Death by Dissertation

by Dean James

  Since then, Wilda had always been friendly to me—maybe I was the only man who had ever said anything to her after one of her little lectures. Even so, I didn’t take any pains to seek the woman out. With her, feminism was more a weapon than anything else. She didn’t mind “exploiting” Lindy and Thelma; if only she could hear the way the two of them talked about her last-minute demands for typing and copying tests with never a thank-you!

  At the moment, Wilda looked more upset than I had ever seen her, and Selena had a hand on her arm in a gesture of comfort. They were oblivious to Lindy, Thelma, and me, and I suppressed the urgings of my finer nature and stayed to listen.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear it this way,” Selena told her. “I had no idea you knew Julian so well.”

  Wilda wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “Well, only recently were we able to get past those unfortunate incidents that clouded our early relationship. Lately I discovered that Julian wasn’t quite the unregenerate sexist I thought, and I was enjoying the revelation.”

  Belatedly, the two realized they weren’t alone, and Selena hurried Wilda out of the room. Thelma and Lindy grinned, and I flashed a smile and disappeared before they could say anything.

  I decided to check out the periodicals room, so I headed downstairs to the first floor. While mindlessly thumbing through a recent issue of the English Historical Review, I thought about Wilda and the scene I had just witnessed. Surely she couldn’t be one of Julian’s women? I had easily subscribed to the idea that there was more than one woman on those tapes. Until Herrera decided to tell us about them—if he paid any attention to the tapes at all—there was no way to know for sure. After our little session with him, I was growing more nervous about the direction of the lieutenant’s investigation.

  I whiled away the time, thumbing through journals and speculating, with little result, on the two murders. The number of suspects seemed to be growing, and it was looking more hopeless all the time that we could actually solve the killings. But we had to, now that Charlie’s will had surfaced.

  At ten minutes before four, I trotted upstairs to the room on the second floor where the Medieval Club held its gatherings. Rob and I sat together at the front to give Maggie encouragement, but once she got started, she needed little.

  Her paper spoke for itself, with a clearly reasoned, succinctly stated presentation of evidence and conclusions. She took a number of questions when she finished, and we didn’t get out until after five-thirty. Rob was too preoccupied to tease Maggie with questions, and she glanced his way more than once, expecting him to say something.

  Ruth McClain had waited to say a few words to her before leaving. Then Dan Erickson congratulated Maggie, and she thanked him with more warmth than usual. Flushed with success, she was happy with everyone right then. Dan made a remark about getting back to work, but he stopped to talk to Bella and Bruce, who were among those still milling around outside the meeting room.

  “May Rob and I treat you to dinner?” I asked Maggie. “You’ve earned it with that paper.”

  She grinned. “Sounds good to me. Let’s go. And then maybe you can explain why you didn’t challenge me on anything!”

  Rob smiled. “How about I was just too dazzled by your evidence and your presentation?"

  Maggie caught something in his tone. “I’d like to think so, but there’s more to it than that, I suspect."

  “We’ll fill you in later,” I promised her.

  Waving to the others, the three of us went down the stairs to the main door of the library. Outside, the air was heavy, as usual. The humidity curled into every opening it could find in my clothes, and it wasn’t long before my shirt clung damply to my body. The late evening sunlight bathed the campus in a mellow light, and the architecture looked its loveliest. For a moment, I imagined that I was walking around Oxford or Cambridge. I returned to the present with regret.

  Maggie wanted to go home and change out of the clothes she had worn to present her paper, and we agreed to meet an hour later at her favorite Italian restaurant in the Village. Rob and I didn’t have to change, so we wasted time at a record store about a block from the restaurant, looking at all the CDs we couldn’t afford, until time to meet Maggie. Resolutely we avoided the subject of Charlie’s will while we ate. When all this was settled, Rob would be able to afford all the CDs he wanted.

  We had a great time that night. Rob and I were both still keyed up over the interview with Herrera, and even Maggie, with her relentlessly logical mind, couldn’t come up with a convincing or reassuring explanation for it. As a consequence, we got a little too merry over our wine, and I decided, around nine o’clock, I should have some coffee if I was going to drive home. Maggie insisted she was fine, and we let her drive off by herself.

  Rob was a little squiffy, though, and didn’t say much on the short ride home. He was singing something under his breath as we walked to the front door. Once inside, he headed for the couch in the living room and flopped down. He patted the space beside him, but I shook my head. I was sober enough not to let the two of us get entangled in a situation we both might later regret. Besides, I was in a hurry from all that coffee.

  I didn’t pay much attention as I went upstairs and through my bedroom to the bathroom. When I came out, though, I realized something wasn’t right. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Then it hit me. I had a TV set and VCR, Christmas presents from my cousin Ernestine, in my bedroom. I kept my tapes—I didn’t have that many—on a small shelf beside the television. I noticed there were several gaps where tapes should have been. Usually the shelf was full, with no room for any additional tapes.

  Someone had been in my bedroom and stolen several of my videotapes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In disbelief, I moved over to the shelf and bent down to examine it. From my hasty inventory, I figured that four tapes were missing. Two of them, thank goodness, were spares that I used to tape occasional programs from TV, so there wasn’t much I’d miss. The other two, however, contained old screwball comedies I’d taped off cable, and who knew when they’d run again. That irritated me almost as much as the fact that someone had broken into my home.

