“Who was on the search committee for Dr. Belfort?”
“I was, as was Aldo Ferraga. The third member at that time was Michael Mannix, who has since left for UC San Diego. Can’t say I blame him with these winters. We knew he was leaving. That’s why we were searching for someone. We needed to fill the void and Katrina’s specialty was similar to Michael’s.”
“Which was?”
“Probability theory. Over the course of the year, Katrina’s interests had changed to fast Fourier transforms, which can relate tangentially to probability theory. Whenever you’re working with the market fluctuations, you’re working with probabilities.”
McAdams said. “Fast Fourier transforms deal with fluctuations in the stock market?”
“Potentially yes.”
“Could you explain what Fourier transforms have to do with the stock market?”
“Do you know what Fourier transforms do?”
“They change functions from time to frequency and break down complex waves into simple ones.”
“Very good. Have you ever seen a graph of a stock within a single session of daily trading? The x-axis is time and the y-axis is the price. The stock has a daily high and low and everything in between the two numbers.”
“Yeah, it kind of zigzags like a bunch of thunderbolts.”
“Exactly. If you’re a day trader, it would be an advantage to know what kinds of waves make up the zigzag. The highs and lows would be characterized by the amplitude of the wave, and the frequency would characterize the space between the amplitude. If the frequency is long and the amplitude is low, the stock isn’t undergoing a lot of change. But a lot of stocks are volatile. If you knew the waves making up the pattern, in theory, you might be able to predict the stock’s next move: either up or down. And that would be tremendously helpful, especially in day trading, where fortunes can be made and lost within seconds.”
“So anything that can give you an edge on where the stock is going will help with the bottom line.”
“Theoretically yes.”
“Okay. Was Dr. Belfort plying her trade—her theoretical knowledge by day trading in the market?”
“I have no idea, Detective.”
“What about Elijah Wolf? Was he doing day trading, too?”
“Elijah?” Rosser made a face. “His research didn’t reflect any of that nonsense.”
“You think it’s nonsense?”
“Day trading is nonsense. It’s a fool’s game. Glorified gambling.”
Silently, McAdams agreed with him. “When was the last time you saw Dr. Belfort?”
Rosser sighed. “Sometime yesterday morning. We had been talking about Eli. She was still very upset. So upset that I wondered at the time if there wasn’t something else going on.”
“Like what?”
“Well . . .” Rosser sighed. “Batra wasn’t the only student seen coming and going from Katrina’s house. Not that I want to speak ill of the dead. But if you think it has some bearing on what happened to both of them, I feel it incumbent to say something.”
“Do you think she was having an affair with either boy?”
“How should I put this?” A pause. “After observing Katrina for the past year . . . well, she liked her admirers. Math is generally a department of young men. She was low person in the faculty, but she had her acolytes in the classroom.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to Batra. Anyone else I should speak with?”
“I’d say Batra is a good starting point.”
“And the last question, Dr. Rosser. Could you tell me where you were between ten last night and, say, three in the morning?”
“Excuse me?”
“Routine question, sir.”
“I was sleeping . . . well, not at ten. I was doing work at home until one and then I went to bed.”
“And your wife was with you during the period?”
“She went to bed earlier . . . around eleven.” He stared at McAdams. “I did not leave my house.”
“You were working on your computer?”
“Mostly by hand. My computer was hardly on.”
“Could I take a look at your computer? It might verify your time frame. And if you e-mailed something, it would show where geographically you were working.” Again there was silence. “Just a peek at your laptop—”
“I work on a desktop,” Rosser said.
“I can come to your house to look at your desktop.” McAdams waited. “It would help eliminate you as a suspect.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“I could come tonight . . . get it over with.”
“How about if I call you? I’m very, very busy.”
“Whatever works,” McAdams said. “I would think you’d do anything to get out of this mess.”
“I’m not in any mess, Detective. You can’t seriously suspect that I had anything to do with this ghastly affair.”
“What I think is immaterial. I’m just saying that it’s in everyone’s interest to cooperate.”
Rosser said, “I’m not hiding anything, I’m just busy. These past days have been horrific. Just give me a chance to settle my department. I’ll call you, Detective.”
He sounded disingenuous. To McAdams, insincerity counted as a lie.
CHAPTER 17
THE SUN WAS sinking fast and there wasn’t much that Decker could do in the fading light other than secure the area, which was done with a tent. Theoretically, it would block animal activity, but since the area still contained bits of blood and remains, the canvas wasn’t going to dissuade hungry, feral creatures from tearing down the structure. Decker made his way back to civilization with its heat, electricity, and phone reception. Katrina Belfort’s backyard was lit up with police spotlights. The temperature was dropping rapidly, and although Decker had packed hand and feet warmers, there was still numbness and pain in his fingers, toes, and nose. Because of last year’s murders, the police department had secured official crime scene tape, which had been placed across the front and back doors of Katrina’s house and around the perimeter of the yard. Detectives/police officers Karen and Kevin—known as K and K—were chatting under the backyard porch, comparing notes when Decker walked into their conversation.
