Death by Dissertation

by Dean James

  “What did you do then?” Maggie asked, her voice tight.

  Rob laughed, much to my surprise. “Frankly, I was so floored by the sheer gall of the man, I just left. I did remark, as I went out the door, that the police might think differently. He didn’t make any effort to stop me.”

  Maggie’s smile expressed the grim satisfaction that we all felt at the thought of an encounter between Herrera and Whitelock. That unctuous, old-South gentility wouldn’t go over too well with the lieutenant, who had enough steel in his backbone, I suspected, to withstand whatever aristocratic nonsense Whitelock tried to pull.

  “Those tapes,” I said slowly, trying to express an incompletely formed thought.

  “What, Andy?” Maggie asked when I didn’t go on. “What are you thinking?”

  I took a minute before replying, trying to force my thoughts into some sort of order. “Well, say Charlie had already let slip to Whitelock something about the tapes. Then maybe Whitelock talked to the woman, or women; and she, or they would probably have as strong a motive as Whitelock. He could be on the phone right now, warning them, or he could have called them after his argument with Charlie, and one of them actually killed Charlie. ”

  “You’re right, Andy,” Rob replied quietly. “Knowing Charlie, he probably did threaten Whitelock. And I’ll bet Whitelock did, or is doing now, just what you said.”

  Maggie grinned. “That’s good news for us, then. It means, as soon as the police identify whoever’s on tape, they’ll have plenty of suspects to deal with and they’ll leave Rob alone.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. Surely, the more that Herrera digs into this case, he’ll see that there are other people who had real motives to kill Charlie.”

  Rob nodded, his forehead creased in concentration. “I hope you’re right, Andy. I don’t like feeling I’m in a corner.”

  “From what I’ve seen so far,” Maggie observed, “I think it’s going to turn out okay. Herrera seems to be acting in a professional manner. He seemed to take these tapes seriously, and I’m sure, once he investigates them further, like Andy says, he’ll turn up someone with a stronger motive than you could possibly have had.”

  I hoped she was right, but I didn’t think Rob could afford to count on that. We had to be prepared for what might come next. We spent a few minutes speculating idly on the identity of the woman involved with Whitelock, but it was difficult to think of someone—except Azalea—we all disliked enough to imagine in that kind of scenario.

  Then, seeing that Rob was tired—after all, he’d had a pretty eventful couple of days—Maggie and I tacitly agreed to change the subject. We were all hungry, so we piled into Maggie’s car and drove downtown to a Chinese restaurant that had an all-you-can-eat buffet for a price that wouldn’t stretch a grad student’s budget too unmercifully. We arrived ahead of the dinner crowd and spent a good two hours gorging ourselves and talking about everything except the murder.

  Later that night, I helped Rob get settled into Larry’s bedroom.

  “Thanks for letting me stay here, Andy,” he said. “I feel safer here, I have to tell you.”

  “Good,” I answered. “Just try to relax and get some sleep. I think maybe the worst is behind you now.”

  “I hope so!” He moved closer to where I was standing in the doorway. “I can’t believe all the trouble I may be getting us both into, but you’re being a good friend to me, and I appreciate it.”

  At that moment, I knew that if I gave any sign of encouragement, Rob would be in my arms. I could sense the need and the desire in him, and—if I was completely honest—I felt it, too. He had never looked more attractive to me, but I still didn’t quite trust either one of us. I forced myself to turn away.

  “You’re welcome, Rob,” I said, my voice strained. “See you in the morning.” I went downstairs without looking back. I heard his door close softly, and I breathed more easily.

  Concentrating on my book on medieval English land law was actually a relief, after the past two days of emotional turmoil. I read about fifty pages of dense prose and took a few notes, then decided it was time for bed. As I stripped off my clothes and went to sleep, I tried not to think of Rob, so close.

  After a miserable night, I woke up grumpy. I stumbled out of the shower, dragged on some clean underwear, and went downstairs to find Rob singing softly to himself and cooking breakfast.

  Oh, shit! I thought. In my usual morning haze, I had forgotten he was staying with me. I started retreating from the kitchen before he could see me.

