“Pauline,” she said when he had addressed her twice as Mrs. Izquierdo.
“Tim.”
“Oh, I couldn’t call you Tim, Father.”
“That’s perfectly all right.” There were laypeople like that, insistent on the dignity of the priesthood, sticklers for protocol and etiquette.
She said, “My father’s name was Tim.”
She was a woman of striking good looks, even a celibate could appreciate that. Dark hair with threads of gray, actually white, providing an intriguing contrast.
“Have arrangements been made?”
“Arrangements? Oh. The body is still at the morgue. There will be a cremation, that’s what he would have wanted. You know he was an atheist.”
“We will hold a memorial service in any case.”
She surprised him by smiling. “If you think it will help.”
“The university intends to give you all the help it can.”
She nodded, waiting for him to go on. So he took a folder from his briefcase and outlined what the university felt, in these extraordinary circumstances, it could do to alleviate her sorrow.
“And there is of course the amount that accrued in his retirement fund.”
“Maybe I’ll stop working.”
He felt like an insurance agent, not a priest, and she baffled him. From what he had heard of her reaction when she learned of her husband’s death, Tim had steeled himself for hysterics, anger, accusations, whatever. Instead she sat on her couch with the flowing, florid housecoat dramatically draped around her and reaching to the floor, the picture of composure. He realized she was barefoot. Until they had sat, her feet were concealed by the garment she wore.
“I know it’s difficult to speak of these things.”
She shook her head. “I’ve had time to think, Father. Ours was what Raul called an open marriage.” A little smile. “Meaning he could cheat on me.”
“Did he?”
“He was a man.”
“Well.” He looked at the picture behind her. The Temptation of St. Anthony. “There are no children?”
“By me? No. We were too selfish for that.”
“What about you? Your husband was an atheist…”
“Who every day recited the prayer to his guardian angel.” She lifted her eyes and joined her hands. “‘Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God’s love entrusts me here, ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide.’”
“An atheist who prayed?”
“He was a bundle of contradictions. Maybe we all are.”
“So he was raised Catholic?”
“We were married in the Church. The atheism came later.”
“And you?”
“Have I lost my faith? I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Well, we can talk of that later.”
“Will they find the one who did it?”
He couldn’t say. He supposed so. It was unthinkable that a professor could be killed in his office and the murderer go undiscovered. Did she have any suspicions?
“I’m glad I told the police about the scarf. I was certain that young man hadn’t done it, and then I found Raul’s scarf.” She smiled. “Actually I thought the man they had arrested was someone else.”
“Oh?”
“Someone Raul was tutoring. Also in campus security.”
“You’ve had to discuss all this with the police?”
“They’ve been very nice. Very considerate.”
“Good.”
Her eyes drifted away. “Our parents were so happy when Raul was hired by Notre Dame. So were we.” She looked at him and her eyes seemed moist. “Beware of answered prayers. Isn’t that what they say?”
“I’ll say a Mass for the repose of his soul.”
“He wasn’t sure he had one.”
“Of course he did.” It was all he had now.
Again she smiled. She made him feel younger than he was. He repeated for her what the university offered to do for her, and she listened carefully, and again he reminded her that her husband would have accrued a goodly sum in his retirement account.
“And there is insurance.”
“Ah. Our substitute for providence. I’m quoting Raul.”
He supposed it must be some consolation to know that she would be very comfortable, economically. There was also insurance on the car that had been burned.
“I noticed the Hummer in the driveway.”
“That’s mine.”
“I’ve never ridden in one.”
“It gives a sense of power.”
A silence fell, and he didn’t know how to break it. A sense of his own inadequacy swept over him. He began to gather together his papers and put them in his briefcase.
“I should have offered you coffee.”
“I’ve had my cup for the day.”
“Just one.”
He nodded and rose. “Well, I’ll keep in touch.”
“Thanks for coming, Tim.”
He thought of that farewell as he slipped and slid down the driveway to his car parked behind a drift beside the suburban street. He had four sisters, but that hadn’t helped him figure out Pauline Izquierdo.
* * *
When he got back to campus, he stopped by Roger Knight’s apartment and was glad to find the Huneker Professor of Catholic Studies in. He wanted to talk about his visit to Mrs. Izquierdo with Roger before returning to the provost’s office.
8
Young Father Conway could not believe that Roger had never been to Rome. The enormous professor spoke of the city as if he had spent years there, and he could hold forth on the way Rome was a palimpsest—Tim looked it up later—with the Etruscan past under the republic and empire, over which the medieval and Renaissance had been laid.
“How I envy you, Father, four years there.”
But Roger knew that Tim Conway had not dropped by in order to talk about his student years in the Eternal City, so he stopped praising F. Marion Crawford’s two-volume history of Rome and busied himself making hot chocolate.
“I’ve just come from Mrs. Izquierdo.”
“Can you tell me about it?” Roger had turned and looked eagerly at the young priest.
“I don’t see why not.”
“Good, good.”
And so they sat and Father Conway spoke of his chat with the widow of Professor Izquierdo. An atheist who prayed.
