Majoring In Murder (26 page)

I lingered at the entrance to this new tunnel, debating my next move. The flashlight flickered again, and my decision was made. I took the right and entered the new corridor. Three steps later I was in the dark. I gave the flashlight a final shake. No go.
Don’t panic,
I told myself.
You can do this.

The tunnel was about six feet across. If I extended one arm and touched the wall, I needed only a step or two to the side for my other hand to reach the opposite wall. To keep myself from literally bouncing off walls as I walked, I decided to cling to the wall on the right, and use the end of the flashlight as a bumper. At first I walked slowly and dragged the flashlight along the rough surface, but as I became accustomed to the dark and could gauge the distance, I let the flashlight hover near the wall without touching it. Using my hearing, I could “feel” where the wall was. I’d often heard that people who are blind are able to sense when a wall or other large object is in front of them. I was beginning to feel that way, too, and imagined that my hearing was more acute, given my “blindness” in the tunnel.

I’d counted sixty-five steps when I heard a noise that made me halt—something being slammed, a door or a drawer. It was definitely a human noise, not one made by an animal or dripping water. I listened carefully, hoping I’d hear it again. There it was, somewhere up ahead, on the right.

I tiptoed forward, making sure my shoes didn’t tap against the concrete and distract me from pinpointing the location of the sound. I switched the dead flashlight to my left hand so I could feel along the wall with my right for the frame of a door or a gap indicating another tunnel. My fingers slipped over a bump and then another ripple before my hand connected with a flat plane. I concentrated on the floor. If it was a door, perhaps I could see a light under the jamb. But there wasn’t any light. I tucked the flashlight under my arm and used both hands to feel around the wall. The surface I touched was cold and smooth. The walls were rough. This must be a door. I patted it, felt for the knob, found one, twisted it, and pulled. Nothing happened. I tried pushing instead and the door moved; something was blocking it. I pressed my weight against the door and it budged a few more inches.

“Is anyone there?” I called. “If you’re there, please help me open this door.”

I stopped pushing to listen for a reply, but when there was none, I stepped back and slammed my shoulder into the door three times till I had moved whatever it was that was blocking the exit enough to squeeze through.

The room I entered was cluttered. I could feel the presence of objects in front of me and to the side. I listened. Did I hear breathing, or was it only my own respiration from the exertion of forcing the door? Gingerly I put out my hands and touched metal. I slid my hand around, feeling a handle. I tugged on it and a drawer slid open. It was a filing cabinet. Oh, if only the flashlight worked. I shook it again, just in case, but it was definitely dead.

I moved around the front of the filing cabinet and, proceeding slowly, slid one foot forward at a time, reaching out with one hand to the side and the other in front of my face to avoid knocking my head against low beams or hanging objects. Something or someone was there. I sensed it. But my hand encountered only metal as I inched along. I counted six cabinets in a row before reaching a wall. Filing cabinets. Could this be the basement of Kammerer House?

As I turned to the right, my foot connected with a hard object. “Nuts,” I muttered. I’d bumped into a step. I’d placed my foot on the step when an arm swung around my middle and pulled me tight against a large body.

“Don’t you dare move,” he said in a growl.

“Who are you? Let me go!” I said, struggling against the arm imprisoning me.

“You’re trespassing where you don’t belong.”

“I was lost, just trying to find my way out of the tunnel. Let go. You’re hurting me.”

The arm released me, replaced by an iron hand gripping my arm. I heard him reach for something, and then a brilliant light blinded me.

“I might have known it would be you.”

I was still blinking rapidly when he let me go and set the torch on the step, its huge beam bouncing off the ceiling and illuminating the room.

“Lieutenant Parish!”

“None other,” he said, scowling at me.

“I’m so glad to see you,” I said, brushing cobwebs from my sleeve.

“I’m not glad to see you, Mrs. Fletcher.”

“I was just trying to find my way out of the tunnel. My flashlight failed, you see.” I showed him my dead flashlight, and he pulled it from my hand.
Wouldn’t it be just my luck if it worked now?
Fortunately, it didn’t.

