Icy Clutches (17 page)

The botanist began chortling again. “If you were a botanist you'd have heard of the famous—the infamous—scene between Anna and Audley at the ASPT conference in 1969. Or 1968, was it? No, 1969; the year it was in Phoenix."

John waited patiently.

Judd's small eyes twinkled with remembered pleasure. “This was after an acrimonious exchange of letters in the
Journal of Phylogeography
that followed the publication of Audley's monograph. Anna had spat accusations and Audley had waffled, both true to form. Well, while Audley was speaking at a plenary session, Anna stood up in the audience and challenged him. And he refused to acknowledge her."

He leaned forward, eager and happy. “Whereupon the fearsome Henckel simply stood there and stared him down until he more or less wilted to a halt.” He rubbed his hands together. “Then she said—and I do mean
said:
‘You, sir, have the balls of a fish!’ Upon which she stamped grandly out, thumping that staff of hers, her great black Dracula cape billowing."

His body began to jiggle with mirth. “Not being a piscine anatomist I can't vouch for how much sense it makes biologically, but I can tell you it brought down the house. Without fear of contradiction I may say that it has entered the annals of botanical legend.” He laid his head comfortably back and laughed without sound, eyes closed, shoulders shaking. It occurred to John that he was always making noise—sniffling, wheezing, snorting—except when he laughed. That he did silently.

The botanist was built like a turnip. His excess weight was all above the waist, mostly in that high, swollen belly. Below, he was chunky and solid, even at sixty. No spreading, sagging butt, no jellied thighs. A powerful man for all the fat, John thought; wide-shouldered, massive, thick-armed.

"Tell me,” John said, “did Tremaine ever steal any of your ideas?"

Judd clutched at his heart. “Egad, I'm a suspect!” His shoulders started jiggling again. “Sorry, Mr. Lau, I'm flattered, but I'm afraid I never impressed Audley enough for him to covet any of my ideas. More's the pity, more's the pity.” The jiggling slowly subsided. He batted a finger back and forth across pursed lips. “Although I suppose I
should
mention in this regard that there was some trouble between Audley and...no, no, that couldn't have any relevance to this."

John waited for him to go on. Outside of the movies, had he ever heard anyone say “egad” before?

"Really, no, it couldn't,” Judd said. “I don't know what I was thinking of."

"You never know,” John said. “Why don't you just tell me?"

"Well, it was one of Audley's graduate students: Steven Fisk. Steve seemed to think that Audley had appropriated some of his data, too. I seem to remember some grumbling about it from time to time, but it never came to anything. Of course he was Audley's student, and professors are
expected
to steal from their students, aren't they? In any case, Steve's been dead for all this time now, so...” He spread his palms and shrugged. “Well, you see, it just doesn't apply.
Sed hoc nihil ad rem."

"Uh-huh,” John said, not willing to give him the satisfaction of asking him what it meant. “I understand you just missed getting caught in the avalanche yourself. You were sick that day?"

"I was
attacked,
sir. By a vicious specimen of
Culex pipiens."
Again he closed his eyes and shook his bulky shoulders, consumed with his odd, silent hilarity. “The things that lay men low."

John recrossed his legs and quietly sighed. He didn't think much of this heavy-footed posturing. He wasn't sure if the botanist was putting him down, or putting him on, or if maybe this was just some kind of standard routine he went in for. Whichever, it didn't make him like the man any better, or trust him, either.

"So what is that, some kind of bug?” he asked.

"Indeed, a mosquito of particularly nasty disposition. Apparently I'd been bitten several days before, and the bite had gotten infected without my realizing it. True, I wasn't feeling my best, but I flew out to Tirku with the others, determined to do my part. But when our exalted leader caught a glimpse of my wrist he said no. Despite my protestations, I was forced to remain down below on the beach, at the edge of the lateral moraine, while the others trekked across the glacier to the survey area."

"You wanted to go with them?"

"Certainly. In the strongest imaginable way, but Audley was adamant."

"The airplane had already gone back? Is that why you had to stay on the beach?"

"That's right. It was a seaplane. It was coming back for us later."

"So you were on the beach when the avalanche hit?"

"Yes, wallowing in bitterness and self-pity.” He pursed his lips. “Of course, as it turned out, I suppose you could say I was lucky."

