The sentiment was echoed by every staff member Eve spoke with. She finished up the session with Reed Williams, English department.
No pouch on this one, Eve noted. He had a strong, lean build that told her he took advantage of the fitness center facilities. His hair was a deep, rich brown tipped with gold to simulate sun streaks. His square jaw was deeply clefted under a firm mouth. His eyes of sharp, bottle green were heavily and darkly lashed.
He was thirty-eight, single, and wearing a suit that she estimated had cost him a stinging slice of his monthly pay.
“I saw him this morning, in the fitness center. He was doing reps when I came in. I don’t like to talk when I’m working out, so it was just a…well, a nod of acknowledgment. I’d say we were in there together for about twenty minutes. He headed out, waved. He generally took a swim after a workout. I was in there another ten minutes, I’d guess. Grabbed a shower, dressed. Then I saw Craig again in the lounge, with Eric. Eric Dawson.”
“Did Mr. Foster have anything with him?”
“With him? No, just a tube of Pepsi. We talked vids for a few minutes, then headed off to class. I ran into him again in the staff restroom.” Williams smiled slightly and showed a single dimple in his left cheek to go with the cleft. “Just a kind of ‘How’s it going?’ as we used the facilities. I guess that was right about eleven. Just before. The classes start on the hour, and I wasn’t late.”
“How did you get along with him?”
“Fine. We got along fine.”
“You both liked action vids. Did you hang out socially?”
“Now and again, sure. I went to his wedding last year—most of the staff did. We had a beer together a couple of times.” He shrugged. “We weren’t best pals, but we got along. Mirri would know him better, socially.”
“Mirri.”
“Hallywell. English department, Drama. They saw each other outside the school.”
“On a social level.”
“Sure.” He smiled a little again, and there was a smirk behind it. “They have a standing date Wednesday nights. To study.”
With the initial interviews done, Eve tagged Peabody again. “Bixley.”
“Hernando M., Maintenance. He was dealing with a plumbing problem in the boys’ john down the hall from the scene. He passed the two wits and Dawson on his way out.”
“Buzz?”
“No. He’s late sixties, worked here for twelve years. His two grandsons attend on his employee tuition rate. Seems like a solid type.”
“Hallywell.”
“Mirri C. Finished her about fifteen minutes ago. English department, runs the Drama Club and directs the school plays. I’m about to interview the last on my list. Is there something about Hallywell? I didn’t get a buzz from her either.”
“I want a quick followup. If she’s still here, I’ll track her down. Find me when you’re done.”
“She was pretty broken up—Hallywell. Might check one of the washrooms. I’d say she’d need to compose herself before she left.”
Following Peabody’s advice, Eve tried the staff restroom closest to the lounge where Peabody was conducting interviews. The door required a key card; Eve used her master.
And found a woman sitting on the floor in front of the bank of sinks, weeping.
“Mirri Hallywell.”
“Yes. Yes.” She choked back a sob, sniffled, mopped at her face with a tissue. The face was splotchy from the crying jag, the pale blue eyes swollen from it. She had dark hair worn in a brutally short Caesar style and tiny silver hoops in her ears.
“I’m sorry. Are you with the police? I’ve already talked to a detective.”
“My partner. I’m Lieutenant Dallas. I need to ask you a few more questions.”
“Oh, God, oh, God. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say.”
Eve crouched. “It’s rough when a colleague’s killed, so suddenly.”