  Too late! Rob turned around and a huge grin split his face. “You have changed since the last time I saw you in your skivvies.” He walked over to where I stood frozen in the doorway, and had the nerve to reach out and brush the thick hair on my chest with his hand. “I definitely approve. Tall, blond, and furry.”

  “Thanks,” I said sourly. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Then I ran upstairs, blushing at Rob’s wolf whistle.

  Downstairs again, dressed this time, I told Rob, “If you say anything perky or cheerful. I’ll throw something at you.”

  “Don’t worry, sunshine,” he laughed. “I think I like you better the way you were before, though, for what it’s worth.” For all his good humor, his eyes had dark shadows under them, just like mine.

  Good! I thought viciously, pouring myself a large glass of Diet Coke.

  As we finished breakfast, which I had to admit was delicious, the phone rang. Wondering who could be calling me at seven-fifteen in the morning, I grabbed the receiver from the wall by the fridge. I gave up on getting upstairs in time for “Bewitched.”

  “Hello,” I growled. “Oh, hi, Mama. How are you?” I leaned against the wall, turning slightly away from Rob.

  “I’m doing fine, honey,” she assured me, her voice determinedly cheerful. “How are you? Are you doing well in school?”

  “So far, I’m doing just fine.” I paused. “Mama, how’s Daddy?” I closed my eyes and could see her sitting in the kitchen, her favorite place for talking on the phone, already late for work, but seizing the opportunity to call when she could.

  “He’s doing just fine, too, Andy,” she said. “He’s already out in the fields this morning. They’ve got the last of the cotton to see to, and you know how he is this time of year.”

  “Yes, Mama, I know,” I replied. “Has he said anything about me, well, you know, coming home for Christmas?”

  She caught her breath with a little sob. “Oh, honey, I don’t know. I mentioned it to him, but I just don’t know. Cary and I have been talking to him, trying to get him to see some sense, but you know how stubborn he is. And Joey too. I just don’t know. I want to see you so bad, honey. Maybe you can come and stay with Ernestine, like you did last time?”

  I hated to blight the note of hope in her voice. “I guess I probably can, Mama.” Ernestine Carpenter—Ernie, to her nearest and dearest—was my father’s cousin and probably my best friend in all the world. She was the one member of my family who never let me down. She didn’t even bat an eyelash when I came out to her. I was twenty at the time, and her only response was “I wondered if you knew.” Then she grinned and hugged me, and I felt like I was going to be okay after all. That was before I told my parents, of course. And that’s another story entirely.

  As much as I loved Ernie, and she loved me, I still couldn’t help wanting to spend Christmas in the house where I had grown up. But I guess that was not to be. At least, not this Christmas. Families can be sheer bloody hell sometimes.

  My mother and I chatted for a few more minutes, on less controversial matters, and she told me the latest news about my two younger brothers, Cary and Joey. I told her about some of my classes, but I didn’t mention the murder. And I didn’t say anything about Rob. After we hung up, I pulled off my glasses and rubbed my eyes, which were throbbing.

  Rob had gone into the other room while I talked to my mother, but now he was back. “Andy, are you okay?”

  I shrugged. “Wonderful. As
usual. News from home always lights up my face this way.”

  “I’m sorry. Your dad?”

  I nodded and asked, “Have you come out to your parents yet?”

  He laughed bitterly. “Are you kidding? I think my mother knows, and she might be able to handle it if I talked to her about it; but if I told my father, he’d make your dad look like Mother Teresa.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But my dad’s bad enough, as it is.”

  Rob squeezed my arm. “In time, maybe, he’ll understand.”

  I couldn’t bear to think about my family anymore. I moved away. “Thanks for breakfast. That was much better than my cheap frozen sausage biscuits.”

  “You’re welcome.” If Rob was stung by my abrupt retreat, he didn’t show it.

  I helped him clean the table and stack the dishes in the sink, which took all of two minutes.

  “Now,” I said, “the important question. Shall we ride in together, or take separate cars?” Too bad I couldn’t just hide upstairs all day and watch reruns of old TV shows. But there were things we had to do—and people to face—on campus.