"I suppose you could. What did you do when it happened?"

Judd seemed startled. “Do? What was there to do?” For the first time he treated a question as something other than a rich, juicy joke.

"You heard it, didn't you?"

"I
saw
it. In a general sense, I mean,” he added hurriedly. “I saw it sliding down the mountain. It was terrifying, unbelievable.” He sobered still more. “I didn't actually see it strike them, of course."

"Did you go up and try to help them? Find them?"

It seemed to take a few seconds for the question to get through. Judd sat like a plaster Buddha, his smile frozen, his hands clasped motionless over his belly. Even his wheeze was suspended. The only sound was a soft thud from the stone fireplace. Someone had lit a fire hours before, but it had been allowed to go out. A few blackened remnants of logs still smoldered.

"Find
them?” Judd said at last. He gave an incredulous snort. “I don't believe you have any idea of the colossal—of the—It was unbelievable, stupendous. And I was desperately ill. I—"

"Ill? I thought you wanted to go with them."

"Well, I did, yes. But that had been hours before. They'd already done their reconnaissance and were on their way back when it happened. By that time I was feverish, weak..."

"So it turned out Tremaine was right about the bite."

"Well, yes,” Judd said grudgingly, “you could say that. Anyway, the first search plane arrived in less than an hour. What was there for me to do besides stay where I was and wait?"

John could think of a few things, but kept his thoughts to himself. “Afterwards,” he said, “did you get medical care for those bites?"

"I can't remember,” Judd said. He seemed offended at the question. “Wait a minute, yes I do. I was treated at the hospital in Juneau. I was put on antibiotics for ten days. I'm sure there's a record. And now I think I have a right to know why you're asking these questions. If there's any relevance to Audley's death I fail to see it."

"I'm not just looking into Tremaine's death, Dr. Judd. As I think you know, there's reason to think there was another murder—"

"Another..."

"—almost thirty years ago. We—"

Judd whistled softly. “Of course, of course. What with poor Audley, I'd almost forgotten. You're investigating James Pratt's death too, aren't you?"

John looked at him, his interest quickening. All
he
knew was that there was a piece of a male skull that had had an ice ax put through it. Gideon had said it could be Pratt's or it could be Steven Fisk's. Two possibilities, take your choice.

"What makes you think that was Pratt's skull?” he asked. “Well, whose else would it be?"

"What about Steve Fisk?"

"Steve Fisk?” Judd seemed honestly surprised at the idea. “I suppose it's possible, but..."

John waited.

"I don't like to pass on gossip,” Judd said with an unconvincing show of reluctance, “and I hesitate to speak ill of the dead...” Aside from M. Audley Tremaine, John thought. “Go ahead, Dr. Judd."

"Very well. Were you aware that Steve was engaged to Jocelyn Yount, the female graduate student who was with us?"

John nodded.

"Well, Jocelyn was—how shall I put it?—a rather odd young lady. She was bright but extremely passive, compliant, almost childlike. No self-discipline, no judgment—and not constitutionally inclined toward, er, celibacy, if you get my drift."

Judd reached down to tug his ankle onto his knee and wedge it forcibly into place. He leaned forward conspiratorially and leered, male to male. “What it added up to,” he said, lowering his voice, “was that Jocelyn Yount was hardly the world's most difficult lay, if you'll pardon my Latin.” He made a snuffling noise. His small eyes twinkled. “I do not speak from personal experience, I hasten to add."

"You were telling me why you think that's Pratt's skull,” John said.

Judd chewed his lower lip for a moment. “I think it was the weekend before the avalanche. Steve flew back to Juneau for the day for something or other—supplies, I suppose. The rest of us took most of the day off and James talked Jocelyn into going off on a picnic, which didn't take much talking. Anyway, Steve got back to Gustavus before they did, and when they finally got in, you'd have had to be blind not to see what they'd been up to. Well, Steve had had this sort of trouble with Jocelyn before, and he just blew up, literally flung himself on James like a panther. Chairs flying, Jocelyn screaming—oh, it was quite a show. You can ask Audley—oops.” He rolled back his head and chuckled warmly. “Well, that might be a little difficult, but you can ask Anna. She was there too."

