by J. T. Toman
C.J. waited the class out for their attention. She waited until the whispering and giggling and fondling died down. She waited until all the ear buds were removed. She waited until the last students looked up from their iPhones. Then, she waited some more. She had not had their attention before, but she sure did now. They shifted uncomfortably in their seats. This strange lady in her pink cowboy boots looked pissed.
“You know,” C.J. drawled benignly in her full Texas twang, eventually breaking the painful silence, “I get a pretty good view of y’all from here at the podium. Not great. But pretty good. For instance, I can see when your hands are in your lap and you get that happy, little smile on your face.”
C.J. paused and looked around from student to student. Most students were looking puzzled, not sure where she was going with this speech. Some were clearly annoyed. C.J. was wasting their valuable, trust-fund time.
“But the view isn’t that great,” C.J. continued, in the tone of one telling a quaint Texas folktale. “For example, I can’t tell what your sweet little hands are doing. When someone’s hands are in their lap and they’re smiling all happy like, I got two guesses. They’re textin’ or they’re masturbatin’.”
Students gasped. Had the professor really just said the m-word? OMG! Who was this woman?
“Now, I got to say, it don’t really matter which one you’re doing, because neither are okay in an Eaton University lecture hall. So, let’s be real clear. If your hands are below the desk, you will be asked to leave. And if I have to discuss why you were asked to leave class with your fine parents who are paying cold, hard cash for you to sit here and learn, I will tell them it looked like you were pleasuring yourself in my classroom. Now, I am sure I have been clear.”
Students nodded dumbly, placing their cell phones and iPads in their backpacks and their hands on their notebooks. Their faces showed their shock at having their technology removed from them and in such a dramatic fashion.
C.J., however, was thinking something else. These students are technology addicted. Technology. Stephen used a lot of technology. I wonder…. Is there a digital yellow brick road to showing that Stephen is innocent?
Drawn back to the present by the silent stares, some sullen, some wide-eyed, of the phone-free students, C.J. gave them a great big Texan smile. “Now, that’s just wonderful. Getting back to the demand curve. Looking around the room, I get the feeling there has been an increase in demand for tattoos over recent years. Anyone got a particularly good one on an arm or a leg they want to show?”
*****
“I knew it!” exclaimed Betsy loudly, as C.J. entered Wallaby’s at just after eleven.
C.J. just shook her head and went over to order a caramel latte, extra cream. It was that kind of day.
Betsy, C.J. noticed, was not knitting today. Instead, she had just put aside a copy of The Pug Post. The arrest of a colleague meant Betsy’s role as sleuth superseded that of grandmother. As C.J. sat down next to her friend, drink in hand, she glanced over to see the The Pug’s headline of the day. “CHOI-KED TO DEATH!” Ouch.
Betsy, wobbling like a Jell-O cup with excitement, continued talking. “Stephen was the lemon! All those Chinese death rituals, all that bitterness over not getting tenure. He snuck out of his office and strangled Edmund.”
“Would it matter to your conclusion if I told you that Stephen was not in his office the hour before Edmund died? But instead he was walking downtown at about one o’clock?”
Betsy looked puzzled. “But, I don’t understand. Stephen said he was in his office. Has he changed his story?”
“Not on purpose. But Mary Beth saw him walking into downtown and told Jefferson, and Jeffie told me after the faculty meeting last night. As you know, nothing is secret in an academic department.”
C.J. took a long sip of caramel-flavored coffee, savoring two of her favorite food groups, caffeine and sugar. Then she turned to Betsy and asked thoughtfully, “Why would Stephen walk downtown at one o’clock if he wanted to kill Edmund a few minutes later?”
“To give himself an alibi, of course.”
“But then, why lie about it?”
Betsy was quiet for a moment, thinking this new development through.
“Exactly,” said C.J. “I think the fact Stephen lied about being in his office shows that he is innocent. Obviously he left his office at lunchtime for some reason. But not to give himself an alibi. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t killing Edmund.”
Betsy still looked skeptical. “Well,” Betsy said finally, “why doesn’t he just say where he was? Then he wouldn’t be sitting in jail right now.”
