* * * *
"Names in the news: In London, English publishers discovered that passages from Chandler, Hammett, and Latimer had been reproduced ‘almost verbatim’ in the works of one Rene Raymond—known to the public under the pseudonyms of James Hadley Chase, Raymond Marshall, and Ambrose Grant.... Confronted with the evidence, Chase-Marshall-Grant-Raymond (according to The Bookseller) ‘promptly admitted his error,’ apologized to the authors concerned, offered to rewrite the offending passages, defrayed solicitors’ costs."—Howard Haycraft, “Speaking of Crime,” EQMM, March 1948.
* * * *
Vanessa thought she understood herself quite well. Though she was not beautiful, regular exercise maintained her slender figure and her face was at least interesting, perhaps striking. Even classrooms full of students twenty years her junior brought constant reminders of her attractiveness to the opposite sex. Devoting her energies single-mindedly to her academic career, she hadn't allowed occasional, usually enjoyable romantic interludes to derail her push for tenure. She had no sense of the dreaded biological clock ticking away—while she did not actively dislike children, she had no particular maternal urges—but she recognized more and more the benefits of sharing her life with someone. And when she saw someone interesting, she was not shy about making her presence felt.
Vanessa found Stephen in intense conversation with Geoff Black. Before she could reconsider butting in and veer off in one direction or the other, the two men stepped aside to welcome her. Geoff, who had been hired as a specialist in eighteenth-century English literature, taught a wider variety of courses than seemed quite respectable outside of a community college. He was almost a foot taller than Stephen, hawk-faced and lean.
"I was just filling Stephen in on the unnatural natural history of New Zealand,” Geoff said cheerily. “Won't take long."
"And here I thought we were talking about Lord of the Rings,” Stephen said.
"Our national symbol, the kiwi, is a flightless bird, as you may know. You're a birder, aren't you, Vanessa?"
"Matter of definition. I like to look at them and learn their names, but I don't believe in playing statues for hours on end on the chance a new one might turn up."
"Fair enough. If you ever visit my country, watch for the fantail and the cape petrel. Lovely fellows and not at all hard to find. But the kiwi is another matter. You'd be lucky to see him outside of a zoo. He's getting scarcer all the time, and he's nocturnal into the bargain."
"I thought you were a literature guy,” Stephen inserted.
"We New Zealanders turn our hand to all sorts of things. It's a national characteristic. Now, returning to the kiwi. How does a flightless bird survive? By being born where there are no natural predators. But you see, we developed this bad habit of introducing non-native species from everywhere else in the world to solve our problems, and nature kept telling us what a bad idea that was. The Maoris started it when they brought in dogs and rats, as a food source, believe it or not. Later, we introduced cats, rabbits, weasels, stoats—you name it. Sometimes if we had a problem with animal A, we introduced animal B to rid us of animal A, and then had to bring in animal C to take care of animal B, and when animal C got to be a pest, we tried to solve it with animal D, and, well, you get the picture. If we could turn back the clock, we'd be fine, but of course we can't. In New Zealand today, no creature is more hated than the possum. When a New Zealander sees a dead possum by the side of the road, he cheers."
Geoff glanced at his watch. “Oh dear. Nine o'clock. You must excuse me. I have to get up early tomorrow. I had my morning all planned, but then they called this damned committee meeting at the last minute and I had to move everything an hour earlier to accommodate it. I'll see you there tomorrow, Vanessa?"
"Where?"
"At the meeting of the Museum of Plagiarism committee. Called by the dean at the last minute. Some sort of emergency. Somebody's not happy. Haven't they told you about it?"
"No."
"Ten A.M. in the Administration Building conference room."
"Do me a favor,” Vanessa said. “Don't tell anyone you told me. If nobody tells me about the meeting, I don't have to go, do I?"
"You cheeky devil. My lips are sealed. But I daresay they'll catch up with you. Good night, Vanessa. Enjoyed talking with you, Steve."
