Deep Water: The Noah Braddock Series, #9

By Jeff Shelby

Noah's going back to college…but this time, to investigate a death.

A young co-ed's death has been ruled an accident, but the university fears a lawsuit from the girl's family and hires Noah to gather as much information as possible about the night she died.

Noah starts asking questions and soon suspects the young woman's death might be more than a simple accident. When he learns of a small discrepancy in the medical examiner's findings, Noah believes the police may have been too quick to rule her death an accident, especially when he starts digging into the true nature of the relationships she had with others on campus.

But no one saw what happened the night she died. At least, that's what people are telling Noah.

Are they telling the truth? Or are they hiding a different truth?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff Shelby
• Release date: Jul 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393404798

Book preview

Books by Jeff Shelby

The Joe Tyler Novels

THREAD OF HOPE

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YOU'VE GOT BLACKMAIL

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DEATH AT THE DINER

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DEAD IN THE WATER

WRECK THE HALLS

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WHEN THE ROOSTER KILLS

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Novel for Young Adults

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OUT OF TIME

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ONE

WE AREN'T LOOKING TO bury anything here, Mr. Braddock, Shonda Dvorak said. It's important to me that you know that.

I was sitting in a comfortable leather chair in a comfortable office with big windows that looked out over a courtyard in the middle of the San Diego State University campus. The office belonged to Dvorak, a vice chancellor at the university, and she was in a matching chair on the other side of a glass coffee table. A pitcher of water was sweating in the middle of it.

That's good to know.

Dvorak gave me a curt nod. Her black hair was cut short like a boy's, the tight curls cut close to her head, and her red and black pantsuit looked almost as expensive as the strappy heels on her feet. A strand of generic-looking white pearls encircled her neck and looked like more of an afterthought, as if she thought she needed something to soften her austere appearance. She'd greeted me with a firm handshake, welcomed me into her office, and then gave me a brief introduction as to why I was there.

You're familiar with what happened? she asked.

Just the very basics from what I read, I said. Would be good if you could fill me in on the details.

She cleared her throat and folded her hands into her lap. The student's name is Emma Kershaw. She was a senior, majoring in finance. She was a member of Delta Kappa Gamma. Two weeks ago, during a sorority function, she had quite a bit to drink and fell down a set of stairs. She paused, her brow wrinkling briefly before returning to its neutral expression. Paramedics said she was already gone before they got there, and there was nothing they could do.

I'd read a brief one-paragraph write-up in the paper shortly after it happened, but hadn't paid much attention because there didn't seem to be much more to it. Some poor decision making that had led to an unfortunate accident.

I still wasn't sure there was anything else to the story. Or what Dvorak wanted me to do.

The police worked with university security, she continued. They determined that she was inebriated far beyond what is legal and the fall was an accident. Another student found her at the bottom of the stairs and called 9-1-1immediately. There doesn't appear to have been a delay, and the police report indicates that the trauma from the fall was enough to end her life.

So why do you need me then? I asked.

She repositioned her hands. Because it's my job to cover the rear end of this university.

That was a fairly large rear end. San Diego State was the largest school in the county, its student body population bursting at the seams. It was no longer the school it had been when I'd gone there, the university that was more known for its party reputation and easy entrance requirements than a competitive university with students jockeying to get acceptance letters. It had morphed into a destination school, with every area of study under the sun. I'd read that it now received close to one hundred thousand applications a year, a combination of having grown its reputation and college kids realizing San Diego was a great place to go to college.

Shonda Dvorak was staring at me. Her left hand had moved to the pearl necklace, and she played with one of the beads, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger, before dropping it back to her lap.

You aren't sold on the police findings? I asked.

Not so much that as I'd like to have a bit more information about what occurred that evening, Dvorak said. I think what happened, at least from a police standpoint, was fairly straightforward. Sad, but straightforward. She eyed me. It's a bit more complicated for the university.

You're talking about liability, I said.

She nodded. Correct.

And you're worried about the family.

She gave me a grim smile. Cynthia Guzman said you were smart.

I'd done some work for Guzman not too long ago, trying to help clients of hers who were being blackmailed over their immigration status, and she'd called me, asking if it was okay if she passed my name along to a friend. When she told me who the friend was, I was dubious. I wasn't used to working for an entity like the university. When she told me that the pay would be through the roof, I made sure she had all of my contact information correct.

Dvorak uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, her elbows on her thighs, looking more like a coach than a chancellor. Yes, we are worried about the family and our liability here. There is some signaling that they'll be bringing a lawsuit against us. She paused. I'm sympathetic to them. They lost their daughter in an accident. They want someone to be held accountable. It happened here. So I get it. She pursed her lips. But my job is to protect the university and to figure out if we're vulnerable in any way.

You said your own security worked in conjunction with the police, I said. Why go outside for this?

Because your findings will be impartial, she said. If we use our in-house people and we end up in court, they'll be easy to discredit as having incentives to water down what occurred. You're a third party. Yes, we're paying you, but you aren't an employee. A bit harder for opposing counsel to rule out whatever you bring to me.

