Golden in Death(62)

“Did they?”

“So he says. They married mostly for sex and because they suited each other’s ambitions and images. If either of them wanted sex outside the marriage, all good, as long as they kept it private. She didn’t. Not only did somebody send him photos of her, with her sex buddy’s face obscured, but she dipped into the staff pool, and got caught.”

“Careless of her.”

“There’s speculation she diddled a student.”

“More than careless there. But … She and Greenwald are, as I recall, contemporaries. Wouldn’t that make her roughly a half century older than the students?”

“Greenwald had a twenty-four-year-old live-in Ukrainian tootsie pretending to be his personal assistant. And you want to be careful there, ace, as the age difference falls in the same range.”

“But she would be an adult, not a student,” Roarke pointed out, “and there the difference widens a great deal.”

“Won’t argue with true.”

“You ran her?”

“I did. He sponsored her, brought her over three years ago, so well after the divorce. I gave her an out, told her I could help her. She said she was very content—and she meant it. That he was kind to her, didn’t hurt her. And she knew what it was like to be hurt by someone in power. So … their business.”

“An unsavory gray area, but—not a minor, not a student. If Grange did indeed go there, she’d not only lose her position, and any remote chance of landing another, but face criminal charges.”

“Yeah, she would. I’m thinking of mentioning that to her when I take a trip down to East Washington.”

“You’d go to her?”

“I could start the process of having her come here for interview, but she could stall, and the first two kills were within two days. I’d rather not risk it.”

“I’ll arrange a shuttle. And if that’s something you get used to,” he said before she spoke, “it’s to save time and frustration—potentially lives—in the work. So it’s all to the good.”

“The public shuttle’s not that bad,” she began, and tolerated his bland stare. “But yeah, it would save time. I’m figuring to go down after Kent Abner’s memorial in the morning.

“Second question. What do you know about Miguel Rodriges?”

“I’m not entirely sure I know anything. Who is he?”

“I’ll make it easier, since you basically employ the population of Uruguay. It happens he’s an old pal of Callendar’s, so she gave me the first tip. When I got the second from a teacher at Gold, I got his name from her to take a look.

“He went to Gold on scholarship,” she continued as she wound more pasta around her fork, “got a full ride to MIT, and now works as a game programmer in one of your R&D departments.”

“What is the population of Uruguay?”

“I don’t know, but you probably employ it, so you don’t know everyone who draws a paycheck.”

“Not offhand, but everyone who does is thoroughly screened. Is he a suspect?”

“No. Callendar said how Rodriges got bullied, and beat up on when at Gold. I had a talk with the head chemistry teacher—who’s worked at Gold for decades, so through Grange. Among other things he told me this Rodriges was a target of some of the troublemaking rich kids, got beat up when he couldn’t avoid them—and wouldn’t cheat so they could get decent grades. His parents met with Grange, who fluffed them off.”

She ate, grabbed her water glass. “But then they came back when Rufty took over, and he not only didn’t fluff, suspensions happened.”

“A different kettle,” Roarke commented.

“Opposites, really, so whatever the opposite of a kettle is. The chem teacher gave me a name, and I’ve got more from Rufty’s notes. I’m going to check them out. I want to talk to Rodriges, too, get a picture.”

“Easy enough to arrange. I’d like to refresh myself on him.”

“The chem teacher, who struck me as solid, liked him. That came across. A serious brain, apparently, and since he got tuned up rather than cheat, I’d say that adds ethics and guts. Figures you’d snap him up.”

“Only the best,” he said as he reached across for her hand. “I’ll look him up, talk to his supervisor. I can have him come to you whenever you like.”

“Save me time. The memorial’s at eight. They wanted to have it on his favorite running route. I can grab the shuttle by nine. Why don’t I tag you when we’re heading back? It might take a push to box Grange into an interview.”

“I’d say having Whitney contact the board of trustees or the school’s president—however it works—would cement that very well.”

“Huh. I bet it would. Kind of a hard-ass way in, but…”

“Play to your strengths, darling.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” She studied the very last bite of the very last meatball. “I wonder what genius came up with the concept of a ball of meat. There should be statues honoring him.”

“I think there’s likely more than meat in the ball.”

“Don’t tell me that.” She ate the last bite. “I don’t want to know that. Besides, you don’t know any more about what goes into cooking stuff than I do. So we’re sticking with a ball of meat.”