Tall Man Down - 11. Chapter 11

After Abby Rodelle opened the apparently locked double doors to the office she shared with Steve Catlin, she closed them behind us and then locked them again. “I need to make sure we’re not interrupted,” she said. “I’m not even supposed to be here today.”

Considering the past week and the fact this was Saturday, that was understood. Don quickly introduced himself, adding, “I hope you don’t mind my bringing Gil. He’s kind of my connection to the college.”

“I understand.”

“And I understand that you’re reasonably new to it.”

Abby seemed to consider. “Well, yes and no. I’m part of the university community and probably always will be. But I’m relatively new here – this is the start of my third year. Or would’ve been. Before that, I was one of Steve’s research assistants.”

“When he was teaching?” I asked.

“Yes. I was one of his grad students in Iowa.”

“Are you from there?” Don asked.

“No. Neither of us were. And we were happy to leave.”

She suddenly remembered something. “I should’ve asked if you wanted coffee. Normally, we have hot water going – Steve hates over-warmed coffee, so we have a machine. But I’ve had enough today.”

We assured her we were fine.

“That makes it easier.” And she sat behind her desk. But just for a moment. “There’s a better place to talk,” she decided. “Where it won’t feel like I’m interviewing you for jobs.”

She led us into the conference room opposite Catlin’s office. I’d been in both. A half dozen teak chairs surrounded an oblong table, and Abby sat at one side. Don and I sat on the other, and it still felt like an interview. But it seemed to make her more comfortable.

Then she didn’t seem to know how to start. She smiled at Don and then at me – as if hoping maybe we’d ask questions. I didn’t feel right to begin, but Don was also silent. Finally, I said, “Don said you called the station.”

Abby nodded. “Yes. I thought that since I was already on campus – and this had been bothering me – well, it seemed like a good time to do something.”

“What’s been bothering you?” Don asked..

“It’s really small – almost totally unimportant. And I don’t want to waste your time.”

“Nothing’s possibly too small,” Don assured her.

“Also, I don’t want to seem stupid.”

She seemed to be echoing Don from five minutes earlier.

“Is this about finding President Catlin?” he asked.

“Steve? No. That’s just as I told you before.” She hesitated. “You are the officer I spoke with on Tuesday?”

Don looked at her and then seemed to be covering himself. “Probably one of several,” he said, smiling. “And to be honest, I didn’t recognize you. I was mainly in the background.”

She laughed. “I clean up nicely. On Tuesday, I was wearing jeans and probably a T-shirt. With my hair pulled back as it usually is, under a baseball cap. I’m sure I looked like a student.”

Now, she wore a dark, conservative dress, stockings, low heels, and her hair was down. She seemed to be in her early thirties.

“Anyway, I didn’t leave anything out on Tuesday – not that I know of. And I’m trained to notice details. Still, that’s not why I called you. It’s about Steve’s files.”

“Files?” Don asked.

Abby twisted her mouth a bit, as if this was going to be hard. “His personal files,” she explained. “They were locked in his desk. Now they’re gone.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m the only other person with access to them. I have a key.”

“But someone managed to get them anyway?”

“Not exactly. They’ve been destroyed.”

“Who’d want to do that?”

Abby laughed. “A lot of people actually. The files were about the college. And the faculty. And staff.”

“Blackmail material?” I joked.

“Just research.” she insisted. “Careful research. One of my jobs was to keep the files organized. Not type or transcribe them. More decode. Steve dictated his notes, and you know how unpredictable voice recognition is. So I’d edit and correct them and then send him questions for clarification.” She paused. “Actually, I getting two things mixed up here – because Steve had several different kinds of files. His writing. His research. And those for business. But these were his personal files about the college.”

“Are any others missing?”

“That would be almost impossible – his main files are ‘in the cloud.’” She pointed upward though we all knew that wasn’t where the cloud was. “But he kept back-ups everywhere.”

“For example?” Don asked.

“You name it – he worried almost constantly about losing them. Until a book... or article... or paper.. was published. Even then, he held onto his notes.”

“Where?”

“In his computers. Or on thumb drives. Sometimes, still on discs – especially his older writing. And that went back to his undergrad days. Sometimes, he’d ask me to dig out papers he wrote when he was twenty-one, just so he could see how his thinking had changed.”

“A thorough man,” I said, amused

“And I’m not finished.,” she added, smiling. “There was a stash at his agent’s office. And another at his lawyer’s. And at his publisher’s. And I think he had in a safe deposit box or two.”

“A well-protected man.”

“Or paranoid.” She was now grinning. “We always joked about that. That’s why he was so glad when the cloud came along – he could keep everything in one place. And he could get to it from anywhere.”