“She said theirs was an open marriage.”
“Open to adultery?”
“On his part anyway. She was very blasé about it. I had expected a hysterical woman, but not at all. Not that I know what the behavior of a wife whose husband has been murdered ought to be.”
The account of the scarf got Roger’s whole attention. It had been a lucky day for Larry Douglas when Mrs. Izquierdo informed the police that her husband’s scarf was in the closet of their home.
“And now there are two.”
“She said she was sure that young man hadn’t killed her husband. Funny thing, though. She had mistaken him for someone else in campus security.”
“She said that?”
“Well, in any case, there was the scarf.”
Roger did not press the young priest. They sipped their cocoa, and then they were talking about the terrible weather, so the visit was coming to an end.
After Father Conway left, Roger went back to his study, settled himself in his special chair, and thought about the strange events of the past weeks.
Threatening notes had been received by the provost, the dean of Arts and Letters, the football coach, and Oscar Wack. The discovery of that plastic bag in Izquierdo’s desk indicated that Izquierdo had fashioned those letters. Given his relations with Wack, it made sense that his loathsome colleague would receive one. Then there had been the strange episode of the burning wastebasket, allegedly the work of Wack, but who knew? Next had come the burning of Izquierdo’s car and then the discovery of his dead body at his desk in his Decio office.
But
before that, Larry Douglas had paid a clandestine visit to Izquierdo’s office, only to be surprised by the ubiquitous Wack.
“What reason did he give for being there?”
“According to Jimmy, Douglas says he was investigating the burning of the car.”
“What did he expect to find?”
Phil shrugged. “He didn’t know. Maybe a threatening note.”
But it was Wack’s claim that Larry had not been alone in Izquierdo’s office that night that interested Jimmy Stewart. It interested Roger, too, however slender a reed Wack was to lean on.
“He didn’t see who it was?”
“Larry prevented that. They went into Wack’s office to talk.”
“And the pogo stick?”
“Larry says he doesn’t know anything about that.”
“Yet it belonged to Izquierdo and was found in Wack’s office.”
Wack’s insistence that, from his window, he had seen three people drive away from Decio in the golf cart confirmed Jimmy’s belief that there was a third man.
And neither Larry nor Laura would say who it was. Or admit that there was a third man.
“It had to be Henry Grabowski,” Jimmy said.
“He sat in on my class,” Roger said.
“Maybe you ought to pursue it,” Jimmy said.
“He seems to be a brilliant young man.”
“So what’s he doing in campus security?”
“What are you doing on the police force?”
“I’m not a brilliant young man.”
* * *
But Henry Grabowski didn’t return to Roger’s class.
9
Larry’s leave of absence had been terminated, and he was back to work. Relieved as he was, it was as if he had been delivered over to Laura. Oh, she had stuck by him, she had been there when he needed someone, but that didn’t mean he wanted to get back in the old rut. She thought he was nuts to keep Henry’s name out of it.
“What would be the point of mentioning it?”
It was clear she didn’t know. But Larry would never forget that Henry had already been in Izquierdo’s office that night when he went to Decio with the master key. Larry had had time to think about that when he was under suspicion. He knew he hadn’t killed Izquierdo, and he knew that whoever did had access to his office. An idea was born. Now that he was cleared, he was going to solve this case. He could never forget the elation he had felt when Detective Stewart had called and asked if he could be of help in the investigation. Only to find that what Jimmy wanted was to learn if Wack could place him as the nighttime visitor to Izquierdo’s office. What a crushing letdown that had been. Even so, he was professional enough to appreciate what Jimmy Stewart had done.
So it had been important to convince Laura that mentioning Henry’s being there that night was simply irrelevant. Irrelevant, hell. How had he gotten into the office? And what was he doing there anyway? Larry’s story was that he had been in search of clues to the burning of Izquierdo’s car. Henry said the same. But the way Henry had been dressed, all in black, like someone out of The Pink Panther.
Had Henry killed Izquierdo? It was one thing to ask himself that when he was stewing downtown with that nut Furlong assuring him that they would beat this rap, but when he was with Henry again he found it hard to think that the guy could have done such a thing. It was the way that scarf had shown up in his loft that kept Larry on the trail. There was something screwy about Henry, smart as he no doubt was. And he was happy to talk about his sessions with Izquierdo.
“It was like a tutorial. I would read books and we would discuss them.”
“Why?”
“All men by nature desire to know. Aristotle.”
“Sure. But why would he give you all that free time?”
“He wanted to corrupt youth.”
“How is Kimberley?”
Henry chuckled. “You can have her back, buddy. A great package, but it’s empty.”
Empty! What had drawn Larry to Kimberley was her love of poetry. She had been the first person he had been able to speak with about the poets he loved. Imagine discussing poetry with Laura. Well, maybe Angelou.
He didn’t dignify Henry’s magnanimous offer with a reply. Kimberley had liked him before she even heard of Henry Grabowski. Larry was certain if they could just be alone and talk about, say, Richard Wilbur’s poetry, or Dana Gioia’s, all would be well. The difficulty was getting free of Laura. A difficulty doubled because he did not want her hanging around while he checked out Henry.
