Seeking Absolution: A Novel in the University Series

chapter 1

IN THE SPRING that Lou Ann and I were married, we got up early and met to gather bridal wreath for the arch in our little Iowa church. Lou Ann was killed twenty-one years later when an inebriated truck driver crashed into her as she was driving to her school. After a service in our church, our children, Harry and Sarah, Reverend Crist, and I flew from University City, Illinois, in a Cessna 310 to Iowa with Lou Ann’s ashes.

With Harry and Sarah sobbing and touching my shoulders, I poured her ashes from a temporary container into the small hole I dug as Reverend Crist repeated the prayer for the dead. My tears moistened her ashes. I filled the small hole with dirt and covered it with a bouquet of bridal wreath.

This is my story of how I dealt with the loss of my wife, not always admirably, and it is the story of my response to tragic events that occurred in my university. The above thoughts flashed through my mind after the ringing telephone interrupted a comforting dream of Lou Ann—a call that foreshadowed a difficult and terrifying year.

I tried to ignore the irritating sound of the telephone ringing. I called to the Lou Ann in my dream to get the telephone. Like a blow to my gut, I realized Lou Ann isn’t here—she will never be beside me as she had been in my dream. She’s gone, killed nearly a year ago. With my waking reality, I felt constrained by a full-body mourning band—barely managing a facade of control.

Calls at odd hours were common. We had kept our numbers listed. Lou Ann, principal at University South Elementary, wanted to know of anything affecting her students or teachers.

As a graduate professor I could be more oblivious, but as vice president for student affairs, I wanted to be kept informed of any kinds of emergencies at Great Rivers University (GRU). My calls usually came from families, students, or one of the lieutenants at Security.

Damn, I muttered, finding the light and picking up my pen and a pad to write on. Mike Noble.

You all right, Dr. Noble? The talking through a pipe sound and the voice of a trusted friend, Director of Security Robert (Bob) (Bear) Drummer, told me this was not routine.

I’m fine, I lied.

You always tell me you want to be kept informed.

I do. What’s up, Bob?

We’ve got a dead girl. She may be a GRU student. No ID on her.

No ID, I repeated. On a 35,000-student campus, I’ve learned to anticipate alcohol-related automobile crashes or suicides—two major killers of college students. I don’t anticipate students being murdered.

Lynn Bosen found her—you know her—she was checking the Lakeside Family Housing area.

I do know Lynn—she all right?

She needs a little time. She will be. It was a domestic disturbance.

Lot of stress there. here too.

Lynn started to return to Lincoln Square. She saw a big black plastic bag at the edge of the road—big lawn and garden bag.

South side?

Yes. Family housing residents adopted that stretch of road. Lynn knows procedure, and she should’ve radioed for backup—she was Lynn being Lynn—pissed that someone had dumped trash there. It felt heavy. She opened it and discovered the dead girl.

Surely not related to the housing incident?

We don’t know anything, yet.

I’ll be right down. Where exactly are you?

You know you don’t have to come. I’m 100 yards west of the entrance to Lakeside Park—between the family housing entrance and the park entrance. Lots of lights.

Be there in twenty minutes.

I switched the coffee pot from automatic to on. I dressed, grabbed my Marine Corps flight jacket, my iPhone, and took off with a thermos of coffee and cups on the seat beside me.

The streetlights emitted a golden haze through the fog scrim as I accelerated out of the neighborhood.

chapter 2

I SLOWLY APPROACHED the scene where the body had been discovered. Through the fog, I could see two county police cars, three university security cars, a couple of crime lab vehicles, and some other vehicles. I was comforted by the substantial silhouette of Bob Bear Drummer caught in a light sandwich between my Taurus lights and the lights at the scene. I liked and respected the gentle Bear of a man: six feet six or so, graying, and some place well on the north side of 300 pounds. Students created the moniker, and it fit. I greeted him, Know anything more?

Not much, Dr. Noble.

It’s Mike.

I knew you’d want to be here. Nothing other than what I told you. No ID on her. She’s partially unclothed.

Partially?

Wearing what may be designer blue jeans. She’s naked from the waist up. At first I thought she might be a little girl. She can’t weigh 100 pounds.

Anything else?

Drummer lowered his voice. Looks to me like she was dead before somebody stuffed her into, not one, but four black trash bags—the big lawn and garden kind. She’s been stabbed in the left side of her neck with a thin-blade knife.

Blood all over everything?

Small trace. If she’d been alive when she was stabbed, there would have been blood. She was dead, or he did a hell of a job cleaning up what would have been a mess.