Parish flicked the switch on and off several times, and nothing happened. “You probably have the batteries in backward,” he said. “Wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Honestly, Lieutenant! I was using it up till about an hour or so ago.” I realized I had no notion of how long I’d actually been in the tunnels.

“Well, you managed to find your way to Kammerer House once again, didn’t you? Or are you going to insist that being here is just a happy accident?”

“I told you, I got lost.”

“What were you doing here to begin with?”

“Professor Constantine showed me an old map of the tunnels and bomb shelters, and I was curious to see them. I was in the copy center in the library and found the entrance. There’s nothing against the law in exploring the tunnels, is there? But I made the most shocking discovery. I found a room you’ll want to see. Actually, it’s a fallout shelter from the fifties or sixties.”

“Nice story, Mrs. Fletcher. But then again, that’s your business, isn’t it, telling stories? Harriet warned me about you.”

“Please, Lieutenant, I’m trying to tell you that there’s something you must see back there, in one of the rooms—”

“Lady,” he interrupted, “you’ve been a thorn in my side all week long. And you’re not getting away with it this time, judge or no judge. You’re going to sit in the New Salem jail until Kammerer House comes down. That way I’ll know you won’t be breaking into this place again.” He picked up his powerful light and put a foot on the step. “You’re coming with me, Mrs. Fletcher.”

I straightened my jacket and looked him in the eye. “On the contrary, Lieutenant,” I said, hardening my voice. “This time you’re coming with me.”

For a moment I thought my stand might cause him to strike out at me. His square face turned red, and there was a visible tremor in his hand. But then he caught hold of himself and said, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a very dead body in one of the rooms off the tunnels. It’s a woman I believe to be Kate Adler. She’s been dead a very long time, Lieutenant.”

“Are you serious?”

“Why don’t you come with me and see.”

“You’d better not be playing a game with me, Mrs. Fletcher. I have no sense of humor where you’re concerned.”

“Murders are not a joking matter, Lieutenant. I hope you’ll take both of them seriously. This one and Professor Newmark’s.”

With our way lighted by his powerful flashlight, we retraced my steps until reaching the room containing the remains of Kate Adler. I stood just outside as he entered the room and did a cursory examination of the corpse without touching anything. When he was finished, he joined me in the tunnel.

“You were right,” he said.

“Of course I was right,” I said. “Why would you doubt me?”

“Because—”

“And why have you been so adamant about Wes Newmark’s death?” I asked. “Why have you and others refused to even consider that he was murdered? There’s enough evidence to at least warrant an investigation.”

“You don’t understand, Mrs. Fletcher,” he said quietly. “We have an arrangement with the school.”

“Arrangement? What arrangement?”

“We try and keep a lid on things here, to make sure the school doesn’t get a bad reputation.”

“And this arrangement,” I said, “does it even extend to murder?”

He sighed deeply and looked away from me, making it obvious that he was having trouble answering my question. Finally he again looked at me. “Let’s just say we’ve been cooperating with the school for a while to keep things cool, not make a big deal out of students getting in jams in town, things like that.”

“I see,” I said. “I assume this so-called arrangement began when Harriet returned to take over Schoolman’s future.”

“Mrs. Fletcher, I—”

“Your cooperation is with her, not the school itself, isn’t it? And Harriet, it seems, has convinced you that the school’s reputation is more important than the truth.”

“When it comes to truth, Mrs. Fletcher,” he said, bristling, “I’ll take Harriet Schoolman Bennett’s word over yours any day. We go back a long time. She was my mother’s best friend, and if she says Newmark was a nut and made up stories to make himself look important, I believe her.”

“But we’re talking about covering up a murder, Lieutenant. Even Harriet couldn’t ask you to do that. Could she?”

“Let’s go,” he said. “I have to report this.”

