by Glen Ebisch
“No.”
“Is there anything else about your conversation with him that was noteworthy?”
“There was one thing. I asked him why he wanted to come to Opalsville, which after all is pretty remote spot compared to London. He said it was a combination of business and pleasure. When I asked him what he meant, he didn’t answer. I guess he was a real tight-hipped sort of guy.”
“You mean tight-lipped,” Charles corrected.
Yuri pressed his lips together to form a straight line and nodded.
“I heard that you had a conversation with Greg Wasserman on the day Underwood was killed. Was it about taking the Opal Chair away from the science department?”
Yuri’s lips remained pressed together and for a moment Charles thought he had become tight-lipped and wasn’t going to answer.
“Yes. He came to accuse me of stealing the chair from science. I explained to him that it was all Dean Carruthers’ doing, and he should see him if he wanted to complain. He was very angry with me and some harsh words were exchanged. He wanted me to refuse the chair and cancel the appointment of Underwood. I told him it was too late. Underwood was already here.”
“Did you happen to tell him that Underwood was down in my office?”
Yuri frowned. “I may have. I was quite overwrought and can’t remember exactly what I said.”
“Did Wasserman say where he was going when he left here?”
“I believe he was going back to the Science Department office. He wanted the science faculty to file a formal protest.”
“But you didn’t actually see where he went after he left your office?”
“No, I was simply happy that he had struck the road.”
“Hit the road,” Charles said.
“Yes,” Yuri said, “that as well. Do you think Wasserman could have bumped on Underwood?”
“You mean ‘bumped off.’ What do you think?”
“He was very angry when he left, but I think he is essentially a non-violent man.”
“I think so as well.”
“But even non-violent men . . .”
“Can turn violent under the right circumstances?”
Yuri gave a large shrug that seemed to embody all the unpredictability of the world.
Charles nodded his agreement.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Wasserman could easily have gone right down to my office and confronted Underwood, and such a confrontation could just as easily have ended in violence, Charles thought, as he drove home. Even though Wasserman seemed a rather buttoned-up kind of guy when it came to his emotions, Charles could easily imagine that, once released, his passions would be quite explosive. He also thought that Greg was probably not a very good liar. Most scientists in his experience were not, except in their professional publications where they had a reputation for exaggerating their findings.
Charles was starting to preview in his mind the conversation he would have tomorrow morning with Greg Wasserman when he became aware of an odd sound coming from the passenger’s seat next to him. He listened carefully. It was a faint brushing noise as if someone were rubbing something bristly along the underside of the seat. Charles listened carefully, but the sound seemed to have disappeared. Still he felt more than sensed that something was in the car with him.
As he looked over at the seat next to him, taking his eyes off a treacherous stretch of road, he saw whiskers appear above the seat on the other side, followed by a nose, and then a pair of beady red eyes. Soon the largest white rat he had ever seen was struggling to pull its fat body up from between the seat and the door.
“Ugh!” Charles exclaimed, struggling to release his seat belt. After much fumbling it finally came undone, and he turned to slam his back into the driver’s door. By now the rat had waddled over to the middle of the seat, revealing its long pink tail, as thick at its base as Charles’ thumb. It filled him with revulsion. The rat came to the edge of the passenger seat and raised its nose to sniff the air. Charles was sure that at any moment it was going to leap over into his lap. He could already feel the sharp little toes walking around on his thighs.
Slamming his foot on the brake as best he could from his awkward angle, Charles pulled in on the door handle and tumbled backwards out onto the road. He twisted as he fell, so the side of his left leg took the brunt of the fall. He looked up quickly, in time to watch his car proceed slowly down a fortunately gentle grade until it settled with an ugly thump against the metal guardrail.
Charles lay there in the road for a minute assessing his condition. Aside from the start of a throbbing in his leg where it had been in contact with the concrete, he felt okay. He hadn’t hit his head or landed on his back. Suddenly aware that he was lying in the middle of the road, he climbed to his feet and did a little shuffling dance to see if his legs worked. They were a bit stiff, but nothing seemed to be broken. His left pants leg was torn from the knee down to the calf, but aside from a few superficial scrapes, the skin seemed to be intact. He started to walk slowly towards his car.
He stopped. The door had closed as the car rolled away, so probably the rat was still inside. Although getting back in the car and driving away would be the least complicated way of handling the incident, he couldn’t bring himself to share space with the giant rat of Sumatra. Reluctantly he took out his phone and dialled 9-1-1.
“Hello. What is you emergency?”
“There’s a rat in my car.”
“Did you say a rattle in your car?”
“No. A rat. As in a large rodent.”
There was silence. Charles suspected she had pressed the mute button so she could share the joke with a colleague.
“Where are you located?”
Charles told her.
“We’ll have a squad car out there shortly.”
