"So you two are actually moving in together?" Sheila asked.
"That's what it looks like," I said, guarded.
She eyed me. "You mean there's some question?"
McQuaid reached for my hand. "No," he said firmly. "No question at all."
44 4
Sheila and I went into the biology department office. The broken door window had been replaced, but the bottom drawer of the file cabinet still bore signs of forced entry. It was nearly five. Rose's chair was pushed against the desk, her typewriter was covered, and her work station had the tidy look of jobs done for the day. But Cynthia Leeds was still at her typewriter, her back straight, the shoulder pads of her green suit jacket giving her the appearance of emphatic authority. Her no-nonsense gray hair was cut crisp and short. Black plastic-framed reading glasses
were perched on the tip of her nose. Her dark eyes had the look of someone who never missed a detail. Remembering Beulah, I thought again how important such women were in organizations that depended on paperwork.
Cynthia gave me a curt nod of recognition and turned to Sheila. "I'm sorry, Chief Dawson, but Dr. Castle is never available for unscheduled meetings in the late afternoon. I'll be glad to make an appointment for you in the morning, however." She picked up a large calendar book from her desk. "He's free between nine-thirty and eleven. Do you think a half hour will be long enough?"
Sheila glanced toward the partly open door to Castle's office. "He's here now, isn't he?"
"Yes." Cynthia took off her reading glasses. "But he's just gotten back from a trip, and he has a great deal to—"
"I am sure," Sheila interrupted in a clipped tone, "that Dr. Castle will want to speak with us. We are here on official university business, to discuss certain irregular transactions that have taken place in this office over the past few years."
There was a nearly imperceptible flicker in Cynthia's expression, but her spoken response was calm. "If there's a problem with our office procedures, it won't be necessary to disturb Dr. Castle. I can help you."
Sheila turned toward the door. "If you will excuse us," she said, "I believe we can find our way in."
Frank Castle's navy suit jacket and maroon tie were hanging on the open closet door. He was behind his desk, signing his name with a slim gold pen to a stack of letters, the collar of his blue pin-striped shirt unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up. He looked up sharply as Sheila and I came in.
"Didn't Miss Leeds tell you that I don't see people at this hour?" With a start, he recognized me. His glance, questioning, swiveled to Sheila.
Cynthia was at the door behind us. "I told them, Dr. Castle," she said, her dark eyes snapping angrily, "but they insisted. They—"
Sheila interrupted her. "My name is Sheila Dawson, Dr. Castle," she said pleasantly, holding out her hand. Automatically, Castle rose and shook it. "I am chief of Campus Security," she went on. "You already know Ms. Bayles, I believe. I'm sorry to interrupt you. But our business is important."
Behind us, Cynthia moved. I turned to look. Her eyes were slit-ted, wary. "Dr Castle, would you like me to call Campus Security?" She stopped, remembering that we were Campus Security.
Castle ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, smoothing it back. "Since they're here, Cynthia, I might as well see them."
Cynthia frowned. "But Dr. Castle, don't you think it would be better to—"
Castle's look silenced her. As she left the room, I noticed that she didn't quite shut the door behind her. I wasn't surprised. Women who keep the organization running also make it a practice to know all its secrets.
Castle sat down in his swivel chair, realized he still had his pen in his hand, and laid it on the desk. "I hope this won't take long," he said. He gave us a disarming smile and put his hand on the stack of papers. "If these RBAs don't get signed tonight, the bills won't get paid on time. You know how people feel about that."
"Of course," Sheila said. "We'll be as quick as we can." She frowned slightly. "I wonder, though. It's a formality, of course, but some of these questions . . . Maybe you'd be more comfortable with your attorney present."
Castle looked at her and laughed a little, patronizingly. I had the feeling that he wasn't taking her seriously. With her corn-silk hair falling against her cheeks, her close-fitting pink suit and pearls, she looked very feminine, almost fragile. I couldn't blame him for being fooled. "My attorney?" he asked lightly. "I can't imagine why that would be necessary. Sit down."