I’d guess it was a man, too. You said, ‘he.’ You know it’s a man?

I did say, ‘he.’ I think a man did it. I think she died from some other cause. He wanted to be sure she was dead, so he slipped a knife into her neck. That’s my theory.

Antiseptic. Visions flashed through my mind’s eye of Lou Ann’s broken body nearly a year earlier when that truck driver had crashed into her. I asked, No dismemberment, right? Her body’s intact? She sexually abused or assaulted?"

Body’s intact—looks like she just went to sleep if it wasn’t for the knife puncture. Her eyes were closed when Lynn found her. We know nothing about any sexual activity yet.

Thank God her body’s intact, I said.

Drummer pointed toward the scene.

Looking for clues? I asked.

Trace elements on her or in proximity to her—anything inside the bags. Body’s often a garbage dump of clues. From what I hear, the package is unusually pristine.

They seem to be obsessively careful.

They always are. When they get her in the lab, more trace evidence will be found. Lots of law enforcement—The crime lab people got here just before you. They’ll gather as much evidence as possible before they take the body. The killer may have done us a favor.

How’s that?

Ordinarily they bag hands and feet. I think they’ll enclose the body in the plastic sacks. Removing her body could cause something to be brushed off her."

I get your point.

It’s also possible to get fingerprints from plastic.

Any theory on the possibility of sexual assault?

No indication other than her being partially disrobed, whatever you can read into that. Except for the cut in her neck, she shows no signs of assault. Once in the lab, who knows what they’ll find. Come on—have a look.

The softly coiffed blond hair of the girl was revealed. She was on her knees, supported by a county officer who appeared to be holding her upright—an image like she was in prayer. She looked like she had been a beautiful girl—my olfactory system revealed perfume and the stench of death warmed by her body. Drummer was standing next to me. In a low voice, I said, You feel the warmth—her scent?

She hadn’t been dead long when Lynn found her and opened the bags. She saw the girl and immediately closed them. They were reopened minutes before you arrived. Loose plastic provides dead air insulation.

I felt that. How can parents live through such a devastating loss like this? I said to Drummer as we walked away.

Nothing worse. We stood silent. Then Drummer spoke. You sure you’re all right, Mike? You’ve been through hell this past year.

I’m fine, I lied again. Everyone has been kind and no one more so than you, Bob. What can I say? Lou Ann was my life.

Mike, Betty and I lost one of our daughters when we lived in Madison, Wisconsin. You wonder how you can live through it.

I didn’t know. I’m sorry for your loss.

The pain is constant. You know, Mike—you learn to love the pain. We’ve got to get her identified, help her parents through it, and find who did this.

Bob, a point we make in alcohol education is the smaller the person, the greater the impact of alcohol. It takes less alcohol to debilitate or kill a smaller person. The principle also applies to drugs. She could have died of alcohol poisoning or a drug overdose and he used the knife to be sure she was dead before he dumped her body.

I don’t know. The knife wound and the body in plastic hardly fits an accidental death from someone wishing to quickly get rid of the body.

You’re right. If you’re trying to get rid of a body, you could find a lot of places less obvious than this.

Yeah, about any other place, Drummer responded.

No blood—no gore—her body here where she couldn’t be missed.

Yeah—damn him! Drummer blurted. He wanted her to be found.

chapter 3

THROUGH THE FOG and the lights, Drummer and I saw Drummer’s boss, Pat Newcomb, vice president for campus services—Newcomb, 57, about five feet eight, and a muscular 230 pounds: a pit bull of a man. Seeing Drummer and me together, Newcomb scowled. He gathered up University City Police Chief, Harry Logan, who towered nearly a foot above him. The Mutt and Jeff pair walked around the body being examined.

There’s a pair to draw to, Drummer smiled.

You thinking what I’m thinking? I responded.

Forgive me if this offends you, Mike. I’m thinking of that Halloween night when a kid threw a bottle through the window of Logan’s new Police Outreach Center.

I remember well—and with the fuss that followed, Lou Ann witnessed one of University City’s finest slug a kid on the side of his head.

How’d that turn out?

Logan asked me to tell Lou Ann to cool it—to forget what she saw. I told him neither of us was inclined to lie, and he could talk directly to her if he wanted. Logan wanted it to go away, and the kid wanted her to be a witness for him. Lou Ann wasn’t excited about being a witness. It went away—that’s all I know. Lou Ann and I had a few laughs about it after it was over. By the way—no offense taken—I’m not that fragile.

