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  “She didn’t say, but it might be Sylvester Blake. I know they are friends and study together sometimes,” said Dom. Sylvester Blake was a fourteen year veteran of the Elmwood Police Department. He didn’t have his degree yet and was working toward it by taking one or two classes a semester. A college degree was not a requirement for employment as a police officer in South Dakota, but a degree would be beneficial for anyone applying for promotion in the police department.

  Marlee’s sense of Sylvester was that he liked to act like a big shot. In Marlee’s classes, he frequently tried to demonstrate how much he knew on a topic. Some of the younger students seemed impressed by Sylvester’s stories of life on the police force, but most saw him for the blowhard he really was. Marlee didn’t mention her thoughts about Sylvester to Dom or Jasper–it just wasn’t cool to gossip about one student with others.

  “Have you heard anything else?” asked Marlee. Although she didn’t give much credence to information attributed to Sylvester Blake, the details about the gun and the gunshot wound were the only ones that had any ties to the police department.

  “Yeah,” said Jasper. “We’ve been hearing that Dr. LeCroix was in the Witness Protection Program and he was killed because he knew too much about something that happened back in California.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Marlee asked. Anytime someone had a mysterious background, students tended to bring up the Witness Protection Program since it was featured on so many TV shows and movies. The reality was that very few people were in this relocation program for people who had or would be providing information for the prosecution of dangerous individuals and groups, such as the mob or large-scale drug traffickers. The Witness Protection Program was administered by the U.S. Marshals Service and was top secret. Although it was unlikely a professor would be moved to Elmwood, South Dakota, to teach at MSU, it was not altogether impossible.

  “I’ve heard it from a few different students,” said Jasper.

  “Me too,” said Dom. “Donnie Stacks didn’t say anything about it, but lots of other students are saying that’s why he was killed.”

  “We were wondering what you thought,” said Jasper. “I remember you talking in one of your classes last semester about murder and the reasons people do it. We thought maybe you might have some inside information about the case.”

  “I don’t have any inside information from official sources,” said Marlee, “but we know the main motives for murder are love, hate, money and revenge. Based on those possible motives, who do you think could’ve killed Logan?”

  “A boyfriend,” said Jasper. “Or a girlfriend,” he quickly added, not wanting to stereotype Logan as gay.

  “Sure,” said Marlee. “It could be a past or present love interest or someone who was attracted to Logan but he wasn’t interested in them.”

  “Like unrequited love?” asked Dom, which earned him a laugh and an elbow in the ribs from Jasper.

  “Yeah. It could be someone who was obsessed with Logan or maybe even stalking him,” said Marlee. “Logan could have been totally unaware of it. It may have been going on for years.”

  “It might be somebody from Elmwood, or it could be someone he knew before he moved here,” posited Jasper.

  “Yep, that’s right,” said Marlee. “So how about the other motives? Who else might have a reason to kill Logan?”

  “If he had any money, the person who would inherit it could be a suspect,” offered Jasper. “We know he’s not married, but does he have any kids?”

  “I think the personnel office and the police department are still trying to track down any next of kin Logan had,” said Marlee. “Anyone with a financial motive to kill Logan would be a suspect. He could have been the victim of a robbery too. Who else might want him dead?”

  “Hmmm, I never knew him,” said Dom “but it sounds like he was a nice guy. But maybe somebody hated him for some reason other than unrequited love or because he testified against them.”

  “I heard he was gay,” said Jasper. “I don’t know if it’s true or not, but that might be a reason somebody would want him dead.”

  “Sad, but true,” said Marlee. She knew that all too often people were targeted because of their race, religion or sexuality. Her doctoral dissertation and subsequent research dealt with hate crimes and hate groups. “Just last week I was reading about a young couple that was targeted because they were gay. They left a known gay bar in Omaha and were beaten with bats and tire irons by a group of guys as they were getting into their car. One was in intensive care, and the other had a lot of bruises and a broken leg. It’s just senseless,” she said shaking her head in disgust. The two students nodded in agreement.