“Like?” Don asked, and Abby started to count on her fingers.

“Well, here. And his home. And the President’s House. And the one he and Sandra have on Nantucket. And all those were all desktop computers, almost always with double and triple storage drives. And he had at least two laptops, plus he never gave his old ones away – though I’m not sure where they were stored. But he didn’t like using laptops anyway, because he’d lost one once and was always sure someone was going to steal that writing.”

“What was it?”

“Who knows? Nothing. It doesn’t matter because nothing was ever really lost. As I said, he had back-ups everywhere. And anything important was copyrighted in progress.”

“Then what’s missing?” Don had to ask. Which was good because I was lost, too.

“As I said, his college files. The personal ones. There were only two sets of those, and they were only on thumb drives. Nothing in the cloud or on any computer. And he was extremely protective of those files because of what they contained.”

“And they were in his desk?”

“Yes, in his office. This office,” she emphasized, pointing down at the conference table, as if to separate this office from his seemingly others. “They were locked in a side drawer with a heavy single-keyed lock. He had it installed by an outside locksmith because he didn’t trust the one on campus. As I said – paranoid.” She grinned again.

“Was there reason to be?” Don asked.

“About these files? Oh, yeah. Lots of people would’ve loved to see them.”

“Faculty?”

“And staff. And Board members. Really anyone who affected the campus.”

“And how do you know they were destroyed? You did say that earlier?”

“Yes.” And then she wavered. Then she simply went on. “Because I did it – Sandra and I.”

That stopped Don, and for a moment, he simply studied her. “I need to go back over this,” he finally said. “I think I understand. But I guess my biggest question is, ‘Why are you telling me this?’”

Abby seemed amused. “Because one of the things I learned from Steve – Sandra and I both learned – was ‘Cover yourself.’ Of course, he put it more crudely.”

I smiled, while Don absorbed this. I knew exactly what Catlin had said. And Abby quickly added more.

“Naturally, we spoke with his lawyer before this – before we did anything stupid. We explained what the files were. And where they were. And how and why they’d been created.”

“Why were they?” Don asked.

“To keep tabs on everyone. To help them resign, if that was necessary. Not – as Gil joked – for blackmail. Because Steve would rather have people out of here than pressure them into doing things they disliked. And sometimes the files were for good things... like recommendations.”

I wanted to ask about the lawyer, but Don took care of that. “What did your lawyer say?”

“She asked a lot of questions... Sandra and I were both listening on the phone, so we kind of answered alternately. Finally, his lawyer said, ‘Well, these were Steve’s personal property. And even though they were on college grounds, the school has no right to them – no more than they’d have rights to any of his other writing.”

“So you destroyed them?”

“We decided that was best – Sandra and I. The college may be about to change direction, and there seems no point in keeping around information that could only be harmful. And – really – it would only be useful to Steve.”

““Did the lawyer tell you to tell the police?”

“No. Sandra and I asked, but she said it shouldn’t matter. And she compared it to cleaning out his office. In fact, I would’ve taken the drives automatically – because they were in Steve’s desk. And Sandra might never have looked at them.”

“But you knew what was on them.” Don pointed out.

“I knew more specifically. But she knew they existed. When I told her about them, she wasn’t surprised.”

“Why wouldn’t she have looked at them?”

“Because she wasn’t any more interested in college gossip than Steve or I.”

“Where did you destroy them?”

“At Sandra and Steve’s. I started thinking about them on Wednesday but couldn’t talk with Sandra for several more days – she was obviously busy.” She hesitated. “And let me back off for a second.” She paused again, then continued. “Tuesday was clearly hellish. After I came back from the President’s House, I just locked the office and went home. Partly because I wanted to be alone. And partly because I had a lot of people to call. And write. And text. Steve had a lot of friends.”

“Wouldn’t his wife have made those calls?”

“Sandra had enough to worry about. And as upset as I was, she was far more emotionally involved. Besides, these were university... and publishing... and film contacts. If Sandra knew them at all, it was only socially – and I never met most of them. Also, I was partly working to keep myself busy. I was in shock.”

“That makes sense.”

“Then Wednesday, I was helping Sandra all day. I don’t think I even stopped by the office. I was calling family... and friends.... and helping organize the funeral and the reception. Organizing’s what I do best, so that’s how I helped. But even by Wednesday morning, her house was filling up, and I was in the way. So we agreed that I could work as easily from here and text her if I had any questions – she wasn’t answering her phones and was being very picky about texts. But being back in the office just made me think about those files. And stew.”

“When did you tell Sandra Catlin?”

