A Spartan Murder

by L. A. Nisula

  “And it wasn’t Mr. Parker’s coat,” Inspector Crawley added, “which was also rather old and worn.”

  Inspector Burrows sighed. “Then I don’t know. But yes, Miss Pengear, it is odd, if nothing else.” He stood up. “Let me know if you figure something out. I’ll be at lunch if you need me.”

  At least he hadn’t asked me about producing the letter. Maybe I had convinced him that there was enough here that he could put it off a little longer. I turned back to Constable Winters. “What did Professor Graham’s coat look like?”

  “Grey, I would assume.” He smiled at me. “I don’t walk around noticing people’s coats. Probably makes me a bad detective, but there you are.”

  Then I’d just have to find someone who did. “I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.”

  So who at the university would notice a person's coat? Mr. McAvery seemed to be the place to start. He hadn't failed me yet. If he didn't know about the coats, he'd probably know someone who was enough of a gossip to notice.

  Mr. McAvery was sitting behind his desk when I got there, eating a sandwich and looking at a newspaper. He looked up as soon as he heard the door open. “Miss Pengear, how goes the case?”

  “Curious. We have an unusual clue and, I was hoping you might be able to help us follow it.”

  “A nice bit of detective work. Mrs. McAvery was saying last night that I was turning into a proper Sherlock Holmes, although I told her I wasn't doing any of the real work. Still, if I can help I will. What was this unusual clue?”

  “The coats I mentioned last night. I keep coming back to them, and I was hoping you could tell me what Professor Graham’s gray coat looks like.”

  “I take it you think the one he is currently wearing is not the one you’re interested in?”

  “Correct.”

  “Well, I’m afraid I don’t notice people’s clothes very much. Mrs. McAvery is the one you should ask, but she would have no reason to have seen his coat. Grey, as you said, reaches just below his knees. I believe the buttons were black or a very dark color. Plain sleeves, nothing fancy about the cuffs except for the usual sort of stitching around the area. Is any of this helpful?”

  I wondered how much he’d remember if he did pay attention to people’s clothes. “I hope so. It’s more than I had. Thank you.”

  “I will ask Mrs. McAvery if she has seen the coat in question. Perhaps she will have something to add. And I'm sure she will be thrilled to be involved in an investigation. She does love to read about them in the papers.”

  I thanked him again and left.

  Now all I had to do was wander around Oxford looking for someone with a coat that would have reached just below Professor Graham’s knees, wherever that was, with plain sleeves and dark buttons. And they’d need to be wearing it on a sunny day. I sighed. My other options were to let Professor Brookwald and Mr. Langley's letter get out or find another lead.

  Of course, I could always start someplace where I knew there were a lot of coats. Carrington’s came to mind. It was the last place Constable Winters remembered seeing his coat. And Constable Winters had said something about another coat being found there. Maybe I would be lucky and whoever had taken the coat would end up back there.

  Chapter 16

  The cafeteria was noisy, with several groups of students clustered around tables, a couple of lone students in the corners, and a few of the younger professors dining by the windows. The food that glided past on steam-driven conveyor belts looked cheap and filling. The tables were crowded together. In short, the kind of cheap, crowded place you would expect to find students gathered at. The first thing I did was look for a place to hang my coat.

  It was easy enough to find. There was a freestanding hat rack piled high with coats near the low wall that separated the eating area from the entrance. Student coats, I decided, particularly since half of them were in danger of falling on the floor and only the solitary students in the corners ever looked at them. There was a second coat rack, this one a board with pegs for the coats nailed to the wall. The coats there were older but had been taken care of, probably the coats of professors who weren't well paid and were trying to make them last. That was the rack to watch. But what was I watching for?

  I collected a cheese sandwich and cup of tea from the conveyor belts, paid at the till, and found a small table where I could watch the coat-racks. Everyone was too busy with their own concerns to notice me, so I was able to stare with minimal worries about being noticed. As students came and went, I realized it would be easy enough to walk off with someone else's coat. No one paid much attention, and no one would really notice if the miscreant acted like it was what he intended to do all along. Really, even someone nervous would probably be ignored, or nerves would be put down to an upcoming meeting or lecture, or some kind of prank. If it was a student, of course. A professor might have a harder time getting away with that, but they could always rely on not being seen, which was a very real possibility.

  At least half the cricket team came in and piled their coats on top of the ones already precariously hanging on the hat rack, confirming my student coat theory, not that that helped much. Mr. Combe and Mr. Keller from the library came in and tossed their coats in the general direction of the same rack. Both managed to miss completely and left their coats sprawled on the floor like a pair of lifeless, headless bodies. Again, very little information, other than confirming that I spent far too much time around murder. I had almost finished my sandwich when one of the professors whom I didn't know by sight grabbed a coat from the pegboard and walked out. Two more students I recognized from the library came in, saw Mr. Combe's and Mr. Keller's coats, and tossed theirs on top. The professor returned, glanced furtively around, then returned the coat he'd taken and grabbed another one. So confusion with the coats was not unusual. Unfortunately, nothing more interesting happened and eventually I gave in to the pointed stares of the wait staff, and left.

