Formula for Murder (7 page)

“What exactly are we talking about here? The university already installed a network for computers. Isn’t that enough?” Kat questioned.

“No, this is beyond that. With this system, all of the science instruments would be linked to a computer. All the data collected would be stored in the computer. A great deal of time is spent analyzing that data once the actual information is collected.”

“If I recall, that’s where all the late nights came in,” Nick commented.

He was standing where the light brought out the fantastic blue of his eyes. Her mind wandered as she tried to pin down the color, somewhat like periwinkle flowers on a summer morning, she thought. She’d know that color anywhere.

“Right!” Abner’s emphatic answer broke Kat’s reverie. He continued, “And that’s where the link becomes so helpful. It would provide students with easy access from anywhere in the science building to that data. So late at night when the labs are locked and instruments cannot be used, the student can still do their work from another computer. They have access to that data. His voice cracked as he added, “When someone is using an instrument like the gas chromatograph to determine data, another student could still be accessing their data that came from that instrument earlier.”

Nick seemed impressed. “Sounds great. What’s the problem?”

“I had to get his permission first before I applied for the grant. But no, he has to uphold the old ways. ‘A notebook is good enough for me,’ he says. Why do you have problems with it? Are the kids too lazy to run down a flight of stairs when they need to research something in biology?’

“Boy, talk about the dark ages.”

Abner fussed with his test tubes as if they were filled with holy water and complained further. “Worse, he wouldn’t consider any other research methods than his own. My work has been in the best journals and all he ever gave me was a snort. I don’t know why he even voted to have me hired. Or maybe he didn’t and the rest of the committee just overrode him. I’ve never known.”

Kat saw a handwritten sheet next to his work. “Are those your notes? Do you need them?”

“I used them to mix the formulas but I’m finished now.”

Kat slipped the sheet into her bag and offered a few soothing comments, hoping to glean more information and distract him from questioning her reason for wanting the sample. She’d study it later.

As he meticulously cleaned up his work and gathered his tubes and vials to be washed by one of the students, he speculated on Charlie’s demise. To Kat and Nick he just said, “Sure, I wished him dead. Wouldn’t have done it in a lab though. Why, one student’s work was wrecked! He’ll have to spend weeks recouping. And the other students working under Charlie for their honors projects, they’re in a pickle. Any prof worth his salt wouldn’t have killed Charlie midterm!”

Kat, who had difficulty believing anyone with such an organized attitude would turn so passionately violent, was ready to assume the murderer was someone else, but Nick pursued more questioning.

He queried whether Charlie’s research could have been the cause of the murder. Abner was hesitant.

“Not in the sense that you mean—someone stealing it from him. I don’t know that it’s that valuable to the world.”

“What do you mean? Why would he have spent so much time on it otherwise?”

“He’s a scientist. Always looking for the answer to why. It’s just that I don’t think his conclusions have been proven yet. His work may not even have any merit to the company that financed it. That would be a kick. Maybe they found out it was worthless and knocked him off out of anger!”

“Are you serious?”

“Not likely, but it bears looking into. I suppose someone could have tried to steal his research. Or more likely he stole theirs and they came at him out of revenge.”

“How likely is that?” Nick asked.

“Not as unlikely as you might think. I’d heard there was a very suspicious incident of lab vandalism before I came. Later I heard rumors that all the vials were not accounted for, smashed or otherwise. If a vial of a purified enzyme was stolen, what better suspect than a prof crushed for time? He was so rushed to conclude his work and gain his glory I wouldn’t put it past him to have staged it all to take the vial himself.”

“It was never looked into as far as I know,” Kat said.

“Whose vial was it that you suspect was stolen rather than trashed?” Nick asked.

“It belonged to a professor that’s no longer here. Can’t blame him for leaving. A lot of work went into purifying those enzymes. He still had his recipe, of course, but his attitude changed toward the university. I think he was afraid someone was out to destroy his work personally.”

Kat resolved to check into the vandalism later and speculated on the best source of the facts, finally settling on Louise Feldman, the president’s secretary. She’d not only been here a quarter century but knew absolutely everything that happened on campus. The incident was in the news but she and Nick wanted more than the official spiel. Louise would be a better source than newspapers any day.

Abner gave them the basics of enzyme purification in layman’s terms and concluded by saying, “There’s a lot of work to purifying an enzyme. Research money from industry will often provide the time but you have to wait till industry says you can publish. They have their own agenda as to what they want it for and they certainly don’t want you to divulge the “formula” to others before they’ve made their breakthrough with it and cornered the market with their product.”

Nick watched Abner closely as he worked and talked, waving vials for emphasis and glancing frequently at Kat as she walked around the office/lab. Nick already knew her well enough to realize her constant motion was not a reaction to anything Abner was saying. She just didn’t have it in her to sit still. He wondered how she managed to get through her college courses—or what condition her profs were in by the time she finished.

His mind wandered a little as he watched her move. Nick wasn’t quite ready to admit he was viewing Abner as potential competition, but the man’s classic good looks bothered him. Thank heavens Abner didn’t seem interested in her that way, even though his eyes shifted frequently in her direction. It seemed like most men she encountered couldn’t keep their eyes off her. He had to give her credit though. She didn’t even notice they were flirting with her, or at least acted ignorant of it.