“Friday morning. I texted her that it was important that we talk and asked if there was a good time. Of course, there wasn’t, but I kind of insisted... Because I wasn’t sure how long I’d be here... Wasn’t sure how long we’d even have access to this office.”

“Why?” Don asked.

“Well, I didn’t think I’d suddenly be fired. I figured I’d simply resign. Sandra had already said she’d pay me for a year or two – to clean up Steve’s writing and research and see what we could finish or salvage. And I didn’t want to work for Rebecca even if I was asked. Or for any ordinary college president. As I said, I’m part of the research community. Without Steve, there’s no reason I’d need to stay here.”

“So you’re telling me this largely to cover Sandra and yourself?”

“Yes. We know you’re in the middle of an investigation.”

“And the files had nothing to do with that?”

“Not in any way we could imagine.”

“Even if President Catlin didn’t die by accident?”

Abby just stared at Don, and I thought he’d overstepped. It was one thing to talk with me and Pete about that. But to let it go out in the community?

Or maybe he just wanted her reaction. In any case, she was stunned. “Is there any reason to even think that?” she asked quietly.

“There’s always reason,” Don said.

“You think he killed himself?”

I had no idea where she got that from. But she knew Catlin better than we did.

“I hadn’t even considered that,” Don admitted.

“There’d simply be no reason... He’d have to have been hiding something huge – maybe something medical. I mean he and Sandra have been having problems this summer. But they’ve been married for over twenty years, and nothing was going to break that up. They were too important to each other. I mean...” And then she didn’t – or couldn’t – go on. It seemed outside her imagination.

“I’m almost positive Steven Catlin didn’t kill himself,” Don assured her. “I’d put my own life on it.”

“Then what are you thinking?” she asked, seeming completely confused.

“I’m not thinking anything, really,” Don admitted again. “As you said, we’re in the middle of an investigation – just starting actually. And any death’s a concern until the reasons are clear.”

Abby seemed more comfortable with that. Then she seemed to think. “Still, going back to why I called... There’s no reason to connect a handful of thumb drives – which simply don’t exist anymore and could never be retrieved – we made sure of that... There’s no reason to connect those to how Steve died.”

“Not that I can see right now,” Don assured her. “Especially if these were the only copies.” He paused for a moment, then smiled. “I’m just curious – and you don’t really have to tell me. But how did you get rid of them?”

Abby laughed. “We smashed them with a hammer – a couple of hammers... And we smashed them well. After I told Sandra, and we’d talked with Steve’s lawyer – his publishing lawyer – they have a family lawyer, too. And one for real estate. Anyway, after Sandra and I talked, I came back here and got the files. Then I took them back to her house, and we went down the basement and smashed them on the workroom floor. Making sure that none of the pieces was large enough to survive”

“What did you do with the pieces?”

“We put them in a paper bag, and Sandra put them in the garbage pail under the kitchen sink. They may still be there.”

“I can check.”

Abby laughed. “You’re not really going to...”

“Oh, I don’t doubt you for a moment,” Don said. “And I’m sure there’s nothing that can be saved... As I said... I’m just curious.”

“Help yourself.” And she laughed again. Then she said, “Anyway that’s all I had to tell you. If that’s okay, is there any reason we can’t get out of here?”

Don looked at me, and I shrugged. “No,” he told Abby. “There’s no reason to stay. And thank you.”

“I’m sorry I even had to bother you,” she said, standing. “Sandra and I just thought it might come up eventually, and we’d get blamed.”

“Why didn’t you simply tell someone at the college?”

“Who? Rebecca? Greg? It’s none of their business. And Sandra and I will soon have absolutely no connection to the college. If she stays in this area at all, she’ll probably move to Northampton or Amherst – or buy a small farm. The only reason they lived this close is they wanted to be part of the community.”

“The town couldn’t care less about the school,” I gently pointed out. “Except for the taxes.”

“They knew that,” Abby admitted. “But they thought it a good move anyway – politically. And it’s a great house.”

Don shrugged at all that and then got up and shook her hand. She walked us to the office door, which she unlocked, and we said all goodbye.

“What do you think about that?” Don asked, before we even reached the stairs.

“That it has nothing to do with you.”

“No. It doesn’t. But it’s interesting.”

“Yeah. You gotta say that about college politics.” I laughed. “But it’s what I told you already... Some people here like each other. And others don’t.”

Don seemed to consider that. “Anyway, it was nice of Sandra Catlin to think to tell us – and I’m sure she was behind it. Otherwise, it might have been something that turned up and given us something to think about.”

“Now, there isn’t.”

“No,” he admitted. “No.”