The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 6-10 - Catherine Coulter [623]
A litany of attributes, nothing about Lucy Hendler the woman, the individual. “What were the dates?”
“What do you mean, dates?”
Ruth said, “Dr. Holcombe, surely Lucy wasn’t all that long ago.”
“She performed Scarlatti exquisitely in a recital a year ago February. She got a standing ovation, difficult to do, let me tell you, in an audience of accomplished musicians. She told me later she actually hated Scarlatti, that he was dated and boring, far too predictable. I thought it amusing and sweet, her lack of historical context. I mean, how could anyone dismiss Domenico Scarlatti, for God’s sake? She was only twenty-one. What did she know?”
Ruth said, “So you booted her because she wasn’t a Scarlatti aficionada?”
“No, of course not. Our relationship deepened. I remember we got a little cross with each other before she graduated. It was May Day and we had a Maypole on campus. I thought it would be lovely if we had a choral group seated around the Maypole singing Irish folk songs, and other students could dance around the pole, dressed up in peasant costumes. She laughed at me. Can you imagine that?”
“Where is Lucy Hendler, Dr. Holcombe?”
“She graduated in June. She was accepted into our performing graduate program, but she didn’t stay.”
“Let me guess, she changed her mind after the Maypole.”
“No, I’m sure that had nothing to do with her decision to leave Stanislaus. She had a friend up in New York she went to visit and decided to stay. Last I heard she was enrolled at Juilliard.”
Ruth nodded. “And do you feel responsible for Stanislaus losing a graduate student?”
Dix kept his mouth shut. Ruth was handling this like a pro, reeling Gordon in, getting him to spill information Dix doubted he’d ever be able to get out of him.
Gordon went on to tell them about Lindsey Farland, a student about two and a half years ago, a soprano with incredible range he met when she sang the role of Cio-Cio-San, the betrayed young wife in Madama Butterfly. She hardly looked the part, since she was black, but when he heard her sing and she hit the high C in “Un bel dì,” he fell in love.
“That is one of my favorite arias,” Ruth said, and everyone at the table knew she meant it. She paused, then asked, “Where is Lindsey now?”
“I don’t know. She graduated two years ago. She hasn’t kept in touch.”
“It won’t take us long to find her.”
Ruth got six names out of him but he remembered few facts about the women. His recollection of the dates was also sketchy. “I can’t remember anymore, Agent Warnecki. Wait, wait, there was one more. Her name was Kirkland. Her first name was unusual, something like Anoka. And then, there was . . . No, that isn’t at all relevant. Look, I’ll need to look through some school records, find out what her first name is exactly.”
It was Sherlock who nailed him. “Tell us who you’re leaving out, Dr. Holcombe. Why don’t you want to tell us about her? Who is she?”
Dix shook his head. “I know why he doesn’t want to tell us. She’s local, isn’t she, Gordon? She’s from Maestro.”
“No, there isn’t anyone else. Now, Dix, I assume you’ll be calling these ladies to verify what I’ve told you. May I contact them first to make it less alarming for them?”
“Not yet, Gordon. I’ll be with you when I decide it’s the right time to make any calls.
“Now, I want you to stay here and think about the woman whose name you’re not telling us. Of course she’s local. Is she married? Did she swear you to secrecy? I want her name, Gordon. You’ve got until tomorrow morning or I’m coming after you.”
“There isn’t another damned woman!”
Dix said flatly, “You give me her name or I’ll arrest you.”
“How can you say that, Dix, for pity’s sake, I’m Christie’s uncle!”
Dix slowly straightened. “Maybe that’s why I’m making the mistake of not arresting you right now, Gordon, and taking your Italian-suited self to my nice warm jail. As for now, B.B. will keep an eye on you. I hope you don