  I roamed around outside, hoping for inspiration. When nothing struck, I decided to return to the police station. Perhaps Constable Winters had come up with something useful about the coats. But when I arrived, there was no one seated at the front desk. I took that as a sign I should go straight through and found Inspector Crawley sitting at his desk. He sighed when he saw me, which was a common reaction among policemen to my presence, so I merely smiled and said, “Good afternoon.”

  “Inspector Burrows is still at lunch.”

  “I assumed so.”

  “And Constable Winters is filing papers upstairs.”

  “There's an upstairs?”

  He managed a small smile. “It's generously described as an attic.”

  “Oh.” Since he seemed to be in a fine mood, I asked, “Is there anything we're missing? Anything about the city or the college that you would look into for motive?”

  Inspector Crawley sighed. “Miss Pengear, I appreciate that you are trying to help Inspector Burrows, I really do. I’ve been trying to help him too. But it’s not my case. They made it perfectly clear that I am not qualified to work on a murder, no matter how many years I’ve been here. So all I can do is the best I can with the cases that they’ve left to me. Now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Parker will be coming in so I can continue looking for his coat.”

  So Inspector Burrows still hadn’t taken my advice and taken Inspector Crawley into his confidence. I went back out into the waiting area. The room was empty except for an elderly man and his equally elderly cocker spaniel. “Is Inspector Crawley ready for us now?”

  “I think he’ll be another minute or two.”

  “I see. He must be very busy with the murder and all. And ours is such a small case.” He fed the dog a small biscuit from his coat pocket. “Not that we mind waiting. Right about now we’d be sitting in the garden watching some rabbits. It’s nice for Freddie to have some different smells around.”

  I stared at the dog as he enjoyed his treat. “Are you missing a coat?”

  “That’s right.” />
  “Dark gray wool?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where was it stolen?”

  “I’m not sure it was stolen, but it went missing at the Carrington Cafeteria.”

  I hurried back into Inspector Crawley’s office. “You have to get Inspector Burrows back down here. I think you have a break in his case.”

  Constable Winters was summoned down from the attic and sent, dusting cobwebs from his hair, to find Inspector Burrows. Mr. Parker and Freddie were ushered into the office and given Inspector Burrows's desk to sit at. I thought I detected a bit of pleasure in Inspector Crawley's expression when Inspector Burrows arrived to find his desk taken over by the guests. Apparently Constable Winters had filled him in on the details of the new development since Inspector Burrows went straight to the locked cupboard where the larger pieces of evidence were kept and brought the coat to Mr. Parker. He spread it and a few of the dog biscuits out on the desk. “Can you identify this, sir?”

  “Yes, yes. That’s my coat. And those are Freddie’s biscuits. Although now that I know where they’ve been, perhaps you could simply throw them away when you’re through with them?”

  Inspector Burrows smiled. “I don’t think he’d enjoy them now.”

  Freddie bounced up and took a look at the items on the table, then changed his mind and started nosing in Mr. Parker's current coat pocket instead.

  “I did buy him a brand-new packet.”

  Inspector Burrows slid the other biscuits back into the pocket. “And where did you last see your coat?”

  “The Carrington Cafeteria. I went there for lunch. I know I had it when I went in since I fed Freddie a biscuit before I left the house. Small compensation for not being able to come with me. When I went to get it from the rack, I couldn’t find it.”

  I looked at the coat. “How can you identify it, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Not at all. The biscuits are a clue, of course. And you can see the bottom of the coat on the right side is a bit worn and shiny. That’s from Freddie rubbing up against me. And the second button on the left sleeve is a little different. I lost it years ago and had to make do with what my landlady had to offer.”

  “So not by the rip in the lining, then?” Inspector Burrows asked.

  “Rip in the lining? I don’t remember the lining ever ripping.”

  Inspector Burrows held up the coat to show him what he was talking about.

  “I’m afraid that’s new. I’ve never noticed it. Perhaps it happened during the murder?”

  “That seems possible.” Inspector Burrows folded up the coat. “I’m afraid we’ll need to keep this for a while longer. I’ll see that it’s cleaned and repaired before it’s returned to you.”

  “Thank you. But why did the murder victim have my coat?”

  “That’s one thing I’m hoping to find out. By the way, where were you last Friday night?”

  “Oh my, am I a suspect now? How marvelous. Only because I know I didn’t do it, I suppose. I was at home, reading, although unless you have someone who can translate for Freddie, I suppose that isn’t a very good alibi, is it?”

  “As good as most people’s. Thank you for your time.”

  As soon as Mr. Parker left, I asked, “You don’t really think of him as a suspect, do you?”

  Inspector Burrows smiled. “No, I don’t think he’s strong enough to begin with. But I will try to corroborate his alibi so I can rule him out completely. His landlady might have noticed if he was in or left. Hopefully she’s nosy, or, um—interested in her tenants’ well-being. Perhaps Inspector Crawley, as the coat is your case...”

  “You’d like me to go and talk to her? I suppose I could.”