He decided to give Abner a break and remove Kat from all the precious glass. Any other questions would come with further information provided elsewhere. Meanwhile, Abner had steered them in several directions. Nick wondered how much of this the chief already knew. He planned on providing an update soon.

Kat and Nick debated pursuing the lead about the possible theft. She was intrigued by the possibilities while he voted for giving what they had to Detective Burrows to handle.

Kat favored a more active roll.

“I was around when the lab was trashed but don’t remember the details. I’d remember if anyone had been even remotely accused of theft. I think we should ask the president’s secretary for more information and go from there.”

Meanwhile they took a quick tour of the crime scene while no one was looking. No hot leads jumped out. They knew not to expect any but couldn’t resist that peek, hoping for some unnoticed detail to solve the crime instantly.

Kat squirreled away a few minutes to introduce Nick to the values of handwriting analysis. She dredged Abner’s notes from the bottom of her bag and straightened out the wrinkles enough to point out some of the possibilities. She emphasized that the study of writing dealt in potentials rather than certainties. She pointed out information about numerals that surprised him, but seemed logical, once he looked at it from her point of view. The small, sharp figures in Abner’s equations, truly common among mathematicians and scientists, revealed precisely what they should about a dedicated man, engrossed in his work.

He promised her that he would be more open-minded about the analysis and they hurried to the crowded chapel for the memorial service. Though Charlie was not remembered favorably by many, he would at least be remembered. Kat expected some came to salve consciences, though many would be there more from curiosity than from sorrow. She glanced around, wondering if the killer was watching, lurking, as she’d heard they did on occasion. She couldn’t shake the prickly sensation on the back of her neck, yet every time she swiveled her head to look behind, she could see nothing but the bowed heads of faculty and students listening to the chaplain. She noticed Detective Burrows discreetly in the background, also observing. Knowing he was there she felt safer, but the feeling persisted that someone was sticking daggers in her back.

There was no casket and would be no local funeral. Charlie’s father had been contacted and he’d requested the casket be flown back home to
Iowa
.

With elaborate gestures and a loud voice, possibly to make up for the lack of substance in his words, the chaplain prayed, “In this time of mourning we would do well to remember this complex and often misunderstood person with kindness.”

They all bowed their heads, agreeing that it was proper to mourn the death of Charles Abbott with more reverence than he was accorded in life. They listened and prayed, and nodded at the right places. The ceremony was brief but respectful of “a valued colleague” who had served the university well in his ten years there.

Kat wondered where Charlie lived, and what the police may have found. She whispered her concerns quietly to Nick and asked if they could take a look. He glared, so she decided to broach the subject later.

Chapter 7

A person’s ego is revealed with full capital ‘i’s, large capital letters, and leftward slant. What could force this person to destruction?

“Handwriting Analysis Self-Taught” by Joel Engel

Nick maneuvered her through the crowds of rushing students back to the office, looking around in awe as the students disappeared as quickly as they came.

“I don’t remember everything being quite this fast-paced when I was a student here. Is that senility setting in or have things changed that much?”

“Things have changed. Everything moves faster. Just look at the speed that information is now attainable through the Internet. Students are expected to know more and more at a faster pace because it’s more readily available. Besides, it’s midterm week. The Frisbees will be back out next week.”

Nick seemed pleased to think that the speedy students were just an aberration of exam week and that there was still a joie de vivre around campus. He studied the buildings, landmarks, and grounds, attempting to assess the campus with an unjaundiced eye. Even in the stark relief of a near-winter landscape, the place exuded tradition, reflecting that time long ago when a degree was not synonymous with a paycheck.  Caught up in his reminiscing he almost knocked over a student hobbling along on crutches, the only snail in the crowd of hares. Kat stopped and sympathized with her, introducing Cheryl to Nick. “Cheryl’s one of our best track stars.”

Turning back to the student and her bandaged ankle she asked, “What happened?”

Cheryl, balancing precariously on the crutches, hung her head. “I was running. Got bored with my old path so I took a new one. It was dusk on the return trip and that’s what I did—tripped. It’s a pulled tendon.”

Cheryl looked at Kat with pleading eyes beneath her shaggy short haircut. “Please Miss Everitt, Melissa said you might be able to help me. I’m doing everything I was told and it’s just taking so long to heal.”

“OK. Here’s an idea. But there are no guarantees. Go talk to Jack in the biology greenhouse. Ask him if you can have some comfrey leaves. Tell him you need enough to make a paste for a week.”

“Mind you, don’t take it without Jack’s permission!”

“Sure thing. I wouldn’t know comfrey from dill anyway. So what do I do with it and how will it help?”

Kat described how to crush the leaves and make a paste. Spread the paste all over the injured area and bandage it back up. Leave it there for an hour or two and then cleanse the skin and let it dry. Try it a few times a day. Don’t eat it. It can be toxic to your liver!”

“So how will it help?”

“It won’t get rid of the discoloration. It’s too late for that. It only helps that if you apply it right away. The bruising will fade eventually but what you’re looking for now is to get the comfrey to seep under the skin to help heal the tendon.”

Cheryl’s head bobbed up and down frantically. “Gee thanks, Miss Everitt. I’ll hop right over there.” Cheryl was already doing a complex maneuver to turn around and head towards the greenhouses.