Scandal in the Secret City

by Diane Fanning

  I hated telling her about it. ‘He used to slip notes to Irene. Someone who worked for her said she was in love and they thought he was the one.’

  ‘But see, you don’t definitely know, do you?’ Ann asked.

  ‘Not one hundred per cent. But it doesn’t look good.’

  ‘But just because he might have been having an affair, doesn’t mean he hurt that girl. In fact, I know he couldn’t have.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ I asked.

  ‘Because Dad couldn’t have gone anywhere on Christmas night – my aunt’s car disappeared.’

  ‘How do you know he didn’t take it?’

  ‘My cousin and I were up late playing Monopoly – the game went on forever. Anyway, about ten o’clock, my dad asked my Aunt Mabel where her car keys were. They both looked around without finding them and Dad went outside. When he came back in, he said that the car was gone. My aunt said that nobody should expect him to go to a meeting on Christmas night anyway.’

  ‘Where was the car?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Who couldn’t have taken it? Do you have an uncle? A cousin? Could it have been your mom?’

  ‘My Uncle Henry and my mom had both gone to bed. I was playing with one cousin and my other cousin had shipped out with the Navy. But anyway, around midnight my Aunt Mabel and my dad went to bed. It was after two in the morning before I landed on Boardwalk where my cousin had a hotel and I lost the game. The car wasn’t there then. It was there the next morning but nobody wanted to talk about it. My cousin and I both asked about it but all we got was: “It’s here now, that’s all that matters.” But it wasn’t there when my dad went to bed so I know he couldn’t have gone to Oak Ridge. He wanted to go, but he couldn’t.’

  ‘Irene came home early on Christmas night. She wasn’t supposed to come back until two days later. But she planned on meeting someone that night.’

  Ann sighed. ‘Probably was my dad. But he didn’t make it. She had to have met up with someone else.’

  ‘Thank you, Ann, for telling me about this. Do you want to come in? I don’t have anything but eggs and spam but I’d be glad to share it with you.’

  ‘Nah. I need to get home. Mom’s already going to be mad because I’m late for supper. She’s been so touchy the last couple of days. I don’t want to give her another reason to get all steamed up. You won’t tell her about my dad, will you? She’ll probably find out if she doesn’t know already. But if you tell her, she might tell me I can’t see you again.’

  I fixed supper thinking about Dr Bishop. I was pleased that there was now a very strong possibility that he could not have killed Irene. But where did that leave everything? Why did Irene say Dr Bishop was named Bill? Is that what he told her? Or did she just make it up to protect his identity?

  And who did kill her if it wasn’t Bishop? Did Irene pick up with someone else when Bishop stood her up? Or did someone just happen to run across her and take advantage of finding her all alone, waiting for her lover? But if they always met at Towncenter, how did she get to the high school? Did they change their meeting place? Or did she know the person she encountered at the usual place? Could it have been Dr Ottinger?

  FORTY

  When I stepped out of the house Friday morning, someone was huddled beside the coal bin. I walked down a couple of steps, and he turned around. ‘Gregg, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I thought walking you to work would be a good time to talk. I reached my cousin last night,’ he said.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I asked her if there’d been some sort of scandal involving a professor last year. She said she didn’t know of any but said if I told her a bit more, she’d ask around. So, I told her what Bishop told you but I didn’t mention Dr Ottinger’s name.

  ‘And she said, “Oh, that wasn’t my school – that was Teresa’s. That’s all she wanted to talk about last summer at the family reunion.” Teresa is my second cousin. She goes to the University of California. I hadn’t heard about it because I couldn’t go to the reunion since I already went up to Rochester at the time. So, I got Teresa’s phone number and talked to her later that night.’

  ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘I asked her the same question and she confirmed the scandal, said it was horrible. One girl left in disgrace – total disgrace. I asked her if that girl was pregnant. And she said, “What do you think I am telling you?” I almost came over after I got off of the phone with her but it was pretty late by then. The time difference out in California made it hard to get hold of her at a civilized hour.’

