The Theory of Death (12 page)

“Maybe he made a lot more and it’s hidden somewhere. Maybe he gave his parents the same amount to make it look like it was from a job. Or maybe his parents weren’t telling the whole truth.” McAdams became animated. “If he was a gambler, maybe he hooked up with the wrong people. Maybe Eli did something that he thought would tarnish his genius image and felt suicide was the honorable way out. Or maybe he was forced to shoot himself.”

Decker was quiet.

“What?” McAdams said.

“I was just thinking about the death scene. His fingers were curled but he wasn’t holding the gun.”

“Why is that significant?”

“There’s a phenomenon when you shoot yourself. If you’re tense when you do it, your fingers get a lock on the gun and go into rigor. It’s called cadaveric spasm. His fingers were curled but he dropped the gun. It isn’t unheard of to drop the gun. It’s just one of those things that you think about if you’re a detective. If he were forced to shoot himself, he’d be tense and he’d be more likely to be gripping the gun. Of course, if he had taken drugs beforehand, it could have relaxed him.”

“Or given drugs against his will.”

“So you think his suicide had something to do with getting involved in something criminal?”

“It happens, right? That seemingly good people go bad.”

“Of course it happens.”

“Especially considering that Eli probably had sustained brain injuries.”

They kept walking. Decker said, “I do like your shenanigans-with-numbers theory. A guy who’s good with formulas could be useful in a number of unsavory activities—counting cards in blackjack, poker playing, bookmaking. He could probably shift the odds in his head at a moment’s notice.”

“How about this?” McAdams held up a finger. “Automated stock trading. Everyone in that industry is looking for the next big thing in algo trading. Maybe Eli found it.”

“I like that, Harvard. Do we know if he was working in the industry?”

“No one has mentioned it.”

“We haven’t been asking the right questions.” Decker thought a moment. “Twelve hundred a month doesn’t put him in the high-roller category.”

“Like I said before: maybe it’s the tip of the iceberg.”

“Last I heard, automated trading was legal.”

“It is legal.”

“Do you know how it works?”

“In a nutshell, it generates tiny, tiny profits from zillions of automatic trades to produce big profits.”

“And there are specific firms that specialize in this type of trading?”

“Usually that’s the case. These firms usually don’t make major markets because they move in and out so fast.” McAdams took out his smartphone and looked up Algo Trading on Wikipedia. “Algo firms break up big institutional trades in major companies into more manageable sizes.”

“Do they affect the stock prices?”

“Not as much as you’d think. Algo companies take in relatively small profits compared to the overall market trading, but they are responsible for a large percentage of the market volume. This big-volume trading can lead to a phenomenon known as flash crash if things go awry.”

“Like that guy in the UK around five years back.”

“Yeah in 2010. Navinder Sarao. Exactly.” McAdams put away his phone. “I can delve further if you want.”

“If I need more information on this, I’ll ask you to do it, but only after your finals.”

“Sure.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “If Eli had hit upon an algorithm that was highly profitable, it might explain why Mallon is so interested in those hidden papers.”

“It might explain why
everyone
is so interested: Dean Zhou, Alistair Dixon the RA, and Eli’s professors.”

“Which professors?”

“So far we have Theo Rosser, Dean Zhou, and Katrina Belfort all willing to look the papers over under the guise of being helpful.”

“Where does Katrina Belfort fit in? Who told her about the papers?” McAdams hit his head. “She’s Mallon’s adviser. Did she call you or did you call her?”

“Belfort, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“I called her. She was on Eli’s advisory committee but she had to resign due to other obligations.”

“Like what?”

“She didn’t say. I only talked to her for a minute. I’m going to try to catch her this afternoon. I also talked to …” He checked his notes. “Dr. Aldo Ferraga. He was also on Eli’s advisory committee. All three of them—Ferraga, Rosser, and Belfort—were pretty shaken up when I spoke to them over the phone.”

“How can you tell emotions over the phone?”

“You get a feeling for what’s righteous after doing it all these years. I can still be fooled, though. My first impressions aren’t always spot-on.”

They walked in silence. Then McAdams said, “Are you referring to your first impression of
moi
?”

