Passport to Murder

by Mary Angela

  “Good morning, Madam. I am André Duman. My group and I are here to see Jack Wood.”

  The woman, who was around forty, nodded and smiled without responding. She was obviously stunned by André’s good looks and French accent.

  “He called us on the phone,” I added when the woman continued to stare.

  Her trance broken, she glanced at me and picked up the phone. “One moment. You can have a seat while you wait.” She motioned toward two rows of plastic chairs, about half already occupied, and pushed a button on her multi-line phone. We were only steps away from the window when Ernest Jones pushed through the metal doors that led to the rest of the station.

  Ernest wore the same gray blazer as last evening, but his ketchup-stained shirt had been replaced by a deeply wrinkled white button-up. His smile was the same, lopsided and happy. I couldn’t help but return the smile; his personality was infectious. His partner, Jack Wood, was not with him.

  Since André stood at the front of the line, he was the first to shake Ernest’s hand. Ernest went on to shake everyone’s hands, including mine, his curly hair waggling with each pump of a hand. “Good morning. Good morning. Good morning,” he greeted each of us.

  “We are anxious to be here, Mr. Jones, as you can imagine,” André replied. “It has been a difficult night for all of us, especially Bennett.”

  Ernest was sympathetic. “We will be as quick as possible. Come this way.”

  We walked through a metal detector and into a boxy room with about a dozen facing desks. Despite it being Sunday, the room was abuzz with activity: officers dressed in uniforms, officers dressed in plainclothes, and civilians, maybe filing a complaint or bailing out a friend from the dry-out tank. In the area were two offices with glass windows and wooden blinds. One was quite large, and a man sat inside behind a big, wooden desk. The other was smaller, and here was Jack Wood from last night. Beside him sat a new man I didn’t recognize.

  Ernest turned to open the office door. Jack Wood stood, a manila envelope in his hand, but the other man remained seated. He was bald and wore a black suit and black tie. From his dress, he looked like he was with the FBI, but I rejected the idea as cliché. Why would the FBI be interested in the death of Molly Jaspers?

  “Good morning, and thank you for coming,” Jack said to no one in particular. Although his crisp attire did not betray his fatigue, the bags under his bloodshot eyes seemed even more pronounced. I had a feeling the hardworking Jack Wood hadn’t slept any better than I had. “We need some more information about the events that led up to Mrs. Jaspers’ death. As you know, last night we were under a time crunch and had to get through hundreds of passengers.”

  “Anything you need, officers, so that I can take Molly home and bury her,” said Bennett. “Her family will be arriving in Copper Bluff in a few days.”

  “Who’s this?” said Olivia, pointing to the man in the black suit.

  Although I guessed her mother had never told her it was impolite to point, I was glad she asked. We were all wondering the same thing.

  Jack looked at the man in the black suit, then at the group. He laid the manila envelope on the desk. “When we first questioned people last night, we assumed Mrs. Jaspers had come into contact with peanuts, because of her allergy, but we didn’t know for sure. This morning, the preliminary examination came back from the coroner stating Mrs. Jaspers died from acute anaphylactic shock.”

  A murmur rippled around the room.

  “Of course I’m not surprised,” said Bennett, “but it’s still hard to hear. I could have prevented it. All of it.” Tears filled his eyes, and he quickly wiped them away. “I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “You can’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault,” said Judith. “Coming from the School of Medicine, I can promise you these fatal reactions are a lot more common than people realize.”

  Jack continued, “I agree. We weren’t surprised by the diagnosis either. But we were surprised that no peanuts were found in her snack, on her clothing, or on her person. So we’ll have to investigate further to find out how she was contaminated. We need to determine negligence.”

  Another murmur passed through the group.

  “Getting back to your question,” said Jack, nodding toward Olivia, “the Federal Bureau of Investigation has jurisdiction over any crimes that take place in the air. Since negligence is indicated here, Tom Sanders, from the FBI, will be overseeing the case.”

  Tom Sanders nodded briefly.