I shifted in the chair. It was comfortable, but I wasn't. I'd put on a pair of dress pants and a button-down shirt, thinking I needed to look a little more professional than usual. It had been the right call, but I couldn't wait to throw the clothes back in the closet and change back into shorts and a t-shirt.

So, I'll repeat, Dvorak said, leaning back in the chair. I'm not looking to bury anything here. I want whatever you find and, if need be, I'll expect you to testify to that, regardless of what it is. Only thing I'll insist on is that you don't talk to media during or after your investigation. Other than that, you can do your thing with no interference from me or any other body of the university. She gave me the grim smile again. And we will, of course, compensate you for your time and expenses, as well as any necessary time that you'd be required to appear for any reason during legal proceedings.

I stared at her. You realize I'm having a hard time believing all of this.

All of what?

That you just want me to bring you what I find. Because what I find might not be good for the school.

My goal is transparency. If we try to hide anything here, it'll be found out eventually and the damage will be far greater if that were to happen. If we can root out exactly what happened that evening, down to the smallest detail, I'll feel better and more prepared to take on any challenges with the findings.

I said nothing.

It's the unknown that scares me, Mr. Braddock, she continued. I'm not trying to sound altruistic here. We'll do our best to limit our liability, if there is any. Her hand shifted back to her necklace. But there's nothing to be gained by hiding anything from anyone. A young woman died and that just...sucks.

I raised an eyebrow. Not the choice of word I’d expect from Shonda Dvorak.

Not because she was a student or that it happened on campus, she added. It sucks because it sucks when any young person dies. I have a seventeen-year-old daughter myself. She bit her upper lip for a moment. I'm sorry that it happened, and I'm sorry for her family. I understand we look like the enemy right now. The only way I can combat that is with full transparency. Does that make sense?

It does, I said, nodding. I'm still skeptical, but it does make sense.

You can be skeptical, Dvorak said. As long as you're thorough. You can apologize for not believing me when you're done.

Fair enough, I said. I'll need access to the girl's records. Will that be an issue with privacy laws?

She pointed to a folder on the table adjacent to the water pitcher. Can't give you her grades, but there's plenty in there to get you started. Whatever else you need, my personal cell is in there. Call me and I'll arrange it. I've contacted both her sorority and the fraternity where the party took place to let them know someone would be contacting them to speak with them. Names and numbers are in the folder, too. I'll be forwarding them your name as soon as we're done here. You shouldn't get any resistance, but if you do, obviously, let me know. And, off the record, her grades were very good. Not that it matters, but they were good.

Did you know the girl?

Dvorak shook her head. No. Unfortunately, I spend far more time in meetings with old men than I do with our students. It's the one part I miss about teaching. I don't miss the arguments over grades, the department meetings, or over-involved parents, but I do miss interacting with the students.

What did you teach?

Econ and marketing, she said. Did my undergrad here, went to USC for my Master's in Economics, then came back here for my MBA. Taught for almost twenty years, held a bunch of different positions with titles that didn't mean much other than bumps in salary. Then they came calling with a big, fat raise and a position that most black women don't get offered. State was making a push for diversity at the upper levels and I was the right person in the right place at the right time. Couldn't say no for a whole lot of reasons. She looked around the office. I like the job and I'm good at it, but I do miss the energy in the classroom.

There was no arrogance in her statement. She was just putting it out there. Despite my misgivings about the job itself, I liked the woman hiring me quite a bit.

One other question, I said. Do you think I'm going to find some things you're not aware of?

This wouldn't be a college campus if there weren't things going on that I'm not aware of. They're college students, not angels. Shonda Dvorak smiled at me and there was nothing grim about it. I know you'll find things I'm not aware of. That's why I'm hiring you.

TWO

Detective John Wellton took a long look around the inside of the sandwich shop, saw me, then made a face like someone had spit on his shoes. He shook his head and made his way over to me.

Was really hoping you wouldn't show, he said as he slid into the seat across from me.

I called you.

Yeah, but I was hoping a bus might take you out or something.

My feelings are hurt.

Bullshit. He unwrapped the sandwich I’d bought for him. And if this has onions on it, I'm leaving.

I thought you said extra onions?

He stared at me.

I smiled. No onions.

He grunted and brought the sandwich to his mouth. Alright. You've got as long as it takes me to eat this sandwich. He took a huge bite.

I'd called him as soon as I left Dvorak's office. I knew he'd pretend to be unhappy to hear from me and see me, but whether he admitted it or not, Wellton and I were friends. Not the kind that hang out for fun, but the kind who are bonded in a way that's difficult to explain. I knew if I called him and asked him about Emma Kershaw, he'd act like he couldn't tell me, then he'd act like it was a pain in his ass, then he'd tell me what he could. All it cost me was a sandwich and a drink at a small shop two blocks over from the SDPD building in downtown.

Did you look at her file? I asked, unwrapping my own roast beef on rye.

He swallowed his second bite and