  When Inspector Crawley had left the room, I grinned at Inspector Burrows for giving him something to do and picked at the coat. “Did you realize that this tear is right along the stitching line?”

  “Is that strange?”

  “Do you have a magnifying glass?”

  “Forgot yours?” He opened the carpet bag he was keeping under the desk and handed over his lens.

  I studied the line of stitching. “This looks like the stitches have been pulled out with a seam-ripper.”

  “Again, is that strange?”

  I handed back the glass. “It’s not impossible for the seam to have torn like that, but yes, I would say it was at least odd enough to look into the possibility that this lining was not ripped by accident, and furthermore was ripped in a way that would not be difficult to repair more or less invisibly.”

  That got his attention. “So it wasn’t an accident. Our killer was looking for something in the lining.”

  “Not only that, but he was probably used to looking for something in the lining. Maybe to hide something. The question is what.”

  I had meant it as a rhetorical question, but Inspector Burrows took it seriously. “It would have to be either very small or very flat to be hidden in there and not noticeable from the outside. And hard enough to notice that the killer had to open the coat up to be certain.”

  “Diamonds?”

  Inspector Burrows smiled. “I suppose it’s possible, but where in Oxford would he get diamonds?”

  “Well, what is there in Oxford to steal?”

  We were both at a loss. Inspector Burrows put the coat back in the evidence cupboard. “Knowledge, I suppose.”

  “Mine was better.”

  Inspector Burrows grinned.

  “Well, I’d better get back to the guest house before Mrs. Gilbert closes the tea shop so I can have dinner. If you figure out a way for our killer to smuggle knowledge out of Oxford, you know where to find me.”

  “And if you find a diamond thief, please let me know before you try to make an arrest.”

  Chapter 17

  After breakfast the next morning, I was left with the problem of how to continue with the case. There were no classes on Saturday, so there wasn’t much I could do at the school, but I could look for more suspects. I took out my list of blackmail materials and sat at the desk to read it over.

  I hadn’t been struck by any new inspiration when I heard the maids in the hallway outside. I didn’t want to risk anyone seeing the list, so I gathered it up with my handbag and went out to find someplace quiet. The library seemed as good a place as any to go and think.

  But I was barely through the door when the librarian spotted me. I smiled and immediately remembered that I hadn’t mentioned the tinkering journals to Inspector Burrows. I pretended to notice the time and went back outside. At least now I had an excuse to go to the police station.

  Constable Winters smiled when I entered the station. “They’re both out at the moment. Which would you like me to leave a message for?”

  “Inspector Burrows. The library is looking for their tinkering journals.”

  Constable Winters nodded and slid a stack of paper and the inkwell across the counter for me. “Inspector Crawley might actually be glad to hear Inspector Burrows is getting a case that is more in line with his own.”

  I smiled. “Are they out following leads?”

  “Inspector Burrows went to the telegraph office to see if anything had come in from London. Inspector Crawley went to see if he could find any more information on the missing coats, which probably means he went to lunch.”

  “I suppose that’s logical since the case centers around the cafeteria.”

  “Such as it is. The case I mean.”

  I slid the note back to him. “Hopefully the murder will be solved soon and things can get back to normal.”

  Constable Winters smiled. “I hope so. Did you need anything else?”

  “No, I’m going to see about my own lunch.”

  After leaving the message for Inspector Burrows, I started for the tea shop. But as I turned the corner, I noticed Professor Graham going into the pub I’d been to with Miss Fenchurch. He had ended up with Constable Winters’s coat and then pretended it was his. That was certainly odd. I decided a bit of pub grub would m
ake a nice change and followed at a discreet distance.

  I waited near the entrance pretending to be looking for something in my handbag until I was fairly certain Professor Graham had been seated. Then I went into the pub and tried to look around. Professor Graham had taken a table in the back room, partially hidden behind a low wall. It was a good hiding spot, but it was still visible from the tables near the back windows. I ordered my food and took a table that was also partially blocked by the low wall, near a window facing the building next door, leaving it in shadow. The dark glass let me see enough of a reflection of the booth behind me to allow me to see if someone was arriving or leaving, even if it wasn’t enough to tell what they looked like.

  A few minutes after I’d been seated, a second man came in. From my position, I couldn’t see him very well, but he was about the same age as Professor Graham, a couple of inches taller, with dark hair and a full beard that had been trimmed neatly along his jaw. He sat across from Professor Graham with very little introduction, giving me the impression that they knew each other well. Professor Graham leaned in and began to speak very quietly. I strained to listen, but he had enough sense to speak softly but without whispering, so I couldn’t hear anything. The other man nodded once, then shook his head vehemently a few times. I tried adjusting my angle without being obvious, to see if I could see Professor Graham’s mouth and possibly make a guess at what he was saying, but he was leaning too far in to be caught easily, and the reflection in the window wouldn’t have been good enough to see that much detail anyway.

  I had just managed to find an angle where I could see a hint of the second man’s face when the waitress appeared with my tea. I sat up properly as she put the scones and butter in front of me and left the small kettle off to the side. “There’s a table up front with a better view. You can see the street and the people going to the shops.”