  “Is there anyone else that might hate Logan?” asked Dom.

  “A student or another professor,” volunteered Jasper.

  “Or a neighbor, or someone he had business dealings with,” said Marlee. “Of course, it could’ve been an accident.” Both students stared at her, realizing this was an explanation they had overlooked. Anticipating their questions in advance, Marlee said, “Somebody could’ve been on campus just playing around with a gun, and it went off, or that person fired it on purpose. There was no intent for anyone to get hurt, but after realizing someone was hit, the shooter threw the gun in the dumpster and ran off. I suppose it could’ve been a case of mistaken identity. The killer mistook Dr. LeCroix for the intended victim.”

  “He may have been the victim just because the shooter thought he had money or something of value on him,” said Dom. “He wouldn’t have been singled out because he was gay or a snitch or anything else…just that he might have money. Or it could have been a thrill kill like we talked about in Intro to Criminal Justice last semester. Somebody kills another person for no other reason than they just wanted to kill.”

  “All are possible explanations. When I used to work as a probation officer, we had a saying: anything is possible, but very few things are probable,” said Marlee. “In other words, the most obvious explanation is usually the correct one.” After Marlee earned her Master’s Degree at South Dakota State University, she worked for a few years as a probation officer, first with the state of South Dakota and then later with the federal government. While working with the feds in Elmwood, she worked on her doctorate degree in Criminology at South Dakota State University. Through hard work, determination and a little luck of the Irish, she was able to get through the program in about five years while working full time as a probation officer. Some of her counseling classes were taken at MSU, but she had to travel over two hours away to Brookings to take most of her classes since that was the degree-granting institution. Marlee liked to bring personal stories and case examples into her classes. It helped to liven up the class discussions and also showed students the practical side, as opposed to just the theoretical side, of Criminology. She still used some of her contacts in various state and federal agencies to obtain internships and jobs for her students as well as to bring professionals into her classrooms as speakers.

  “Dr. M, you knew him, didn’t you?” asked Jasper.

  “I knew him but not very well. His office was near mine, so I’d say hi to him almost every day, and sometimes we would chat for a few minutes, but I can’t say I knew a whole lot about him. He did come to a party I had about a month ago,” said Marlee.

  “A party!” exclaimed Jasper and Dom in unison, looking at each other in horror. Their faces revealed that they couldn’t even fathom a professor having a party, let alone inviting other professors to it.

  “Yes,” said Marlee, feeling a bit uncomfortable. On one hand she did not want to give students too much information about her personal life, but on the other hand she really wanted to dispel the notion that professors were alien beings who spent all waking hours grading papers and reading academic journals. On several occasions when meeting with students, Marlee had wanted to yell out, “Hey, twenty years ago I was you!” but she wisely refrained from doing so. She had hated being told “You’ll
see someday,” by old fogies when she was in her college years.

  “I had a little housewarming party about a month after moving to my place. Since Logan was new to campus, I invited him. He came to the party for a little bit, had a glass of wine and left,” Marlee recalled. “He talked with some people he already knew from campus and met some of my other friends from campus and others who work elsewhere in town.”

  Again, Dom and Jasper looked at each other, mouths agape. They just couldn’t picture professors in any type of social setting.

  “Um, we have class in a few minutes,” said Jasper, relieved to end the discussion of professors and parties. Marlee didn’t have any classes that day, just office hours which she used to meet with students and catch up on her grading and class prep.

  “No problem. I’ll make a deal with you guys. You let me know what you’re hearing about this case, and I’ll do the same,” said Marlee.

  Both students grinned, excited to possibly have some inside scoop on Logan LeCroix’s death. Marlee suspected she wouldn’t be privy to any information that wasn’t open to the public, but Dom and Jasper didn’t know that. She wanted to keep her finger on the collective student pulse, not so much for leads on the case, but to make sure the students were effectively dealing with the campus death. As much as she tried not to, Marlee sometimes saw herself in the parental role. After all, they were just kids, and for many freshmen, college was the first time they had been away from home.

