Sounds of Murder (17 page)

"Kent?" Rocky asked, licking the wooden spoon
and holding it out for her to sample, "He’s the one who found
the…body?"

"Yes, he’s very responsible, Rocky," answered
Pamela, licking the cheesy soup from the corners of her mouth, and
sighing in rapture at her husband's culinary expertise. "They left
my office hours ago. I wonder where they could be.”

“Maybe he changed his mind and she’s stuck
over on campus,” suggested Rocky, “I mean, why would a graduate
student want to be hauling some freshman around?”

“Because she’s his boss’s daughter.”

“ Maybe we should get her a car."

"Good Lord," she said, rolling her eyes,
"Don't say that in her presence--not even a hint. We'd never hear
the end of it."

“I don’t like her riding around with some old
graduate student.”

“He’s maybe all of twenty-one.”

“No graduate student is that young,” he
harrumphed.

“They are in Psychology. Only English
graduate students are old enough to be grandfathers.”

He ignored her jibe and, picking up a spoon,
continued stirring his soup. Then, opening the oven door, he
reached in with two pot holders and removed another pan of garlic
rolls. The aroma was heavenly.

"A nice northern Italian feast, I see," she
said, smiling.

"Comfort food," he nodded. "Thought you might
like that, after all you've been through the last few days. Did
you--you know--take that disk to the police?"

"Yes," she said proudly, puffing out her
chest a bit.

“Got to visit your pals at the courthouse,”
he added teasing

"Yeah, my old buddies at Moving Violations. I
hope you're happy."

"Hey, Babe," he shook his head and continued,
"It's not a question of making me happy or anyone else. It's just
the right thing to do."

"Yeah, yeah," she whined, "I'm Miss Ethical.
It's pretty hard to tell students to do the right thing if I don't.
I know it."

"Also," he added, "now I feel safer, knowing
that it's totally out of your hands and in the hands of the police.
Let them deal with this maniac. The further you stay away from it,
the better. I worry about you, Babe."

"I know," she said, softly, squeezing him
warmly around the waist from behind. "my own private army of one. I
really appreciate your concern, but...."

"But?" He pulled away, turning toward her and
removing his stirring spoon from the vat of cheese and wine-infused
sauce. "What do you mean but?"

"Just that I’ll never really be away from it
as long as the killer is out there," she said, defensively.
"Everyone in the department is in jeopardy until this person is
caught."

"But you more so," he concluded, spoon back
in pot.

"How so?" she questioned, leaning against the
counter.

"Babe, you found the body. The killer doesn't
know what you know--or don't know. Maybe the killer had just left
when you arrived."

"Kent arrived first. Technically, he would be
in greater danger than me."

"Maybe," said Rocky, thoughtfully, "if that's
what actually happened."

"What do you mean by that?" she asked.

"You have only this Kent's word for it that
he discovered Charlotte when and where he said he did, right?" he
questioned, thoughtfully.

"What are you suggesting?"

"I don't know," he said, changing the
subject, "I guess I just don’t like the idea of him driving around
with Angie. Oh, well, that’s not the main issue. The main thing is
that as far as you’re concerned, it's over. The CD is with the
police and you can forget all about it, and hopefully things can
get back to normal."

"Rocky," she said, seriously, bending in
closely to face him directly, "Things will not be back to normal
until the killer is caught."

"Yes," he agreed, "But at least you don't
have to catch him--or her."

There was a long pause as Pamela contemplated
how to respond to her husband. They did not keep secrets from each
other. The few times in the past when she’d tried to keep important
information from Rocky, it had ended badly. She always felt better
when she confided in him--no matter what the consequences. But,
now, she knew that if she told her husband, he wouldn’t understand
what she knew she had to do. Yet, she could not, in good
conscience, keep information from him that could potentially impact
her--and thus him--in such a major way.

"Rocky," she began.

"Hmm," he said, listening but concentrating
on his dinner preparations.

"I think I should tell you something," she
stated.

"What?" he asked, pulling his spoon out of
the pot.

"I--I--made a copy of the disk before I took
it to the police today," she blurted out in one quick breath.