Logan was pissed with me for a while, but he’s decent now. And my good friend, how about your boss, ‘Little Napoleon,’ are you still remembering to stand at attention when he enters your staff meetings, Mr. Director of Security?

Like I said—a pair to draw to.

We stifled our inappropriate snickering with a murder victim still in sight, and with Logan and Newcomb, the victims of our irreverent humor, about to greet us.

Drummer paid homage to his boss, Newcomb, and then to Logan. Newcomb extended his hand to me in greeting—a hand missing his ring finger and his pinkie. I took his hand with less than a firm grip, concerned that I could injure his fragile-appearing hand.

Hello, Mike, Pat said. He spoke in an artificially low confidential tone. Terrible thing—just terrible. It’s a shame what some of these kids get mixed up in. We’ll have our people figure out who she was if she was a student. Pat hesitated, then added, "This will drive any fee and rate increases off the front page of Doggin’It. and Everyday."

In the cold damp morning, my mind flashed on Lou Ann and how gracious she always had been. Gentlemen, I said, I brought along a thermos of coffee. How about a cup? The four cups emptied the thermos, and the four of us stood quietly sipping the coffee until I asked, Any theories?

Newcomb responded, It’s hard to understand how this kind of thing can happen. Drummer repeated what we had discussed, emphasizing the possibility of drug involvement. He added, Incredibly, the body remained in an upright position.

Logan replied, I agree with the drug involvement. The shit is messing up a lot of lives.

I noted, The knife wound and four plastic bags doesn’t fit with someone panicky about disposing of a body, nor does the location.

Logan agreed, and with Drummer nodding, Logan stated, With all the woods, streams, and out of the way places where a body could be lost for days or weeks, why would the body be left here on a well-traveled road next to university property? Whoever did this, wanted her to be found.

Rush minute started about 6:30 a.m., a light hearted reference to a pleasant quality of life apart from rush-hours associated with many urban centers like St.Louis and Chicago, home for many GRU students.

The body was moved carefully, using care to keep the victim’s body, and any material that might provide clues, inside the plastic bags. The package was placed on a gurney with a sheet covering the body still enclosed in the plastic bags.

I said farewell to Newcomb and Logan and thanked Drummer, telling him I’d keep in touch. Walking back to my car, I saw Adrian Baylor, a reporter who covered the university administration for Everyday, the regional newspaper. I walked a bit faster and climbed into my Taurus.

A collage of thoughts flashed through my mind as I drove home: Without Lou Ann, I feel so fragile. The president will be very upset. I tried to focus on my calendar for the day and week. What was Lynn Bosen doing down there on her own, anyway? I thought of the pain Drummer must feel as the incident brought back the loss of his daughter. Lord, please don’t let it be a student. Way to go Noble—get your priorities in order—show some courage in the face of this and help those affected to find a way to get through it and go on. I have to handle this with some compassion for her parents. Others will look to me for strength. Got to handle this with some dignity. Lou Ann always helped me be strong,

I felt grateful that, unlike Lou Ann’s body, the victim’s remained whole. Her lifeless body will be systematically and unemotionally disemboweled and examined by forensic pathologists to determine the cause of death. I thought of the young woman’s parents, who might be going to work about now—who could be missing her or learn that the unthinkable had happened to their daughter. My heart ached for them, but through the fog of the morning and my mind, it was all Lou Ann.

I called, Lou Ann, as I entered our door. I had called her name out of habit. Get a grip, Noble, I commanded. As much as I wanted to share the events of the morning with Lou Ann, that could never be.

chapter 4

THE ANSWERING MACHINE in my kitchen blinked. My assistant, Barry, had updated estimates of fringe benefit costs for the president’s staff meeting. I called the president. The maid answered and quickly said, One moment, please.

Yes, Mike, what can I do for you?

Sir, are you aware of a homicide victim found down by Lakeside Family Housing? Pat filled me in. Let’s not speak to any reporters. We don’t know that it’s one of ours. We’ll bring Jake Byer into the meeting and discuss how we’ll handle our responses when we know more. You’ll be there. (An order, not a question.)

Yes, sir. See you there.

I arrived at my office early. Barry King came in with figures and a question. You jogging or swimming? I called and got your machine.

We won’t be addressing fringe benefit costs in president’s staff today, Barry. You’ll have to excuse me. We’ve got an emergency.

I spent early morning in a race to keep up with demands for information, and coordinating identification procedures with Drummer, housing, and student life. Finally I had a hurry-up meeting with my immediate staff. As they started to leave, I anticipated an unasked question. Yes, we’ll have SAACOM (Student Affairs Advisory Committee) this afternoon. Barry, don’t go. I need to review those figures.