  Wasn’t Dr Bishop at the University of California? I wondered but didn’t dare say those words out loud.

  ‘I really didn’t want to use names over the telephone line. But I had to know, so I asked her, “Dr Ottinger, right?” And she said, “Ottinger? I never heard of him.” And I asked who it was. She said she couldn’t remember the name off the top of her head. All she could remember, she said was that his name had something to do with church. So I said, “Parrish?”’

  ‘Who’s Parrish?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I just made it up – trying to prod her into remembering. But she said that wasn’t it. So I said, “Chapel?” And again she said “no” but insisted she’d know it if she heard it. So I said it. I asked her, “Bishop? Dr Bishop?” And she said, “Yes, that’s it. Dr Bishop – Marc Bishop if I remember correctly. They said that no female chemistry student was safe around him. There were a lot of other girls besides the one who got pregnant”.’

  I stopped walking and stood still, my mind racing as it sought a way to discredit or minimize what I’d just heard. Gregg went a few steps and then came back to my side. ‘I didn’t want to believe it either, Libby. But there it is. He had several affairs with students. One of them got pregnant. He got into a lot of trouble for that. If he got another girl pregnant maybe this time he’d handle it differently.’

  ‘He’d kill her?’

  ‘That’s what I’m afraid of, Libby. It sure follows the laws of probability. And the simplest solution is usually the right one. It’s logical that whoever had an affair with Irene is the one who killed her.’

  ‘But he couldn’t have, Gregg,’ I said and started walking again.

  ‘Why not?’

  I told him about the vehicle situation on Christmas night and said, ‘See. He had no way to get here when Irene was murdered.’

  ‘Think about it, Libby. If he were planning a murder, don’t you think he’s smart enough to cover his tracks? What if he hid the car earlier and put on that little act. And when Ann thought he was going to bed, he slipped out the back door or a window and went to the car, drove down here, bumped off Irene and drove back?’

  ‘I can’t believe that’s true, Gregg. Marc Bishop isn’t that unusual a name, is it? And there’d be signs, wouldn’t there? I mean, he seems so nice and …’

  ‘I’m having a hard time with it, too, Libby. I think we need to get the group together and try to hash this all out. Someone, like Tom, who doesn’t know Bishop, might be able to show us where our logic is faulty. Or maybe we’ll convince him that Bishop isn’t the kind of man who’d commit murder. I’ll spread the word and see when we can get together. I don’t think I can pull it off tonight. How about Saturday night at Joe’s?’

  ‘It’s too loud there on weekend nights to think and impossible to have a conversation. What if everyone comes to my place – Sunday afternoon?’

  ‘Are you sure that’s wise? It might look suspicious.’

  ‘Nothing is wise right now, Gregg. But it would look less suspicious during the daytime than it would be if all of you snuck into my place after dark. And we’ve got to sort this out. If we reach any strong conclusion, I’ll go see the lieutenant colonel on Monday. If not, we can plan what to do next. In the meantime, I’ll try to get a minute with Ann and find out if they were in California.’

  ‘OK, I’ll see if I can gather all our molecules together.’


  I giggled at the sound of his words. ‘I’m sorry. It just sounded so silly.’

  ‘No apologies needed. I told you it was a goofy, alcohol-induced name.’

  Once again, I worked with an eye on the hallway, watching for Ann. When I spotted her going down the hall, I waited a couple of minutes, hoping to make the encounter appear serendipitous. I walked in as she emerged from a stall. ‘Hi, Ann. How are you?’

  ‘Typing like mad. It seems as if everybody wants a letter sent out today – typical Friday.’

  ‘I wanted to ask you about something.’

  Ann turned a sad face towards me. ‘About my dad?’

  ‘Oh, no. Nothing like that. It was just wondering about your accent. I was talking to a girl about all the different accents around here and she was trying to figure them all out. It made me think about you. I know your family all lives in Tennessee but you don’t have a real definite Tennessee accent.’

  ‘That’s because I moved away from the state years ago and just moved back this year.’

