“But he must have done a good job at some point,” Candace said.
“While he was married to Sarah, he did more than good. He brought an enormous amount of research money to this college. But he began to cross the line from peculiar to almost frightening right about the time their marriage fell apart. I know Sarah. She works for me now, and she did try her best, but when Hubert stopped taking his medication, things got very, very bad.”
“What’s very, very bad?” Candace said.
Was he making jars of red goop here, too? I wondered.
“Bad, in that students started to complain not only to this office but to their parents. He was behaving oddly in class, not lecturing, not following curriculum. We cannot have that here,” Johnson said, his dark eyes hardening for the first time.
And at what college could you have that? I thought.
“That’s why you fired him?” Candace said.
“No. His research was too valuable,” Johnson said.
Translation, I thought, he brought too much money to the college to let him go.
“I reprimanded him—in the kindest way I could, of course,” Johnson went on. “I did not wish to condemn the man for something he could not control—his mental illness. But I did put him on probation and took away his course load. He was to focus on his research until I saw that he was fit to return to the classroom.”
“Did he ever get back in the classroom?” Candace asked.
“Unfortunately, no,” he said. “He continued to deteriorate. I even offered to take him to a colleague, an abnormal-psychology professor who was still a practicing psychiatrist. Hubert refused.”
“So you did everything you could,” Candace said.
This brought a smile to Johnson’s lips. “I would do anything for the people at Denman—the students, the faculty, the families. It is what I must do to maintain our reputation.”
“But then VanKleet really went off the deep end, right?” Candace said.
Johnson closed his eyes, shook his head. “I could not believe what I saw in that laboratory.”
“Did you visit his lab often?” Candace asked.
She was trying to get information without giving away anything that she knew, and she was good at it. “No. That’s not my practice. The bright men and women who work here do not need the president looking over their shoulders. I only went because I was informed there was a problem.” His last sentence was terse.
“And who informed you?” Candace said.
“I don’t know. It was anonymous, a computer- generated letter placed on my administrative assistant’s desk.”
“Do you get anonymous letters often?” Candace said.
“More often than you might think,” he said. “One professor slipping information about a colleague he or she is still working with, students telling tales on their friends whom they’ve fallen out with; you name it, it’s happened. For the most part, I ignore this kind of thing.”
“But you didn’t ignore this anonymous tip?” she said.
“Hubert was already on probation, and the details in this letter were too serious to ignore. I had to see for myself if this was true. Sadly, it was. We do not do research using cats, but there they were, and though they didn’t seem to be in ill health, they shouldn’t have been here.”
“Did you save this letter?” she said.
“I did,” he said. “But unless you have a legal document such as subpoena, I don’t believe I’m obligated to share it with you. Just speaking with you is a favor to your chief of police. He is a friend of a friend.”
“The professor’s dead,” Candace said.
This was the first time I detected any of her usual impatience.
“But his family is not dead,” Johnson said. “His ex- wife still works here, and I have an obligation to keep unseemly information about her deceased husband away from those who might make life more difficult for her.”
Or for Denman College, I thought.
“Could your decision not to share this letter—which you have every right to do—have anything to do with another VanKleet who was sent packing?” Candace said. Her tone was tougher now.
She obviously was on to the fact that this man wanted all the secrets to stay in the Denman College closet.
“I should have expected that you would know about Evan.” Johnson smiled. “I underestimated you, Deputy Carson. My mistake. Forgive me if I was unprepared, but I wasn’t informed I had to talk about him.”
“You do,” she said. “My biggest question is why he was kicked out of school and the others weren’t.”
He tented his hands. “I believe I will decline to answer that. As I said, I am unprepared and should consult with the legal counsel who advises me on such things before I say anything.”
“You think he might sue you or something?” Candace said.
“It’s been known to happen,” Johnson said curtly.
“Was his being drunk that night the reason you kicked him out, or was it because he owed the college a chunk of change?” Candace said.
I read the surprise in Johnson’s eyes. “I will not get into that. Not today. Are there any other questions I can help you with?”
“Tell me about Sarah VanKleet. How did she handle all the trouble surrounding her family members?” Candace said.
He seemed to relax some at this change in direction and said, “Sarah is a hardworking woman who did the best she could with all she had to deal with. Her older son went to school here and has gone on to law school. She’s quite proud of him, as is Denman College.”
“She lives with Professor Lieber now?” Candace said.
He repositioned himself in his chair and blinked several times before answering. “I am not in the habit of inquiring about my employees’ private lives. Professor Lieber is well respected here. And loved by the students, I might add. He is unmarried, and if he has a relationship with Sarah, that’s certainly not my business.”
Like heck you don’t know about them, I thought. I’ll bet you know every detail of what goes on around here.
“Were Professor Lieber and Professor VanKleet friends?” Candace asked.
I wasn’t sure whether Candace had worn him down and he was tired of dancing around the truth, but he said, “Yes. They were friends. We have what I like to call a tight-knit family here at Denman.”