  “Together, if you don’t mind,” he said.

  “Sure. I’ll drive.”

  We arrived at the library not long after it opened. As we stepped off the elevator on the fifth floor, we could hear a woman screaming, somewhere toward the end of the hall.

  We ran in the direction of the screams.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rob and I ran neck and neck down the corridor, our shoes squeaking on the old, waxed linoleum. I had a sinking feeling about the source and location of the screams, now diminishing in decibel level. I pulled up short in front of Julian Whitelock’s office, where his door stood wide open. Consuelo, the cleaning woman, was huddled against the shelves just inside. Her screams stopped when she saw me. I didn’t like the look she gave me. I silently agreed—we had to stop meeting this way.

  Consuelo pointed, and Rob pushed into the room with me. A body lay in grotesque fashion on the floor, the head resting crookedly on the bottom shelf of a bookcase in the back of the room. I nerved myself to step forward to examine the body, while Rob persuaded Consuelo out of the room.

  Whitelock’s office was one of the most spacious on the fifth floor, about half again as big as most of the others. Usually tidy, with not so much as a paper clip out of place, the room now looked like someone had had a temper tantrum, for books and papers lay scattered around the floor.

  I got close enough to the body to place my fingers on the wrist of one out-stretched arm. I felt no pulse, and the skin was cold and lifeless. Whitelock was dead, felled, it seemed, in the same fashion as Charlie Harper. The white hair, always so perfect in life, was matted and sticky with blood.

  I held my breath and stood up. My stomach had begun to lurch. I wanted to get out.

  As I moved cautiously backwards, a shaft of morning sunlight glanced upon something a couple of feet from the body. I peered down at the massive, square, glass ashtray that usually resided on top of Whitelock’s desk. I had never handled the thing, but it probably weighed five or six pounds. The surface around the shallow basin for ashes was beaded, as if it had been made of thousands of little drops of glass. Blood had settled in the minute depressions amidst the beads on one corner of the ashtray.

  The sunlight glinted off the glass again, and I observed something else. The corner opposite from where the blood had collected had been chipped, probably right where the person who used it as a weapon had held it. From what I could see, without picking up the whole thing for a closer look, a little blood was on that edge too.

  Could it be the murderer’s blood? Had he injured himself when he struck Whitelock down? If he had, that would provide the police with a clue. The surface of the ashtray was too uneven to yield any usable fingerprints, or so it seemed to my layman’s mind.

  I was recalled abruptly from my reverie by an urgent hiss from the door.

  “Will you get out of there, you fool?” Rob whispered, his nostrils flaring in agitation. “The campus police are on their way, and they don’t want you messing around in there!”

  I wasted no time in complying. I had become so caught up in my speculations that I forgot where I was.

  “Where’s Consuelo?” I asked as I came through the door.

  “In the office, stretched out on the couch.” Rob smiled grimly. “Just about where I’d like to be myself.”

  “Why? Are you feeling sick?" I gave him the once-over. He did look pale, but then, so did I, probably.

  “We just lost our best suspect in Charlie’s murder, that’s why!” he informed me, obviously irritated that I had overlooked the obvious. “And the police are going to think I’m the number-one suspect in this murder, too!”

  I didn’t have any chance to contradict him, to remind him that he surely had a good alibi, because the campus police arrived then. They were the same two men, I noticed, who had responded to the call when I discovered Charlie’s body. They were looking at me with ill-concealed interest. Clearly, they hadn’t forgotten me. This was not the time to appreciate being memorable.

  I didn’t give them any chance to start making observations about my knack for finding corpses. I grabbed Rob by the arm and started dragging him away. “If you need us,” I informed them politely, “we’ll be in the department office waiting for Lieutenant Herrera.”

  I heard some muttered comments but no clear command to stop, so I kept pulling Rob along with me. I tried to ignore what my memory dredged up from my conversation with Officer Williams a couple of days earlier. If the campus police weren’t worried about keeping us isolated, then I wasn’t going to take it upon myself to remind them of their duty.

