Tall Man Down - 17. Chapter 17

But when the second message was ignored, the sender just moved on – though in a slightly different way. The third message was an electronically distorted voice mail on Rebecca and Greg’s office phones. Why doesn’t anyone care where Larry Marsden was when President Catlin died?

“It came on their private lines,” Don told me in my office on Friday morning. “Not the ones that go through their assistants.”

“I didn’t know there were private lines. I thought Greg was talking about his cell. But it makes sense. Another holdover from the old days.”

“Probably easier to get those numbers than their cells.”

“Yeah, probably listed in another easily accessible directory. And the voice was distorted? How?”

“It sounded like an alien from an old movie – weird and high pitched.”

“Calling from?”

“Again, the library.”

“I didn’t know there was a public phone. Do they even still exist?”

“Not a pay phone. From an office. The caller must have slipped in, dialed the numbers, and left the recordings.”

“And they could distort the voice?”

“The way it was explained to me – from one of the women at the station – the caller could’ve recorded the message on their cell, dialed, then played the message back. You could hear a little background noise if you listened carefully enough. We played the message on speaker a half-dozen times.”

“How long’ve you been on campus?”

He glanced at his watch. “Maybe an hour.”

“Without an interpreter?” I grinned.

He grinned right back. “Greg likes me.”

That made me laugh, then I thought for a moment. “What office in the library?”

“Downstairs. One of the offices off in a corner. Greg took me there. It’s an office that wouldn’t have been busy at night. Or maybe even used, one of the librarians said. Not so close to closing.”

“Again it was around ten?”

“Yep. There’s a pattern there, if it means anything.”

“Was the office locked? Did someone need a key?”

“Nah, it turns out most of the inside doors in the library aren’t ever locked – except if there’s equipment involved. Computer stuff. Cameras. This room was used for storage and book repair. Smelled like closed-in glue.”

“Glass window to the hallway? Like most of the rooms in the basement offices. No outside view?”

“Yeah, but the window was frosted.”

“So someone could’ve taken their time.”

“If they could see in the dark.”

“The frosting probably let in enough light.”

“I didn’t check. The librarian looked at the phone number, looked up what room it would be in, and led our way. First thing she did, after opening the door, was turn on the overhead.”

“Florescent?”

“Of course.”

“Probably lit up the window.”

“If I’d been outside.”

“So I’ll bet it wasn’t used.”

Don nodded, and I considered something else. “Were the calls sent together? Again, not that it probably matters. It wouldn’t take long to make a pair of short, pre-recorded calls.”

“We can tell from the time stamp. Though I think you’re right – it doesn’t matter.”

“What does Greg think?” And did you ask Rebecca? Do they want to ignore these messages, too?”

Don shrugged. “It’s worked for them so far.”

“But it hasn’t. The messages keep coming. And the sender’s eventually gonna try another way.”

And that’s exactly what happened. And the fourth message – left the following Sunday night also by phone – went to every line on campus. That really didn’t alarm too many people because so many of us favor our cell phones. Somewhere on our desks, there are school phones, and we have to check them occasionally to make sure no official school voice mails have piled up. But that mainly happens after we’re reminded to at faculty meetings and by follow-up memos.

This fourth message was longer – seeming to catch everyone up on the story. These messages have been coming for almost a week. The first e-mail was sent to Vice-President Stratton, and when that was ignored, a second was sent to Vice-President Stratton and to Dean Varner. When they ignored those, the third message – a voicemail this time – was left for Vice-President Stratton and Dean Varner. But those didn’t seem important, either, so this message is going to every phone on campus. But it’s the same easy question – “Where was Larry Marsden when President Catlin died?”

