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shocked, but quickly
dropped the pretense. "What's the verdict?"
    "Detective Ferrar walks softly and carries a
big stick."
    Marcus nodded sagely. "Still, he's a married
man and has pictures of his wife and kids all over his desk, so
don't you be messing with his head. Promise me."
    This time I pretended to be shocked. "Moi?
Would I risk the bad karma involved in seducing a married man.
Never." I might, however, let one seduce me.
    Marcus began rearranging his perfectly
curled hair in preparation for his return to the squad room.
"Casey, you and I both know that there are three kinds of people in
the world. Those that loved Ashley Wilkes and his nobility, those
that thought he was the biggest pussy who ever set foot in Georgia,
and those people—like you—who couldn't wait to rip his clothes off
and corrupt him. Say what you will. I know the truth. You, my dear,
are an Ashley Wilkes fucker."
    I thought it over. "Okay, so maybe I am.
Does that make me a home wrecker?"
    Marcus stared me in the eye. "Well, I
admired Ashley Wilkes for his honor, so don't you go messing with
my Detective Angel Ferrar."
    "Your detective?" I grinned in satisfaction.
"You have a crush on him, too."
    "Bulls Stadium. Half an hour," he reminded
me, slamming the stall door shut behind him.
    I scurried after Marcus, making it out of
the bathroom seconds before a determined-looking sergeant rounded
the corner and pushed into the men's room with a frantic look on
his face. Thank god we'd made our escape. There are some mysteries
only a wife should be privy to.
     
    "This is ridiculous," I complained. We were
crouched inside a large plastic tunnel that wound through a
playground next to the Durham Bulls baseball stadium complex. "We
look like we're doing a drug deal."
    "No one can see us from the road and that's
what counts." Marcus was eating a carton of lime yogurt like he had
to make it last the rest of his life. It had taken him five minutes
just to skim an inch off the top, a process he stretched out while
we caught up on our personal lives. Now he was ready to get down to
business. "What is so important?" he asked me. "You're not usually
this serious."
    I told him about Helen Mclnnes and what I
needed. His reaction was immediate. "I can't do it," he said. "It's
too risky."
    "I just need to see her file, and the files
on any other rapes near the Duke campus in the past couple of
years," I explained. "Don't give me the date rapes, just the
violent, possible stranger rapes. I need a starting point and I
need to know more about what the cops got on this professor. I
can't trust what Helen tells me, she's too out of it, too confused.
And it was too long ago. She's been blocking it out."
    Marcus shook his head. "You don't
understand. There was another rape a few days ago, a brutal attack.
On the campus itself. The parents are coming in later this
afternoon to talk to the investigating officers." He checked his
watch. "I have to be back by three. I'm the only one who ever
thinks to offer these poor people coffee or tea." He shivered. "I
hate it when the parents come in."
    "Another one? Where's the girl?"
    "Dead," Marcus said flatly. "She died this
morning."
    "Why haven't I read about it in the
newspapers?"
    Marcus took a leisurely lick of yogurt, then
stared at me. "It happened on the Duke campus. Do you really think
they're anxious to publicize it? It will be in all the papers by
tomorrow. Believe me."
    "No shit." I thought it over. "Same M.O. as
Helen Mclnnes?"
    Marcus shook his head again. "Not even
close. That's the problem." Marcus, who had six sisters and a very
big heart, was not immune to the magnitude of the horror we were
discussing. But he wouldn't budge. "I wish I could help you. But
those files are hot right now. The pressure is on. They may name a
task force. The girl who got raped and killed was only eighteen,
and her parents are good solid North Carolina folk."
    "How many rapes are we talking here?" I
pressed. “Take a guess."
    Marcus