Formula for Murder Page 7

  “Whichever comes to mind first.”

  Pausing to think it through, Nick said, “He appears to be a good administrator. We had a meeting the other day about the visiting speaker’s arrival. And I got decent vibes from him as a person. Don’t know him as a professor, and have no clue why he’d be a murderer. I do sense some friction between him and a few of the other administrators.”

  She sensed he was waiting for an explanation, or at least an opinion. She stopped walking and contemplated an answer for a minute while he waited patiently. “He’s one of those professors who can step through the shifting sands of administration without leaving a footprint to mar his personnel file or his scruples as a professor. He is known for being less than diplomatic at times, yet he is also loved.”

  “How’s that?” Nick queried.

  “His forthrightness is generally appreciated, and mixed with a true love for the university, teaching, and his work,” she said.

  “OK, and at the age of 40 he seems especially fit, considering the sedentary life of a professor,” Nick added. He hoped 40 was too old to catch Kat’s interest despite the professor’s good physique. He eyed her closely, trying to note a spark of interest, but if there, it was well hidden.

  “He’s indulged in a quiet sense of arrogance that for him grew not only from his age and position but from a life well led,” Kat continued, not really answering his unspoken question.

  Nick decided to put Santora on the list of subjects to bring up with Burrows. He would consider why later.

  Back in the office Nick asked to see the news releases she’d edited for him. He waited at her door while she searched the piles of papers strewn on her desk and shook his head in dismay. He couldn’t understand how she could always bring orderliness out of chaos, but she inevitably did. He laughed at the mug that on most writers’ desks held pens. Kat’s tumbled over with peppermint lozenges for the lame and feeble that always wandered in her door with one complaint or another. While giving her a moment to unearth his news stories, he noticed the huge cork bulletin board scattered with torn scraps of messages and outdated memorandum. Glancing towards her desk he saw his article. From that distance it looked blood splattered, definitely on the dead side. Consternated, he actually blushed.

  “That bad?”

  “Sorry, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

  Kat contemplated his rough-hewn look while he concentrated on the draft before him. She enjoyed each frown, and savored the sparkle in his eye as he studied her comments.

  “Most of it is questions,” she mollified. “Seeking clarification.”

  “Killer questions from the look of it.” He raised his right eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

  She leapt at the chance to supply one. “It’s just that it reads like a report—a well-written one, but . . .” Her voice trailed off when she noticed the smile twitching his lips. “You’re not mad at me?”

  “It’s OK. I get the idea. I’ll try again. I used to be good at it. Just rusty I guess.”

  She smiled back. “Look at it and if you have any questions don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “OK . . . killer.”

  Kat ogled his backside as he left, her Prada classic pump flipping off her foot as she shifted knees nervously. She needed perspective and decided to approach her friend Madeline Girard. Finding Maddy’s phone line busy, she switched into her pink sneakers for speed and did a fast walk to her office.

  Madeline was the associate dean and the most efficient person on campus as far as Kat knew, not to mention the most knowledgeable on just about everything and everyone. She could be discreet, but she and Kat shared acceptable ground rules—whatever they said about work went no further.

  The austere outer office was empty but Kat knew to knock and enter the inner office. Madeline was listening to a one-sided phone conversation and mimicked the other person silently. “Blah, blah, blah.” She motioned Kat toward a chair.

  She managed to hang up a minute later and immediately popped out of her chair.

  “Tell me again Kat, why do I do this?”

  “Because you’re certifiably insane?

  “No, not that answer. The one that talks about a noble cause etcetera, etcetera.”

  “Oh, that one. Actually, I came to drag your mind away from it all.”

  “Absolutely impeccable timing. One more faculty member flaunting his or her publishing accomplishments and I’ll be sick.”

  “What’s the matter, Maddy? That’s all part of the job. And you usually enjoy the faculty. What’s up?”