Geoff made his way gradually to the exit, shaking the hands that courtesy or campus politics demanded. Vanessa was a bit put out to see that Stephen, rather than expressing delight at having her to himself, was curious about the unexpected committee meeting. “So who belongs to this committee?” he said.
"It's an odd group, but the makeup of the dean's committees often seems odd. He works in mysterious ways."
"But I guess he knows what he's doing."
After just the right pause, Vanessa said simply, “No.” Stephen looked at her appreciatively.
"So who belongs to this particular odd committee?"
"He appointed his wife to chair it. She has a museum background, I think. I just heard tonight that John Amber, the linguist, has been added."
"But he's a sabbatical replacement. He just got here, like me. Why would he be on the committee?"
"The dean in his wisdom likes to involve visiting and junior faculty in everything. Would you have liked the appointment your-self?"
Stephen grinned. “No, and my academic friends have warned me to go to any length to avoid committee assignments. There's no mention of them in the contract I signed. Now, what is the point of this museum anyway?"
"Plagiarism."
"A whole permanent museum devoted to plagiarism? That sounds like a library exhibit."
"It's just one large room, really. Mr. Englethorpe, the donor, believes our students don't understand plagiarism, don't appreciate its seriousness. He wants a permanent exhibit to remind them. The irony is that students never come near this building. Perhaps they'll be allowed to now. In carefully managed small groups."
Stephen was clearly intrigued. “And now a plagiarism committee meeting is called in the middle of a social occasion right where everybody can hear about it and gossip and wonder. Very strange. Almost as if the dean were laying a trap for somebody."
"Maybe it's a trap for you, Stephen. Did you ever steal anything from some obscure critic, thinking you'd never be found out? Maybe your appointment as Film Critic in Residence was arranged just so you could be cornered like a rat at the dean's cocktail party."
Stephen looked at her and grinned. “Vanessa, you're my kind of woman. Either you share my sense of humor or my suspicious nature or both.” But before he could discuss sharing anything else, his attention was drawn to Professor Finnerty, in close conversation with the dean's wife and a woman Stephen didn't know.
"Is Finnerty, the Chaucer man, on the committee?"
"He is."
"I thought he was retired."
"The dean likes to involve—"
"Anybody he can get his hands on. I get the picture. Who's the woman with the big hair? I didn't meet her."
"Myra Buford. She loves to teach developmental, what we used to call bonehead, English and freshman composition. Most of the rest of us don't, so everybody on the English faculty adores her. I think she and Geoff were appointed to the committee by the Academic Senate."
Stephen said pensively, “You know, a group putting together a plagiarism museum could find all sorts of examples. Any number of public figures have been exposed as college plagiarists, and then you've got the politicos stealing other people's speeches. But that's amateur stuff compared to all these historians caught cribbing from earlier sources and claiming it was accidental. As I recall, one guy made the excuse that he was writing for a popular audience that didn't want to be bothered with a bunch of boring footnotes."
"And another end-noted everything but used the exact words of the original sources without quotation marks,” Vanessa said. “I wouldn't accept that alibi from a student."
"I know you were kidding—weren't you?—about the d
ean possibly laying a trap for me. But a committee looking for examples of plagiarism might stumble across something a member of the campus community, whether permanent like you or transient like me, might find too close to home, mightn't they? And that could be the reason for this meeting.” Stephen got a sudden playful gleam in his eye. “Hey, wait a minute. You're on the committee and yet they seem to be freezing you out of the meeting. Do you have any plagiaristic skeletons in your closet, Professor?"
"I do not,” she said with mock outrage.
"So just what are the exhibits in this museum anyway? I'm having trouble picturing it."
"Oh, mostly books, magazines, advertisements, manuscript pages, legal opinions and rulings, a few side-by-side comparisons of the plagiarism and the source, all with descriptive captions. Nothing terribly valuable, I don't think. We thought at one point that some eccentric book collector was going to donate a bunch of rare plagiarized works, but nothing came of it. Turned out he didn't have a thing we could use."