  My blood pressure rising, I went downstairs to tell Rob. He was snoring contentedly on the couch, and I hated to wake him up. But if someone had broken in, the perpetrator might have tried next door as well, although Rob and Charlie had a burglar alarm. Larry and I didn’t, because we literally had very little worth stealing, except for my TV and VCR. Since we both kept such irregular hours and were often home, we hadn’t felt it necessary.

  I prodded Rob, and he stirred. One eye popped open, then focused, and gradually he came awake. “What’s wrong?” He sat up, alarmed by the grim look on my face.

  “Someone broke in while we were gone today and took four videotapes from my collection upstairs.”

  Rob rubbed a hand wearily across his face. “Damn! I’m sorry, Andy. I wonder why they broke in over here?”

  I shrugged. “Just covering both bases, I guess. Whoever it was had no way of knowing that you’d already turned the tapes over to the police.”

  Rob swore again.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He looked at me embarrassed. “You know, I think I forgot to set my alarm the last time I was over there.” He got to his feet, not very eager to go check.

  “I guess we’d better find out, though, before we call the cops,” I responded, following him to the door. “Then we can come back and figure out how they got in here.”

  Rob unlocked his front door and flipped on the hallway light. Checking the keypad inside the door of the living room, he groaned. “I can’t believe I forgot to set it. You’d think I would’ve learned my lesson after the other night when someone tried to brain me.”

  I didn’t say anything, just followed him through the apartment, checking behind him as we went. I stifled a few pangs of envy as we progressed, because Charlie had furnished the place in the way that only someone with a comfor
table bank account could do. There was nothing flashy or ostentatious, but the furniture had that simple look that meant good quality and, more than likely, a healthy price tag as well.

  Rob skimmed over the videotapes in Charlie’s collection. “Looks like a few are missing besides the ones I gave the police.” He laughed. “Whoever got them is going to have a revolting little surprise.”

  We made a rapid survey through the rest of the place, then returned downstairs. As far as Rob could determine, nothing else was missing. The intruder hadn’t even bothered any of Charlie’s expensive electronic equipment.

  “Our visitor,” I announced grimly, “wasn’t too worried about making this look like a burglary. I would’ve thought he or she’d at least take something expensive, or trash the place, so maybe we wouldn’t realize the tapes were missing.”

  “You’re right,” Rob replied. “That is odd.”

  “Maybe whoever stole the videotapes thinks we won’t go to the police, because they also think that you were planning to try blackmail. Or maybe Herrera will think we’ve staged this to divert suspicion away from ourselves.”

  “Well,” Rob said grimly, “someone’s going to find out just how wrong he or she is. And Herrera can think whatever he likes. We’ll figure this out, one way or the other, in spite of him.” He reached for the phone and called 911.

  While waiting for the police, Rob and I returned to my half of the duplex and discovered that the intruder had sneaked into my place through the sliding glass door, which led from the kitchen onto the patio out back. The intruder had entered Rob’s place the same way. Fifteen minutes later, two uniformed cops showed up to investigate.

  The officers, a man and a woman, listened with little interest to our recital of the facts, but their ears perked up when Rob reminded them that this was related to a homicide case being investigated at Rice. Other than making a few pointed remarks about security and promising to share information with the campus police, the two HPD cops did nothing. There probably wasn’t much they actually could have done, but Rob and I were relieved when they finally left.

  By that time, it was ten-thirty, and we were both too tired to talk anymore, so we headed off to bed. I still hadn’t told Rob about the strange scene I had observed in the history department office with Wilda. I was curious to see whether he’d interpret her behavior and remarks in the same way. But as I brushed my teeth, I decided that could wait until morning. We had worried enough for one day.

  That night I was so tired, not even dreams of Bracton’s notebook disturbed my sleep. When I woke up about eight o’clock the next morning, I felt refreshed and ready to tackle almost anything.

  By the time I made it downstairs, remembering to dress completely first, Rob was in the kitchen, making breakfast. A guy could get spoiled by such attention, I thought, especially since Rob was a much better cook than I. If I didn’t watch it, though, I could slip into this too easily, and that might be dangerous in the long run.

  But the old saying about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach had some validity after all. Rob’s fluffy bacon-and-cheese omelets and crunchy, buttery toast put me in a good mood.

  “Where did you learn to cook this well?” I asked, munching contentedly on my fourth piece of toast.

  He regarded me with a smile over his coffee cup. “It’s really not that hard, Andy, I promise you.” He took a sip of coffee. “As for where I learned, I didn’t have much choice. Once I was out on my own, I couldn’t afford to eat out all the time, and I got tired of frozen dinners real fast.”

  I rubbed my stomach. “I guess I haven’t gotten to that stage yet. I can scramble eggs and cook a pretty good hamburger, and, well, I do make good instant mashed potatoes, but that’s about the limit of my culinary skills.”

  “There are a few things I could teach you—simple, easy recipes—and they’re not that expensive either,” Rob assured me.