  “Unfortunately, we won’t be able to release the body today, Mr. Jaspers, but I promise you that we will do everything in our power to release it as quickly as possible. It shouldn’t take more than seventy-two hours. In the meantime, you’ll want to make arrangements for transport. You should deal with that before you leave.”

  “Yes, I’ll need some help…. Molly wished to be cremated. She believed graveyards were a great waste of environmental resources.” He talked like a man in a fog, unable to comprehend the tasks before him.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Jaspers,” said Ernest. He assured Bennett that he would help him with all the particulars. Then he motioned him toward the chair across the desk from the detectives. He asked the rest of us to wait outside by the TV until he called us in, one by one.

  André opened the door, and the group shuffled out. For a moment, we all looked back through the window at Bennett, that is until Tom Sanders, the FBI agent, stood and closed the blinds. I had a feeling the real investigation had just begun.

  Chapter Nine

  We squeezed in next to each other on three hard wooden benches that lined a quiet nook. Although a TV flickered on the wall with CNN news, it had no sound, just closed captions. Judith grabbed a folding chair from around the corner and positioned it so she was facing the group like a test moderator. I supposed she thought she was keeping an eye on us younger faculty.

  To my delight, a coffee pot sat full of dark brew. I took one of the Styrofoam cups from the stack, and as I filled it, I noticed a vending machine across from us and alerted the group. If the students were hungry, a snack would hold them until they got something to eat.

  “Poor Bennett,” said André, as I sat down next to him. “I have not been as considerate of his feelings as I could have been.”

  “Me neither. We’ve been too busy coordinating travel arrangements to think of anything else,” I said.

  Nick Dramsdor, who sat a bench away, leaned around Arnold Frasier. “Not on your life are you going to leave the country now. Not with an investigation underway.”

  “If it’s an investigation, are we suspects?” asked Arnold.

  “I would say every person on that plane is a suspect—and should be,” Nick answered, stretching his legs out and crossing his cowboy boots. “If someone contaminated Molly, they’d better find out who, or I’ll kill the SOB myself. Molly was the best of the best. The best this world had to offer. Her work, her work….” He swallowed hard and his voice broke as he added, “Well, there just wasn’t a better person in the world than Molly Jaspers.”

  “No, of course not,” replied Arnold. I’m sure he felt compelled to say something in response to Nick’s heartfelt words.

  Nick half snorted, and the fluorescent light caught his profile just right, making him appear even younger than he was. “What are you saying, Frasier? You hated her guts. Ever since she picked apart your article on the Mayan ruins, you’ve been keen on discrediting her.”

  Arnold’s placid face did not change, but he leaned back as if to physically dodge the accusation. “That’s not true, Nick. Molly and I had quite an amicable relationship at one time, which you would know if you taught on our campus.”

  It seemed to me that the pretty Molly Jaspers had several amicable relationships on campus with men inspired by her passionate causes, but I kept quiet.

  “Bull.” Nick’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Everyone heard you fighting with her on the bus yesterday. Obviously your relationship was no longer amicable.”

/>   Arnold’s placid face crumbled. “We were not fighting. Tell them, Emmeline. We were having an academic discussion. If anyone was fighting with her, it was André.”

  Half the group turned to hear my response. I wanted to stand up for Arnold without standing up for Arnold—in case he did have something to do with Molly’s death. Besides, there was André’s argument with Molly to consider. Out of the two disagreements, his was the more damning. “I can’t say I overheard the entire conversation, but what I did hear was academic in nature.”

  Arnold smiled. “See?”

  Nick was not convinced. “That doesn’t prove anything, Frasier. They’re going to dig into each and every corner of our pasts, and if you have something to hide, you’d better come clean with it.”

  Arnold’s serene eyes turned frosty. He was displaying surprising vehemence. “Take your own advice, young friend. You and Molly seemed pretty close, despite the fact that she was a married woman. I wonder what they’ll make of that little secret.”