He slammed the spoon on the counter and
turned abruptly towards her, his face becoming red, "You did
what?"

"I made a copy of it--so I could study it. I
think I might be able to find out some valuable information about
the murder--or the killer--if I can just have some time to listen
to the recording and do an acoustic evaluation," she said all at
once. She stood facing him, defiantly, breathing deeply.

"Are you crazy?" he yelled. "I thought we
went through all this! This is dangerous, Pammie! You’re putting
your life at risk. This maniac has killed one of your
colleagues."

"I know, I know," she argued, "But even if
the killer knows I have a recording of the murder--which is
unlikely--how would my giving it to the police make me any safer? I
mean, just the fact that I recorded it would be sufficient reason
to make me a threat to the killer--if the killer knew that I had
such a disk--and I’m not at all convinced that anyone knows about
it--except you, and now Detective Shoop. I just don't see how my
keeping a copy places me in any greater danger than my making the
original recording in the first place." She felt she’d made an
excellent presentation and saw no reason how Rocky could fault her
superb reasoning.

"Pammie, anything you do, have, or say that’s
connected in any way to this murder places you in danger. You’re
already in danger by being the one--or the second one--to discover
the body. You stand out. Anything you do that’s different will make
the killer consider your behavior. You need to remain discreet--in
the background. You can't do anything that looks even the slightest
bit suspicious, don't you get that?" He was really getting worked
up.

"I'm just fine," she said, firmly. "Why can't
you see that? I'm not helpless. I don’t need Super Husband to
rescue me."

"Babe," he said, grabbing her hands in his,
"Whether you want to admit this or not, someone--probably one of
your colleagues or one of your students--a person you no doubt see
every day--killed someone--and they’re desperate and they’ll kill
again if they feel they’re threatened. Right now, you’re probably
the biggest threat they have. They could be watching you--your
every move--whether you realize it or not. They may be scared to
death that you’ll discover them. You simply can't just go about
your business as usual."

"Stop it, Rocky!" she yelled, pulling away
from his grasp. "You seem to think I’m a juvenile. I know what I’m
doing and I’m being careful. You've got to believe me. I made the
copy and I intend to examine it and--if possible--figure out who
killed Charlotte. My God, it's the least I can do."

"It's not your job," he pleaded, "Why can't
you understand that?"

"It is my job!" she cried, "It's what I do. I
listen to sound--human sound--and I figure out what it means.
Here's an opportunity for me to take what I do and use it to do
something truly meaningful--to avenge Charlotte's murder--and maybe
even prevent another murder."

"Even if it's your own?" he asked.

"It won't come to that," she said, suddenly
clutching her caring, dear husband close to her body and squeezing
him as tightly as she could.

The front door swung open and Angela breezed
into the house.

"Hey!" she called from the front entry way,
"Where is everybody?"

Pamela and Rocky pulled apart and turned to
greet their uncharacteristically cheerful-sounding daughter.

"In the kitchen," called Rocky. He started
putting the food into serving bowls.

"Hey, Mom!" said Angela, entering the kitchen
and grabbing a garlic roll from the pan.

"Where’s Kent?" asked Pamela, "Is he
here?"

"He just dropped me off,” chattered Angie.
She started back down the hallway towards her bedroom.

"Is that all?" asked Rocky, calling after
her. "Your mother said you left her office hours ago. Where have
you been all this time?"

"Kent showed me the lab—the computer
lab--where he works," said Angie, "Then we stopped at Sonic for
smoothies. Don’t worry, Dad. I’m still hungry. Call me when
dinner's ready," and she disappeared into her bedroom.

Kent had showed Angela the computer lab,
Pamela noted. She wondered when that had occurred—obviously not
when she was there making her duplicate CD.

"The lab?" repeated Rocky, turning to Pamela,
"You mean the lab where the murder took place?"

"He works there, Rocky," answered Pamela.

“My God, Pamela,” said Rocky through clenched
teeth. “You knew she was interested in seeing that place. Why would
this guy take a young freshman girl down there to a murder
scene?”