“God forbid!” Decker stifled a smile and put his arm around the kid. “What in the world gives you that idea?”

“I can do without the sarcasm, Old Man.”

“What sarcasm?”

“And your children still speak to you?”

“Every single one of them. And as they get older, I’ve gained stature and IQ points. Someday even your father won’t seem so bad.”

“I don’t dislike my father.” A pause. “I don’t actively like him, but no one does.”

“You may like him more when you’re a dad.”

“Doubt it. God, me a dad. Pity my poor children. They don’t stand a chance.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. You may rise to the occasion.”

McAdams laughed to himself. “For an old guy, you’re okay, Lieutenant.”

Decker was taken aback. “High praise.”

“As high as I’m capable of giving.”

E
NTERING KNEED
loft—four stories of unadorned brownstone punctured with prison-size windows—Decker checked the directory. Engineering and applied sciences occupied the bottom floor, computer science held the second tier, physics and chemistry shared the third floor, and applied and theoretical mathematics reigned supreme on the fourth.

The interior of the college was pure function—tiled floors, low acoustical ceilings, long hallways, small classrooms with a whiteboard and stark, wooden desks along with a stale musty smell of too much radiator heat and too little fresh air. Decker and McAdams did a couple of two-steps, dodging speed-walking students with their eyes on the floor. They took the elevator to the fourth floor, a replica of the ground floor they had just traversed.

A woman with blond hair, dressed in workout clothes, was locking up Katrina Belfort’s office. She had an athletic build of developed arms and developed calves.

“Dr. Belfort?” Decker asked.

“Yes?” When she stood up straight, she appeared to be around five eight. Hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and a big chin. A pretty woman bordering on handsome. “Oh … you’re the detective?”

“I am. Peter Decker of Greenbury police. This is my partner, Detective Tyler McAdams.”

“Right.” She checked her watch. “I totally forgot. It’s been a crazy day.” She checked her watch again. “Uh … hold on.” She unlocked the door and ushered the men inside. “I can’t spare a lot of time right now. Things are just too hectic.”

“With Eli’s death?”

“Of course with Eli’s death! That gave everyone a shock and then some.”

“You didn’t see it coming?”

“Of course not. If anything, he seemed more … relaxed. Probably because his thesis was going great and he was into things that excited him.”

“What kind of things?” McAdams asked.

“Math things, I would imagine.” She paused. “Eli was reserved … cautious with what he talked about. I didn’t have as much to do with him in his upper-division studies as I did when he was a freshman.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well …” She looked at her watch. “Oh hell, here goes nothing. Eli was a prize student. He was brilliant. Any faculty member here would have killed to work with him because he had such great promise. But to the victor goes the spoils. It was assumed from the start that he’d work under Dr. Rosser even though his interests coincided more with me than with him. But since I’m low woman on the totem pole and likely to remain that way, I could only stand by and watch.”

She shook her head angrily.

“It was clear to all of us that Eli was unhappy working with Rosser. He even hinted about switching to me. Of course, that sent Theo into a rage. I backed down. I not only backed down, I took myself off Eli’s thesis committee.” She gave a dismissive wave. “I’m not saying Theo is to blame. But he certainly was insensitive to Eli’s needs.”

“When did this drama happen?”

“It wasn’t drama on my part. Theo makes drama out of everything. It happened about a year ago. Since then, Eli seemed to adjust. Maybe he had a rapprochement with Rosser. I hope so.” Her eyes suddenly moistened. “Not that it matters now.”

Again, she glanced at her watch.

“I really have to go.” She swiped her cheeks with her hand. “I’m sorry. This is very difficult to talk about.”

“One more thing,” Decker said. “I’m hearing some contradictions. Elijah was happy about how his thesis was progressing so well and Elijah was unhappy working with Dr. Rosser who was his thesis adviser.”

“Like I said, he seemed to adjust to reality. Look, Eli’s emotional swings were in millimeters not miles. He had an almost flat personality, which isn’t unusual for students here. He was more interested in math than anything else, and if the math was going well, he was fine.” She opened the door. “Anything else?”

“Maybe we can talk another time when you’re not so rushed.”