  Amanda glanced in their direction, and Nick turned a purplish shade of red. I couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or angry or both. Regardless, I was glad he was a seat away in case fists began to fly.

  “What do you know of our relationship with your pictures and buffalos… and, and ponytail,” Nick ground out. “What kind of guy wears a ponytail?”

  I felt bad for Arnold—and his ponytail. Even the students seemed to be silently questioning his manliness.

  “Nick,” I said, “I’m sure you don’t mean that. We’re all rather edgy from what we’ve been through the last twenty-four hours. Let’s just take a deep breath before we say any more hurtful things we might regret.”

  “Many men wear the ponytail in Paris,” André whispered to me. “It’s the boots—”

  I cut him off with a shake of my head, lest the entire argument begin again. The students were as quiet as I’d ever seen them, agog at the professors’ boorish behavior. Had they ever wondered if teachers had lives of their own, now they knew and were possibly disappointed. Up until today, they’d probably thought they were the center of their professors’ universe.

  Judith Spade had thoughts similar to mine. “Please, gentlemen, keep it professional. We have a responsibility to the students in these unfortunate circumstances; certainly we can demonstrate better leadership in the future. Let’s not let our emotions run away with our reason.”

  Judith’s calm demeanor silenced the men. She smiled briefly at the students, who instantly straightened their shoulders, and then she took a book out of her tote bag and began to read, silently demonstrating how to act like a professor. It was a demonstration Nick Dramsdor would do well to emulate.

  The students began to talk again, in hushed tones. Their talk was a nice respite from the buzz of the lights overhead, and I cherished the little bits and pieces of conversation that reached me. Life went on for them as usual, despite their unusual setting. Friends, work, a new YouTube video—their worlds kept moving. When they got older, they’d see how a crisis can paralyze you. If one of them were posting a selfie from jail with some kind of clever caption dramatizing the current predicament, I wouldn’t be surprised. Though perhaps this was the one situation that warranted dramatics.

  I heard the sound of a door opening, and then Ernest appeared with Bennett behind him. We looked at Bennett expectantly; he looked back at us with sad eyes.

  “Your friends here will take good care of you, Bennett,” said Ernest. “Stick with them until you get back to Copper Bluff.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. It’s good to have friends at a time like this. I don’t think I could be alone right now.” He took a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Thank you for the information. You’ve been a great help.”

  Ernest looked down at his yellow notebook. “Ms. Emmeline Prather?”

  “Here,” I said automatically. Of course I was here. I stood.

  “You can come back next,” said Ernest.

  I walked with him into the room and pulled out the chair across from the detectives. Jack Wood smiled without showing his teeth; Tom Sanders was carefully blank. I readjusted my hard wooden chair, making several tiny noises as I did. It wasn’t a comfortable seat, I thought as I adjusted my scarf. In fact, it forced me to sit ramrod straight. That didn’t really matter to me, though. I had excellent posture.

  “All set?” Jack asked.

  “Of course,” I answered.

  “You are a professor at the university in Copper Bluff. Is that right?” began Jack.

  “Right. I teach for the English Department but am fluent in French. That’s the main reason I was invited on this trip.”

  “So you must know the students and faculty pretty well,” said Jack. He had deep lines around his mouth that moved with his lips, and I found myself wondering about his story. His solemn eyes, for instance, seemed to conceal a secret. Had he been involved in a tragedy that time couldn’t erase?

  “I know André quite well, and Kat. She’s my student. The others I just recognize from campus,” I said. Really, though, I was still speculating about Jack’s life.

  “Would you say your relationship with André is romantic in nature?” asked Jack. Ernest waited, poised with his pen, for my answer. Tom looked on without blinking.

  “No,” I said but felt my brow furrow with confusion. “We’re just colleagues, though he did say he made a reservation for us at the Jules Verne restaurant atop the Eiffel Tower. One can’t help but wonder at his motives there.”

  “Sounds pretty expensive,” Ernest said confidentially, a curly lock of hair falling over one eye. “I would say he’s trying to take the relationship to the next level.”