Where to begin? He remembered that ignominious scene in Decio when Wack had brought that stupid pogo stick out of his office, as if that was the point of bringing Larry up there. Not that the pogo stick wasn’t a mystery. Then Larry had a distracting thought. What about Wack? The guy seemed to haunt the third floor of Decio; what had he been doing lurking in his office that night? And hadn’t Izquierdo accused him of setting his wastebasket on fire? If a wastebasket, why not a Corvette? The more he thought about it, the more Henry faded from the picture and that creepy little Wack took center stage.
It was not an easy matter getting around campus on a bicycle in this kind of weather. He and Henry started off together, heading south from campus security, but Henry swung off to the right. Larry let him go, but then he doubled back and followed him. Henry locked his bike outside the Huddle and went inside. So that was his idea of being on duty. Disgusted, Larry set out for his original destination, Decio. As he pedaled, he remembered the woman professor, Goessen, illustrating the use of the pogo stick as Larry was led away by Stewart and Philip Knight.
When he came out of the elevator on the third floor, he thought of knocking on Professor Goessen’s door, but he didn’t know what he would say to her. So he continued on and knocked on Wack’s door.
“Who is it?”
He knocked again, and again Wack spoke from behind the closed door, asking who it was. Larry waited.
The door opened and Wack stared at him. Larry had opened his coat so that his uniform was visible.
“What do you want?”
“Just a few questions.”
Larry went in, with Wack moving backward, keeping the door between him and Larry. Larry took a chair and brought out a notebook.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Let’s start with that pogo stick. When did you remove it from Izquierdo’s office?”
“Remove it? You put it here!”
It was hard to tell with a guy this excitable, but Wack appeared to be telling the truth. He decided to sit behind his desk.
“Okay. Then this is the mystery. You didn’t take it from Izquierdo’s office, and I sure as hell didn’t put it here. So who did?”
“This is preposterous.”
“If not you or me, someone else. Do you have any idea?”
Wack gave it some thought, grudgingly. “You’re just trying to exonerate yourself.”
“Oh come on. In itself, this is no big deal. A pogo stick. Even if it had been you or me, it’s not a federal offense. Still, you and I will want to know who did it.” He paused. “It could be connected with something that is serious. Like Izquierdo’s death.”
Larry was enjoying this. Every time Wack spoke, he scribbled in his notebook.
“You must suspect someone. Has there been anyone, any stranger, lurking around this floor?”
“Oh, Izquierdo held open house. He didn’t care how distracting it is to have students coming and going all the time. Or nonstudents, for that matter.”
“Like?”
“You must know him. He works in campus security, too.”
“Grabowski.”
“I don’t know his name, but he was up here several times a week.”
No doubt while on duty.
“You never talked to him?”
“Well, I went over there several times and asked them to keep it low. I do most of my research right here.”
“You’re here a lot.”
Wack just
tossed his hair.
“When was the last time Grabowski was here?”
Wack couldn’t remember. “I think Izquierdo gave him a key. Some professors let favorite students use their offices.”
“He could have let himself in?”
“If he had a key.”
This was going nowhere. Larry closed his notebook. “Well, I guess that’s it for now.”
“For now? This is harassment. If you come back, I will call your superior.”
Larry pulled the door shut behind him. As he did, a door across the hall opened and Professor Goessen came out. Larry gave her a salute and she smiled.
“I thought they arrested you,” she said.
“Mistaken identity.”
“Who were they after, the other one?”
“What other one?”
“He wore a uniform, too.”
“That’s so we can’t be told apart. You were pretty impressive on that pogo stick.”
She laughed. “It’s a knack you don’t forget. Like riding a bicycle.”
They went down in the elevator together. At the entrance, she bundled up. “Oh, this ungodly weather. And I had an offer from Florida State.”
She pushed through the door, lowered her head, and started for the library. Larry’s bicycle was not where he had left it. He looked all over for the darned thing. Henry. It had to be Henry. But why? He started off for campus security, not liking the prospect of reporting his bike had been stolen.
10
The after-class discussion was short—because of the weather, everyone wanted to get back to his room—and Roger walked carefully out to his golf cart. Henry Grabowski was sitting behind the wheel. He gave Roger a salute.
“Got the key?”
Roger slid onto the seat and handed Henry the key. He turned it and depressed the pedal, and they moved off.
“I have to talk to you.”
“You know where I live.”
Henry shook his head. “Let’s go to your office.”
“You know where it is?”
Henry hesitated, then said, “Give me directions.”
Brownson Hall is behind Sacred Heart Basilica, as old a building as there is on campus, and one that had been put to many uses since it ceased being the convent of the nuns who had done the baking and cooking in the early days. The lower wing now contained offices for various auxiliary and supernumerary teachers, the lower rungs of the academic ladder. Roger’s office was there because he could park in the lot next to the building, from which access to the building was easy for him. Roger hadn’t been in the office for a week or more, because of the weather.
The Letter Killeth Page 13