We took chairs. I sat where I could see the door out of the corner of my eye. It was open about three inches. As I watched, it eased open another inch.
Sheila crossed her legs, showing a seductive stretch of thigh below the hem of her pink skirt. Her smile was a fascinating blend of deference and apology and when she spoke, her clipped voice was softened by a southern accent I hadn't heard before.
"I decided we should talk, Dr. Castle, after Ms. Bayles brought one or two little things to my attention this afternoon. Maybe you know," she added helpfully, "that she's working with Dr. Riddle's attorney.^"
Both of her sentences ended with the interrogative upswing that turns statements into tentative questions—a speech style that belongs almost exclusively to women. The habit tends, I have always thought, to make the speaker sound ingenuous and vulnerable—the voice of "just li'l ol' me." Smart Cookie was using all her resources.
Castle glanced at me. "I'm glad to hear that Dottie has obtained competent counsel." His tone belied his words.
Sheila cleared her throat and ducked her head, managing to look even more deferential. "Ms. Bayles had a little talk today with a man by the name of Jim Long. Maybe you remember him.^ He worked in the grant accounting office nine, maybe ten years ago."
There was, I thought, a subtle reaction, a slight hardening of Castle's gaze. But if I had been hoping for something more noticeable, I was disappointed.
"Long?" Castle appeared to search his memory. "Afraid not," he said. "I don't remember anybody named Long. Actually," he added, "I've learned over the years that it's best to have as few dealings with the accounting office as possible." He smiled. "All they do over there is think up new hoops for the rest of us to jump through."
Sheila smiled to show that she appreciated his humor. "The thing is, sir," she said with great reluctance, "Mr. Long remembers 3/ow quite well. He gave Ms. Bayles a fairly detailed sketch of a certain financial transaction that he claims you, he, and Miles Harwick were involved in some years ago. Ten years ago, to be exact."
That did get a response, but not a revealing one. Castle leaned back in his chair, slowly and carefully, his face impassive. At the
same time, I was aware of movement outside the door. Cynthia was standing close, Hstening, her broad shoulders casting a bulky shadow on the frosted glass. It passed through my mind that it might have been just as well to have her in on this conversation so we could see her reactions too, but it was too late for that now.
"A financial transaction?" Castle said. He took off his gold-rimmed glasses and inspected them for dust. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." He reached in the drawer, took out a packet of lens cleaners, and polished the lenses.
Sheila's smile was relieved. "I am mighty glad to hear that," she said. Her southern accent was just a little bit broader. "It does ease my mind a good bit, because if what Mr. Long says is true— well, I was afraid it might present a bit of a problem." She waved her hand. "But if there's nothin' to it. Internal Audit will have the whole matter cleared up in a shake. The director is in the process of checking things out right now."
Castle put his glasses back on. "Internal . . . Audit?" He was visibly paler.
Sheila nodded. "As long as you've been in this position and as much respect as people have for you in this university, I knew you'd want to have things straightened out as soon as possible. That's why I went ahead and requested the audit." She smiled. "But I was of two minds about it. Even if it turned out there was a little something to Mr. Long's charges,
the university would probably think it wasn't worth pursuing—given your outstanding record. And given the fact that the statute of limitations has expired."
Castle looked down, but not before I saw the obvious relief in his eyes. "The statute of limitations?"
"Ten years." She became rueful. "Actually, I wouldn't have bothered you with this at all—if Ms. Bayles hadn't turned up something else I thought I should ask about."
"I . . . see." Castle shot me a glance. I was to blame for all of this. He sat up straight, his posture suggesting renewed confi-
dence in his authority. ''Perhaps you'll tell me what this 'something else' is, and then leave me to my work. I really don't want to be here all evening."
Sheila leaned forward, the very picture of concerned respect, earnestly eager to do the right thing. "Well, to be totally honest, sir, this is what worries me the most. What Ms. Bayles stumbled across, you see, was an insurance transaction involving a change in the beneficiary and the amount of Dr Harwick's life insurance. It is clear that Dr. Harwick himself did not sign the documents. Someone forged his name."
