Free Failure is Fatal by Lesley A. Diehl Page B

two most recent research descriptions. Neither Der nor I wanted to talk much about this possibility, but I knew we both worried that these descriptions would prove as prophetic of a crime as we feared had the murder description. And, unfortunately, no students from the testing session got in touch with Der. At the end of the week, Der called me to let me know he was proceeding with a court order to connect names to stories. In a final effort to elicit cooperation from the students, I convinced Der we should try individual contacts with them before he took action. He agreed, knowing how loath I was to sacrifice the anonymity protection of research. We decided to make the calls the following Monday.
    *
    Friday night found the three of us, Guy, down from Canada for the weekend, Der and I sitting in the living room of my house watching the beginning of a snowfall through the windows overlooking the lake.
    “If the snow continues as the forecast predicted, you may find it difficult to get out of here on Sunday evening, old man,” Der said to Guy.
    “Guess I’ll have to call in sick then and snuggle up here for the duration.” Guy drew me closer to him on the couch.
    “Don’t think you’re going to have too much of my attention this coming week if you do stay,” I said. “Der and I are going to be making those calls, I’ve got papers to grade, and I should be making up the next to the last exam for my courses. In some ways this semester is going by too fast.”
    “Nights,” Guy said. “What will you be doing nights this week if I stay?”
    “Sleeping.” I got off from the couch. “Anyone want more coffee?”
    Sam raised her head from the floor where she was napping and thumped her tail once as I left for the kitchen. She seemed prepared to hibernate for winter and offered little interest in either observing the snow outside or running out to play in it. It was one of the few times I saw her not in motion for less than ten minutes. She was growing out of puppyhood, something I welcomed in a way, but I would miss her frenzied play and enthusiastic exploration of everything that moved.
    I returned to the living room with the coffeepot. Guy offered his cup for a refill, but Der shook his head no. He seemed distracted this evening and had said little since he arrived. Neither one of us had much hope the upcoming calls would produce much. Whoever the students were who wrote those unusual stories, they seemed content to sit back and let Der and me struggle with their identities. Der considered letting the students know about the earlier description of the murder, but decided the existence of the description and its details constituted information that only the authorities and the murderer could know. It was his ace in the hole.
    The three of us continued to stare at the falling snow, a fire crackling in the woodstove making the room warm and cozy. Conversation lagged, and we were falling asleep when the phone rang in the kitchen. Sam jumped up and ran to the phone as if she would answer it.
    I laughed and hurried to the kitchen to pick up the phone.
    Guy and Der watched curiously through the doorway as I merely nodded and said a few words into the receiver.
    “Investigator Der is here right now, but with all this snow predicted, I don’t think it’s wise that you try to get out here unless you’ve got four-wheel drive. We could meet you in your room. Oh, okay, I understand. My office it is then. Yes, in about fifteen minutes.”
    Der entered the kitchen at the mention of his name and was standing near me when I put down the phone.
    “That was one of our subjects, the student who failed to show for an individual meeting because she was home. It seems she wrote one of those unusual endings, and she wants to explain why. She seemed anxious not to meet where anyone might see us, so it’s my office. The building should be deserted now.” I grabbed my coat out of the closet and began to frantically dig around on the