingled when she shifted her phone into her other hand.
She held Hadley’s gaze a beat longer than most individuals.