She found herself, against her will, warming all over her body.
Brendan held up an index finger. “And then—six. Within six weeks of the start date of the experiment, the Duke parapsychology lab is closed, and all the laboratory files sealed.”
They sat in silence, overwhelmed by the implication.
Something big …
Brendan’s face had taken on a faraway look. He suddenly slammed his hand on the police report on the table between them. “We need to find this house.”
“What?” she said, feeling caught up in something far beyond her control.
He looked at her. “ ‘How can we not devote our lives to pursuing that question?’ ”
She felt a shiver, as if she were hearing Dr. Leish speak directly through him, and she was two seconds away from telling Brendan everything—about Uncle Morgan, about the Folger House, about her dream, all of it.
Then she felt herself pull back.
What is this “we” stuff? “We” this and “we” that. It was a technique commonly used by criminals, con artists, serial killers, called “forced pairing.” Get the victim to drop her guard by pretending you and she were a team.
“You’re leaving out the obvious, aren’t you?” she said aloud, and there was an edge to her voice.
Brendan frowned, lifted his hands in puzzlement.
“That there might have been a good reason that the experiment was covered up?” she said pointedly. “That maybe something bad happened?”
“Like what?” he asked, perplexed.
“Do you know that that Leish died in April 1965, the same month as the experiment?”
Brendan stopped for just a fraction of a second. “He died of a heart attack—” he started.
“At forty-one?” she demanded.
“It happens,” he countered, defensive.
“How do we know it was really a heart attack, anyway?” The only evidence she had for that was Anton’s word—another man she didn’t trust.
“What are you saying, that he was murdered?” Brendan asked skeptically. “He was scared to death?” That stopped her. “I don’t get what you think happened.”
She hesitated. What do I think?
“I don’t know,” she said finally, “and you don’t either. But whatever it was, it was bad enough to shut down a world-renowned department that had been functioning for thirty-eight years. It wasn’t just shut down—someone locked up all the research files and tried to erase all physical trace of the department’s existence. I mean, they turned it into an auditorium—”
He was staring at her, perplexed. “An auditorium—what are you talking about?”
“Baldwin Auditorium… . ” But she was having a bad feeling, suddenly.
Brendan shook his head. “The old Rhine Lab was in the East Duke Building. The building was torn down in 1978.”
Laurel’s face and chest flushed with the heat of humiliation. So Tyler had been completely having her on—it was all a big joke. All lies. All of it.
Her head was ringing; it felt as if the room were closing in on her. She pushed back her chair and stood—she just had to get out.
“I have a meeting with a student,” she lied, and grabbed her book bag. “I have to go.” In a flash she was out of the room.
Students looked up from their study carrels as she barreled past them toward the elevators.
“Wait a minute—Mickey!” Brendan had pulled open the door of the conference room to call after her.
Mickey? She registered in some part of her brain. But she just kept going, nearly running, through the library.
CHAPTER TWENTY
She sat alone in her office with the door securely locked, lacerating herself.
How could you possibly have confided in him? You don’t even know him. Are you that starved for company?
And Tyler, that whole ruse, the “haunted” auditorium … Her face burned again, thinking about it. Are you so gullible that a twenty-year-old can fleece you now?
Would she ever be able to tell the truth from a lie again?
She swiveled her chair from her desk and stared out her window on the quad. The gargoyle stared back in at her.
And suddenly she felt a surge of resolve.
They can all go to hell. I’m going to figure this out.
She shot to her feet and paced her office—as well as anyone could pace a five-feet-by-six-feet rectangle, and tried to arrange her thoughts.
What do I know about the experiment?
Leish was dead, and quite possibly had died in the middle of the experiment. No one wanted to talk about that, and she wouldn’t trust anyone who did, anyway.
But there were three other witnesses: Subject A, Subject B, Subject C.
A sudden thrill shot through her at the realization. Leish had collected three students with off-the-charts psi scores. Well, all right, she