Charles thanked her, then walked over and leaned against the guardrail. In a few minutes his leg began to sting, and he wished he had some cool water to wash it off with. Finally two patrol cars arrived. The two officers walked up to him together, keeping suspicious eyes on him as if he a man afraid of rats might be capable of just about anything.
“Did you have an accident?” the taller one asked after getting his name.
“There was a rat in my car. I jumped out and the car rolled into the guardrail.”
“Is the rat still in the car, sir?” the shorter one asked.
“As far as I know.”
He walked toward the car.
“Walt is good with animals,” the taller one informed Charles.
The officer opened the car door and climbed inside. A few second later he emerged carrying the rat in one hand, while he gently petted it with the other.
“This is no sewer rat,” he announced as he walked towards Charles. “This is someone’s pampered pet or a lab animal.”
“How did it get in your car?’ the tall officer asked, as if suspecting theft.
“I have no idea. I imagine someone put it there.”
The tall cop smirked. “Why would anyone do that?”
“Because someone knew I have a pathological fear of rats, and they were hoping that if one appeared in my car during my drive home, I’d panic and go over one of these cliffs in a ball of fire.”
The smirker laughed. “Now why would anyone want to do that?”
“This is the second attempt on my life this week. If you want details, call Lieutenant Thorndike of the Opalsville Police.”
He stopped smirking and his expression turned serious.
“Do you need some medical care for that leg?” the short one asked, coming closer than Charles liked with the rat.
“No, I’ll be fine. Thanks for taking the rat out of my car. Can I go now?”
“Don’t see why not. We’ll just wait to make sure your car drives okay,” the taller one said.
Charles walked around to the front of his car to survey the damage, which didn’t look much worse than a dent in his bumper. He knew that to have it fixed they’d probably have t
o remove the entire front bumper of his car, and it would cost a fortune. Now that I’m retired, he thought, riding around with a few dings is almost a badge of honour. He got in his car and without difficulty drove the rest of the way home.
*****
Two hours later, Charles sat in the living room with his leg up on a hassock. He had first thought about going out on the patio, but then decided one attempt on his life was enough for a day. He had put antiseptic on his scratches, which were annoying rather than severe. His leg ached a bit and had stiffened up as he sat, but occasionally flexing seemed to help.
Reflecting on what had happened, Charles realized that if the rat had appeared a few minutes later when the twists in the road were less forgiving and the downhill grade was more severe, this could easily have had a more tragic outcome. If his car had gone over the edge into the valley below, it was doubtful that anyone would ever have figured out what had caused the accident, and it would probably have been written off as the result of driver inattentiveness or of a stroke or cardiac event. Able to ponder the episode as a thing in the past, he could find enough distance to appreciate the brilliance of the idea. Someone had planned this out very carefully so a murder would appear as an accident. The front doorbell rang and he sprang to his feet only to fall back and grab the chair as his leg refused to respond quickly. After straightening it several times, he was able to hobble to the door.
“How are you feeling?” Lieutenant Thorndike asked from the doorway.
Charles stepped back awkwardly to let her come inside.
“Looks like you’ve got a problem with that leg,” she observed.
“I fell on it when I jumped from the car. I’ll be fine with a little rest.”
“Are you sure? I can take you in to the emergency room. I can even get you moved to the front of the line if I identify you as a suspected criminal we want to put behind bars.”
“No, thanks. I think I’m already on the road to recovery.”
“Seriously, maybe you should get an x-ray.”
Charles shook his head. “I’ll see how it is in a day or two.”
They walked into the living room and sat down.
“So you were driving along and this big, white rat popped up from under the passenger’s seat?”
He nodded.
“Well, I’ve managed to find out its name.”
Charles stared hard at her to see if she was joking. “It has a name?”
“I figured that it was put in your car while it was parked in the Opal College lot, so I called over to the science department to ask where someone would get a white rat on campus. They directed me to the experimental psychology lab. I gave them a call and, sure enough, one of their rats was missing. His name is Freud. Believe it or not, he shared cage space with Jung. I guess the experimental psych folks don’t have a high opinion of psychoanalysts. One of my officers is taking Freud over there now. Apparently they were very worried about him because he’s one of their smartest rats.”
“You couldn’t prove it to me,” Charles muttered.
“But then you aren’t a rat lover, according to the officers on the scene. Why this phobia about rats?”
“You mean you wouldn’t panic if one turned up in your cruiser?”
“Maybe a big nasty grey ally rat would bother me, but not a lab rat. At least not enough for me to crash my car.”
“It’s a long story.”
Thorndike made an exaggerated gesture of settling into the sofa. “I’ve got nothing but time. Crime appears to have taken a day off except for your event.”
Charles sighed. “I saw a lot of rats in Vietnam. Ratus ratus, the black rat, a little smaller than the ones we have here. One night I woke up in my hooch with a sharp pain in my big toe and there was one of them with his teeth in me, hanging on for dear life. I finally shook it free, and it ran off under the door.”
Thorndike gave a little shiver. “That must have been terrible.”