I was so engrossed in the drama being played out in front of me that the movement on the other side of the door almost didn't register Half smiling, faintly amused at Sheila's innocence. Castle shook his head.
"It's obvious you haven't been around this university very long. Chief Dawson." He said the word "chief" almost playfully.
"Not very long, sir," she said. Her smile was alluring. "I'm still learning the ropes, so to speak."
He tilted his chair back, his confidence growing. "Well, my dear, I'll let you in on a little secret. The paperwork system doesn't always work the way it's supposed to. People don't always fill in the forms right. Sometimes they don't even sign them. Rather than hold things up, somebody in the departmental office fills in any blanks."
Sheila looked surprised. "No kiddin'?"
"I know," he said, Castle said, "it sounds irregular. But after you've learned the ropes, as you so originally put it, you'll see that we all cooperate to keep the paper flowing. What it boils down to is that we trust one another's good intentions." He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, concentrating. "Sure, now I remember. Of course. This instance you're asking about— it was after Miles' mother died, as I recollect. She had been the beneficiary of his life insurance. He had no other relatives, so after she was gone, he decided to make the university his beneficiary."
"I had a question about that, too," Sheila said. "Isn't it just a teeny bit unusual for a faculty member to leave such a large bequest to the university?" She took a small notebook out of her purse, opened it, and consulted a page. "Three quarters of a million dollars, I think it was."
"A million," he corrected her.
Her gorgeous eyes widened. "My goodness. Whyever would he do such a thing?"
"I suppose," Castle said, "that he wanted to ensure the continuation of his work, if he were no longer here to carry it out himself. A million dollars is enough to fund a chair in his memory. That, in fact, is the purpose to which the money will be put."
"Leaving this money—it wasn't something he had discussed with you?"
"No, it was a total surprise. I didn't know he was doing it until the paperwork crossed my desk."
She smiled, respectful. "I can just imagine how shocked you must have been, coming across something like that, so completely out of the blue."
Castle was relaxed now, enjoying himself. "You het I was shocked. I looked at the form, and when I saw the amount and the beneficiary, I did a double take. Then I noticed that Miles had neglected to sign it. So I picked up the phone, got his okay, and forged his signature." He grinned and held up both hands in a gently self-deprecating gesture. "Yes, mea culpa. It was a little irregular, maybe, especially given the amount of money involved. But I'm sure you understand. You'll reduce my punishment to twenty lashes?" It was clear from his look how he'd like to have those lashes.
Sheila smiled. "You recall his telephone authorization, then? I suppose that would have been—" She turned a page of her notebook. "The fifteenth of July? Does that ring a bell?"
"That's right," Castle said triumphantly. "The fifteenth of July. I remember, because it's my birthday."
Sheila was beaming, obviously relieved that he had such a satisfactory explanation. "Then perhaps you'll also recall, Dr. Castle, where you called Dr. Harwick from, and where you reached him?"
Castle concentrated. "Well, I called from this office, of course. And I reached him ..." His forehead furrowed. "Oh, gosh. I don't remember whether he was at home or in his office." He tilted his head and gave her a sexy smile. "Does it really matter?" He looked at his watch. "Say, it's getting late. How about adjourning for happy hour? We could continue this over a drink."
Sheila frowned slightly. "You're sure that you called from this office?"
He nodded emphatically. "Oh, yes," he said. "Of that, I'm positive."
Sheila put her notebook back in her purse. "Then you should be able to supply the International Telephone Call Authorization form you filled out, stating the purpose of your call," she said, "as well as the billing to Hamburg, Germany."
Castle stared at her. "Ham . . . burg?"
"That's right," Sheila said. "On July fifteenth last year. Dr. Harwick was neither in his office nor at home. He was in Hamburg, attending a professional meeting."
Castle looked down. When he looked up, his face was set. He'd forgotten all about happy hour. "I've said all I have to say on this matter."
