Lindsay was not looking forward to going to her office today. She planned to confront Kerwin. After pulling into her parking space, she sat for a moment, gathering her strength, rehearsing in her mind what she was going to say to him. When she did get out and head to her office, she found Rachael Bienvenido standing outside her door, pacing.
"Can I help you?" Lindsay asked, unlocking her door.
"Yes. It's about Dr. Cardell's analysis," said Rachael, following her into the office. She sat down in a chair, raking a hand through her short hair.
Lindsay seated herself behind her desk. "That's the faunal analysis Robin is working on?"
"Yes, she tells me they are going to be late. That's not so much of a problem, but she also tells me that Amy made errors in the calculations."
"She did, but I've been correcting them. I've also checked her bone identifications, and I'm helping Robin finish up."
Rachael seemed to relax. "I'm glad about that. Aura Cardell is a friend as well as a colleague, and I feel responsible."
"I always check up on the work the faunal lab does. The students who work there know to come to me if there are any problems."
"That's what I wanted to hear. I'm talking to Aura this afternoon, and I wanted to be able to give her a good report."
"You can do that. I'm sorry about the problem with Amy."
Rachael shrugged. "Girls these days. They fall in love too easily and give up their dreams. Who can figure them?"
"Rachael, did you know Shirley Foster?"
Rachael leaned forward in her chair. "Lindsay, take my advice. Get off this-what did Reed call you, Nancy Drew? Drop this Nancy Drew thing. You're a good researcher. When you say you're identifying animal bones, I don't worry. I know it will be correct. This other stuff is doing you no good at all. Forget it." She rose and left Lindsay's office.
Lindsay sighed. Perhaps she should. But instead of taking Rachael's advice, she took out the photograph with Hank Roy Creasey and trotted up to Trey's office.
"Chamberlain, come in. What can I do for you?" asked Trey, pulling up a chair beside his desk for her. "You making out OK these days?"
"As well as can be expected. How's the computer acquisition coming?"
"Frank wants to wait. Something's going on. I don't know what."
"Too bad. I was kind of looking forward to a new computer. Anyway, I have a computer question."
"Shoot."
Lindsay laid the photograph of the skull from the newspaper and the one of Hank Roy Creasey down on the table. "They have special software in the medical examiner's office, but I thought there might be a way you could do what I need faster. I would like to superimpose these two images, the skull and the face. They have to both be the same size image-"
"Hmm. Yeah, I can do a quick job with a paint program."
Lindsay watched as he scanned each photograph into his computer at 1000 dpi and brought up the images into a paint program, placing the two images on the same screen. She tried to follow the menus as he moved the mouse with the ease of an expert and selected from the apparently hundreds of things the program could do. First, he measured them, then resampled them, making them equivalent in size. Next, he drew a marquee around each one and selected "transparent" from a pull-down menu. Finally, he overlaid one image on top of the other. The entire procedure took perhaps ten minutes from the initial scan to the printout. Lindsay was impressed.
The composite that came out of Trey's printer was an eerie face of bone and flesh, a face with eyes inside bony sockets. The bones of the skeleton's nose and cheeks fit perfectly over the nose and cheeks of Hank Roy Creasey. The orbits were directly over the eyes, the teeth matched perfectly, as did the chin, jawline, and forehead.
"Looks good to me," said Trey. "So, this is the infamous stowaway in the crate?"
Lindsay nodded. "Yes, it's him. His name is Hank Roy Creasey. Other than that, I have no idea who he is."
"But now you have a name. That's pretty good."
Lindsay agreed-that was pretty good. "Thanks for doing this," she said. "That's amazing-and using an ordinary paint program."
"That's kind of a new use for it. Say, Chamberlain," Trey said, as Lindsay rose to leave. "You know my friend who is coming down to talk about the LaBelle?"
Lindsay nodded.
"Well, she and her husband like to dance, and I was wondering if, uh, well, do you dance?"
Lindsay grinned broadly. "Yeah, I dance."
"Did I say something funny?"