“Were you surprised to learn Professor VanKleet died a horrible, painful death?” She’d leaned in and was probably looking for his nonverbal response to this very direct question.
“Why, of course. Why would you ask such a thing?” He was rattled now.
“Because he brought shame on this college, didn’t he? Some people might be glad he died that way. At least one person did—the killer.”
“I—I can’t believe you’re saying these things to me,” Johnson said. “I tried my very best to do right by Hubert. Gave him every opportunity.”
“But you gave up on him in the end, just like everyone else,” she said softly. Then she stood.
I was so taken aback by her switch to this hard line that I felt like a robot and just followed her lead, standing as well.
Lawrence Johnson didn’t stand. He sat in his big chair in his fancy office, and I read sadness on his face. Even his eyes had filled. Candace had been tough on him, but I now understood that though he loved his college, he had also cared about Hubert VanKleet.
Candace said, “Can you tell me where the Bartletts live?”
That brought Johnson out of his reverie. “You mean Rosemary Bartlett? You’re talking to her, too?”
“I’m hunting for a killer. I might interview everyone in this whole damn town,” she said.
He looked a little stunned now, nothing like the calm, cool and collected academic he’d been when we first walked in. “Um . . . where did you park?”
“Right next to you,” Candace said.
“Then you can walk to their house. There’s a path on the far side of the lot that leads to Hawthorne Stree
t. They live in a small house about a block to the right. Number 405.”
“Thanks,” Candace said and started to turn to leave. But then she stopped. “Does Mr. Bartlett do a good job janitoring? Is that why Rosemary got to stay and Evan didn’t after that little protest?”
Johnson opened his mouth to reply, but Candace said, “You don’t have to answer. I think I already know.”
I followed her out, and when we were in the elevator I said, “You didn’t tell me Rosemary’s father worked at the college, too.”
“I mentioned that everyone in town works at the college, didn’t I?” she said with a smile.
“You did. I have to say, I’ve never sat in on anything like that. You were awesome.”
“He could have been a suspect, you know,” she said.
“Because VanKleet tarnished Denman College?” I said.
“Maybe, but even though I didn’t act like it, I believe he’s a genuine guy doing a difficult job. VanKleet went rogue on him, and he had no choice but to fire him.”
“I agree you didn’t leave President Johnson with a warm, fuzzy feeling,” I said. “He might be worried you’ll come back.”
“This is murder, Jillian. There’s nothing warm or fuzzy about it. If I need to return with a subpoena for that letter Evan said he wrote, I will,” she said.
“Maybe Evan kept a copy. I could ask him,” I said.
“Good idea. Now I’m ready to hear what Rosemary Bartlett has to say.”
Twenty-three
The Bartlett home was about a ten- minute walk from the college, and Mr. Bartlett answered the door of the small brick house. He was a burly man with muscled arms and a ruddy complexion.
Unlike Lawrence Johnson, he invited us both in without even questioning my presence. Maybe he was old-school. If a cop comes to your house, you don’t ask any questions.
The living room was small and neat, with a big flat-screen TV the centerpiece on the far wall.
Bartlett said, “The wife’s gone. Said she didn’t want to be here when you questioned Rosemary. It’s better that way. She’d probably cry the whole time. I mean the wife, not Rosemary. I wish I’d see that girl cry over something. Worries me sometimes how she can be.”
Candace said, “This is Jillian Hart. She’ll be sitting in on the interview, taking notes.” She took her notebook from her pocket and handed it to me.
Okay, I thought. I can take notes.
“Where is your daughter, sir?” Candace said.
Funny how she’d never used the word sir with Johnson—a powerful man—but chose to do so now with a guy who obviously respected Candace without reservation.
“I’ll get her. Go ahead and sit.” He left the room and went left down a hallway.
“Do you really want me to take notes?” I said.
“Yes. And sit on the sofa next to me. That way the girl can only choose one of the easy chairs and I’ll be right across from her.
We sat on the beige sofa, and I noticed the vacuum lines on the carpet. A police visit required tidying up. Yup, this was far different from sitting in a college president’s office.
Rosemary walked into the room after her father, her head down. The hair grabbed my attention first. Purple and magenta, cut in spiky layers. Her bangs covered one eye.
When she sat across from us, I noticed a piercing in her lower lip, but the ring had been removed. Sullen was a kind word to describe Rosemary Bartlett’s expression.
Her father took the other easy chair, a plaid rocker, and said, “Go ahead. Talk to the officers.”
She addressed him, not Candace. “What am I supposed to say? I’m sorry?”
He pointed a thick freckled finger at his daughter. “Quit with the attitude. These policewomen have come a long way to talk to you. I told you they want to know about Evan VanKleet. And I’d sure like to hear about him, too.”
Rosemary raised her eyes and then faced Candace. “How can I assist you, Officer?” But she didn’t sound in the least like she wanted to assist anyone.
“First of all,” Candace said in her kindest voice, “let me tell you that I’ve spoken with Evan. He was cooperative and very much wants to find out who murdered his father.”