C.J. sighed deeply, looking troubled. “Betsy, dear, you have struck at the fundamental problem. I, like you, have been assuming that all of the innocent people in this affair would do everything they could to prove that they were innocent. It seemed the rational choice. But why are we assuming that everyone is going to behave rationally? What are we? Nineteenth-century economic theorists, like Walter? I think emotions, like embarrassment or love, are coming in to play.”
Betsy looked confused, so C.J. continued her explanation in simpler terms. “My guess is Stephen doesn’t want anyone to know what he was up to on Monday afternoon because he was doing something... naughty...or...or perhaps his afternoon activities reveal something about someone else.”
“Oh. I get you,” said Betsy, with the air of sudden understanding. “It is possible he might have been seeing a...well, you know, an escort...at one of the hotels downtown. How strange he won’t say anything. It’s not like an economist to have that much honor or delicacy, for that matter. But you never can tell with, you know…Asians. Their culture is very different.”
She sighed, clearly disappointed to have to give up on her first suspect. “It’s often not the first one they arrest on Law and Order, either. But if it isn’t Stephen, who is it?”
C.J. decided to ignore Betsy’s comment about Stephen’s cultural background as she thought inwardly, You just can never tell with old people. Instead, she batted her eyes innocently. “My dear Betsy. What are you saying? That more than one person might have wanted to kill dearest Edmund?”
Betsy chuckled. “Well, I don’t like to speak ill of the dead...”
“I know. I know. It’s easier to ask who didn’t have a motive. I was talking with Jefferson earlier, and he said he had heard that the police had confirmed that Lisa DeBeyer was at the gallery in New York, so the wife didn’t do it. Which leaves Stephen, Charles, Jefferson, Walter and myself as the only faculty not on vacation, at home, or teaching. Stephen had a motive. Edmund had denied his tenure. That’s why the poor chap is dressed in an orange jump suit as we speak. But assuming it’s not Stephen...Charles had a motive. Edmund was angling to get him kicked off the faculty.”
“But Charles was at home.”
“Walter had plenty of motive. Edmund had clearly passed Walter in the department’s ego to brain ratio race. I am sure Walter has been wanting the man dead for years.”
Again Betsy demurred. “But Walter was in his office. And why kill him now, after all this time?”
C.J. pursed her lips. “I sure would like Walter’s alibi corroborated, anyhow.”
“Well, I don’t think it was Walter. If it wasn’t Stephen, I think Jefferson killed Edmund,” Betsy declared confidently.
“Jefferson?” asked C.J. wonderingly.
“Yes,” said Betsy firmly. “On Law and Order, it is always the person you least suspect. And I don’t suspect Jefferson at all. Frankly, he is the only person in the department who is showing any grief. He looks like he hasn’t had any sleep since it happened.”
“Jefferson?” asked C.J. again. “How would he have done it? He was out running at the time Edmund was killed.”
“That’s not a problem. He was running laps of the campus, so he could have run one lap, dashed back to Edmund’s office, killed Edmund, and then dashed out again and continued on with the second lap of his run.”
“But wh
y? Jefferson is the one person who has a productive working relationship with Edmund. It seems unlikely that he decides to suddenly kill his coauthor in the middle of a run. Very unlikely.”
“Mmmm,” mused Betsy. “I see what you mean. But I still think it’s Jefferson.”
*****
Two coffees and a scone later, and feeling quite rejuvenated, C.J. went to leave Wallaby’s at close on midday. As she was heading out the door, C.J. almost bumped into Annika Jonsdottir. The girl had paid for her coffee and was clearly distracted, walking hastily and talking to herself. By the expression on her face, C.J. could tell the girl was troubled.
“Annika?” C.J. asked questioningly. Inwardly, C.J. sighed. She hated dealing with student troubles.
“Oh!” cried Annika with a start. “Professor Whitmore. You startle me.”
“I see that. Is everything alright? You look… concerned…about something.”
“Me? Oh, no. Me? I am fine. I am just, um... thinking about...Professor Daniels’s problem set. Excuse me, Professor Whitmore. I must go.”
With that, the young woman scurried off down the street, leaving C.J. staring after her, unsure of what she had just seen.
