Formula for Murder (5 page)

“It does paint a bleak picture.”

Nick rubbed his hand up the bridge of his nose and across his eyebrows in a despairing gesture. Trying to acquire all this knowledge in a few minutes was impossible. He thanked her nonetheless and asked her to stay close and clue him in as he met people.

They discussed how to deal with relevant questions and fears. She studied the hard angles of his face, softened by caring eyes as he planned ways to make the students more comfortable in this potentially worrisome situation. He watched the way her emerald eyes darkened with concern and admired the way she carried her slender five-foot-seven inches as she paced the room while she talked. Her conservative blue suit with the pencil-thin skirt contrasted strongly with the lacy underwear he glimpsed that morning. But the suit couldn’t hide her endless legs. They mesmerized him. When he realized he’d missed her last sentence he brought his mind abruptly back to the repercussions of murder on campus.

Was there danger on campus? What game plan should they use in dealing with the fear? Should they provide an aggressive plan of attack on dealing with publicity alone, or should they attempt more—a comprehensive guide provided to the administration for dealing with faculty, staff, and students—and their fears? They spoke briefly with Detective Burrows and headed together into the meeting.

A warm handshake and a beaming smile from his favorite professor, Donald Ingraham, greeted Nick as he entered the room. “I can’t believe you’re still here!” Nick said as he shook hands and stepped back deferentially. “You were talking about retiring when I was your student.”

Ingraham laughed. “Too true. But once you left things settled down and I signed on for a few more years.”

The rest of the staff filtered in. President Ludlow introduced Nick to each member as they entered. Most of the administration had changed from his days on campus. Timothy Kahn, the myopic-looking vice president, greeted him eagerly and set up a strategy meeting for later that morning. Sloan O’Malley, director of the continuing studies division, grasped his hand and smiled winsomely, but was interrupted by Matt Damian. The physically suave and mentally astute Damian, in charge of finance, was looking for an assessment of how this might affect student enrollment and ultimately his well-balanced budget. Nick was only able to give them bland assurances and promised to meet each later. They darted like hummingbirds around him, homing in for a sip as if he were a trumpet vine, then backing slowly away while they digested what he said.

The president announced a memorial service, scheduled for the next day in the chapel. He explained his position on the trip and placed Kahn in charge of the academic side. He asked Nick to come forward again and announced that he would handle public relations and anything related to the investigation.
Ludlow
asked for their assistance, not only in the investigation, but in compassionately handling the resulting chaos. Nick gave a brief update provided by Detective Burrows, who was keeping a low profile in the back of the room, and explained he would keep in touch frequently with new information.

The staff agreed to an open forum on campus in the early afternoon for all students and employees. They felt the early meeting before rumors got out of hand would help contain the fears. Nick would announce that counseling was available to anyone who wished it and that a memorial service would be held. Detective Burrows was to attend the meeting to answer questions and request that any relevant information be directed to his office.

The campus safety staff left first to work up a plan of security for faculty, staff, and students on campus. They wanted to announce it at the afternoon meeting. Burrows, looking more rumpled by the minute from his all-night investigation, was simultaneously directing a canvass of the area, answering questions of his second-in-command, and motioning to Nick to call him later.

As the group filtered out, Sloan, well-known as the middle-aged vamp on campus, who also happened to do an exceptional job directing the evening college, cornered Nick. Kat watched from the sidelines as Sloan took a bite out of Nick with her eyes. Knowing that once Sloan sunk in her claws it would be ages before she could extract Nick, Kat commandeered him quickly, mumbling, “You’re running late for your appointment. Excuse us, Sloan. I’m sure you’ll have time to chat later.”

Nick winked salaciously at Sloan before turning obediently to Kat. He knew he didn’t have an appointment immediately. He hoped it was jealousy that had turned her into the efficient matron.

Katharine provided Nick more background. She thought Nick could take an unbiased view of the situation because he had never known Charlie. Nick confirmed that the crime scene had been used for eons as the general chemistry lab and he’d studied the chemical elements there with the rest of the liberal arts students in his time. For a few minutes they delighted in the swapping of tales, chemical experiments gone awry, frustrated professors, and innocent good times.

Nick stepped from behind his desk and strode to the door, looking out into the empty workroom. “Satisfy my curiosity about some of these people. The ones in the chemistry department, Professor Abbott’s associates. I need to form a picture with no time to become familiar with them on my own.”

Kat pulled up a mental image of Charlie’s closest associates and tried to sketch well-rounded figures. She added idiosyncrasies so he’d see them as people. Thus Abner Prosnerian, a chemistry prof, wore sunglasses everywhere except in the lab. Professor Santora, chemistry chair, was loved by most, yet had an elaborately nonchalant manner because he was oblivious to the social cues of others and in a hazy way he knew it. He handed out chewing gum to the students in lieu of praise, but they loved it, and him.

Later, as she glanced out her office window, the campus looked serene. That happened sometimes at dusk. With the street lights, came the second wave of energy as students surged out of the classrooms and scattered like billiard balls on a break. The campus hadn’t changed in eons. But maybe she had. Today the serenity didn’t soothe. She paced restlessly, her mind jumping from one idea to another and back to Nick, who refused to be tucked away in his corner. She shook her head, trying to dislodge him from her mind.

