“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” – John Lennon
It was an unusually warm New England night.
Alexandra James was relaxing at a favorite wine bar, waiting for a friend, admiring her new Louboutin sandals, drinking gin and just looking forward to an unhurried, delightful evening.
After all, this was Shay’s patio on JFK Street, one of the few places in Cambridge where you could order a drink and sit outside.
It was just about the time she was scanning the patio for a waiter and a refill…
Her phone buzzed…
A newsroom all-staff email announcing that the police scanner had picked up a report of an incident, happening on the Harvard campus at 101 Dunster Street. Police and ambulance were already on the scene, the college newspaper reporting a “Breaking News” banner…
“Was anybody from the newsroom nearby? Could someone file a quote or two for the website?”
The email text had an immediate effect on Alex, the ambitious New England Chronicle reporter. Her adrenaline shot up, and a second later the realization that she was most certainly the closest Chronicle reporter to the scene described in the dispatch.
In a flash, the friend was forgotten. She slid a twenty on the table, tapped, “I’m on it” in her phone, grabbed her bag and sailed out the front door.
She soon reached the campus, noticing that the Eliot House building was cordoned off and guarded by police. There was no possible way of getting in there, she turned and noticed that the security guard posted in front of Kirkland House was allowing students to pass.
Time to slip out of “reporter garb” and into a proper “student wardrobe…”
Alex groped inside her bag, pulling out a pair of flip-flops, peeled off her suit jacket, tucked her phone and reporter’s notebook under her arm and stashed her bag under a bush.
She spotted a group of female students sauntering up the granite steps toward the guard. She eased up to them and walked alongside, easily passing for another anonymous student.
As the group neared the guard, they all held up their IDs and the guard lazily allowed the entire group to pass…
Including Alex…
Alex and the group of girls stepped through a black iron gate, then under several arches and into a square courtyard…
“Apparently, he just fell, like, dropped right in front of the windows…” one student commented.
Alex questioned the girl who told her that she was talking about the dining hall. She then broke away from the group in search of the hall. After a number of intuitive turns, (and the friendly assistance of a smiling custodian), she found herself at Eliot House Dining Hall.
She cut across the Ivy League styled dining hall, complete with its high ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and imposing oil paintings, to the area where a throng of students were pressed up to the windows. They were all peering at what was happening on the other side of the glass. Alex pressed herself as close to the windows as possible but couldn’t see anything of interest.
“I just got here, what happened?” Alex asked.
“They’re zipping him up,” one of the students replied.
“Who?” Asked Alex.
“Him…the guy who jumped…”
Alex moved to another part of the windows, and then spotted a blue plastic body bag.
“When did he jump, did you see it?”
“Half past six, maybe?” A nearby student replied, “My roommate says he heard it, a big thud. I guess he landed face up, you know, like you could see his eyes wide open…”
“Oh, poor guy,’ Alex responded
“Yeah, but they covered him up. One of the dining hall ladies…she ran right out. She had a yellow cardigan…she put it over his face…”
Alex shook her head and started typing. It had been an hour since the newsroom first sent out the alert.
The editors would be going crazy…
Later that night, the university released a statement, reporting the death of Thomas Abbott Carlyle, twenty-three of Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Alex remained in the dining hall till nearly eleven o’clock, finally hearing a police commander’s announcement that there was no cause for alarm, police officers would be posted at the premises throughout the night, etc. She taps out her last update for the newsroom, already knowing that the “yellow cardigan” report had now turned into a sound bite, the favorite in the newsroom. It got posted to the website right away.
Alex yawned, knowing it was an otherwise slow news day, and that the death and investigation would lead the next day’s news, but beyond that, she didn’t see much of a story here…it was terrible, of course, a promising young man’s life was cut tragically short…but as far as stories go, there were much bigger ones…
Alex was wrapping up to leave, considering the autopsy report would eventually reveal either suicide or an unfortunate – maybe drunken – accident.
She shoves her phone in her pocket, looking around at the room…there were just a few people here at this late hour…
She decided to call it a night...
The next day, Alex picked up a copy of the New England Chronicle, the story emblazoned on the first page, above the fold:
“Harvard Student Falls to His Death; Police Promise Full Investigation.”
Then the critical part:
“Inside Eliot House, Harvard College.”
Most of the other competition had datelined other papers, forced to quote heavily from Alex’s own reporting. Suddenly, Alex was thankful for her beat…higher education. Not something that made her pulse race, but there were many colleges in Boston, there was always something to write about.
The next morning Alex goes to work at the Chronicle’s newsroom, almost bumping into Hyde Rawlins, the managing editor:
“Ah, Ms. James, nicely done, however, you’ll need to get right back over to Harvard…now.”
“Why, what happened?”
“It’s not what. It’s who. Thomas Carlyle was the son of Lowell Carlyle…a little something we missed…”
Lowell Carlyle was the White House counsel, the president’s lawyer and one of the most influential men in Washington. His son had spent the last year at Emmanuel College in Cambridge, England and that he was only back in the United States a few hours before his death.
“Mr. Carlyle is understandably grief stricken and is on the war path to find out exactly why his son fell out of a fifth-floor window last night…”
Alex makes her way back to the campus, this time she finds out that Thomas fell from the bell tower, not the fifth floor. She also finds out that there were no fingerprints in the small room where the young man fell from. More reports called into the newsroom, and the next day, her story made the first page, again.
Based on the momentum of the ever-growing story, Alex is able to sell her editor on taking a trip to England, Emmanuel College to be more specific. Her mission was to locate Thomas’s dorm room and his “bedder” (maid) the editor suggested. Apparently, the “bedders” know quite a few details about the people they clean for. There were also reports of a girlfriend at Emmanuel.
Alex was going to find HER…most definitely.
She arrives at Emmanuel College, locates the woman who was Thomas’s “bedder” and learns nothing more than the fact that his girlfriend was a woman named Petronella Black. Alex eventually locates Petronella, (and most disturbingly, what appears to be a new boyfriend leaving her dorm room just as Alex knocks on the door). After a chilly, brief interview with a dismissive Petronella, only one clue is unearthed. Thomas’s Harvard roommate was Joe Chang, now living in Los Angeles.
Alex calls Joe and finds out that he and Thomas were good friends in school, and that the tower was one of their favorite “beer drinking” hangouts. Joe informs her that Thomas kept his own duplicate key to the tower, as it was a good place to relax and think.
“Could he have slipped?” Alex suddenly asked.
Joe paused a moment, then told her a story of a time when he himself nearly slipped and how freaked out Thomas was concerning the near miss. After that, Joe said, he never took any chances, from then on sticking to the balcony.
“There’s no way he slipped,” Joe confirmed gravely.
And that, more than anything up to that point, convinced Alex that the cause of Thomas’s death was not likely to be an accident. Other clues pointed away from suicide.
So that left the only other possibility…
Murder.
Maybe this was a potentially explosive story after all. Alex decides to pursue it with every ounce of energy and tenacity she has. This leads Alex into every kind of strange experience and hazard, including:
An accountant-like embassy commercial affairs officer who becomes a spy for the afternoon, tousling the sheets with a young British aristocrat, an expression of goodwill in the form of a Burberry coat, an trans-Atlantic coffee/tea preference and a banana loving nuclear scientist. All of this and more…tied together in in the last breathtaking chapters, all of which I devoured with avid interest…hours after I should’ve been sleeping.
Amazingly, General Michael Hayden, the former Director of the CIA had a similar experience when reading this book. He said:
“A fast-paced thriller that is hard to put down….”
And when it comes to spy novels, how can I disagree with the director of the CIA?
Five enthusiastic stars.