  “I think you may be right,” I said.

  Tom’s eyes narrowed. Jack tapped his pencil on his legal notepad.

  “Ms. Prather, you mentioned a woman at the airport. Someone with red hair,” said Jack.

  “That’s correct,” I said. “Now there’s a woman worth interviewing. She looked very upset and hostile toward the group… me in particular.”

  Jack looked at Ernest then back at me. “And when did you first encounter this… hostile woman?”

  “Well, I first saw her at the bar in the airport. She was sitting across—” I began.

  “How many drinks had you had?” Tom Sanders broke in. The softness of his voice was startling. Because of his bald head and tough build, I expected the sound to be rough.

  Wary of the subtle accusation in his tone, I answered, “It makes me very anxious to fly, Mr. Sanders. I had a cocktail to settle my nerves.”

  “After that flight to Malaysia, who knows, right?” said Ernest. “A plane can disappear out of the sky and nobody may ever know what happened.”

  I was glad Ernest could relate.

  “One cocktail. Continue,” said Tom.

  I related the woman’s unfriendly behavior toward me at the bar and my subsequent surprise when she proceeded to board the plane. “Amanda, a student, told me the woman thought I was Molly. Amanda told her I was not but pointed out the real Molly Jaspers. Maybe this woman had a grudge toward Molly. It appeared that way to me.”

  “It’s possible, I suppose, but if anyone had a score to settle, it was your friend André Duman. Arnold Frasier said his exact words were, ‘One day she is going to offend the wrong person.’ Isn’t it possible that he might have been that person?”

  My breath caught in my throat. My instinct had been right: the detectives had focused their investigation on André and would find several students who could corroborate his remarks. I wanted to do everything in my power to advocate for André. I was concerned for him and his academic position. His being under suspicion would certainly put the French program on hold, including any future trips that faculty proposed. If he were charged with a crime, it would be even worse. His career would be over.

  “He is just passionate about his native France and took offence when Molly slighted his alma mater, the Sorbonne,” I said. “He has worked so
hard for this trip; he wouldn’t jeopardize it, especially over a silly remark.”

  Jack put down his pencil on top of his notepad. “As a rule of thumb, Molly and André didn’t get along. That’s what we’ve heard.”

  “Well, Molly could be a hard woman to get along with,” I said, leaning forward in my chair. “She was opinionated and self-righteous in her opinions, especially about the environment. She was also very ambitious, and that turned some people off. She probably would have gone on to become a dean or even president of a college had she lived.”

  “Do you know of anyone who might have had a motive to intentionally harm Ms. Jaspers?” asked Tom. His mouth barely moved, and I wished at that moment that my reactions weren’t as animated as everyone told me they were. But I could feel my visage screwing itself into some sort of tell-all novel that was half truth and half supposition.

  I checked my enthusiasm, lacing my fingers together in front of me. It was important for me to keep a professional demeanor for the university, André, and myself. Our reputation and possibly our freedom depended on it. “I can imagine several people wanting Molly dead, Mr. Wood. First, there are the professors Nick and Arnold. Both seemed to have relationships with her that were passionate in nature. Then there’s her husband, who could have been resentful of the aforesaid relationships. Students, too, can become quite bitter about grades, which can affect one’s affiliation with Greek houses and acceptance into student organizations and graduate schools. Not to mention obtaining student loans and angering their parents. A failed class can be a nightmare for any student. And of course there is the lady in red. Very suspicious.”

  “Are we calling her ‘the lady in red’? I thought she just had red hair,” said Ernest.

  Jack watched my exchange with Ernest with a mixture of confusion and dread. Tom crossed his thick arms.

  “Well thank you, Ms. Prather, for those enlightening suggestions. You’ve been very helpful,” said Jack.

  I opened my mouth then shut it. It was hard to believe he was dismissing me after I had laid so many possibilities at his feet. I thought for sure he would want more details. “If you’re certain that’s all—”