The Lesson of Her Death

had an affair last year.”
    “Yessir, we figured as much,” Corde said.
    In the open window, the blond woman rested her chin in her hand and listened to his words without visible emotion. The cigarette dangled over the sill and from it rose a leisurely tentacle of smoke.
    “I was quite taken by her.” He said to Corde, “You saw her. How could anybody help but be captivated by her?”
    Corde remembered the moon, remembered the smell of mint on the dead girl’s mouth, remembered the spice of her perfume. He remembered the dull eyes. He remembered two diamonds and he remembered mud. He had no idea how captivating Jennie Gebben was.
    Sayles said, “She went to work for me in the financial aid office.”
    “We just came from there. The scrap of paper we found burned behind her dorm matches computer files inyour records. You broke into her dorm and stole her letters and papers. You burned them.”
    Sayles laughed shortly, the disarmed sound of someone learning that his secrets are not secret at all. He nodded. “You know the financial condition of the school?”
    What was it about educators that made them think their school was exactly the first thing on everyone’s mind?
    Sayles continued, “We’ve been in danger of closing since the mid-eighties. Dean Larraby and I came up with an idea two years ago. As dean of financial aid I started giving out loan money to students who were bad risks. Millions of dollars.”
    Corde nodded. “You gave them the money and they paid it to the school then they dropped out and defaulted. You kept the money. Who got, uhm, taken in that deal?”
    “It was mostly state and federal money,” Sayles said. “It’s a very common practice at small colleges.” A professor, Sayles was giving them information, not apologizing. “Times are extremely bad for educational institutions. Auden is being audited in a week or so by the Department of Education. They’ll find the loan defaults. I’ve tried desperately to get some interim financing to put into the loan accounts to cover the deficit but—”
    “And Jennie found out about the scam and you killed her,” Kresge said.
    “No sir, I did not.” Corde thought something like a Southern military officer’s drawl crept into the man’s offended voice. “She knew what was going on. But she didn’t care. And I didn’t care if she knew. I just arranged for the job for her so we could see each other privately. She took some work home, administrative things. After she died I went to her dorm and burnt those files and her letters. In case she’d mentioned me in them.”
    “That’s why you urged Steve Ribbon to pull me off the case? So this secret of yours didn’t get uncovered?”
    “I promised him and Sheriff Ellison they’d have university support in the elections come November.”
    Kresge’s face blossomed into a large frown at this first glimpse of law enforcement politics. He’d been on the job less than twenty-four hours.
    “But I didn’t kill her. I swear it.” His voice lowered. “Our relationship never went past sex. We were lovers. Once or twice I thought about marrying her. But she told me right up front she was in it for the sex and nothing else. I was happy to accommodate. It didn’t last long. Jennie was bisexual, you know. She finally patched up her relationship with Emily, her roommate, and she and I drifted apart.”
    “Emily’s death was a suicide, wasn’t it?”
    “Yes, I’m sure it was. She called me the night she died. I went to meet her. She was terribly depressed about Jennie, incoherent. She ran off. I have no doubt she killed herself.”
    “Well, Professor, who do you think is the killer?”
    “About four months after Jennie and I broke up she said she’d started seeing someone else. We were still close and she told me a few things about her lover. It sounded like a very destructive relationship. Finally she broke it off but the lover was furious. On the day she was killed, after class, Jennie told me she’d agreed to meet for one last time, to say it was over, to leave her alone. I tried to talk her out of it. But that was one thing you just couldn’t do with Jennie. You couldn’t protect her. She wouldn’t stand for it, she wouldn’t depend on anybody. I worried about her all evening. Finally, I drove out to the pond, where she’d told me they were going to meet. I found Jennie. With a rope around her neck. That rope. She was dead.”
    “She hadn’t been raped?” Corde