“I understand Don and Diamond were going before the Dean just before Diamond died. Do you know why?”
Roberta’s hand stopped in mid-air. Her eyes widened in surprise — or was it fear? — but she regained her composure quickly and handed me the address, saying, “Sorry, I don’t know anything about that. Look, I’ve got a lecture. Bye.”
I watched her as she ran down the hallway, wondering how much of a lie I had just heard and how much truth.
I dawdled along the three blocks to Whyte’s house trying to still my nerves at seeing him again by telling myself he couldn’t be interested in me if he’d forgotten about our appointment. And why the hell would he be interested in me anyway? Jeez, I was really down on myself today — I couldn’t seem to please myself no matter what I did. I found myself standing in front of a tiny, rundown house with a white picket fence set well back from all the other houses. There was a huge apple tree overhanging the front door, and although the pink paint was flaking off the door and windows, the house at least looked neat.
I opened the screen door, raised the heavy metal knocker, and hesitated. Once it fell, I was committed. I let it go. Its thud rumbled through the house like thunder.
After a short wait the door opened slowly and gingerly. An elderly woman with rheumy eyes gazed out through the screen. She was wearing two startling pink barrettes that were losing the battle of keeping her snow white hair out of her eyes.
“Who are you? What do you want? We don’t need any fish today, do you hear?” she said in a flat monotone.
“I’m not selling fish,” I said with a smile. Did he still live with his mother?
“Well, we don’t want any more of those damned chocolate bars either. I think everybody plays hockey around here, don’t you? Always looking for money to keep their ice cold. Why don’t they just play in the winter as God intended?” She began to close the door.
“Mrs. Whyte?”
The door stopped closing and slowly reopened as the old lady peered again around the door.
“No, dearie, I wouldn’t be seen dead with that wretched man’s name attached to me. I go by the name I was born with: Santander. Pity my son won’t change, but then he didn’t hate his father quite as much as I do. Do you realize what a selfish, whining, snivelling, log-splitting son of a …”
She started at the sound of Patrick’s voice calling gently from the bowels of the house. “Mother, Mother, what are you doing?” She looked at me conspiratorially.
I smiled uncertainly. “I have a meeting with Patrick Whyte, please.”
“Oh, you don’t want to go upset my little Pattie.” Again, the old woman started to close the door. “He’s busy now on his electric computer. There’s a sweetie. Run along home and play.”
I started to protest and then heard Patrick’s voice again, “Mum, what are you doing? You know you’re not supposed to go answering the door. I’ll take care of it. You go back to your room.”
The voice was strong, solicitous, and made my knees go weak, but when its owner jerked the door wide he stopped, suddenly embarrassed. Was it because he had forgotten about me or was it because of his mother?
His mother cackled in the hallway. “Your girlfriend called me Mrs. Whyte, Pattie. What a rotten nasty man he was …”
“Mother. Nobody’s interested in Dad,” he said gently. “Leave it be. You know it just upsets you. And she’s not my girlfriend.” He gently guided his mother back into the house as she called over her shoulder to me.
“You don’t want to go upset my little Pattie. He’s got his work to do. He’s got a paper route, all by himself, and only eleven too. He’s gonna be really wealthy one day.”
“I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come,” I said, when Patrick returned.
He shrugged as if to say the harm was done.
“It’s one of her bad days,” he said. “She just forgets sometimes what day it is.” He looked at me, as if waiting for me to contradict him. I wanted to say something that would make him realize that I understood, make him realize what a terrific person I was, but of course I couldn’t find the words. Probably because I didn’t really understand what he was going through.
“You wanted to see Diamond’s disk before showing me the film? We were to meet at your lab but you weren’t there, so …” I trailed off.
“Oh jeez, I’m sorry. I completely forgot.” He glanced back over his shoulder, flicking the hair out of his eyes. “I forgot. Give me five and I’ll be right with you.”
I stood in the foyer peering into the dark interior, feeling embarrassed. But why should I feel embarrassed? He was the one who had forgotten. I could hear Mrs. Santander’s voice floating querulously back to me. “But Pattie, I don’t want Mrs. Brickman again. I don’t like her. You know I don’t, Pattie.”
It was some time before Patrick came back, ruffling his hand through his hair and sucking on his lower lip.
“Let’s go,” he said.
I had to jog to keep up with his rapid walk across a small park, down a residential street, and out onto the campus. He didn’t say anything, and the silence was excruciating. Finally, I just said the second thing that came into my head. The first thing was X-rated.
“Who took care of Diamond’s film?” I asked.
Without a hesitation in his stride he said, “I did. He’d dump everything on my desk and get me to take it to the lab.”
“Did he take very many pictures when he was in the field?”
Patrick laughed. “It depends on what you mean by many. Jake was a photoholic. He took pictures the way most people eat potato chips — non-stop.”
“What about pictures from that last field trip? Did any turn up?”
“Yeah, that was odd. There were none, at least nothing’s arrived at the lab. I suppose Lianna might have them. I hadn’t thought to ask her.”
“As I told you, the cops say there were no films at all. No unexposed film either.”
“Odd. He must have lost them, I guess. It’s been known to happen before. He once put all his exposed film in a jacket pocket and then lost the jacket. “
“Did he usually keep the canisters to put the exposed film back in? Or did he toss them?”
“Always kept them. He wasn’t like most of us, who usually lose a canister or two. His exposed film always went back into a canister. You do ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” But at least he said it with a smile.
I thought back to the film Ryan had found. It hadn’t been in a canister, and that could mean only one thing: if the film was Diamond’s, it had been taken out of his camera by someone else. But why?
When we got to Patrick’s lab I handed him the disk and he popped it in.
I pointed to the folders and said, “There were six cats.”
Patrick shook his head and began searching through the files. “Can’t be right. We only collared five.”
He punched some keys and said, “No, that’s wrong. Diamond’s got an old folder mixed up in his current things. He was always doing that sort of thing. It’s impossible, you see. We lost the sixth radio collar a year ago — we had only six because they’re worth a small fortune. One of the lynx disappeared, and the signal stopped transmitting. We never did find the collar, much to Davies’ annoyance.”
“But look, one of them appears to have