Lindsay shook her head. "No. Are you asking me to go dancing?"
"Trying to."
"I love to dance. If I'm not in jail, I'd like to go."
"Things aren't that bad, are they?" asked Trey.
"Depends on who you talk to. If you ask one of the detectives on campus, it's only a matter of time."
"It sounds absurd. What are you doing about it?"
"I'm looking for the machine that's pouring out all the smoke. One's bound to turn up. Thanks again for your help. Let me know about the dancing plans."
Lindsay put the photos in her office before she went to see Kerwin. She was not looking forward to it, but it was one element in the puzzle that had to be cleared up before she could make any sense out of the rest of it. Maybe after that she could leave it alone.
Kerwin was sitting at his desk writing on a pad of yellow paper. He didn't use a computer or typewriter but wrote his articles longhand and had Edwina type them. Lindsay walked in and closed the door behind her.
"Please don't stand on ceremony, come in and sit down," said Kerwin.
"You were the last person to see Shirley Foster alive. You let the police bust their butts looking for any sign of her in Rabun County, a good seventy miles from here. You knew she meant the Rayburn site when she told her secretary where she was going."
Kerwin blanched and looked over to his bookshelf.
"Why did you hide that article? Did you kill her?" Lindsay asked.
"No, damn you, no. What are you trying to do to me?"
"There's proof you saw her on that last day. It's in the article you've been trying like the dickens to keep from me. You said you didn't know her-"
Kerwin interrupted her. "I did not. I said I didn't know her well. I knew her professionally-"
"Exactly. You knew her only professionally, yet there is a picture of the two of you at a departmental barbeque that says otherwise. What did you do-ask her to go out in the middle of nowhere, make a pass, and when she turned you down, you got furious and killed her?"
"No, you've got it all wrong. I ... I ... She wasn't interested in me, yes, but, I ..." Kerwin looked at his desk and up at Lindsay. "God, I only tried to kiss her. That was all." He sat, the two of them looking at each other. "What are you going to do?"
Lindsay picked up the phone. "You are going to tell your story to Sheriff Irene Varnadore."
"No, I can't." He pulled the phone out of her reach.
"It will sound better coming from you than from me." She leaned across the desk and took the phone away from him and dialed Irene's office number.
"Sheriff Varnadore," said Lindsay, "Kenneth Kerwin, one of our faculty, has some information about Shirley Foster's last day and wants to tell you about it." She handed him the phone. Lindsay could hear the sheriff saying "Hello? Hello?" as Kerwin stared at the phone. Lindsay guided it to his ear.
"Sheriff," he squeaked. "Ah, Sheriff, I just realized something. When Shirley Foster told her secretary where she was going, she meant the Rayburn Mill site and not Rabun County. She, uh, wanted to see the excavation. I showed it to her, we talked, and I left." He paused a moment. "She seemed fine. Happy, even." Pause. "No, no one was there. We were basically finished with the excavation. The crew was gone. I left in my car. She was in her car, and I had assumed she left, too. It was several days later I heard on the news that she was missing, and I simply never made the connection." He paused again and smiled up at Lindsay. "However, Luke Ferris was a member of my field crew, and I believe
he worked for Dr. Foster as well. He could have followed us." Lindsay narrowed her eyes at him.
"I just wanted to tell you. I didn't know quite what to do, and Dr. Chamberlain told me that you are the person to talk to." He paused, listening. "Certainly, I'll hold." He placed his hand over the mouthpiece. Kerwin was good at the smug expression. "Well, Dr. Chamberlain, does that meet with your keen ethical sensibilities?"
"Luke was one of your students. He worked with you. Have you no loyalty to him?"
"Not if he's a murderer. And if he's not, the truth won't hurt."
"What about that little truth that you made a pass at her and she rejected you? Why didn't you tell the sheriff that?"
"It will be your word against mine, and right now you don't have much credibility." He gave a jerk of his head as if to add, "so there."
