“After I sent the student off, I did some work. As I was leaving, I stopped by the break room. I thought to get some coffee for the walk to my apartment. And I walked in on the headmaster and Van. I was shocked, of course, embarrassed, left very quickly. A couple hours later, Van came to my apartment, shaken, distraught. First he begged me to say nothing. I don’t know what I would have done, but it came out—and I believed him—that she had pressured and demanded. She had insinuated that if he wanted to keep his position, he would allow her to … be intimate. He was new, like me. Young, like me. So he did as she wanted.”
“You didn’t say nothing.”
“No. We talked, for some time, Van and I. And I convinced him we had to report this. She’d used her power and authority to coerce him into sex, and that couldn’t stand.”
He sighed again. “But you see, we were young and new, and she was power. She countered this, claimed he had assaulted her, and that I had taken his part against her. He was dismissed. I was reprimanded. I needed the work, so I stayed, and I knew by then she was leaving at the start of the year, so I stayed.
“Van left New York, and with this black mark was unable to teach anywhere. There was a car accident five years ago. He was killed. And I think, if I had said nothing, he would have continued at TAG—where he was a good fit. He wouldn’t have been in that car in Michigan on icy roads. So how much is my fault?”
“None of it. It begins and ends with Grange, Mr. Yin. Besides Van, do you know of others Grange either pressured or just had sexual encounters with?”
“There were rumors. I only know, conclusively, about Van.”
“Brent Whitt. Stephen Whitt’s father.”
“At the time of all this, the strongest rumors aimed there. But I don’t understand how this information helps in your investigation into the tragedies.”
“That’s for me to figure out.”
And, Eve thought, she damn well would. She began digging down through the layers on Stephen Whitt.
Academically, there hadn’t been so much as a blip with his transfer. Probability of that, she mused, dead low. She believed him when he’d told her he’d been pissed, upset, argumentative.
Added to it, he’d bullied and cheated his way, apparently with Grange’s blessing, at Gold. So, logical assumption? She’d smoothed over that period.
Family legacy and money would have helped get him into Northwestern, but he’d needed the grades, too. And he’d needed to maintain them once he didn’t have Grange running interference.
Not stupid, though. Highly intelligent. And savvy enough to know he had to buckle down enough if he wanted that big corner office.
He liked money—playing with it was a game to some. Didn’t she know it, she thought with a glance toward Roarke’s office.
Money was power, and power was the goal. Power and prestige and lifestyle.
She scanned through articles. Society pages, financial pages, gossip pages. Oh yeah, he was an up-and-comer, a young gun. Lots of fancy dos with him with a woman on his arm. Never the same more than twice, she noted, and wasn’t it interesting how many of them bore at least a surface resemblance to Hayward?
She hung you up, didn’t she, Steve? The one who got away.
She kept digging.
She barely glanced up when Roarke came in, when he eased around her to use her command center’s AutoChef.
“I’ve got more on Grange. One way or another she’s going down. If it comes to it, I migh
t be able to leverage her against Whitt. Or use them against each other. Plus, he’s still hung up on Hayward, so…”
She caught the scent before he set the little plate on the counter. Cookie. Big, fat, chunky cookie.
She picked it up—still warm—and shifted when he sat at her auxiliary. “Either you got something that meant cookie reward, or you bombed out and wanted the cookie consolation.”
“The first.” He bit into his own. “You’ll want to run Lucas Sanchez, aka Loco, though I already did. He’s dead, killed about a month ago in what appeared to be an illegals deal gone south. Stabbed multiple times in an alley in Alphabet City. Jenkinson and Reineke caught it.”
“It’s still open.” She pulled the bullpen’s board into her head. “Open and going cold.” She had to push back, pull reports and quick conversations back into her head. “An illegals cook, an addict.”
“That’s correct. If one goes back about a decade, it appears young Lucas had one semester, on a science scholarship, at Gold Academy before that scholarship was rescinded when he was arrested for possession.”
“Son of a bitch! In a really good way,” Eve added.
“I thought you’d see it that way. Some of the possession was already inside his system when he attempted to mug a couple of tourists in Times Square. Females. One of whom kicked him in the balls while the other called the police.”