As she stared out across the common she thought more of what was behind the facade, the quarrels, the feuds, affairs hidden by colonial bricks. It was a microcosm of life. Such a small campus, yet like in life, education was found in places other than books. Some of it was uncovered in the library. While there, most of the students were deeply engrossed in their reading and research, battling the last-minute time element they’d self-imposed by attending all the Homecoming activities last weekend.

If one looked up from the words between the covers, one would see the silent communication of nods and smiles between the library director and the reference librarian. It was certainly more eloquent than the description of social stratification levels in the 1950s two students that were studying at a table in the corner.

She pondered why the students seemed wilder these days. She’d seen behind the facade in many of them, and there was a tension they were trying to deny. The wildly impulsive and heedless attitude was a cover, an inability to accept AIDS, theft, the unending poor, the failure of society to progress in all they felt should count. A constant eroding of their confidence, at their skills, at their serenity. Too much happening, too many societal threats, too much financial burden to fit into their 24/7.

The young men and women on campus appeared to be on the same tightrope that the yuppie crowd started balancing on five years into their jobs. Everyone is strung out these days, she thought. Even the local gas station owner on the corner, once cheerful and carefree, bends customer’s ears about EOC charges dealing with the DER.

Chapter 5

Be suspicious when examining handwriting. Our writing leaves a trail of clues about us and can tell our tale though we never speak.

Katharine Everitt

The blue eyes stared mournfully. “Could you give me a ride over to the police station?”

As opening sexual banter it lacked zest. Still, Kat jumped at the chance and rushed him through his lunch.

“Detective Richard Burrows said he’d give me an update in half an hour.” He proffered the explanation even though she obviously didn’t require one.

Normally she would have introduced him to more of the faculty and let him chat with the lunchroom diehards, but she’d had some questions for Burrows and this invitation was a godsend.

“What happened with your car?” she asked innocently.

“The prognosis isn’t in yet. I’ll hear later.”

She polished off the last lettuce leaf and stood impatiently while he wolfed down half a sandwich. Detective Burrows and she were old pals but he noticeably bridled whenever she got just a little bit involved in one of his investigations. This crime was on her home turf, one of her professors, and she wasn’t inclined to back out.

Burrows rose and arched his back into a leisurely stretch when they entered; offered a handshake for Nick and a nod for Kat, only raising his eyebrows at her presence and not pushing the issue.

“Sit,” he said and waved towards the chairs in front of his desk before reseating himself. He spoke directly to Nick. The good ol’ boy network or something. Or maybe it was just professional courtesy. No reason for her to get miffed yet. Besides, he hadn’t told her to leave. Richard had bounced Katharine on his knee when she was a child and had difficulty seeing her as a professional, especially since she’d been involved in a recent investigation where she was in danger. She also helped solve the case, which was probably even more difficult for him to accept.

Burrows explained that it looked like Professor Charles Abbott died of cardiac tamponade. She knew a little about it but was happy for the mini-lesson in cardiology he provided.

“The heart throbs inside its fibrous or pericardial sac. The stab wound through the anterior chest, or front of his upper chest can result in cardiac tamponade relatively quickly if not found and drained. The sac fills with blood. It doesn’t take a lot of blood before the pressure makes the heart’s pumping job much more difficult. Eventually, as it continues to fill, the heart is literally squeezed to death.”

“So that’s why his neck veins were so enlarged when they found him,” Kat said.

Always amazed at her perception, he merely nodded and rolled his eyes. “If you knew last night, why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t know! I just noticed the neck!”

Detective Burrows grimaced and said, “OK! OK! You know how I feel about you getting involved in my investigations, but your perspective would be helpful this time around. I’d like to give you a list of names and have you provide any information and insights that you can. No exploring on your own, right?”

“Richard, you’re coming through loud and clear,” Katharine acquiesced in a limited way, hoping he wouldn’t notice she hadn’t committed herself to anything.

She kept her eyes averted by starring at her foot. She’d crossed her legs and bobbled the shoe off the heel rhythmically. These four-inch spikes would be ideal for slamming through Richard’s toes but he’d been close friends with her father and she reached for restraint.

The dictator continued, his toes unaware of their luck. “These are the people we could use more information on: Abner Proserian, Sean Perry, Robin St. Clare, and any scientist who might have been after Charlie’s research or jealous of his success.”

The list included names of several students Kat didn’t know.

Burrows continued, “We’ve got people looking through Professor Abbott’s research files, trying to determine if everything is there.”

Concerned that this investigation would reflect poorly on the university, Nick sought assurance that Burrows intent was not to blame lax security on campus for the murder. The detective made no promises, but salved Nick’s bureaucratic anxiety by saying he didn’t see it so far.

“We’ll be happy to contribute in any way we can, detective. Is there anything in particular that you’re looking for?” Nick said.

Richard paged through his notes. Kat interrupted, “Did you find his journal? Any word of threats beforehand or bribes or maybe outright requests to purchase his information?”

Richard’s balding head jerked up. “Katharine, those are our questions. You provide the answers. That’s how it’s supposed to work around here, in case you’d forgotten!”

“OK, but I’ll never forget when he said, ‘We’re going places with this project. It’s taken me years but I never let go of an idea. I’ve researched this every which way and my findings are impeccable.’”