"Down there? You make it sound like it’s in a
dungeon. It’s just a computer lab. He’s proud of what he does and
he loves all that equipment. He's a nice young man.”

"And this guy’s the one who supposedly
discovered Charlotte's body?" questioned Rocky, interrogating
her.

"It wasn't supposedly, Rocky,” she insisted,
“I told you. He did discover her. I was there and I know Kent."

"And you trust him to drive our daughter
around and drag her to places where people are killed?" asked
Rocky, escorting Pamela to the table, pulling out her chair.

"How many times are we going to go over this?
He's very trustworthy; I can vouch for him," she answered,
sitting.

"Look, Babe, no twenty-one year old is
trustworthy when it comes to teenage girls," said Rocky to her,
knowingly. "All right. He may not be a killer, but that doesn't
mean I want him anywhere near my daughter." He sat next to her,
fuming. Pamela smiled and shook her head.

"You--you—father," she chastised him and
laughed. Rocky shrugged and shook his head, seemingly in
defeat.

"Angie, dinner!" Rocky called down the
hallway towards Angela's room. "Not a word about you-know-what to
you-know-whom," he whispered to Pamela.

"I can keep a secret," she whispered back and
smiled. That was an understatement, she thought.

Chapter 16

She was nibbling--just nibbling, on another
of Rocky's sandwich masterpieces. Every bite she took reminded her
of her husband and the mounting number of lies she’d told him--or
at least things she’d failed to tell him--in just the last
twenty-four hours. It was now just after noon on Friday. The
sandwich was a ham and cheese on some sort of Focacchio bread; it
was delicious, but she felt guilty eating it. They’d had such a
fight last night--and all for nothing. Rocky was mad because he
loved her and was concerned for her welfare; she knew that.

But, she just couldn't make him understand
her position. Pamela felt a sense of obligation towards
Charlotte--not just because she’d found Charlotte’s body, but also
because she truly believed that the information on the disk might
lead to the killer's identity and that she was uniquely qualified
to figure it out.

Why did it have to be so hard? Why did doing
something she felt was right have to cause this rift between her
and her husband? Not just a rift, she thought. No, she’d deceived
him—again. She should’ve never told him she’d made the copy of the
disk. She should’ve just kept her mouth shut. He’d wanted her to
dispose of it--then and there--last night. Luckily, she’d thought
quickly and told him--lied to him--that the disk was in her office.
She’d promised him that she’d destroy it today. Now here she sat,
wondering if he sincerely believed that she meant to do it.

Of course, when she’d said all that to him
last night, the disk had been in her purse all the time. It was
still there now, although she was almost afraid to check. Maybe it
had miraculously disappeared and all her worries would be over. Oh,
my God, what was she thinking? If it were missing, that would be a
catastrophe. Quickly, she reached over, grabbed her purse, and
peeked inside. There, in its paper sleeve was the infamous
disk--looking thoroughly benign. Taking a deep breath, she put her
purse back. Calm down, she told herself, just think this through.
She continued nibbling her sandwich.

She couldn't believe this much time had gone
by and she still hadn't been able to examine the copied disk. It
had been too risky to load it last night at home after what had
happened when she’d tried to sneak a glance at the original disk on
her home computer. Once she’d gotten Rocky and Angela off to school
this morning and straightened up the house (so to speak), it was
too late to examine the disk, and she’d had to go to class.

Her morning classes had drifted by as if she
were in a hypnotic trance and now here she sat in her office alone
for the first time since making the disk. Did she dare listen to
the disk here in her office? What if someone came in? She
desperately wanted to run it through her acoustic software program
to see if there was anything unusual about the sounds on it.
Surely, she could close down the program quickly if anyone showed
up at her door.

She finished her sandwich and put the
wrappings in the brown paper sack which she tossed in her waste
basket. Then, taking her cup of tea over to her desk, she angled
her monitor so only she could see her screen. Pulling the disk from
her purse, she opened the CD drawer and inserted the disk. Pop,
click. The computer uploaded the file and Pamela brought up her
acoustic analysis program. The spectrograph wave of the two minutes
or so of what she believed to be the sound of Charlotte Clark's
murder appeared on the screen.