Sounds of Murder (22 page)

"What?" yelled Arliss, also standing. "This
is scandalous! How does anyone expect us to teach animal psychology
with that run-down animal lab?"

"Maybe they don't," suggested Charlotte
Clark. "This is just a regional university and our small Psychology
department can't be expected to do everything. It's better that we
concentrate on one thing and do it well than many things and do
them poorly."

"Are you suggesting that we do poor work,
Charlotte?" demanded Bob Goodman.

Charlotte smiled, shrugging her shoulders,
"Just take a look at what areas of our department are being funded,
Bob. My work on addiction, of course, Laura's and Joan's studies on
educational psychology, Willard's and Pam's work on linguistics,
Rex and Phin's stuff on personality. When's the last time any
animal research got funded here? Let's face it, agencies want to
fund research that relates to people--not animals. Our department
is spread too thin as it is. We'd be better off dropping classes
and programs related to animal psychology and getting rid of that
bottomless money pit you people call an animal laboratory."

"We people!" shouted Bob. "We 'people' are
your colleagues, Charlotte!"

"Now, now!" yelled Mitchell Marks, the sweat
glistening on his brow. "Can't we have a nice, quiet, professional
meeting for once?"

"Not with Charlotte here!” Bob Goodman
yelled.

The fury of that encounter still burned in
Pamela’s mind. Bob’s presence now reminded her of it and of
Charlotte’s ability to goad them all. She pulled herself from her
thoughts and continued speaking to Bob: “It makes me feel guilty to
use the computer lab at times, Bob. Those of us who have that lab
are so lucky compared to you and Arliss over in the animal wing. I
swear, I don't know how you and she manage to produce the wonderful
research that you do."

"Thank you," Bob said, smiling. "Luckily, our
chimp is doing most of that for us. Bailey’s amazing. There's not
much that little fellow can't do. To tell the truth, I’m beginning
to think that he’s actually more sensitive than most people.
Wouldn't that be an amazing finding if Arliss and I could confirm
it?"

"Absolutely," Pamela gleamed. "Nothing makes
my day more than hearing about someone's research success."

"You’re unique in that respect, Pam. Arliss
is right," he noted. "I just wanted you to be prepared and think
about how all this might affect your vote." He turned and started
for the lobby.

"Thanks," she said. "You've given me a lot to
think about." He took her hand in his and looked into her eyes.

"I’m glad you’re part of our department,
Pam," he said, holding her hand warmly. "We’re lucky to have
you."

"You too," she stammered, not quite certain
how to take this unexpected compliment from someone she didn't
really know all that well. Then he dropped her hand, turned and
scurried off down the center aisle of the chapel to join Joan,
Arliss, and Willard. Rocky appeared at her side.

“So, what was that handholding going on
between you and the string bean?” he queried.

“Don’t be jealous, that’s just Bob,” she
laughed, as they entered the chapel. “Your hands are only ones I
want to hold.” As they started down the aisle, she spied Rex and
Phineas, head to head near a side column. She slowed down in order
to pick up what she could from their conversation.

”Second author!” Phin said, at least Pamela
thought he said.

“Agreement…” she thought she caught Rex
saying, but she wasn’t sure.

“…promised that on this article…” said
Phin.

“… misunderstood…” answered Rex’s garbled
voice.

Pamela wondered what the argument was about.
She remembered that Joan had said the other day that they were
arguing about authorship. It was certainly the most agitated she’d
ever seen or heard Phineas. He was usually very docile and
subservient to Rex, following him around like Rex’s personal
servant. Even so, both men had excellent publication records and
churned out numerous articles in top drawer journals each year.
Yes, they often co-authored articles, but as far as she could tell,
the first author credits had been shared equally between the men.
Why were they arguing over what appeared to be authorship? She had
slowed to almost a standstill in hopes of overhearing more of the
Rex Tyson-Phineas Ottenback feud.

She felt a hand gently on her back and she
jumped and turned. It was Rocky smiling at her.

“You ready to go in and find a seat or do you
need to do some more snooping?”

“Rocky!” she huffed, “I’m not snooping!”

“Of course not. Let me go get Angie and we’ll
go in,” he said.