  “Sure!” Jasper said with enthusiasm, and Dom nodded in agreement. They both rose from their chairs, picking up their backpacks.

  Walking out the door, both Dom and Jasper said their goodbyes and promised to let Marlee know if they heard anything new going around campus. She walked them to the doorway and waved goodbye. She glanced down the hall to see if any other students were milling around waiting to talk to her. No one was in the hallway, so Marlee ventured back to Louise’s office to see if there were any new developments or theories being floated about. When she walked into Louise’s office, she noticed the dean’s office door was shut. Muffled voices, the dean’s and someone else’s, were coming from behind the door. Louise was not in her office, and none of the other faculty or staff members were still there. Marlee strained to hear what was being said in the dean’s office, but she couldn’t make out any of the words.

  Dejected, Marlee made her way back to her office. On the way, she stopped to look out the small hallway window. The day was still dreary, and the sun would probably not be making an appearance that day. What caught Marlee’s eye was the tripod and camera set up on the sidewalk right outside of Scobey Hall. She shifted her gaze to the left and saw a reporter with a microphone ushering Professor Bob Ashman over to the camera. Professor Ashman had been teaching in the History Department for over 25 years. He stood five foot nothing and always wore some type of hat. Today he sported an Indiana Jones fedora. Due to his love of hats and because he was a known blowhard by the other faculty and most of the upper level students, his surname had morphed into “Asshat.”

  Asshat was known for spouting off his ideas on every topic. He believed that having a Ph.D. in one subject made him an authority in all subjects. There was no subject in which he did not consider himself an expert. Asshat loved the limelight and would force his way into most community and campus discussions, regardless of the topic. He also wrote a column for the local newspaper, operated three blogs and would give a TV or newspaper interview at the drop of a hat. For a while he had a column in the local newspaper, called Ask Dr. Ashman. It originally dealt with history of the area but soon delved into every topic under the sun. The column was discontinued after several readers called bullshit on Asshat’s qualifications to provide information on global warming, the death penalty and various other topics not related to history. It didn’t surprise Marlee that Asshat was ready to jump in front of the camera and give his two cents on Logan’s death. She cringed at what he might say. Marlee would have to tune into a local news station tonight to find out what gem Asshat had provided to the media.

  Making her way back to her office, Marlee saw two men lurking outside her door. If they were reporters, she would have to shoo them away. She didn’t trust the press. It seemed to her that, once words left your mouth, anything could be done with them. When working as a probation officer, Marlee saw a few court professionals get themselves in hot water by making public statements. Her personal view was to keep her mouth shut and let the MSU administration take charge in making comments. Plus, Marlee was not at all comfortable with the spotlight.

  When she reached the doorway, Marlee saw that these were not reporters but police officers. The two men identified themselves as Detective Mike Krause and Detective Ted Lumar. Both men were in their mid-thirties and of average height. They were dressed in khakis with cell phones attached to their belts. Krause was a bit on the paunchy side and stretched the limits of his burgundy polo shirt. Lumar, wearing a navy button down shirt, had an athletic build and carried himself like a former sports hero. Marlee invited the detectives into her office and motioned for them to sit in the chairs that had been occupied by students not ten minutes ago.

  “So, how well did you know Logan LeCroix?” asked Krause after they went through all of the background questions on Marlee’s name, date of birth, social security number, address, length of employment at MSU and a variety of other questions. Marlee repeated the story of her brief encounters with Logan on campus and his attendance at her housewarming party. And, she attempted to solicit information from the detectives. They were friendly but either could not or would not provide any new details on the case. After finishing the interview, they asked Marlee how they could locate some of the other professors in the building. She went to the department website and looked up their office numbers, phone numbers and office hours. “You could also check their personal websites if they have them,” suggested Marlee.