A large gust of wind startled C.J. from her reverie. The clouds in the sky were building and had turned a menacing shade of slate grey. C.J. had no idea why the founding fathers decided to settle around New England. Surely it wasn’t for the weather. Long, dragging winters that were suddenly replaced in May by hot, humid summers (apparently missing spring altogether). Summers that eventually eased into fall with its torrential rains from the hurricane season. And it looked as if one of those rains was moving in tonight.
Really, thought C.J., forgetting all about Annika and focusing entirely on the storm overhead, would it have killed the founding fathers to settle in Hawaii first? Then, maybe Eaton University would have been founded there.
*****
Mary Beth loved lunchtime. She was always ready to leave the confines of the office. She loved to visit the different lunch spots around campus and read Cosmo and People and Us Weekly. Mary Beth reveled in celebrity gossip, especially the break ups, and took careful note of the hairstyle tips and beauty advice. She knew you couldn’t let yourself go, and, with that in mind, Mary Beth decided that the current Mourning Manicure had run its course. She would need a Funeral Manicure before tonight, even if it meant using an Elm Grove manicurist.
Today, Mary Beth was heading to Zoe’s. The deli was one of her favorite places in town. Delicious food, but not too fattening. No rich husband was going to want a chubby wife.
Leaving the office, Mary Beth was stopped by a strong wind. She did a quick outfit check. Did she have a coat in the office cute enough to wear to lunch? Deciding she didn’t, and it was better to freeze and look cute rather than be warm and ugly, Mary Beth continued down the street.
Mary Beth spotted Professor Whitmore walking towards her. Now, that woman was unmarried for a reason. Didn’t she own a mirror? What was she thinking with those pink cowboy boots and loud spangled cowgirl shirts and skirts? Underneath the fashion accident that was her wardrobe, there was a relatively attractive woman. Mary Beth had considered sending in C.J.’s name to Extreme Makeover. But people can be so sensitive, even when you are doing them a huge favor.
“Hey, Mary Beth,” called C.J. loudly. It seemed to Mary Beth that C.J. did everything loudly––another reason she would not get a husband. Cosmo was very clear. Demure and soothing would win the day. Well, it was probably just as well that C.J. was loud and ugly. Less competition for Mary Beth.
Mary Beth responded to C.J. with a large, toothy smile, somewhat like a cat spotting a tasty mouse. She had wanted to talk with C.J. and get her take on the events of the last few days. This was the perfect opportunity, out of the office and the big ears that lurked around every turn. “Hey, Professor Whitmore,” said Mary Beth, in her most welcoming tone. “What a fabulous shirt. I love that color….magenta is it? Are you grabbing some lunch?”
“Oh no. I just had coffee with a friend. I’m heading back to work.”
“Darn. I’m running out to Zoe’s. Have you checked it out?”
C.J. confessed that she didn’t know Zoe’s, but the two women agreed that they would have lunch together there someday, while each of them knew this would never happen.
“Hey, I’m like, um, still too scared to sleep because of Professor DeBeyer. Is it true? Was Professor Choi arrested?” Mary Beth asked, fishing for information. “Because, you know, I saw him walking into town when I was at lunch on Monday. It’s like, too freaky that we’ve been risking our lives working with a serial killer.”
C.J., as she liked to say herself, was not new to the barn. She inwardly rolled her eyes at Mary Beth’s supposed fright. The young woman standing before C.J. looked very well-rested. “I can say with certainty that your life has not been in danger from a serial killer, at least not yet,” C.J. said dryly, though at the same time wondering why not and thinking it wouldn’t bother her if the real killer wanted to elevate himself to the status of serial killing if it meant he would kill Mary Beth. Wasn’t there someone in the world who was sufficiently annoyed with this walking manicure to do her in?
“Well, you never know. I knew Professor Choi was a murderer, even before he killed Professor DeBeyer.”
C.J. just raised her eyebrows.
“You know, he like, had that murderous look.”
C.J. wondered if the murderous look Mary Beth was referring to was the fact that Stephen was Asian and, therefore, looked different to Mary Beth. As Stephen was a practicing Buddhist, C.J. could not imagine Mary Beth had seen Stephen wandering around the department with looks of murderous rage on his face frequently. Though, in Mary Beth’s defense, Stephen was prone to be moody. “No. I’m not quite sure I know,” murmured C.J.