"Who got the best of it?” John asked.

"Oh, Steve, quite definitely. They were both powerful men, you understand, but James was in the wrong and knew it. Besides, he was caught by surprise. This wild animal just leaped on him. He wound up on his back with Steve straddling his chest, pummeling away like a madman—"

"Were there any injuries?” John asked, remembering what Gideon had told him about the mandible. “To Pratt's jaw? Or Fisk's jaw, for that matter?"

"Injuries?” Judd made chewing motions, presumably to help him remember. “Well, there was a little blood, I think. James had a split lip, a few scrapes, no more than that. Why do you ask?"

"Go ahead,” John said. “What happened then?"

"Somehow Audley cooled things down before anyone got killed, but Steve took himself pretty seriously, you see, and this was a real blow to his ego, his manhood, whatever. And the fact that Jocelyn truly couldn't see what all the fuss was about didn't make him any happier. Audley insisted on a truce, and Jocelyn got a fatherly lecture, too, but it was all very touchy, very uncomfortable, from then on."

He went back to snapping his suspender strap gently, thoughtfully. “Well, when I heard yesterday that someone had apparently been murdered, I assumed...well, obviously."

"Assumed what, Dr. Judd?"

"Well, I can't say that I reasoned it through very carefully. I suppose I assumed there must have been another confrontation out there on the ice before the avalanche struck, and that Steve—well—killed James."

"Why not the other way around? Pratt must have had it in for Fisk too."

"Oh, well, I suppose so, but James was a quiet, sober sort. He knew he had that licking coming and he took it like a man. Steve was more of a brawler by nature; thin-skinned, belligerent, quarrelsome..."

Judd's fingers drummed thoughtfully on either side of his abdomen while he searched for more adjectives. For a man who hesitated to speak ill of the dead he was pretty good at it, once he got going.

"It doesn't sound as if you liked him too much yourself,” John said.

The fingers stopped their tapping. “Ah, liked him myself?"

I hit some kind of nerve there, John thought. He's thinking hard. “Did you and Fisk have a problem?"

Judd tipped back his head and chortled. “Why should there have been a problem? He was Audley's student, not mine, and Audley was welcome to him."

John waited for him to go on. Judd was hiding something, waffling, embroidering the facts. Something.

"Oh, I suppose you could say I didn't care for his ways too much, but no, there was no problem, none at all. Steve and I got along just fine."

Something.

"I make no secret of it,” Anna Henckel said forthrightly. “Professor Tremaine was no friend of mine; there was little about him I respected.” She hesitated, not something she did often, John imagined. “But I am sorry he was murdered in that way."

Did that mean she'd have preferred some other way? Dr. Henckel didn't show much in the way of grief for the dead Tremaine. No more than Judd had. She had made an impressive entrance in her “Dracula cape"—not black these days, but bottle green—a dramatic, full-length, collared cape held together at the neck by a heavy chain. She had set the staff she carried in a corner and had taken the one unpadded wooden chair in the upstairs lounge. Since then she had sat with the cape around her shoulders, stiff and distant, as restrained as Judd had been wriggly. Occasionally she took a puff from a cigarillo, held between the tips of her thumb and middle finger, European-fashion.

"What was it about him you didn't like?” he asked.

"Because you are a policeman is no reason to dissimulate,” Anna replied sharply.

These weren't exactly your everyday interviews. He'd been at it only an hour and already he'd run into an “egad” and a “dissimulate.” What next?

"I'm aware,” she went on, “that you've already talked with Walter. Do not ask me to believe he passed up the opportunity to prattle about my long-standing differences with Professor Tremaine."

"I think maybe he did say something about it, now that you mention it,” John allowed.

Anna studied him expressionlessly. If that was her you-sir-have-the-balls-of-a-fish look, no wonder Tremaine had wilted.

"I'd like to hear your version,” he said.

"It's very simple, Mr. Lau. I did not dislike him. I was...disappointed in him. As a young man he had had enormous potential; a truly original mind, capable of the highest level of synthetic thinking. He had already done great work in the 1950s. He might have become...” For a moment the aloof gray eyes gleamed, but she cut herself off with a tired wave. “However, he threw it all away."

"To become a TV star?"