“No,” she said, stopping him. “Angie won’t
want to sit with us. Let’s just go in by ourselves,” she added as
she peered around to see where her daughter had disappeared to. Was
she still chatting with Kent? As she continued to look around, Kent
and Angie sauntered into view from behind a large column.

Rocky turned to see his daughter, now
giggling and smiling broadly (something she hardly ever did in
front of her parents) at the conversational quips of the remarkable
Kent. Kent obviously enjoyed having such an enthusiastic
audience.

“Is that the infamous Kent?” Rocky asked, as
he spied his daughter hanging on the every word of the strangely
outfitted young man. “He looks like a total weirdo.”

“Now, dear,” said Pamela, calming him.
“Appearances are deceiving. I told you, Kent is a fine young
man.”

“She obviously prefers her present company to
ours,” he admitted. “All right. Let’s go get this over with.” They
walked down the center aisle and scooted into a pew directly behind
Joan, Arliss, Bob, and Willard. Pamela felt a tap on her back and
as she turned she recognized one of her graduate students.

“Dr. B,” whispered the girl, “What seminar
are you teaching next semester?”

“My goodness, Mary, let me get through this
afternoon—this semester. I’m not even certain they have me
scheduled to teach a graduate seminar next semester.”

“They have to,” the young woman whined,
“You’re the only one who teaches Research Methods other than Dr.
Clark, and now that Dr. Clark is—you know—now that she won’t be
teaching anything, you’re the only one to teach Methods!”

“Mary, there are other faculty members who
can teach Methods,” replied Pamela.

“But, not like you, Dr. Barnes,” she said.
“Please, say you’ll teach it.”

“Again,” reiterated Pamela, “It’s not for me
to say. We’ll just have to wait and see.” With that, she turned
firmly back in the pew and looked ahead as the minister entered
from the sacristy.

“My god,” she sighed quietly to her
husband.

“I hope he’s listening,” whispered Rocky in
her ear, “and I hope he’s telling you to behave yourself.”

At that moment, the chapel’s
nondenominational minister climbed the few steps to the side
lectern. He was dressed in white and gold satin robes and wore a
beautiful golden stole around his neck.

“Good afternoon, my university
friends—faculty, students, administration, and sponsors. This is a
sad occasion as we must say farewell to one of Grace University’s
most gracious and benevolent patrons.”

That, thought Pamela, was laying it on a
little thick. But then, the minister was playing to some
potentially big donors in the congregation.

“Charlotte Clark was a legend at this
school,” continued the preacher, “not only in her own department,
but throughout the entire campus. Her fame was worldwide. Her
academic credentials were impeccable. Her life was devoted to Grace
University. But Dr. Clark’s wonderful contributions—and those we
know she would continue to make in the future—have been cut
short—cut short by an untimely death. Dr. Clark was not the victim
of some horrible disease or accident. No, she was taken from us in
her prime by a murderer—someone motivated by selfish and personal
goals, someone totally unconcerned by the good works that this
amazing woman might have accomplished if she had been allowed to
live a full and productive life. Now we will never know what feats
Charlotte Clark might have done, because she will never get the
chance to do them.”

Pamela twisted in her seat. Was this man
describing the Charlotte she knew? She glanced over her shoulder at
the assembled congregation. She could see Shoop now standing at the
back of the chapel. Several men—obviously police officers were
standing in the side aisles near the back of the chapel. They were
all keeping a close watch on the behavior and reactions of the
members of the congregation—particularly those who were faculty,
students, or staff in the Psychology Department. Did they plan on
making an arrest during the service? She hoped not. Besides, who
would it be? She doubted they had any inkling yet who could have
possibly killed Charlotte. She looked around surreptitiously at the
people assembled. Mitchell was in the front row with his wife Velma
by his side. Jane Marie and her husband were seated in the same
pew. Laura and her husband Vittorio were also near the front. Phin
and Rex were seated together in a side pew, although they didn’t
appear too happy with each other. Neither of their wives had
evidently accompanied them. Arliss, Joan, Bob, and Willard—all
single--sat together in the pew directly in front of Pamela and her
husband in a middle pew.

“Charlotte Clark,” continued the reverend,
“was devoted to learning the secrets of the horrific scourge of
addiction—addiction that robs the body, the mind, and the soul of
so many poor helpless victims. Why would anyone take such a patron
from the earth?”