  “I don’t know. Everyone seems more tense these days. Maybe it’s just me. And you. What’s bothering you?”

  “Do I have a love life?”

  “Well, cheriè, that definitely takes us out of the staid office. What brings up such a question?”

  “Good sidestepping. I’ll take that as a ‘No.’ I’ve been leering at my boss and dreaming about his bedroom blue eyes. Am I just hard up?”

  Maddy’s laughter pealed lightly, like her favorite wind chimes that tinkled various melodies in windows at home and office. “Kat, you have half the male campus trailing after you. You just don’t notice because you’re not interested.”

  “They’re usually the eighteen-year-olds or the eighty-year olds, and you’re right. I’m not impressed. So, what do I do about Nick?”

  Her friend begged for more information about the man and Kat surprised herself at how little facts she knew. She felt she learned much about his personality by watching his associations with others on campus, but particulars about his life were bleakly missing.

  Maddy advised going with the flow, her answer being more wise than elusive.

  Kat’s photographer was scheduled to come that afternoon for candid shots of students on campus. She met up with Jamie, the student she’d asked for a tour. She’d been in the science building countless times but today she wanted to see it through the eyes of a student. Then she’d need to convey that image to a photographer.

  Kat met with Jamie, the effervescent junior for insight.

  As they worked she speculated again about the journal and decided to tap Jamie for gossip among the students. Had anyone seen anything that night? Would any of them know about the journal?

  Jamie said she’d tuned out a lot of the gossip but would be more attentive and see what was going the rounds. It was a hot topic now but she recalled mostly fear-laced bravado.

  As they finished their rounds and left the building, Kat’s mind wandered again to the murder. There were more questions than answers bouncing around in her head, settling nowhere.

  Nick returned to his office; his plans better explored without Kat. He knew she couldn’t be objective about Gerald Higgins. Drumming his fingers on his desk, contemplating the delicacy of his situation, he phoned Burrows. He knew enough not to step on the toes of the local law enforcement people but wanted further information on Higgins. It wasn’t that he suspected him. He just felt life with Kat would be better if he could definitely clear her friend of any suspicion. Possibly Burrows already had and would save Nick the bother. As he waited to be connected to the detective, he daydreamed about giving Kat the good news about her friend, and pictured her grateful response.

  Burrows reported that Gerald was not among their first choice of suspects, not that they had many good choices. He’d be delighted if Nick investigated Gerald’s background and interests and any possible reflection they may have on the felled scientist.

  When Nick asked about Simon Santora, Burrows confirmed his innocence. “He definitely had an alibi for the time involved.”

  Trying to pin down more details, Nick asked, “What was the time of death?”

  Burrows said, “The coroner determined that Charlie was probably killed less than an hour before he was found at 9:30 that night. Classes were out at 9 p.m. Maybe the killer arrived and attacked just as classes were letting out. The noise might have covered any arguing. We don’t think it was premeditated.”

 
“Why is that? Because of the weapon?”

  “Precisely. And that’s the only reason. The crime was most likely one of passion. The weapon was found on the spot.”

  Switching to a different angle rather abruptly, Nick revealed his growing concern for Katharine. “Wasn’t Kat there that night?”

  “Yes, she reports she came in as the students were leaving, around 9:10 p.m. at the latest. From what she described she was seeing the last stragglers. It fits with Higgins’s usual time for rounds and locking up. He was running a little late because he had that chat with Katharine before he came down.”

  “And Dr. Santora?”

  “He was off campus. Witnesses confirmed that.”

  “Well, why don’t I go and have a chat with Gerald? I’ll get back to you.”

  Burrows surprised Nick with a very agreeable attitude to all of his suggestions. Nick wondered why the chief detective didn’t bristle at having a public relations person horn in on his investigation, until Burrows said somewhat too casually, “President Ludlow called me today.”

  Nick was startled. “From Hungary?”

  “Yeah, surprised me too.”