"It will be my word against yours, but people will know it's true. You aren't a man who hides his feelings welllike the smug little twist of your mouth that you have now. They will remember those little social gatherings and professional meetings, how you acted, and the little looks you gave her. They will know it's true and they will always wonder if maybe you did it after all."
Kerwin frowned. "You're bluffing."
"What's to bluff?"
"I really doubt you'll be here much longer anyway, Dr. Chamberlain. I think you'll find your number's up."
"Are you the one whispering in Kaufman's ear?" Lindsay asked.
"Who's Kaufman?" From the look on his face, she was tempted to believe he really didn't know, but Kerwin was just mean enough to do something like that.
"Kenneth, I allowed you to talk to the sheriff as a courtesy, because you are a fellow faculty member. I could have gone to the sheriff, and she could be the one in here asking you these questions and wondering why you let the police waste all their time and taxpayer money looking in the wrong county. Are you such a mean-spirited bastard you can't see that?"
"I can't see you did me any favor."
"I'm sure you don't." He took his hand from the mouthpiece and listened, frowning. "But I've told you all I know." Pause. "I'm not sure when I'll have the time." Pause. "Yes, I'll make the time." Pause. "This afternoon, yes."
Lindsay smiled and turned and walked out of his office. She could almost feel him staring at her back and wishing his gaze was arrows. She walked to her office, hoping she hadn't gotten Luke into any deeper trouble. But on the other hand, he might be guilty. She wasn't sure that he wasn't. She sat at her desk wondering what to do next when the phone rang.
"Lindsay, it's Derrick. How're you doing?"
"I'm doing fine." She decided not to tell him about falling down the well.
"Lindsay, I've heard a rumor."
It was unlike Derrick to be cryptic or hesitant to speak. The acid in her stomach churned up a notch. "Oh?"
"Actually, it's from a reliable source. It's a done deal."
"What?"
"The dean is making a division out of Anthropology and Archaeology. A separate, but not separate, kind of arrangement. They're bringing in Francisco Lewis to be division head. He plans to bring in some of his own people. Among them, Gem Chapman."
Lindsay pressed her lips together, as if that would stop the stinging in her eyes. She liked her job-the students, the faunal lab, the forensics. Unconsciously, she pulled open a drawer and fingered the file with all the information she was collecting to apply for tenure. She knew what she had to do to get promotions at the university. She wrote the papers and got them published in the right journals. But this was so out of her control.
"Lindsay?"
"That must have been what Kerwin meant."
"What's that?" asked Derrick.
"Oh, he hinted that I wouldn't be here much longer. Of course, I should have realized something was up when I came in and found Gerri trying out my chair."
"She wasn't-"
"'Fraid so. Derrick, thanks for being the one to tell me."
"Would you like me to come down?"
"Would you?" She leaned forward, holding the receiver tight in her hands.
"If you want."
"Don't you have the film crew coming to start the documentary about the Cold River site?"
"They can start it without me."
Lindsay smiled into the phone. "I would like it very much, but it would also give me a great deal of pleasure to watch you tell about your site on public television."
"Then you come visit me when you can," he said.
"You have a job for me?"
"Yes."
"I'd like that. When I know something about my future, I'll come for a visit."
"How's the problem with the artifacts?" asked Derrick. Lindsay told him everything she knew. She also told him about the conversation she just had with Kerwin. "You think Kerwin is trying to set the police on you?" he asked.
"I thought so. I wouldn't put it past him, but he didn't seem to know what I was talking about when I mentioned the detective's name. I don't know who it is. Derrick, would you do me a favor?"
"Sure."
"I found out that the skeleton in Papaw's crate was a man named Hank Roy C-r-e-a-s-e-y. I'm going to look in the old Macon and Atlanta papers here for his name. I was wondering if you would look in the Kentucky newspaper archives?"
"You're kidding, you found out who it was? Lindsay, you're amazing."
"Sinjin helped a lot."
"Sure, I'll look it up for you. I'll give you a call when I find out something."
"Thanks, Derrick, for everything."
"Sure, baby, take care."