  “Do you have a personal webpage?” asked Krause. When Marlee nodded, Krause asked if they could look at it. Sitting before her office computer, Marlee quickly clicked on the links to get to her own personal webpage. She moved from her chair and let Krause sit there and scroll through. Marlee’s webpage featured a couple photos of her, the list of classes she was teaching, her office hours and contact information, as well as a listing of her previous jobs.

  “Who else has a webpage linked to the MSU website?” asked Lumar.

  “I’m not sure who has one. They aren’t required. I just did it to give students a bit more information about me and the classes I teach,” said Marlee. “If you go to the employee directory and click on names that might tell you if the prof has a personal webpage.”

  “Do you know if Logan LeCroix had his own webpage?” Krause inquired.

  “I don’t know,” said Marlee, upset with herself for not checking this out on her own.

  Before leaving, the detectives handed Marlee their business cards and asked that she contact them if she had any additional information on Logan’s death. I might and I might not, Marlee thought to herself. Like her Grandma Genie always used to say, “You don’t have to tell everything you know.”

  Like the press, Marlee didn’t always trust police officers either.

  Everyone’s an expert. Or so they think. Teaching is a profession that values fact and empirical research, but many of the MSU professors bought into rumors and speculation just like the rest of the Elmwood community. Some saw my death as a way to garner attention for themselves.

  Usually, the people saying the least know the most.

  Chapter 8

  Marlee spent the remainder of the morning in her office. Several students and professors dropped by to see if she had any news on Logan’s death. She also stopped by the offices of other profs and went into the secretary’s office numerous times trying to pick up new information. All of these discussions were fruitless, just speculation and innuendo, no real facts.

  Around noon, a newspaper reporter was walking the halls of Scobey and sto
pped next door at Celeste Rodell’s office. Celeste was a new hire in the Speech Department. Celeste hailed from Nevada, but she had a fake British affect, much like the Travelocity Roaming Gnome from the television commercials. If Asshat was the King of Bullshit, Celeste was most certainly his Queen. Standing five feet and five inches, Celeste had a sturdy, almost mannish build. Her dowdy look was complimented by high-waisted jeans, a tan pullover shirt tucked into the jeans, white socks and black shoes. Celeste dressed like a frump most days but had a beautiful face and gorgeous shoulder length black hair. Playing the role of newcomer to the area, she continually asked, “Is this the way you people do things here?” You people! As if Elmwood were an alien universe!

  Celeste got under Marlee’s skin from Day One. Now, unfortunately, Marlee and Celeste shared a wall in the east wing of Scobey Hall. Celeste was ignored by some of the students, but she had a couple of groupies who frequented her office daily. Basking in the attention, Celeste held court from her office chair while one or more students sat on the area rug on the floor. She was a master at projecting her voice, so Marlee could hear every word spoken to the students. She suspected this was no accident. Although she had only been at MSU since the previous year, Celeste did not let her opinions, observations and her version of facts go unspoken.

  The reporter, a man in his mid-twenties with crooked teeth and a boyish grin, glanced inside Marlee’s office. She pretended not to notice him and kept a scowl on her face as she aggressively typed, her eyes focused on the computer screen. Marlee was so busy trying to look busy that the keyboard actually jumped a couple of times as she typed. The reporter, taking the hint, moved to Celeste’s office next door.

  “Excuse me. I’m Russell Berg with the Elmwood Examiner. Can I talk to you a minute?” he asked, poking his head into Celeste’s door.

  “Of course, come in. I’m Dr. Celeste Rodell. You can call me Dr. Rodell,” she said with her British affect. She motioned him to an overstuffed arm chair she had brought from her home over the summer. She usually kept it piled with books and papers to keep students from sitting in it. Marlee knew it was her nap spot. During afternoon office hours, Celeste frequently shut her door and put a note up indicating that she was at a meeting. She would turn her music on and take a cat nap for an hour or so. Sensing that this interview was an opportunity not only to pontificate on Logan’s death, but also to get her name in the newspaper, Celeste quickly moved the pile of clutter from the chair to her desk.