  “When he didn’t continue, Nick asked cautiously, “Did he want anything special?”

  “Said he’d forgotten to give me some crucial information about a certain person’s background. Thought I’d rest easier knowing.” He left the sentence hanging, waiting for a response from Nick.

  No one here was supposed to know Nick’s background. Absolutely no one. The response Burrows heard blistered his ears and wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. President Ludlow was Nick’s boss, after all.

  Chapter 10

  Words associated with left slant are negative: fear, doubt, repression. “Sinister” comes from the Latin for “left.” Does this follow that a left-handed person is such—or those whose writing slants left?

  “Handwriting Analysis: Putting it to Work for You” by Andrea McNichol

  Nick finally settled down. “Need I ask what we’re talking about?”

  “No, I wouldn’t think you’d need to ask. Could have told me yourself though,” Burrows muttered.

  “Just because I have expertise in certain areas doesn’t mean I would presume to do your job,” Nick continued, a little more calmly.

  “Maybe not, but I’ll ask you to keep your ears open just the same. And anything you’d like to contribute to the investigation is fine with me,” Burrows said. Far from being affronted by Nick’s help, he was seeking it.

  “We’re not exactly close to solving this one. Any particular reason for your interest in Dr. Higgins?”

  Nick had no qualms in telling him he was concerned for Kat’s sake. He admitted curiosity as to why the police weren’t looking at Higgins, since he was in the building at the time.

  “Certainly no motive and he seems to have been with Kat the whole time.”

  “I’ll tell you something, now that I know who you are. What I tell you goes nowhere else. Definitely not to Katharine, ya hear me? I don’t need her investigating.”

  “You’re clear. What is it?”

  “We’re almost positive the killer is left handed. Do you know what Dr. Higgins is?”

  “No, but that will be easy enough to find out. I’ll get back to you.”

  “OK. I would have checked into it myself eventually. My instincts say Higgins didn’t do it, but it’s a loose end. Like I said, we’re looking at these other people off campus right now. Plus delving into Dr. Abbott’s background, checking out this student, Sean Perry, and looking for that damn journal. We still can’t find Jeffrey Billings and his student Downings, and I have no idea how important it is to keep looking.”

  “OK, OK. I’ll leave you to it. Thanks for your confidence. I promise to be discreet,” Nick assured.

  Nick went to toss a few things at Gerald—literally. He stopped off at the dining hall, bought a couple of apples, stuffed them in his jacket pockets, and went to find Gerald.

  Nick introduced himself to the chemistry secretary, sitting shyly behind her computer in her windowless ground-floor office. “I’m Christine,” she said, and shook his hand lightly. “I’ve heard about you.”

  Nick’s eyebrow arched at the reference to his reputation preceding him, but he only said, “I’m here to see Gerald Higgins.”

  “Dr. Higgins is probably in his office. He’s usually there long past sunset.”

  “That much into his research?”

  “That, and he’s been somewhat lonely since his wife died. Lately it’s been even worse. Had some of his work upstaged in one of the latest journals. Put him in a funk, if you know what I mean.”

  “I never had any research worth upstaging, but I guess I can imagine. How long ago did this happen?”

  “A few weeks ago maybe. Just before you came.”

  “Thanks. I’ll go on up and look for him. Nice meeting you.”

  Nick stood in Gerald’s open doorway and quietly observed. It looked like a frenzy of cleaning in progress. Or was it a cover-up? Gerald stood at his desk with the trash can nearby and was sorting and tossing in turn.

  The professor liked the new man immediately and it showed in his greeting. Besides, Gerald knew Katharine now liked Nick and that was good enough for him. “Nick, how are you? What brought you to this turret?”

  “It’s not quite that far up. But I suppose it gets hard on the legs after a while.”

  Gerald was noncommittal. “They say the stairs are good for you.” He turned back to sorting the piles of paper still on his desk and tossed some intermittently into the trash while they talked. “What can I do for you?”