“Oh, yes. And then he had that terrible temper. Why, just on the day of the murder, he got into a terrible fight with Professor DeBeyer.”
Now Mary Beth had C.J.’s attention. “A fight? When?”
“After lunch. I had come back from my lunch and was going up to Professor DeBeyer’s office to drop off the letters I had typed for him...”
C.J. interrupted. “What time was this?”
“That’s the thing. Time is, like, so confusing. I’m supposed to be back from lunch at exactly one. But I was running a few minutes late, as I had to finish reading this article in Us Weekly about new ways to style your hair that will drive your man wild. Though I’m not sure a hair style is what guys are into, you know? I find that a push-up bra and a scoop tee work pretty good.”
C.J. cleared her throat. “You got back to the office?”
Mary Beth looked at C.J. blankly for a moment. “Oh right. Yeah. So, I got back to the office, a little late. And then, I had to find the letters. I was sure I had left them on the tray on the right side of my desk. But there they were, on the left side, after all. So my best guess is that it was about when the big hand was pointing to the two or the three.”
C.J. just stared.
“I have this new watch, you see,” explained Mary Beth, seeing C.J.’s confusion. “It has a face. But it’s like super confusing as it doesn’t actually say the time.”
Mary Beth showed C.J. her analog watch, and C.J. could see at once that Mary Beth was saying that she went to Edmund’s office between ten past and fifteen past one. “Ahh. I see. So you went up with the letters …and then what happened?”
“Well, I could hear Edmund yelling something awful. But only when I got right up close to the door, mind. Those offices are built like fortresses. I wish my apartment was that sound proof. The things I hear my neighbors doing. TMI, that’s all I can say.”
C.J., not at all interested in the sex lives of Mary Beth’s neighbors, tried to steer the conversation back. “But at Edmund’s door...”
“Oooh, yes. I heard Professor DeBeyer in a right old dust up with Professor Choi. He must have said something to make Professor DeBeyer real mad b
ecause Professor DeBeyer yelled ‘You’re finished, you hear me, you are finished!’”
C.J. waited, expecting more, but Mary Beth was clearly done.
“What happened after you heard Professor DeBeyer yell that?” asked C.J.
“Well, it obviously wasn’t the time to drop off the letters, so I went back down to my office.”
C.J. stared at the girl for a few moments. “Mary Beth. Let me make sure I understand. On the day Professor DeBeyer was murdered, you told Professor Daniels that you saw Stephen Choi walking downtown while you were sitting at Bruegger’s Bagels at a few minutes before one o’clock. And now you are telling me that sometime between 1:10 and 1:15 p.m. on the same day, you overheard Professor DeBeyer yelling a threatening statement at someone. But you didn’t see that someone or hear that someone. So, you don’t know who that someone was or even if that someone was in the room with him. That person could have been on the phone.”
Mary Beth couldn’t contain herself any longer. “But, we do know it was Professor Choi who was in the office arguing, Professor Whitmore,” said Mary Beth, with the tone of one explaining basic math to a child. Again. “It was Professor Choi because he’s the killer. It’s not my job to explain how he did it. I guess he ran back really quickly. Professor Choi had such a bad temper he provoked Professor DeBeyer into an argument and then killed him. And that doesn’t surprise me. I always knew he had the look of a killer.”
C.J. looked at Mary Beth with a long, thoughtful stare. “Mary Beth,” she eventually asked, “did you see Stephen Choi come back to the department at any time on the afternoon Professor DeBeyer was murdered?”
“Oh yes!” said Mary Beth with a cheerful lack of concern. “About two-ish, I’d say. He came rushing in to 40 Knollwood to go to the seminar. But I couldn’t say if he’d come from his office or downtown. Not that it matters. He’d, like, already done the deed by then.”
*****
Later that afternoon, sitting in her office, C.J. opened her Google page. Stephen, being under the age of fifty, was also a complete Google addict. Gmail, Google Play, Google Docs, and, of course, Google Calendar.