Vanessa yawned and Stephen registered comic hurt. “No, I refuse to take it personally,” he said, “even if it always happens when I start chatting up a beautiful woman."
"Don't be silly. But I just might call it an evening. I've enjoyed meeting you, Stephen, but if I steal away now, they might forget altogether inviting me to this meeting, and I'd just as soon not spare an hour for it tomorrow morning."
"Have you no curiosity? If I were on the committee—"
"I'll try to get you appointed in my place,” Vanessa said, but then she noticed Selma Canfield striding toward her, still with a distracted, stricken look.
"Professor Strom,” she said, “I do apologize for not speaking to you sooner. Myra Buford just reminded me that I may have forgotten you."
"We English faculty do watch out for each other,” Vanessa said with barely perceptible irony.
"There will be an emergency meeting of the Museum of Plagiarism committee tomorrow morning, and it is vital that everyone attend. Vice President Anderson has some extremely disturbing news to share with us, and we must decide how best to deal with it. I shall see you tomorrow, then? Administration Building conference room, ten A.M. sharp."
* * * *
In 2002, another writer's plagiarism suit against J.K. Rowling, author of the hugely successful Harry Potter books, was thrown out by a New York court, who fined the plaintiff $50,000 for “her submission of fraudulent documents” and “her untruthful testimony” in support of her claim.
* * * *
The next morning at nine, Vanessa was sitting in her excuse for an office reading an earnest graduate student's excuse for a dissertation proposal on Mickey Spillane's middle period when the buzz of her telephone gave her an excuse to lay it aside.
"Vanessa Strom,” she said, in her customary phone-answering monotone.
"Good morning. Shouldn't you answer the phone Professor Strom, give it a little more dignity? I mean, if you answer with your full name like that, you could be the president's secretary's assistant."
He hadn't identified himself, but she knew to whom she was speaking. Could she live with that hyperactive personality this early in the morning? And why was she asking herself that?
"Stephen, you really do review everything, don't you? How do you get through a day that way? I'll try again. This is Fraulein Professor Doctor Strom, M.A., Ph.D., M.L.A., and the impetus for this early-morning assault on the ivory tower of scholarly contemplation had best be important or you will be quickly made to regret the consequences. Is that better?"
"Much, but your German accent needs some work."
"So where did they put you? Are you calling from your office?"
"Barcroft Hall."
"My God, you poor baby. It must be lonely over there. Isn't that building scheduled for demolition?"
"So they tell me. But they've promised when the time comes to tear it down they'll move me to that tree house by the parking kiosk, as soon as they can find somewhere to put the foreign language faculty. Look, I hope you'll have lunch with me today. Faculty Club? One o'clock?"
"Yes, I think I could manage that,” she said, glancing at her calendar. A nice lunch would be welcome after the Museum of Plagiarism committee at ten and her meeting with the Spillane fan at eleven.
"Great. I'm just a shy, simple soul, but I'll try not to bore you. I'm sure we can find something interesting to talk about.” As he said that, a loud crashing noise came from somewhere on his end.
"What on earth was that?” Vanessa said.
"I don't know. Maybe they started demolition and didn't tell me. Or maybe Anderson found the elevator. And maybe we'll have something really interesting to talk about. Look, I better go check this out. See you at one. Faculty Club."
She hung up the phone with a puzzled frown. What elevator? She had taught in Barcroft Hall and there was certainly no elevator there. Since the Americans with Disabilities Act came into effect, they'd only been using the ground-floor classrooms and those more and more rarely.
At five minutes to ten, she set out from her office in Buchanan Hall to the Administration Building, a pleasant stroll that allowed her to enjoy the falling leaves and breathe in the fresh autumn air before encountering the stuffiness of another boring meeting. Up to now, the Museum of Plagiarism committee had served mostly as a rubber stamp for a vague overall plan. She had thus far managed to duck the few rare individual assignments to committee members. She arrived at the conference room right on time, though she was resigned to the likelihood that she would spend ten or fifteen minutes waiting for everybody else to stroll in late. She sometimes thought she'd wasted years of her life turning up on time for academic meetings.
