The Dead of the Night -- Part II
| The Dead of the Night -- Part II | |
|---|---|
| Players | Hyde Park Odd details emerge about a victim. |
Harper Memorial Library - U of C Six stories of gray stone rise over the southern end of the main quadrangle, flanked by a pair of crenelated towers in myriad styles. The western tower is ringed with battlements and tipped with crenelated spires like an European castle, while the eastern tower features domed spires reminiscent of a Byzantine cathedral. By day, light streams in through the windows around their rosettes. By night, the facade is illuminated by floodlights, casting deep shadows across the stony surface. The first floor is dedicated to seminar rooms and lecture halls for day-to-day classes, and features both stairs and twinned elevators that take passengers further up. The second floor mainly contains administrative and faculty offices, with the Dean of College Offices’ office in the center of the building. The third floor opens up to an expansive reading room with a vaulted stone ceiling and tall bay windows reminiscent of a Gothic cathedral. Natural sunlight provides the lion’s share of illumination within, replaced by night with candelabras and recessed ceiling lights. Silence is strictly enforced within the main reading room, while the interior Harper Cafe features stimulating drinks and a place for groups to come together and discuss their academic labors. Outside, an expansive mezzanine runs the length of the building west to east, offering lofty views of the main quadrangle to the north and the Midway Pleasance to the south. =It is past nightfall. Students who remain are generally the sort of go-getters or Type-1s that achieve. The campus remains open, though, to former students, so long as they carry a library card. One such graduate would be Madison. Sure, she graduated a few years ago, but why would the University keep an alumna away? Especially one that is clearly gainfully employed. She sits by herself up in the stacks, by herself, at a lone desk, pouring over some text. Solomon generally prefers the library when most of the students are gone. Although technically it's a quiet space at all hours, there are different qualities of quiet - and after dark, the library basks in silence. He's been teaching today, so he's in tweed jacket and slacks, with a slim tie and button down shirt. He's got a small stack of books tucked in his arms, as well as a notebook and a slim laptop. All your research requirements, in other words, and he makes his way towards the desks. He glances at the woman in the lone desk and gives her a curt nod of acknowledgement, pausing near her to survey the territory and find a desk of his own. Seeing one not far away, he moves in that direction. She has just one book. The lone woman is not like other students. She doesn't have a laptop or tablet near her; she doesn't have a bag or backpack; and she is wearing the sort of clothes that belong to the working white-collar class. Trench coat? It's a bit on the old-and-worn side. But none of this helps to explain why she is here tonight. She must be looking for something. Or someone. She looks up and at Solomon slowly on his approach, as if she sensed him coming.
"Looking." Madison blinks slowly at Solomon. She seems calm, but it may be fatigue setting in. "Forensic psychology." With the added words, she lifts up the text to show the Professor what she's reading, for just a moment. "Seeing if something clicks. Help me put together a motive." Sigh. "Sadly, I probably have hit a wall. The words -- " Beat. " -- they aren't making sense anymore." It is meant to be a meaningful exaggeration, probably. "Will have to hit this tom-- " She yawns. "Motive?" Solomon sits up, turns more so that he's about half facing her, now, one eyebrow rising. "Is this a historic or current case?" He gives her a quick up and down look. "You don't look like an undergrad. Grad student?" Then he shakes his head. "No, you're giving up too early to be a grad student, and haven't even mentioned going out to hit the bars as a break." A thin little smile. "I don't drink." Madison reaches languidly into her trench coat to pull out her wallet and flash her badge. "Detective Sterling. I'm trying to figure out a motive." Her nostrils flare as she lets out a breath through them. "Man was found two nights ago." Beat. "Ex-wife hasn't heard of the man for a couple of years, but the man -- he still kept tabs on his child's bedroom. The thing is -- " Beat. " -- the child died five years ago. It was an empty room. He was viewing it through a camera he had set up before, but -- " She frowns. " -- why would the ex-wife keep the camera connected? And not change a thing about the room?" She closes up the textbook. "Thought I'd find an answer here." Solomon blinks at the identification. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out - not a badge, but a consultant's ID for the CPD. "Dr. Solomon Jessup, forensic entomologist. Pleasure to meet you." He considers the scenario, with a frown. "I admit that the living aren't my specialty unless they come with at least six legs. But I've certainly seen grief lead people to preserving the bedroom of a loved one for many years. A shrine, of sorts. Did the ex-wife forbid him to come in? Did she allow this sort of prurience as a way to avoid having to either interact with him _or_ cut him off completely from the last memorial to his child?" "I don't know." Madison closes her eyes and yawns again. "Two problems I see. First, the man's observance; second, the woman's consent." Beat. "They have been divorced for a couple of years. So, why would she continue to let him access to the room?" Beat. "I should probably add: the child died before the divorce. So, the bedroom is empty -- or should be." She blinks slowly. "I'm afraid I've no more leads than that." "Did the child's death precipitate the divorce? I understand that the death of a child can sever even a strong marriage. It may be the sort of thing that remains unspoken between two people who have nothing in common but their pain." He thinks about it, and his smile goes all crooked. "Or maybe one or both of them thought the room was haunted, and that they could record the spirit of their daughter, somehow. I've seen people do stranger things in hopes of contacting the dead." A beat. "Like calling those psychic numbers." "Maybe." Madison rises up to her feet, pulling her trenchcoat around her. "I'll have to come back when I can. Maybe pass this off to someone smarter than I." She tilts her head respectfully. "Maybe I'll see you again, Dr. Jessup. If you happen to come up with something, though, just let me know." Casually, she pulls a card from her coat, and puts it on the table. "Thank you." Then, she wanders off, her pace patient and thoughtful. Solomon sits back and offers a brief nod. "Of course. I'll be happy to." He stands once she's left to retrieve the card she's left. He studies it for a moment, tucks it away in his jacket pocket, then turns back to his research and the blessed, murder-free silence. | |