That got the attention the caller wanted, though not till Monday morning when some people checked their campus phones. Greg and Rebecca couldn’t possibly sit on this news, and a message that mysterious was bound to get some form of the media involved. Limited media, because Waldron was just a small college in a mainly suburban town. But Steve Catlin wasn’t just a teacher. So first, the local online news mentioned it, and then the local TV. In our case, that was Springfield. And I guess it was a slow day, because a minor anchor didn’t just drop the college prank into cross-chatter between car wrecks. She followed up. Rebecca got interviewed. Greg got interviewed. Larry graciously declined his sound bite, but the in theirs, the Dean and the VP grinned, joked about cell phones, computers, outer space aliens and students, and generally said, “This is what happens when you start school, and the students are still in a summer mood.” But watching the news with Pete and Josh that night, we could tell it was all spin. It seemed more like Greg was building his missiles, heading for the Union fight, and Rebecca was just trying to stay dry.

The other difference about this message is it was sent from a student phone in a dorm room, from one of the old phones anchored on a wall. As soon as Greg picked up the message and saw the number, he called it. At least, that’s what he told Don and me, when he asked us back to his office.

“It’s one of the upper class dorms – a large old house really, closer to communal living than a dorm. I called first thing in the morning, and a guy answered. ‘Yeah?’ he grunted, not sounding at all awake. My phone read-out ‘Azieva/Janssen,’ so I asked, ‘Is this Mr. Azieva?’ Well, the kid cracked up. ‘Mr. Azieva? There’s no mister here. Who do you think you’re calling?’”

Greg had been telling the story like a joke, and he clearly enjoyed it.

“See these old dorm phones don’t have Caller ID” he went on. “The system’s that old. So the kid didn.t know who was calling. So in my most official voice I said, ‘This is Greg Statton, the Vice President of the college.’

‘Yeah, sure it is,’ he said, and immediately hung up. So I called back. But by then I’d looked up Azieva and his roommate’s first names.”

“‘Is Jarret Azieva there?’ I started. ‘This is Vice President Statton again.’ Well, he told me what I could do with my title, but before he hung up again, I dropped my official voice and nearly shouted, ‘Hey! The next step is I call the cops and your parents!’”

Greg laughed at that. This seemed to be a great story to him, and he knew how to tell it.

“Well, there was a sudden pause,” he continued. “And then, quietly, ‘Yeah, this is Jarret Azieva. Sorry. I just woke up.’ Nice to know that you can still intimidate some kids. So I let up on the bad cop routine – no offense, Don, – and said, ‘Look, I just have one easy question – nothing to panic about. Did you leave a voice mail for me last night?’ I didn’t mention that the same message went to everyone else on campus.”

‘What?’ he answered.

‘Did you check your own voice mail? Or did any of your friends tell you?

‘I told you. You woke me up. I haven’t seen any friends.’

“By that point it was after ten.”

‘Did you check your voice mail?’ I repeated.

‘Like on my cell?’

‘No. On this phone?’

‘It has voice mail? I didn’t even know it could ring. This is probably the first I’ve used a dorm phone since I’ve been on campus. Everyone says they’re a joke.’

‘What about your roommate?’ I pushed on.

‘He still passed out... uh, sleeping.’

“Not a swift kid, but at least honest.”

‘Were you playing drinking games last night?’ I went on. ‘And calling any number you could on this phone?’

‘I told you... we didn’t even know this phone worked. I dry my towels on it.’ Then he changed his mind. ‘No, actually, I think I checked one of these phones right after I moved in. Not here... to my freshman dorm. I tried to order pizza and found you could only call on campus. Well, that’s useless.’

‘It’s part of an antique system.’

‘I believe that.’

‘So I supposed you haven’t used a library phone, either. Or their computers.’

‘Nah... why would I do that? I’ve got a laptop.’

“I believed him, but I decided to go back to the bad cop routine anyway, to see if I could get anything more. ‘Well, one of the town police officers will be contacting you shortly. He’ll need to ask you a few more questions and put this all in writing.”

‘Sure thing,’ he said, and hung up. And I’m sure he went right back to sleep.”

Don and I laughed, as we were sure Greg intended us to. Then he told us that – unfortunately – he had to get on to some important budget matters. So Don and I left his office. But as we were heading out of Waldron Hall, Don turned to me and said, “I understand why he wanted me there. Though I expected to be sent on a follow-up errand. But why did he ask for you?”

I simply grinned. “Because it was a good story. And he wanted a larger audience.”