  ‘Where did you go? Up north?’ I prodded.

  ‘No, we went out west. California. Berkeley, California.’

  ‘What were you doing out there?’

  ‘It was because of my dad,’ she said with a smile. ‘He was a professor at the University of California. I thought you knew that.’

  ‘If I did, I’d forgotten.’ I slipped into a stall, hoping Ann would go away.

  She shouted, ‘Talk to you later,’ and went out the door.

  I didn’t want her to say that. I wanted Irene’s killer to be anyone but Dr Bishop. If he was charged with murder, I knew my friendship with Ann would be over. Even if Ann didn’t cut it off, she and her mother would move away from Oak Ridge. I’d never see her again. At least not until after the war. The last phrase curdled. I was so tired of waiting for ‘after the war’.

  At the end of the day, Gregg reported on his progress, ‘The old lab telegraph is working well. Caught up with most of the guys. Me or one of the other guys will talk to the remaining three at the dorms tonight. We’ll all be at your place on Sunday afternoon at two.’

  Each little step in the right direction gave me a good feeling. As usual, everything was moving too slow for my taste – but I had to admit that I always felt that way in my life and in my work for as long as I could remember. I always wanted to charge ahead much faster than the situation would allow.

  When I reached my block, I saw a light shining in my house. Had I forgotten to turn them off that morning? I didn’t think so. Someone must be inside. I stopped on the boardwalk, unsure of whether to go into the house or run for help. I grappled with my emotions by running a quick logic check: I’d told several people to feel free to come in out of the cold if I was not there when they arrived; and wouldn’t anyone with a reason to harm me want to catch me unawares? The light was on. It was not a surprise attack.

  I couldn’t see any flaws in my line of logic but still, I was apprehensive about the reliability of my conclusion. I mounted the stairs with heavy feet and opened the door. Mrs Bishop was sitting under the lamp by the coal stove. Knowing who was there did little to alleviate my anxiety. Our last encounter had not been pleasant. Maybe Ann told her about my suspicions. Maybe that was why she was here.

  Mrs Bishop stood and said, ‘Good evening, Libby. I hope you don’t mind me coming inside. I was getting cold out there on your stairway.’

  ‘I’m glad you did,’ I lied, standing between Mrs Bishop and the door.

  ‘First of all, dear, I wanted to apologize for being in such a foul mood the other night. It wasn’t you. I was rather irritated with Dr Bishop.’

  I wasn’t sure if I believed that, but the couple had had an argument after I’d left. Maybe it was true. I relaxed a bit and smiled. ‘Think nothing of it, Mrs Bishop.’

  ‘That’s not the only reason I’m here. I’m worried about Ann. She’s hasn’t been herself. I don’t know what to do and was hoping you could help me.’

  ‘I’ll certainly try, Mrs Bishop. How about I make some tea for us first?’

  ‘That would be delightful, dear.’

  I went into the kitchen with Mrs Bishop trailing behind me. As she stood behind me, it seemed as if she was constantly moving out of my range of vision. Her movements made me feel uneasy but I pushed that feeling aside, chastising myself for being a nervous Nellie and imagining danger where none existed.

  I was pouring water from the kettle into the teapot when something flew past my face and jerked me back. My throat tightened. The kettle clattered to the floor. Hot water sloshed from the spout scalding the skin on my legs. But worse, I suddenly couldn’t breathe. I tried to cry out but only squeaked the puniest of sounds. What was happening? At first, I had no idea but when I did, panic washed over me.

  Mrs Bishop had cinched something around my neck and she was tightening it more with every passing second. I clawed at my throat, trying to relieve the pressure and kicked my feet back at Mrs Bishop, but she shifted around, keeping me off-balance and unable to land a solid blow. Why was she doing this?

  In the drawer, there was a knife, but I couldn’t reach it. My head was swimming. I had to act immediately or it would be too late. Desperate, I lunged forward, falling on the counter. Mrs Bishop tightened her grip.