“That wasn’t the worst of it. I made the mistake of telling my first sergeant and he told the medics. They insisted that I have a full round of rabies injections, that’s twenty-one shots into the stomach with a long needle.”
“My God!”
“Yeah, it was quite an ordeal. Three months later the Army decided that since no one in Vietnam had ever gotten rabies from a rat bite, the shots weren’t necessary. Too late for me. So you can see that I have a bad reaction to rats.”
“How many people at Opal College would know this story?”
“No one. I never talk about it. Even Barbara didn’t know.”
“Then why would someone know to put a rat in your car?”
“Because two years ago I was eating lunch in my office, and I had to go out for a few minutes. When I got back, there was a big grey rat on my desk eating my sandwich. I ran out into the hall and made quite a commotion. Anyone in the English department would know my feelings about rats. Heck, it probably spread around the entire school. It’s just the sort of delightful story that would make the rounds.”
“So we can’t narrow it down to a few people?”
Charles shook his head. “But I thought we had decided that the killer wasn’t really after me.”
“I don’t think he was, at least not originally. I still think taking shots at you was just a ruse.”
“So why have things changed?”
“I think your personal investigation must be getting close to the truth. You’ve got the killer rattled, so he decided to come after you, although that was a pretty amateurish way to do it.”
“I could have gone off the road and been killed.”
“But it was hardly fool proof, as events showed. I think it was more in the nature of a warning than an actual attempt on your life.” Thorndike frowned. “But I think you should leave this case to the police from now on. We don’t want to have a third death.”
“I don’t either, especially mine. But if I’m getting so close . . .”
“You think you might catch the killer before he gets you?”
“That was my thinking.”
She shook her head. “Too dangerous, Charles.”
“I have an old friend of mine at Yale seeing if any faculty members know more about what happened there ten years ago. He’s going to give me a call when he finds out something. There can’t be anything dangerous about me answering the phone, can there?”
Thorndike sighed. “No, I suppose not. But don’t go acting on any information you receive. Come straight to me. We’ll handle it.”
“Fine.” Charles winced as he moved his leg off the footstool.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the emergency room?”
“No need. I’m a fast healer.”
“Every man I’ve ever worked with has believed that. His arm could be hanging by a thread, and he’ll say, ‘No problem, it’ll heal by morning.’”
Charles decided to change the subject. “Did the people in experimental psychology have any idea who stole their precious rat?”
“Not a clue. During the school year, the lab is full of students and faculty, but in the summer, they just have a couple of students to feed and clean up after the animals. No one is there most of the day, and the door is generally left unlocked. Anyone at the school could have figured out how to make off with Freud.”
“Did anyone see someone who didn’t belong hanging around the area?”
Thorndike shook her head. “But it’s pretty empty over there, and it could have been done at night.”
“Well, thanks for bringing me the information,” he said, starting to stand up.
She waved him back down. “Stay there. Rest your leg. In fact staying in the house resting your leg might be all you should do for the next couple of days.”
Charles nodded, looking sombre. Thorndike reached over and gave his shoulder a squeeze.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get this solved before too long.”
Charles studied her face to see if she really believed that, but
all he could see there was sympathy for him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next morning a loud knocking on his front door awakened Charles. He rolled out of bed and groaned as he put weight on his injured leg. He hobbled down the hallway and pulled open the front door. Greg Wasserman stood there in his running gear bouncing up and down.
“Did you oversleep?” he asked, his voice vaguely accusatory.
“I hurt my leg. I won’t be able to run today.”
“Okay,” he said, turning to go away.
“Could you come in for a minute?” Charles knew he was about to do something Thorndike would not approve of, but how much danger could be in within the confines of his own home?
“I don’t have much time. I have an early summer school class this morning.”
“It won’t take long. It’s about Garrison Underwood.”
Wasserman stood still, then walked into the hallway.
“The police have already asked me about the Opal College Chair. Did you tell them I was angry about losing it?”
“It’s a murder investigation, Greg, I can’t keep quiet about things.”
Greg frowned like he only half accepted that. “So what did you want to talk about?”
“I found out yesterday that you had an argument with Yuri about the Opal Chair on the day Underwood died.”
“That’s right. What about it?”
“And Yuri told you that Underwood had already taken over my office.” Charles waited to see if Greg would agree to having that knowledge, but he remained impassive. “And I’m betting that you went right from Yuri’s down to my office to talk with Underwood.”
Greg stood there looking into the distance as though Charles were telling him an irrelevant and not very entertaining story.
“I think you tried to convince Underwood to give up the chair, and he refused. In fact, he probably did more than that, he laughed at you for thinking he would give up anything. Did he then turn away from you in contempt, and in a moment of rage, did you hit him over the head with the trophy?”
Greg’s nostrils dilated and his hands clenched into fists. Charles wondered for a moment if his feeling of safety in his own home had been overly optimistic. Suddenly Greg let out a bitter laugh.