He makes her sound like Mother Theresa,
thought Pamela. Where, she wondered suddenly, was Angie? She
discreetly looked over her shoulder again and spied her daughter
sitting next to Kent in a pew near the back of the chapel—where
most of the graduate students were seated. As she secretly watched
her daughter, she noticed Shoop fanning his gaze over the entire
assembly—watching, it appeared, for any tell-tale responses to
statements made during Charlotte’s memorial. As she stared at him,
his glance fell on hers and their eyes met. “Behave yourself, Dr.
Barnes,” they seemed to say. Pamela felt his scrutiny and turned
back in her seat.

“I should note,” the minister continued,
”that our University President (who could not be here today) has
set up a Charlotte Clark Memorial Fund, the proceeds of which will
go to a scholarship for a deserving graduate student in Psychology,
Charlotte’s department. I hope you—Charlotte’s friends and
colleagues—will give serious consideration to making a generous
donation to this important scholarship fund.”

Pamela leaned over to Rocky and whispered,
“Ah, now I see, it all boils down to money, right?”

“Doesn’t everything, Babe?” whispered
Rocky.

With that, the minister, opened the Bible on
his lectern and offered a short prayer. When he was finished, he
announced, “Several of Charlotte Clark’s colleagues and friends
have expressed a desire to speak. First, I’d like to introduce, Dr.
Mitchell Marks, Chair of the Psychology Department.” The minister
backed down the raised lectern and Mitchell climbed up and adjusted
the microphone.

“Friends,” he said, gulping a bit, obviously
somewhat nervous, “This is a truly sad occasion. Charlotte and I
had our differences, but I always remained an admirer of her
intelligence, talent, and initiative. She was, without doubt, the
star of our department. I don’t think I’m stepping on any toes by
saying that.” He looked out at the see of faces and chuckled a bit.
“I know that because I know how much the Psychology Department
benefited by having Charlotte as a member. She single-handedly
remade our department. Through her funding efforts, we were able to
build an amazing state-of-the-art computer lab that has allowed our
faculty and graduate students to produce top-notch research. Her
generosity was always present and she shared her good fortune with
her colleagues. I truly don’t know what we’ll do without her.
That’s all, I guess.” He coughed a few times and then stepped down
carefully, looking somewhat bereft.

“That’s it?” questioned Rocky. “He’s the head
of your department?”

“He is,” Pamela replied.

“He’s not very good at giving eulogies, is
he?”

The minister then introduced Dr. Laura
Delmondo. From her seat further back in the crowd, looking cautious
and shy, Laura Delmondo passed Mitchell as she walked carefully
forward and assumed the lectern. Mitchell nodded towards her sadly
as they crossed paths.

“Hello,” said Laura, looking more at her note
cards than the congregation, “I asked Dr. Marks if I could speak
today. I know you all know about Charlotte’s amazing academic
successes and remarkable generosity. What you may not know is her
more personal side.” She looked up and stared at the audience for a
second and then quickly returned to her cards, “ I’d like to change
that. I first met Charlotte Clark when I was an undergraduate
student here at Grace many years ago. I planned to take a few
Psychology classes, get a degree—it didn’t really matter in what,
get some sort of job for a few years, and then get married and
begin what I assumed would be my real life. Meeting Charlotte
changed all that. She spoke in class and I suddenly realized that
here was a woman with an amazing job—who apparently wasn’t married
with a family. When I went in to her office one day to speak to her
about my research paper, she suggested that I might find a career
in Psychology interesting. She said she had read some of my earlier
papers and thought I showed promise. The thought of having a
career, any career, let alone one in Psychology, never entered my
mind. After that, I visited her office frequently and she
encouraged me. She helped me get accepted into a graduate program
and she pushed me to go on for my doctorate. No one in my family
had ever gone to college—let alone had a graduate degree. She
changed my life. She opened a new world for me. Yes, along the way,
we disagreed, but she was instrumental in me coming here to Grace
University to work in the Psychology Department—a place I love and
a job I adore. She was responsible for turning my life around. I
can’t believe she’s gone—I can’t believe---“ She looked out at the
crowd again, tears filling her eyes.