“Are you paid for this cooperation?” I asked, trailing behind as he moved down the tunnel with deliberate speed. I received no answer, which was answer enough. Finally things began to make sense to me. The stonewalling of Newmark’s murder was for reasons I could understand, although never agree with. I had wondered how, for so many years, Schoolman had escaped the usual student hijinks that occasionally required police intervention. Harriet was paying off the local police, that was how. Through her young friend Lieutenant Parish, any legal problems that might arise from student misbehavior in town were covered up, and now the same thing was happening to spare the school from possible involvement in a murder. I was making progress.

But the larger question still remained. There were now two murders to be solved.

Who murdered Kate Adler and Wes Newmark?

And why?

“Jessica, I’ve been waiting for you. Where have you been?”

“I told you I wouldn’t be able to stop by until later, Lorraine.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot. It’s been such a full house this afternoon, and I kept looking for a familiar face.”

“Where did Mrs. Tingwell go?”

“She’s upstairs lying down. I insisted. The memorial service was too much for her. Dr. Zelinsky was here earlier, and he gave her some medication.”

“That’s good. I’m sure she can use some rest.”

“You look a little tired yourself. Are you all right?”

“Nothing that a strong cup of tea won’t fix.”

“I’ll put the kettle on right now.”

I followed her down the hall. As we passed the front parlor, I glimpsed Vernon Foner and Manny Rosenfeld talking with President Needler. All three held glasses of red wine. Needler had told me he was going away for the weekend. Apparently courtesy toward the dead had detained him. I also spotted Larry Durbin and Rebecca McAllister, standing by a table laden with platters of sandwiches and talking to someone I couldn’t see.

Zoe Colarulli and her husband were saying good-bye to Harriet in the kitchen when Lorraine and I walked in. Zoe turned to Lorraine and took her hand. “Miss Newmark, Harris and I are leaving now,” she said, “but we wanted to extend our sympathies again and wish you a safe trip back to Alaska.”

“Thank you. It was nice meeting you,” Lorraine replied, “despite the circumstances.” She walked out of the kitchen with them. “Let me see you to the door.”

“Hello, Harriet,” I said, crossing the room, picking up the kettle, and taking it to the faucet. The sink was piled high with dirty plates and glasses, the drain board filled with china that had already been washed. I shook the kettle, decided I could make do with the water already in it, placed it on the stove, and looked around for a dish towel.

As I waited for the water to boil, I began drying dishes and putting them in the cupboard. Harriet stood next to the small table and fussed with a platter of cookies, taking them from the box and arranging them neatly on the plate. She hadn’t said anything since I’d greeted her.

Eventually she cleared her throat. “Jessica, I’m sorry I was so short with you the other day,” she said. “Lorraine told me she was responsible for the murder rumor, not you.”

“You were more than short, Harriet,” I said. “You accused me of behaving irresponsibly and selfishly, and wouldn’t let me defend myself. You were so convinced of the rightness of your opinion that you never gave me the benefit of the doubt. You just went ahead and convicted me of the crime, and passed your sentence. No fair trial. No innocent until proven guilty. And certainly no trust between friends. I was very disappointed, I admit.”

“You have the right to be angry, Jessica. I acted irrationally. It’s just that—” She stopped when Lorraine entered the room.

“Jessica, you’re
not
cleaning up,” Lorraine said, pulling the dish towel from my hand and hanging it on a hook under the sink.

“It’s no trouble at all,” I said. “You’re going to need some help here.”

“We’ll take care of it later.” She turned off the flame under the kettle and pulled my arm. “Someone brought a wonderful California wine. Come have a glass with me.”

I smiled at her. “Lorraine, are you tipsy?”

“Not yet,” she said. “I want to drink a toast to my big brother. Will you do that with me?”

“Of course.”

“Everyone thinks they knew the real Wes Newmark, but I don’t think any of us did. Not really.” Lorraine’s sadness was reflected in her eyes.

I put my arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “Come. I’ll bet you haven’t had anything to eat all day. Let’s have a sandwich. Then we can toast Wes with this fancy wine.” I looked back at Harriet, who’d started clearing the table and gathering up paper wrappings from food that had been delivered. “Harriet, why don’t you join us?” I said. She looked up at me, a faint smile on her lips, and followed us out of the room.