  “We’ll see,” I said. This was feeling too easy, too cozy, all too soon. I’d be glad when the whole situation was resolved and Rob could go back next door. He was too disturbing a presence to have around.

  To get away from domestic issues, I told him about Wilda and Selena in the history department office.

  His mouth full of omelet, Rob goggled at me. He swallowed before he said, “So you think the Cyndi Lauper of the historical profession may have been one of Julian’s women?”

  I crunched on the toast before I answered. “I know it sounds preposterous, especially when you think about how politically different they were. But that remark she made about enjoying the revelation’ sure sounded weird to me.” I shrugged. “Maybe they weren’t beating each other with whips, but do you honestly believe Julian Whitelock had thrown away fifty-odd years as a confirmed male chauvinist pig just because Wilda’s rhetoric was so powerful?”

  Rob laughed. “No, and I certainly wouldn’t put it past him to con her with some sort of reformed sexist routine, just to see if he could get her into bed. People like her can be so willfully stupid about some things. He would’ve had her electric skirt up over her head before she knew what was going on.”

  I laughed too. “And, despite the weird clothes and jewelry she wears, she is attractive—just his type, I’ll bet.”

  Rob made a face at me. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  I laughed again. “She’s not my type either.”

  “I hope not,” he replied, giving me a sly look.

  My heart beat a little faster. Damn it, after all this time, he shouldn’t be so attractive to me. Over the years, I had tried everything I could think of to erase his image from my memory, and nothing had ever worked. And here he was, sitting across the breakfast table from me, my fantasy made flesh. My head kept telling me “No,” while my heart—or was it my hormones?—kept shouting a defiant “Yes!”

  I had to get away from him. “Just for that,” I said, standing up and drop-ping my napkin on the table, “I won’t tell you how much I enjoyed breakfast.”

  “Right,” he said with a knowing grin. He, too, stood up and began clearing away the dishes, but I stopped him.

  “You cooked,” I said, “so the least I can do is clean up. Why don’t you go get the newspaper, and I’ll join you in the living room when the kitchen is clean.”

  “Sure,” Rob said, frowning a little.

  I sighed as I piled everything into the dishwasher. What was I going to do? He was patient, like a faithful dog with an ill-tempered master. I thought I was managing pretty well, being friendly and supportive, standing by him in a difficult time. I thought he appreciated that, but I got almost constant messages that he wanted something more overt.

  But maybe it was my imagination working overtime. Maybe I was projecting my mixed-up feelings and had both of us confused. Once I had let go of the anger I’d held inside for so long, I felt strangely bereft. The bitter feelings had insulated me, for a long time, from having to care deeply about anyone else, even Jake, with whom I had spent three years a while back. Now that the anger against Rob was gone, I wasn’t quite sure what I felt for him.

  Lust, certainly. He was as physically attractive to me as he ever had been. But I wasn’t interested in a casual affair, just for the sake of sex. I had to admit to curiosity about what it would be like to be with Rob, to make love to him, to fulfill that long-ago, abortive attempt. And maybe that’s all he wanted.

  I slammed shut the door of the dishwasher. I didn’t know what I wanted, and I didn’t know what Rob wanted. And I didn’t really want to ask him right now. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself all over again.

  In the living room, he was sprawled out on the couch, reading the newspaper. I plopped down in my chair and picked up a section of the paper from the floor.

  “What should be on the agenda for today?” I asked as I glanced through the comics.

  Rob lowered the paper to his chest and twisted his head to look sideways at me. “I don’t know what we can do, except just sit here and go over everything a
d nauseam. My head hurts just thinking about yesterday and trying to come up with something to get Herrera off our tails for good.” He sighed deeply. “Or we could be productive and get on with our reading. I don’t think the history department is going to consider playing Frank and Joe Hardy a sufficient excuse for not getting our work done. I know I’ve got piles and piles to sort through before my next session with Ruth McClain. What about you?”

  “Same here,” I assured him. “Not that I’m in the mood for it, though. I guess I could catch up on a few other things, like letters. I need to write to cousin Ernestine, but I’ve been putting it off because my typewriter is acting up. Maybe one of these days I can afford a computer.”

  “You can use Charlie’s,” Rob offered, then realized what he’d said. He continued, his voice flat, “Mine, I guess I should say now. It’s not that difficult. I can show you enough of the word-processing program to get you through a couple of letters.”

  “Okay,” I said, a little reluctantly. I wasn’t afraid of using the computer, I just felt weird using Charlie’s computer.

  “The computer!” he yelled. “How could I have been so stupid?” He was rocking back and forth on the couch, shaking his head.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  Rob got up. “I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been.”

  He headed outside, and I was right behind him. He unlocked his front door and turned off the alarm.

  “What on earth is going on?” I asked as I followed him upstairs.

  He went into Charlie’s bedroom, sat down at the computer, and flipped it on. “Andy,” he said, as we waited for it to boot up, “you won’t believe this, but I forgot all about something.” Sensing my impatience, he hurried on. “Charlie used to spend a lot of time at the computer, even when he didn’t have any papers due. He had some games he liked to play. Plus, he never said for sure, but I think he was keeping a journal.”