This time, though, most of the committee were already in place at the long wooden table, most wearing long wooden faces to match. Myra Buford, as usual, had brought a stack of student papers to grade. Old Professor Finnerty looked like a wax statue beginning to melt, not unusual for him, but even Manny Grade was uncharacteristically subdued. Geoff Black and John Amber completed the group. Only the dean and his wife, the committee chair, were missing.
"Good morning,” Vanessa said quietly and received murmurs of greeting in reply. She took a seat next to John Amber, who quickly introduced himself with a smile. He might pick up well on accents, but he seemed oblivious to the committee's somber mood. She sensed he wanted her to say more so that he could do his Henry Higgins party trick, but it didn't seem the time or place.
After an uncomfortable couple of minutes, the dean and Mrs. Canfield entered the conference room together. He helped her into a seat. She seemed pale and on the verge of collapse. Then he stood at the head of the table and cleared his throat.
"Good morning,” he said. “I must tell you I have some appalling news. It seems that Vice President Anderson has passed away."
"Passed away?” Manny Grade said incredulously. “He seemed quite healthy last night."
"He was, ah, helped. That is to say, he was killed. He was murdered. There is little more I can tell you. It happened only about an hour ago. At Barcroft Hall."
"What was he doing there in the back of beyond?” Geoff Black said. “Nobody goes to Barcroft Hall. I'm surprised to hear it's still standing."
"I have no idea,” the dean said, “except I am told he was looking for the elevator."
"Elevator?” said Myra Buford, looking up from her student papers for the first time. “There's no elevator in that building."
"And that was the curious incident,” old Finnerty murmured, almost inaudibly.
"I will tell you all I do know,” the dean said briskly. “Vice President Anderson was found in room B14. That room has not been scheduled for any classes for the past year and has been pressed into service for storage of some old packing crates and other odds and ends. When he was attacked, he apparently fell into a stack of empty crates and sent a bookcase crashing over. The sound attracted the only other occupant of the building at that time, Stephen Fenbush, our Film Critic in Residence, whom so
me of you met last night."
"Poor devil,” said Manny Grade.
"Finding a body cannot be pleasant,” the dean agreed.
"True enough, but I referred to being assigned an office in Barcroft Hall."
Selma Canfield spoke for the first time. “How can you be so facetious when a man is dead, Professor Grade?"
"My apologies,” Manny said, with no obvious sign of repentance.
Vanessa realized that she was an ear witness to the murder. That loud crashing noise she and Stephen had heard must have been the sound of Anderson being attacked by his killer. Stephen might have been in danger as well, if he'd caught the murderer in the act.
"Fenbush suspected Anderson was beyond help,” the dean went on, “but he called nine-one-one for an ambulance. He then notified the campus police, who in turn called the city police and notified me. And that is all I can tell you about the crime itself at this time. Under the circumstances, we cannot have the meeting of our committee that was originally contemplated. In fact, Vice President Anderson was planning to join us this morning to tell us of some unpleasant information that had come into his hands. The police have asked me to request you stay here, so that you can be questioned as a group later this morning."
"Why as a group?” Geoff Black asked.
"I believe and, ah, the police believe that Anderson's death had some connection to the work of the Museum of Plagiarism committee."
"How long will we be here?” John Amber asked. “I have a class at noon, and we probably all have appointments and other commitments."
Yes, Vanessa thought, it would be dreadful to miss my conference on that Spillane dissertation.
"If each of you would jot down class cancellations that need to be posted, appointments that need to be cancelled, and any other necessary communications, my secretary will be glad to take care of them,” the dean said. “We must fully cooperate with the police. In the meantime, since we are all here together anyway, I may as well tell you as much as I know about the matter Vice President Anderson intended to lay before us, though I lack some important details. As you may have heard, Judd Anderson was sceptical of the utility of this committee's project. He saw no particular value to the university to devote even a small museum to plagiarism."
EQMM, February 2007 Page 2