Karen, the newest addition to Greenbury, was in her fifties, a transplant from Chicago PD. Like Decker, she wasn’t quite ready to retire, and since McAdams officially had left for law school, there was room for one more. She was tall with a weathered face holding blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a beak for a nose. Her avian features were more eagle than sparrow. Kevin Nickweed was large and big and had been with Greenbury much longer than Decker. At one time long ago, he had been an experienced detective in Milwaukee, but since his homicide skills were a bit rusty, he was happy to let Decker take the lead.
Kevin said, “The most interesting thing I picked up from neighbors is that Katrina often had people coming in and out of her house.”
Karen concurred. “Especially on the weekends.”
“Lots of parties?” Decker asked.
“No one talked about loud noises, just that she had visitors.”
“Young, old?”
“Mostly students,” Kevin said. “The same students by the descriptions: probably two or three males and one female, the girl described as average height, very thin with short blond hair.”
“Mallon Euler,” Decker said. “What about the boys?”
“One was Indian, the other two were nondescript white males—average height and weight. Their dress was the usual student stuff—jeans, sweatshirt, boots, and a backpack. One of the white kids was usually on a bike.”
“Damodar Batra was probably the Indian. He’s one of Belfort’s students. So was a guy named Ari Weissberg. Elijah wasn’t officially her student. And she wasn’t on his committee anymore. But he still could have visited her. I’ll get pictures for you to get a definite ID with the neighbors.”
Karen said, “I also got reports of an occasional visit from a thirtyish blond guy who was
good-looking.”
“Ditto,” Kevin said. “One of the neighbors who told me that also remembers a car occasionally parked in front of her house late at night.”
“Oh?” Decker perked up. “What kind of a car?”
“A sedan. She couldn’t get more specific than that. I tried. I even showed her pictures of cars on my phone. She just kept shaking her head.”
“But she knew it was late at night.” Decker paused. “Any information about the occupant of the car?”
“Never saw anyone, except once, she saw someone leave around two. It was dark and the person was bundled in a coat and scarf. She just assumed it was one of the kids.”
“Students wouldn’t own cars,” Decker said.
“So maybe it was the blond guy,” Karen suggested.
“She didn’t see a face?” Decker asked.
“Nope.”
“Well, that is really a shame!” Decker clapped his gloves to get circulation in his fingers. “Okay, what about the night of her death? Any luck?”
Karen said, “The people I talked to were fast asleep by twelve and didn’t know anything about an incident until this afternoon when they saw all the official cars.”
Kevin said, “Mostly the same except there was Belfort’s next-door neighbor to the north. You’ll need to talk to her. She had trouble sleeping last night and got up to read around two or three in the morning. She decided to make herself a cup of herbal tea and she peeked out the back window. She saw something moving across her backyard. She couldn’t make out anything specific because the backdoor light was off in Katrina’s house. But she didn’t think too much about it because she thought it was an animal . . . low to the ground and not walking upright like a human.”
“Low to the ground,” Decker repeated. “Someone dragging a body through snowdrifts would be bent over.”
“Like I said, you should talk to her.”
Decker said, “So regular visitors were three or more students, a blond guy, and our mysterious occupant of a sedan. What about females closer to her age?”
Karen shrugged. “Nope.”
Kevin said, “Same here.”
“Okay,” Decker said. “Good work. Go to the station house, get warm, and write it all up on the official forms: names, address, telephone numbers, and statement.”
“No prob, Pete,” Kevin said. “Do you need it tonight?”
“Yes, I do. Just leave your reports on my desk.”
“What are you going to do?” Karen asked.
“I’m going to go inside the house, warm up, and hunt around for signs of a crime.”
Kevin looked around. “Where’s Robin, Batman?”
“At Kneed Loft poking around.”
“I thought he was in law school,” Karen said.
“He is, but you know how it is. People who break the law are a hell of a lot more interesting than the guys who uphold it.”
WHEN ATTEMPTING TO interview students, McAdams realized quickly that they didn’t stick around in any one place for too long. Damodar Batra committed to three locations at the time of Belfort’s demise: his dorm room, the library, a party in Goddard Hall, and . . . oh yeah, he went out to get a pizza at around eleven because all the party food was gone and he was hungry. He had probably been noticed by a zillion people and all of them probably couldn’t remember where or when they saw him.
Mallon was a little easier to pin down because she claimed she was in one space—the library—and there were people who did remember seeing her there. But they didn’t remember exactly what time or for how long. That kind of precision—when the person remembers it was exactly two because the church clock rang out—usually exists only in fiction.
Katrina’s final student was Ari Weissberg. He was on a bus coming back from Boston last night after visiting friends at MIT. He claimed he arrived at his room around midnight, studied a little, and then went to sleep around one. He did say hi to a few people but he doesn’t remember exact times. The only thing that McAdams could confirm was that the kid arrived at the Hamilton bus station at 11:30 P.M. It took at least thirty minutes to get back. Beyond that, the trail faded to black.