In the best of times—I’m more global than sequential—and this was not the best of times. My thoughts focused on Lou Ann’s battered face and the face of the girl in the plastic tomb. All I could feel was the chill of death.

Normally, I enjoyed president’s staff meetings. They are found in virtually every university—dictated by presidential style, from informal to highly formal. Under President Albert Goldman, the meetings tended toward the middle of the continuum—agendas were prepared in the president’s office from submissions by the vice presidents and university legal counsel. Each Wednesday, a staff member arranged for donuts.

The usual players were at the meeting. I assumed all knew the items on the agenda would be scrapped because of the events on Lakeside Road. If I was wrong, they’d guess something was up with the unusual presence of Public Relations Director Jake Byer.

Vice President Newcomb described what had taken place and pledged brusquely, If the victim is one of ours, we’ll bring the perpetrator to justice in short order.

Following a lengthy discussion, President Goldman announced, Many of you prefer to deal with the press on your terms. That can’t be. For now, and if the victim is ours, Jake Byer will handle all information releases. If you get questions, refer them to Jake. The meeting adjourned about 11:45. No one touched the donuts.

I wanted some time alone. I drove home. Turning on the car radio, I pushed the button for the campus National Public Radio affiliate. It had local news at 12:30. It came on with, … body of an unidentified woman was found on the south side of Lakeside Road near the university’s Lakeside Family Housing complex. We have learned of a domestic disturbance at Lakeside Family Housing last evening.

I listened to the story, grateful that the details were fairly straight, though I felt a connection with the family housing contretemps was erroneous. I was relieved that there was none of the shrill editorializing about campus safety characteristic of the locally produced newscasts.

I entered the house, changed into my swim trunks and ate a low-carb lunch that I thought Lou Ann would approve. (She was a fan of Dr. Atkins.) I walked out the back door and gingerly entered the unheated pool. I swam twelve quick laps in the cold water. With each stroke, the images returned: Lou Ann and the dead girl. SAACOM meeting would be in just over an hour. I resolved to be strong. I recalled Sarah’s admonition to me when she was home—one repeated from what I had said to her when she was a small girl, Nobles never quit.

I reentered the house to a ringing telephone. Noble here.

Mike, it’s me, Todd. We’ve checked family housing—everyone is accounted for.

Anything from the residence halls?

Won’t get much done until evening.

I understand—see you at SAACOM.

I stood dripping on the floor. Some of my practices had always been to Lou Ann’s chagrin. I dressed quickly, and seven minutes later, I was in my office feeling almost human.

SAACOM met afternoons, the same day as the president’s staff meetings. I enjoyed SAACOM and I enjoyed the humorous references to the meetings as SADCOM. With a few irritating exceptions, my staff was a diverse group of fun-loving professionals, but today would be different. While we often dealt with death from accidents or suicide, murder within a university community remains rare. The SAACOM agenda would be set aside because of the events of the early morning.

I hold sacred the role of universities in the creation and dissemination of knowledge; however, I have also observed that universities are spectacular in their capacity to generate and circulate rumors—especially in a digital age—exceeding even the Marine Corps. As my deans, directors, and staff members arrived, I found myself correcting more rumors about the victim—almost all dealing with theories of a sexual nature—bodies encased in Saran Wrap, etc. I hustled everyone into the meeting room where a large round table dominated the space, providing adequate room for all.

I repeated what I knew of the incident, placing emphasis on the need to refer questions from the media to Jake Byer—no confidential comments to friendly reporters promising anonymity. I discussed activating our programs encouraging students, especially women, to be cautious on the campus and in the community—announcements would appear in Doggin’ It about the Brightway Path: lighted routes around the campus that were patrolled and which included emergency telephones. The Student Escort program, Campus Taxi, and Night Safety Transit, would be given a publicity blitz.

SAACOM adjourned late. Brian Zickefoose, a candidate for a counselor intern position, was waiting. The interview went well. Our American Psychological Association (APA) internship was a good one. The counseling staff liked Brian, and I’d defer to them.

Everyone had left for the evening. We’d switch the telephones so incoming calls would ring into my office. Even so, the ringing telephone startled me.

Student Affairs, I answered.

Mike, this is Drummer. Glad I caught you. I’d like to share some things with you. Mind if I come to your office?

Come on over.

chapter 5

DRUMMER SANK HEAVILY into the chair across from me. I asked, Whatcha got?

