Mary, Mary

Chapter 43

THIS WAS REAL police work at least, and I threw myself into it with renewed energy and enthusiasm, Actually, I was pumped up. Professor Deborah Papadakis had my full attention as she beckoned me into her book-lined office, number twenty-two, in the Rolfe Building at UCLA. She took a neatly piled stack of manuscripts from the only available chair and set them on the floor.

“I can see you're busy, Professor. God, are you ever busy Thank you for agreeing to meet,” I said.

“Happy to help if I can.” She motioned for me to sit. “I haven't seen Los Angeles so preoccupied since, I don't know, maybe since Rodney King. It's kind of sad.”

Then she raised a hand and quickly added, “Although that's not the same, is it? Anyway, this is a bit unusual for me. I'm more of a short-story and personal-essay kind of person. I don't read true crime, or even mysteries for that matter. Well, 1 do read Walter Mosley, but he's a closet sociologist.”

“Whatever you can do,” I said, and handed her copies of Mary Smith's e-mails. “At the risk of repeating myself, we would appreciate your complete confidence on this.” That was for my own sake as well as the investigation's. I hadn't gotten official permission to share the e-mails with her or anyone else.

Professor Papadakis poured me a cup of coffee from an old percolator, and I waited while she read, then reread, the e-mails.

Her office seemed to be a bit of prime real estate at the university It looked out to a courtyard and sculpture garden, where students wrote and soaked up the perfect Southern California weathet Most offices in the building faced out to the street. Ms. Papadakis, with her antique pine desk and 0. Henry Award on the wall, gave the impression of someone who had long since paid her dues.

Except for the occasional “hm,” she was unresponsive while she read. Finally, she looked up and stared my way A bit of the color was gone from her face.

“Well,” she said with a deep breath, “first impressions are important, so I'll start there.”

picked up a red pencil, and I stood up and came around to look over her shoulder.

“See here? And here? The openings are active. Things like 'I am the one who killed you' and 'I watched you having din- ner last night.' They're attention-grabbing, or at least they're meant to be.“ ”Do you draw any specific conclusion from that?” I had some of my own, but I was here for her perspective.

She bobbed her head side to side. “It's engaging, but also less spontaneous. More crafted. This person is choosing her words carefully It's certainly not stream of consciousness.”

“May I ask what else you see in the writing? This is very helpful, Professor Papadakis.”

“Well, there's a sense of... detachment, let's say, from the character's own violence.”

She looked up at me, as if for approval. I couldn't imagine she was usually this tentative. Her air was otherwise so earthy and grounded. “Except, maybe, when she talks about the children.”

“Please, go on,” I said. "I'm interested in the children.

What do you see, Professor?"

"When she describes what she's done, it's very declarative.

Lots of simple sentences, almost staccato sometimes. It could just be a style choice, but it might also be a kind of avoid- ance. I see it all the time when writers are afraid of their material. If this were a student, I would tell her to pull at those threads a bit more, let them unravel." The professor shrugged. “Of course, I'm not a psychiatrist.”

“Everything but, from the sound of it,” I told her. “I'm re She ally impressed. You've added some clarity”

She dismissed the compliment with a wave of her hand.

“Anything else I can do? Anything at all? Actually, this is fascinating. Morbid curiosity, I suppose.”

I watched her face as she weighed her thoughts, then opted not to continue. “What is it?” I asked. “Please, just brainstorm. Don't worry about it. No wrong answers.”

She set down her red pencil. “Well, the question here is whether you're reading a person or a character. In other words, is the detachment that I see coming from the writer's subconscious, or is it just as crafted as the sentences themselves? It's hard to know for sure. That's the big puzzle here, isn't it?”

It was exactly the question I had asked myself several times. The professor wasn't answering it for me, but she was certainly confirming that it was worth asking in the first place.

Suddenly she laughed nervously. “I certainly hope you aren't giving my assessment any critical role in your investigation. I would hate to misguide you. This is too important.”

“Don't worry about that,” I said. “This is just one of many factors we're taking into account. It's an incredible puzzle, though. Psychological, analytical, literary.”

“You must hate having to run all over the place for these tiny crumbs of information. I know I would.”

“Actually, this kind of interview is the easy part of the job,” I told her honestly It was my next appointment that was going to be bad.