  I fumbled open the drawer and felt inside until I found the handle of my biggest knife. I whipped it out and stabbed backwards.

  Mrs Bishop shouted out and fell to the floor. A scarf fluttered down on the linoleum beside her. Mrs Bishop wasn’t moving. Blood pooled on the floor. The knife protruded from her side.

  My head was spinning but I could breathe. I took a deep breath, reveling in it but when I took a step, I nearly lost my balance. I used the counter and the walls to keep upright as I staggered to the front door. Outside on the landing, I inhaled deeply again, trying to regain my equilibrium. I felt very unsteady but my fear summoned sufficient adrenaline to move my feet down the stairs and up the boardwalk. I moved as quickly as I could on my uncooperative, shaking legs. I didn’t stop until I collapsed against the counter at the police department.

  FORTY-ONE

  I wanted to slip to the floor and rest, just rest. But I had no time to spare. Mrs Bishop might still be alive, but she needed immediate medical attention. I heard the desk sergeant say something but his words were not loud enough for me to understand over the sound of my own ragged breath. I pressed both hands into the wooden counter, pushing upward as I gulped for air.

  ‘Ma’am, is someone chasing you?’ the desk sergeant asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, panting between each word.

  ‘Then why were you running?’

  ‘I …’ I inhaled sharply and spoke as I exhaled, ‘I may have killed someone.’

  ‘You killed someone?’

  ‘I don’t know. I left her on the floor.’ I sucked in another hard breath. ‘She was bleeding. I stabbed her. She might still be alive. You need to help her.’

  The sergeant pulled out a form and asked, ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Clark. Elizabeth Clark. But please, you need to get someone to my house to help her.’

  ‘Elizabeth Clark?’

  ‘Yes. But hurry. I don’t want her to die.’

  The sergeant came out from behind the counter, and placed a hand around my upper arm. ‘I understand, Miss Clark. Why don’t you come in here and sit down? I know your work is very stressful.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with my work,’ I said struggling against the tug on my arm.

  ‘Officer Ambrose, could you give me a hand out here?’

  ‘Let me go,’ I insisted. ‘Listen to me. A woman might be dying.’

  I didn’t stop struggling but, with the help of a uniformed officer, the sergeant trundled me down the hall and into a room where they forced me into a plain wooden chair. ‘You stay right here, Miss Clark,’ the sergeant said. ‘I’ll get you help right away.’

  ‘I’m not the one in need of help,’ I objected,
trying to rise from the chair but being firmly pressed down into it.

  ‘Miss, you just sit here. Officer Ambrose will be right outside the door. You’re safe now.’

  I slumped into the chair feeling defeated. ‘I’ll stay here but you need to get someone to my house. You need to get help for that woman.’

  The sergeant and officer walked out of the room without saying another word. And there I sat helpless and confused. What did they think was going on? How long were they going to hold me? Would they send someone to the house? They had to. Mrs Bishop might bleed to death if they didn’t. But why did I care? She tried to kill me. Obviously, she saw me as a threat to her husband, her family. Could I completely blame her for wanting to protect them? No. Not completely. When Dr Bishop killed Irene, he set this all in motion.

  I jumped up and pounded on the door. ‘Officer! Officer! You need to get help for Mrs Bishop. She might bleed to death. Please help her.’

  ‘Miss Clark, you need to calm down,’ he shouted through the door. ‘If you don’t, I’m going to have to handcuff you to the chair. Please don’t make me do that.’

  ‘But she might die …’

  ‘Miss Clark, please.’

  I slouched away from the door and returned to my seat. They must have been told some strange story about me. They were treating me as if I were mentally unstable. I looked for a way out of the room. But there were no windows. No other exits. The only way out was through that door and the officer was bigger and stronger than me. I slumped in the chair and waited.

  Time passed with the speed of an opossum lumbering across a country road. If someone was going to go to my house, they would have been there and back by now. If they’d done that, they would know I was telling the truth.

  I walked over and knocked politely on the door. ‘Officer Ambrose, sir.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘I need to go to the lady’s room.’