Sorry not to just talk on the phone. I don’t trust the security of these old phone lines. I’d prefer to talk face to face.

I like that, too.

Mike, we’ve run down every woman on campus who shacked up last night, and we chased down the homesick absentees, but no luck.

If this happened the first four weeks, we’d never track everyone down.

Three-fourths of our kids live off-campus. We’re following up on anyone missing in the accepted off-campus living centers. We’ve got public service announcements out. We’re attempting to check on all the places students live. I feel sure she’s a university student. If she was other than one of ours, someone would have notified the authorities.

That’s what I figure.

You follow-up with Southern Oaks?

I haven’t. I’ll check with Bill Flowers. He’s dean of students—my doctoral student. Bob, you implied you had something more?

I do. This is totally confidential, period.

I nodded. You’ve got it.

"After the medical examiner got the girls body to the lab, she continued searching for trace elements. Using magnification, she noticed a fiber in the girl’s mouth—a sliver of Kleenex. She thought somebody gagged her with tissues. She used a Wood’s Light to check the fluids in her mouth. Traces of semen were present."

Damn!

The pathologists got really involved. They figured she was on drugs, having oral sex with some guy, and when something went wrong, the guy got angry and knifed her.

Sounds incredible, but feasible.

That’s not what they think happened. The knife wound, the condition of the fluids in her mouth and throughout her body led them to believe she was dead, or at the instant of death when the semen was deposited in her mouth—that and the fact that almost no blood flowed from the neck suggests she was already dead when she was stabbed—like we talked about this morning. You don’t have to use much imagination to know how the semen got there. He cleaned her mouth, put her in the bags, and inserted the knife to be sure she was dead or possibly to try to throw off any investigation. We’re dealing with a careful killer.

The guy a necrophile? Was there vaginal penetration or injury?

None. We think the killer used death as his way of assuring no witness.

When will we know more?

Soon. Right now it’s guesswork. This is what the pathologists have so far.

There must be an infinite number of other possible scenarios.

I suppose so, Mike. What we have will always remain confidential. Later, if there’s a suspect, it will be important there be no public knowledge of what appears to have taken place.

I understand. Bob, let me change the subject—until this morning, I didn’t know you’d lost a daughter. That had to be devastating for you and Betty.

Jennifer was a remarkable woman, the youngest of our two daughters. She wanted to be close to us, so she attended the University of Wisconsin when I was associate director there. Someone ran a red light at a high rate of speed as she was crossing State Street. She died immediately—terrible head trauma like Lou… . I’m sorry, Mike.

I know.

"Never stopped, no license number—a dark-colored pick-up. No arrest made. It wouldn’t have brought Jennifer back, but I wanted whoever did that to Jen and who was so callous as to not stop. Between our inability to give up Jen, the hate, and our consuming more alcohol than anyone should survive, I needed help. Our church and AA, helped us realize that God had a plan for us, or we couldn’t have lived through the ordeal.

That was when the security position opened here. I applied and got the job. You survive events you think you can’t live through. You’re doing that, Mike. There will be brighter days. When I think of Jen, and she is always at the edge of my thoughts, I feel the pain. I loved her so much.

Tears welled in the big bear’s eyes.

Will my days ever be brighter again?

chapter 6

DRUMMER AND I sat quietly. He broke the silence. I don’t know if I should say this. Watch your backside, Mike. You could have come down on me today. I know you’re aware that Lynn shouldn’t have been driving that university car by herself.

I was aware Lynn was in violation of policy. I knew you were aware. There was no need to come down on you with some accusation that I knew was painful for you. I’d like the university to honor its roots—become a little kinder—a little more collegial.

Every thinking person on the campus knows what you stand for, but many don’t like it that you replaced their arbitrary power with due process and some compassion. What happened to Lynn was a wake-up call for me. Newcomb let me have it. He was right. Over time, I’ve grown very fond of Lynn—like a trusted daughter.

Who hasn’t? She is a beautiful woman. I admire her.

She’s special to Betty and me. She’s had a hell of a life.

Lynn, so self-assured—we talking about the same woman?

"Her father died when she was nine. Her mother is in Anna State Hospital. She’ll never come out. When Lynn graduated from high school, Wendy Grace, a teacher and mentor recommended her to the sheriff in Jackson County. He gave her a job and he found she had a great mind. After she worked for him for a few years, he referred her to Betty and me, and we got her in the university. I gave her a half-time job that, along with some work with Lincoln County, keeps her taken care of. That teacher who helped her get the job with the sheriff