Sheila's voice was firm and her southern accent had all but disappeared. "I have another question, Dr. Castle. I need to know where you were last Wednesday evening."
He stared at her. "Wednesday evening?"
"That's right," she said. "The night Miles Harwick died."
With a jerk. Castle's chair came upright. "Are you implying that I was involved in Dr. Harwick's death?"
"Well, sir," she said, "you can see why I have to ask. I've been given to understand that you and Dr. Harwick stole a substantial
sum from the university, and that you forged his signature to insurance documents leaving an even more substantial sum to the department—under your direct control." She paused, letting that percolate. "And then there's the matter of the blackmail letter Dr. Harwick received, which was stolen from this office last night. It's very fortunate, of course, that Ms. Bayles made a copy."
"A copy?" His nostrils flared as he turned to look at me. "You made a copy} "
I cleared my throat and spoke for the first time. "That's right," I said. "Perhaps it would help if I review our reconstruction of the events with you. Dr. Harwick showed you the letter right after he received it. Both of you feared that his role in the embezzlement scheme was about to become public knowledge. Your part in it would inevitably be known as well, and your career ruined, even though you might be protected from prosecution by the statute of limitations. But the blackmailer did not appear to know about you, or about Jim Long, with whom you also checked. If Harwick were to die, you thought, that would be the end of it. The blackmailer would be stymied, and Harwick could no longer implicate you."
"You can see," Sheila said reasonably, "how easy it would be for someone to think you were the one who murdered Miles Harwick."
Castle's face had turned ashen. "I think," he said in a low voice, "that I'd better not say anything more until I call my lawyer."
The door clicked shut.
"Excuse me," I said abruptly, and stood up. I hated to leave when the conversation was getting interesting, but I had to know what was going on with Cynthia. Was she simply being nosy? Or was she—
The outer office was empty.
I crossed swiftly to the door just as McQuaid opened it.
"Hey/' he said, "who the devil was that woman? She came bar-rehng out of the office Hke a bat out of hell. Almost knocked me down."
"Where'dshego?"
"The parking lot exit." He took three paces to the window. "There she is," he said, pointin
g to a gray Plymouth.
Cynthia was scrabbling in her purse for her car keys. Where was she going.- And w hy was she in such a hurry?
I turned to McQuaid. "You'd better get in there with Sheila. Fm going after Cynthia."
"Did you get a confession?"
"Not yet," I said, halfway to the door. "He's phoning for his lawyer. Go on, get in there."
"But I thought the plan was for me to—"
"The plan's changed," I said over my shoulder. "Sheila's one smart lady, but Castle's a crook. I don't trust him from here to the water cooler."
If the parking lot exit gate hadn t jammed, I might have lost Cynthia. She inserted her card twice, but nothing happened. She sat there, stuck, while I dashed for my car, climbed in, and drove one aisle past the exit, where I could see what was going on. A man w alking through the lot spotted her dilemma, came over and pounded on the contraption. It opened and she drove through. So did the car behind her. Crossing my fingers, I drove up to the gate, inserted my good-for-one-visit temporary card, and went through, too. Ruby would say that the goddess had smiled.
The after-class rush to get off the campus was over, but there was still plenty of pedestrian traffic, mostly undergraduates on their way back to their dorms or to the video-game hangouts. Dodging gangs of them—why do students always seem to walk
in multiples of five?—I got to the corner in time to see Cynthia's Plymouth turn left on Hawkins Boulevard, heading west.
I turned too, staying back a long block. Subterfuge was probably unnecessary, since she didn't act as if she knew she was being followed. But I did it anyway, to be on the safe side, for the next couple of miles. That's why, when I came around the blind corner at the Immanuel Lutheran Church and saw that the street was empty for three blocks ahead, I almost panicked. But when I looked up and noticed where I was, I hooked an abrupt right. It was the Falls Creek blacktop. And ahead of me was the Plymouth, heading north, fast.
Hangman's root : a China Bayles mystery Page 21