  About the time we got near the office door, Bella Gordon, her arms full of blue books, rounded the corner.

  “Morning, guys,” she said cheerily. “What are you two doing up here this early?”

  Rob and I exchanged looks, and we each took Bella by an elbow and guided her into the office with us. Consuelo had disappeared, but all the lights were

  Bella stopped suddenly, jerking Rob and me to a stop. “What’s going on?” she demanded. “Who died?”

  “Why do you think anyone died?” I countered, taken slightly aback.

  She rolled her eyes. “Why else would you be trying out these strong-arm tactics on me? What’s going on?” Then she actually stamped her foot.

  “Somebody murdered Julian Whitelock,” I told her.

  The armload of blue books Bella had been carrying dropped to the floor, and she took an involuntary step backwards. She looked down at the pile on the floor, then up at me and Rob. “Geez!” was all she said as she plopped down into a nearby chair.

  “Are you okay?” Rob asked, stooping to gather up the books.

  I was a little concerned myself, because I had never seen Bella fazed by any-thing or anyone. Had she been closer to Whitelock than any of us knew? She graded for his freshman history class, hence the blue books. But normally Bella had no more good to say about him than she did about many of the other professors. Her tongue was only slightly less caustic than Charlie’s had been.

  “Of course I’m all right,” Bella snapped, coming back to life. “Give me those!” She held out her hands to Rob. “Good grief, don’t you think you’d startle anybody with news like that?”

  While Rob muttered “sorry,” I watched her.

  Bella continued, arranging the blue books in a neat stack in her lap. “The old bastard and I had a knock-down, drag-out yesterday afternoon over these exams. I didn’t get them finished, like he wanted, and he was royally peeved. He was already mad about something else, I could tell.”

  I looked at Rob and found him looking at me, our minds in tune.

  “But I wasn’t going to let him get away with that!” The satisfaction in Bella’s voice meant she had probably given as good as she had received in that argument. “I told the old twit I’d have them here by eight o’clock this morning, and he had to like it or fi
nish them himself.”

  Even Whitelock had probably known when to retreat.

  “What time was that?” I asked when Bella ran out of steam.

  “Oh, I’m not sure.” She waved a hand vaguely. “Maybe around three o’clock. That’s when I was supposed to turn them in, all graded. I showed up a few minutes early, I guess. So, around three.” She favored me with a shrewd glance. “Already trying to figure out the time of death?”

  I shrugged. No need to let her know how interested I was in that information. Bella had seen Whitelock after Rob had visited him, so that should put Rob in the clear on this murder, since he had been with me the rest of the time. But I would have felt more comfortable if I did have some idea of the time of death.

  “What the hell is going on here? Who let you into the office?” Azalea Westover, outraged virtue ringing through in her voice, stood in the door. All three of us turned to watch as she marched in. “Well?” She thrust her face at me. “Answer me! How did you get in here?”

  “Consuelo let us in,” I explained. “This is a rather unusual situation.”

  “What do you mean?” she demanded, her eyes narrowed in distrust. She didn’t like any encroachments on her territory—especially from nonentities like graduate students.

  Why did I always have to make these announcements? Wasn’t finding the bodies enough? “There’s been another murder,” I told her, not caring about the impact of what I had to say. “Someone killed Dr. Whitelock in his office.”

  Shocked into stillness for a moment, Azalea then whirled to face Rob. “You son of a bitch!” she screamed. “You killed him!” Then she slapped him before any of us realized what she was doing.

  The harsh thwack of her hand against Rob’s face stirred me to action. I grabbed her arm, afraid she might try to do it again. She struggled against me, while Bella jumped up, again dumping the exams to the floor. Rob stood there, his eyes widened in shock, one hand clasped against his reddening cheek. He let Bella lead him away as I pushed Azalea none too gently toward her desk.

  “I think you’d better get a grip on yourself,” I told her, my teeth grinding in anger. I felt like winding some of her hair in my hand and yanking it out by the roots. There was no excuse for what she had done. No doubt, she was shocked by the murder, but her reaction seemed over-the top.