Rosemary’s heavily penciled brows knitted. “You’re lying, right? He cooperated with the cops after they put him in jail for no reason?”
“I didn’t put him in jail,” Candace said. “And from what I could tell, he got a raw deal.”
“No kidding. We do have the right to protest in this country,” she said. “That’s all we were doing.”
“That’s not why he went to jail, Rosemary.” Bartlett looked at Candace. “I heard he was drunk. Is that true?”
“True,” she said. “By his own admission.”
“And he’s sorry about that,” I added. “I helped interview him, and he’s trying to get back into school, straighten his life out. But he’s so upset about his father’s death. Can you help us help him?”
Rosemary said, “He’s okay, then? My father wouldn’t let me bail him out or even talk to him afterward. But Evan is such a cool guy.”
“I get your father’s concern,” Candace said. “Because that’s what it is—concern. To answer your question, Evan seemed fine when I talked to him—aside from being torn up about his father dying.”
Candace knew exactly the right words at the right time, it would seem, because Rosemary said, “Man, I so wanted to call him after the story was in the paper. But I don’t have his number anymore.”
“We wanted her to have no contact with Evan and the other students involved in the incident afterward,” Bartlett said. “Rosemary is on scholarship at Denman, and she could lose it all.”
“Yeah, and instead I lost my friends.” She began to chew on an already ravaged fingernail.
“How did you meet Evan?” Candace asked.
“Patrick. He told me that Evan needed friends, that he was bummed after his father got canned,” Rosemary said.
“Patrick who?” her father said before Candace or I could ask the same question.
“Hoffman. He’s pretty cool for a cop,” she said.
“You call Officer Hoffman by his first name?” Rosemary’s father said.
“We all do. You know he always walks me home when I stay late, right?” she said.
“No, I didn’t know. How friendly are you with this man? And how old is he?” Bartlett said.
Rosemary sighed heavily. “Jeez. It’s not like that.”
Candace quickly said, “You can talk about all that later. So Officer Hoffman mentioned Evan?”
“Right,” she said. “He knows my friends are all the weirdos on campus—I mean it’s like frickin’ high school all over again here. Patrick thought Evan would fit right in with us. And he did.”
“Tell me about this protest,” Candace said.
I realized I hadn’t been writing anything down and decided to start looking official. I poised my pen over the blank notebook page.
“Did Evan tell you about that?” Rosemary said.
“Yeah,” Candace replied. “This protest, the one where Evan got arrested, that was about the ferrets?”
“Yes,” she said. “Most of us are science majors. Evan wasn’t, but his dad was some big science freak, so he knows a lot more than he lets on. Saving even the small animals is important, even in Denman, which is a tiny place, I know.”
“And is giving you a free education,” her father added.
She turned to him again. “I could go somewhere else where you aren’t watching me every second. I’ve got the grades and the smarts, you know.”
“You do sound like a very intelligent young woman,” I said, hoping to avoid a complete meltdown between Rosemary and her father. “So you decided to focus on the ferrets?”
“Yes,” Rosemary said.
“Were the ferrets being hurt?” I said.
“Maybe. By the flu shots they were getting. Ferrets don’t get the flu,” she said.
“Actually,
I think they do,” I said. “Both cats and ferrets have immune systems similar to those of humans. Last year cats even got the H1N1 virus.”
“Okay, maybe they do get the flu, but people have to stand up for them. That’s all we were doing. Just a small protest we hoped might make more than just the Denman College newspaper. We tweeted about it, and lots of kids showed up from the surrounding towns for support.”
“Tweeted?” I said. What the heck was that?
“She’s talking about Twitter,” Candace said.
“Oh. I know about that,” I said. But I didn’t know much.
“You had an audience, then?” Candace said. “Bet that didn’t go over well.”
“You got that right,” she said. “I think Evan got arrested because President Johnson felt as if he had to do something about the protest. Make a statement. Evan was the scapegoat.”
“Rosemary, you know that’s not true. The president told me himself he knew nothing about what you and your friends were doing that night.”
She said, “And you believe him, Dad? You are so frickin’ gullible.”
“The campus police took Evan to jail?” Candace said.
She nodded. “I have to admit, he was pretty stupid to drink before we chained up to the truck. Plus he had a flask in his back pocket. Our protest wasn’t some prank. We were serious. We wanted to say something, but when someone’s drunk, it makes it seem less . . . important.”
“Why do you think Evan was so stupid, as you put it?” I asked gently.
“Because she picks stupid friends,” Bartlett said.
“I do not,” she practically shouted. Then she took a breath and seemed to calm down. “Evan was so upset about his family situation. His father was gone, his mother was screwing Professor Lieber and—”
“Rosemary,” Bartlett said. “Watch what you say.”
“Whatever. Lieber is very cool, by the way,” she said.
“You’re talking about Douglas Lieber?” I said.
“Right. Anyway, after we were chained up, ready to go all night, I realized Evan was wasted. He was rambling on about how his father hadn’t paid his tuition. I felt so bad for him.”
The Cat, The Professor and the Poison Page 20