“Good luck with that. I’m always in a rush.” She stepped out in the hallway and waited for them to follow. Then she locked her door and exhaled. “Terrible, terrible, terrible what happened. He will be missed.”

“Did he ever talk about his parents to you?” Decker asked.

“I didn’t even know parents were in the picture. For all I knew of his personal life, Eli could have been an orphan.”

THE OFFICE OF
Professor Theo Rosser, Ph.D., was spare and clean with a small window that looked over a mud-filled expanse that turned into lawn in the springtime. There was a small sitting area with two wooden chairs, a large uncluttered desk, and a leather desk chair. The walls were filled with diplomas, awards, and accolades. The door was wide open but the professor was nowhere in sight.

“What now?”

Decker checked his watch. “He said three-thirty.”

“Academic Standard Time.” McAdams was checking out his credentials. “He got his Ph.D. from UCLA. The two of you can bond over the Pacific Ocean.”

“What year?”

“Nineteen-eighty-five.”

“Thirty years in academics.”

“It’s clear that Belfort hates him, but he must have something going for him other than his ability to pick brilliant students,” McAdams told him. “Look at all these awards.”

“Are they prestigious awards?”

“No idea. But I don’t think he’d put them on his walls unless they were coveted.” The clock on the wall said three forty-five. McAdams said, “How much longer should we wait?”

“I’m not in a hurry. Give it another fifteen minutes.”

“What about Eli’s other adviser?”

“Aldo Ferraga. We didn’t connect, but I did leave a message. We’ll see if he calls back.”

With a gust of energy, a balding, thin man blew into the office. He placed his briefcase down on the desk. “So sorry I’m late.” He took off his coat, hanging it on a coatrack. “Feel free to take off your jackets and sit down. It’s just been one of those days.” He let out a sigh. “That’s to be expected after such a terrible tragedy.”

He sat down in his leather desk chair and threw his head back. “What a terrible waste.” He looked up. “I’m Theo Rosser. Chances are you could guess that without being a detective.”

“I’m Detective Peter Decker, Greenbury police. This is Detective Tyler McAdams.” Hands were shaken all around. Rosser appeared to be in his mid to late fifties. His eyes were milky, his thinning hair was gray, and he had a stoop-shouldered doughy build. “Thanks for agreeing to see us on such short notice.”

“Yeah, sure.” Rosser shook his head and sat up. “Was it suicide? That’s what everyone is saying.”

“The coroner hasn’t made a definite determination.”

“What do you think?”

“I leave those things to the experts,” Decker said. “Did you know Eli well?”

“I was his primary adviser. As such, our conversations usually revolved around his research.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“His brilliance is … was indisputable. As far as what I thought about him … quiet, serious, dependable, an original thinker.”

“How’d he get along with others?”

“Math isn’t a social subject, Detective.”

“Did he have friends?”

“I wouldn’t know much about his life outside of his work. He didn’t say and I didn’t pry. He could communicate. His presentations, though complex, were well thought out. He was helpful to other students in the lab.”

That jibed with what Mallon Euler had told them. Decker said, “You don’t have departmental social functions?”

“Of course we do.” Rosser thought a moment. “He was at our Christmas party about a month ago.” A pause. “That was unusual.”

“He usually didn’t participate?”

“Not usually. But he was there, and after a few beers, he was actually quite amicable. He seemed in a very good mood. Things were going well with him in school. That’s why this suicide … we were all in shock when we heard about it yesterday. It doesn’t … I don’t know. Maybe he had a hidden life that I didn’t know about.”

“Did he bring anyone to the party?”

“It wasn’t really a party … just something the faculty does to make our upper division students comfortable.”

“Did he bring anyone with him, Professor Rosser?”

“No, I don’t think so.” A pause. “He spent some time talking to Mallon Euler. She’s also in the department … very bright. Not like Eli, but quite gifted.” Another pause. “He looked like he was trying to calm her down. Mallon can be … excitable. I do know that he was helping her out with her thesis. He had patience with her, I’ll say that much. Perhaps they were an item and I was unaware.”

“It’s a small department for you to be unaware of who’s dating whom.”