"I will." She started to hang up when she heard him call her name. "Yes?"
"I miss you," he said.
"I miss you too." Lindsay felt tears sting her eyes.
"Do you think we could talk sometime?" he asked.
"I think we could do that."
"Good. I'll free up some time and call you and we'll make some plans."
"That would be good." Lindsay set the phone back on the cradle and stared at it. Derrick was always there when she needed him.
In the basement of the library Lindsay sat down in front of the microfilm reader, looking through 1935 and 1936 editions of the Macon Telegraph and the Atlanta Journal. She narrowed her search to the years 1935 and 1936 because those were the years on the newspapers wrapping the artifacts and the date stenciled on the crates themselves. Newspapers weren't indexed. She hadn't known that. Her academic research took her exclusively to professional journals and not to newspaper archives. She found out when she asked the librarian in charge of the newspapers where the indexes were. The woman looked at her without speaking, her lips almost, but not quite, turning up in a smile. Lindsay realized immediately what an enormous task it would be to index daily newspapers from their first issue until the present, and most libraries all over the country were understaffed. So, Lindsay was there straining her eyes looking in the microfilm reader for the name Hank Roy Creasey, Hank Creasey, H. R. Creasey, and every spelling she could think of anybody Creasey. She found nothing. It was time to give it up and go home. Maybe Derrick would find a reference in Kentucky, though Creasey could have been from anywhere.
On her way out of the lobby, Lindsay noticed the archivist of the Hargrett Library getting on an elevator. Lindsay stopped in her tracks, turned abruptly, and followed the woman up to her office.
"Mrs. Andrews?" Lindsay said.
"Yes?" The woman looked at her, smiling, ready to answer her questions.
"I was in here a few days ago looking for some clippings, and I overheard you talking to a campus policeman. We in the Archaeology Department have had some of our artifacts stolen and, well, I was wondering if-"
"If we are suffering from the same thing? The answer is yes. Some of our rarest books and maps are missing. The policeman suggested that perhaps I misplaced them."
"Right now, they think I might have, er, misplaced artifacts."
Mrs. Andrews shook her head. "I don't know how they expect to find anything
. I read about the artifacts missing from the Archaeology Department and actually called the policeman in charge of our theft. I don't know if he looked for a connection."
"Do you know if any other antiquities are missing on campus?"
The librarian motioned Lindsay into a chair. She sat down at her desk. "I called the museum. They're looking at their inventory again. They haven't found anything missing recently, but you know, about a year ago they had some thefts. I also talked to the Classics Department. They have several things missing. I told the policeman about all of those cases."
"What did he say?"
She stretched out her arms on her desk and linked her fingers. "He thanked me."
"I have another question, and I would like you to forget it after I ask you." Mrs. Andrews raised her eyebrows. Lindsay took a piece of paper and wrote two names on it. "Have either of these men visited the Hargrett Library in the last few months?"
She put on her glasses, which hung from a chain around her neck, and looked at the paper.
"The second name has come on more than one occasion in the past several months to look at the rare books. Don't tell me you suspect him?"
"I have only the thinnest evidence on which to suspect him. That's why I wish you would forget I said anything."
"I like my job here. I won't say a word. But it would be a bad thing if he were involved."
"Yes, it would." Mrs. Andrews didn't ask what she intended to do. Lindsay wouldn't have known what to tell her if she had.
Lindsay was strangely relieved that Kenneth Kerwin hadn't visited the rare book room. As much as she disliked him, she didn't want anyone in Archaeology to be associated with stealing antiquities. On the other hand, it was probably only a coincidence that Ellis Einer had visited the rare book collection from which items were missing and was also present on the day after the artifacts were unpacked in the archaeology lab. As she told Mrs. Andrews, it was the thinnest thread that connected him. But it nagged at her. He was also someone a man like Detective Kaufman would listen to.
Lindsay's phone was ringing when she opened her office door. It was Irene Varnadore.
Dressed to Die: A Lindsay Chamberlain Novel Page 20