  Nick settled into the guest chair, took the apples from his jacket pockets, and juggled them carelessly while he spoke. “First, sit down and relax for a few minutes. What’s the rush? Are you moving?”

  Gerald turned to face him, setting the trash out of the way. “Just felt the urge to clean, regroup.” He sat in the desk chair and propped his right calf over the left knee. He looked relaxed and comfortable, not guilty, Nick thought. He nodded questioningly towards one of the apples and tossed it slowly to Gerald before he could respond one way or the other. Startled, Gerald automatically raised his right hand and snagged it before it bombarded the papers still scattered on his desk.

  Nick smiled and continued the conversation.

  On alert now, Gerald contemplated the apple, then drifted unerringly to the well-used pipe buried under one pile of papers. He gathered it up while his eyes never left Nick’s.

  “Mind if I smoke instead?” he asked as he set the apple aside.

  “Not at all. I was hoping you could help me.”

  Gerald nodded and proceeded to light his pipe. The ritual was benign as such rituals go. He used a lighter, and was not prone to playing daring-do games with a match that some men played. He had nothing to prove to Nick, and certainly not to himself. He efficiently stroked the lighter into life with his right thumb, cupped the pipe with his left and drew air into the tobacco, tugging the flame down with it until clouds of smoke signaled success.

  Nick honored the procedure, while contemplating what significance left handedness had in handwriting analysis. It never would have crossed his mind before meeting Kat. He’d have to ask her, if only to enjoy her bright face in its intensity while she explained.

  He then questioned him about Jeffrey Billings and his research. Gerald knew more than he expected, but less than he needed. Nick planned to let Burrows check out Billings anyway; he was more interested in what was happening with Gerald’s research, and psyche. He made a couple of forays in that direction.

  Nick was no slouch in the brain department, but the technical nature of the subject slipped past him. He could place a vague connection between what Billings had been exploring and what he’d heard about Gerald’s work. He segued from one to the other, hopefully with a modicum of success. Gerald seemed impressed, and entered into the differences. Gerald’s work centered more on the area of prions, a biologic
al principle of infection. Billings had been working with proteins also but not in the area of infection.

  “Can you explain it to me in lay terms? Is it something we could publicize, you know, like “Local Scientist Conquers Disease!”

  “I can tell you about it, but it’s not at a good point right now for publicity. Far from it.”

  Nick munched on the apple thoughtfully. “Problems?”

  “Not really. Maybe some negative feelings at the moment. A colleague chose recently to publicize and I think his findings are faulty. It will shed a bad light on my research by association.”

  “His research doesn’t contradict yours?”

  Gerald frowned, watching the smoke drift to the ceiling, hover, than intermingle with the cloud accumulation from earlier puffs. “Not completely, though that’s not the point. Once it’s discovered his findings are based on shoddy research it will make it more difficult for me to convince others that mine is quality work. Or worse yet, it will be up to me to prove he’s wrong.”

  He set the pipe aside and continued, “What I’m trying to prove is that infectious proteins can cause a range of degenerative brain diseases and that they cause other proteins to become abnormal also. The symptoms often run closely with those of a virus. The catch is to prove beyond a doubt that no virus is involved and that the proteins themselves are at fault.”

  “Correct me if I have the wrong impression, but how on earth did a small university like this acquire a professor of your stature?”

  Gerald smiled shyly. “They gave me Martha.”

  Kat had mentioned Gerald’s wife to Nick so he wasn’t as surprised as he might have been at the implication. Gerald repeated the story of how he’d met Martha.

  He handled the topic of his recently deceased wife without too much emotion, but Nick switched back to research. Could Gerald really have been so jealous of Charlie that he’d puncture him with a lethal burette. He’d vote now against the idea but wanted to hear more. He couldn’t believe the university had a plum feature like this sitting here unwritten. Maybe it was time to hone his skills.