As far as faculty, McAdams had placed two calls to Dean Zhou and she had yet to call back. Her whereabouts went to the top of his list. He did manage to catch Aldo Ferraga in the flesh. The man was in a rush and appeared distracted. He had allotted five minutes for an interview before heading to a faculty meeting, which was going to deal with Katrina’s horrible “accident” in the woods.
“Why do you say it’s an accident?”
The man combed his curly hair with stubby fingers. “Who would want to murder her?” He sounded peeved. “She was a hardworking woman and this is a very small and safe town. The whole thing is crazy!”
“Did you know her well?”
“I knew her. She was a colleague and she was nicer than most. Ambitious, of course, but if you want to get tenure, you have to be ambitious.”
“Have you ever seen her outside the school?”
“My wife and I had her over for dinner. She had us over for dinner. That kind of thing.”
“Often.”
“No, not often. A few times.”
“Did you know what her research was about?”
“Of course. Fourier transforms.”
“Like Mallon Euler.”
“Which is precisely why Rosser thought that she and Katrina would be a good match. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“You told us that Elijah Wolf was working on Fourier transforms. I had heard that his primary interest was fractals.”
“Ah, yes, in the beginning, but he switched to Fourier transforms mid junior year. He began showing a keen interest in applied math. I told you and the older detective all this this morning.”
“That was about Elijah Wolf. This is about the untimely death of Katrina Belfort. We’re talking again to everyone who knew her. So you may have to endure a little repetition.” Ferraga was silent. McAdams said, “If Eli’s interests were changing, maybe he was secretly meeting Katrina Belfort to talk about Fourier transforms.”
“I wouldn’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Katrina often invited students over to her house just to talk.” A long pause. “And she did speak very fondly of Eli.”
“How fondly?”
“I suppose it doesn’t make any difference now.” A sigh. “Katrina wanted to be his primary thesis adviser. I know she wanted him to switch from Rosser because Eli seemed to be gravitating in her direction.”
“How’d that meeting go?”
“What do you think? There was a shouting match. Rosser was furious. He almost had Katrina fired, which he could do because she was on probation. A few of the faculty intervened, including Dean Zhou and me. Suggesting a student change primary advisers is not a reason for dismissal. When cooler heads prevailed, the matter was dropped and no one spoke of it any further.”
“But you think he was still seeing Belfort on the sly?”
“It’s possible.”
“This morning, you told me that Eli had turned to Lennaeus Tolvard, working with him on the sly.”
“I said I thought it was possible. The man was on Eli’s thesis committee.” Ferraga checked his watch. “I must go now.”
“One more question, sir. Where were you last night between ten and four in the morning?”
“Me?”
“We’re taking statements from everyone, Professor. It’s nothing personal.”
“I certainly hope it is not personal.” He cleared his throat. “I was home with my wife. She can vouch for me. I went to bed later than she did, but I never left the house.”
Same alibi as Rosser. McAdams said, “Could I take a look at your phone and laptop? It might be able to alibi you if you used either one of the electronics at home.”
“I don’t need an alibi because I didn’t do anything. And I didn’t make or receive any phone calls last night. I don’t even think I used my computer. Most of my computations ar
e done by hand.” He stopped talking and regarded McAdams’s eyes. “I need to lock up. I’m already late for my appointment.”
“Of course,” McAdams said. “Thank you for your time.”
Ferraga escorted him out. “Next time make an appointment. Then I won’t be so rushed.”
“I would have done that but these are extraordinary times, don’t you think?”
Ferraga didn’t answer. He locked the door, picked up his briefcase, and walked away without so much as a good-bye.
“ROSSER TOLD ME that her students came to her house,” Decker said. “That syncs with what the neighbors told us.”
“He also said that Belfort liked her admirers. I think Rosser was trying to paint her as a flirt, maybe even more. What do you think?”
Decker and McAdams were standing in Katrina Belfort’s living room. Decker had been going through her most recent calls on her cell phone while the kid was scrolling through her computer. “I don’t honestly know. He clearly didn’t like her. Good job with the interviews and alibis, by the way.”
“I do my best.” McAdams was trying to break into her e-mail with little success. Her computer was one wall after another of security. Even her word-processing files needed a password. “Do you think she was having an affair with one or more of her students?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Decker said. “Although I am curious why Rosser was leading you in that direction. Maybe he was hiding his own affair behind the accusations?”
“I thought about that,” McAdams said. “Maybe the love loss bit was a ruse. Or maybe he was jealous of the others. Katrina was a good-looking woman. Or maybe she was carrying on with more than one person.”
“Or she could be legitimately helping her students. She hadn’t lived in Greenbury for very long, no signs of a busy social life, maybe her work was her life. I can tell you this much. She had roughly the same phone calls over and over—Mallon, Damodar, Ari, Elijah Wolf when he was alive . . . then you have Rosser, Zhou, and Ferraga. There are also lots of calls to someone named Ryan.” Decker looked around the room. Then he held up the photograph of Katrina and a young man in skiwear. “Our missing link?”
The Theory of Death Page 15
