Death by Dissertation

by Dean James

  “And there could be something in his journal which would give us a clue as to who Julian Whitelock was involved with.” I finished his train of thought.

  “Exactly,” Rob replied. Then he started playing with the keyboard.

  I had a little experience with computers and word processing, thanks to the university’s computer center, where students could use hardware and software for free, but Rob was obviously more experienced with this thing than I was.

  “There!” he said, pointing to the screen.

  In the midst of a list of files on the computer’s hard disk was PRIVE, followed by DIR in brackets.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “It’s a subdirectory,” Rob replied, playing with the keyboard once more. “That means there are files grouped together under that directory, and when we bring up a directory of the subdirectory, we may see what we want.”

  The directory of the PRIVE—French for private?—subdirectory revealed lists of numbers which looked, after I thought about it for moment, like dates. There were about twenty-five files. If the numbers did indicate dates, I calculated that the files stretched back about six weeks before Charlie’s death.

  Rob turned on the printer, then printed the list of files from the screen. As I watched, he opened up the word processing application. Next he retrieved the text of one of the files, the first one on the list.

  When the text of the document appeared on the screen, Rob and I said, “Damn!” at the same time. There was a meaningless jumble of letters on the screen.

  “If Charlie wrote this, he must have done it in code,” I said.

  “You’re probably right.” Rob called up a second file, which looked just like the first. “Charlie loved word games and puzzles, so he probably had a blast doing this.” He indicated the screen. “And it makes me all the more certain that this is what we’re looking for.”

  At that moment we were both startled by a loud “Yoo-hoo!” coming from downstairs. “Anybody home over here?” the voice called out.

  “Bella!” Rob and I said the name together. What was she doing here at nine o’clock on a Saturday morning?

  Chapter Eighteen

  When I came down into the hall, Bella and Bruce were standing inside Rob’s front door, looking expectantly up at me.

  “Morning, Andy!” Bella said cheerily. “What are you up to?”

  Wanting to know what the hell you're doing here so early on a Saturday morning, I should have said. Instead I said, “Oh, Rob was just going to show me how to use his word processor so I could write some overdue letters.”

  Both of them laughed, as Rob came down the stairs behind me.

  “Sorry to interrupt all the excitement!” Bella found this all terribly amusing, I could see. “Come on, now, Andy, surely you and Rob could have thought of something more interesting to do upstairs than write letters!”

  “It’s not for lack of trying on my part,” Rob said, laughing.

  I blushed furiously, which made me angry with myself, but when I got Rob alone again, I’d tell him how the cow ate the cabbage, as my cousin Ernestine would say.

  “If y’all came by for a visit,” I said through clenched teeth, “why don’t we go over to my place? I think there may be some Diet Cokes in the fridge.”

  “Sure,” Bella said, suspiciously amenable, and she and Bruce followed me out while Rob set the alarm and locked the door.

  I got the two of them settled on the couch with Diet Cokes. I didn’t offer Rob anything. “What brings you over here on such a beautiful day? You look like you’re headed for the beach at Galveston.”

  Both were dressed in tank tops and shorts, but while Bruce’s were the Target variety, Bella’s togs screamed Neiman Marcus. Her days spent modeling had given her expensive taste in clothes.

  “Who wants to go to Galveston?” she asked scornfully. “There are too many people on the beach for me to enjoy myself anymore.” She sat back and crossed her shapely bronze legs. “Besides, our pool is more than adequate for tanning purposes.”

  She probably didn’t mean that the way it sounded, but with Bella, one never knew.

  Bruce looked uncomfortable, as always, when Bella’s lack of tact made itself felt. “It’s just a lot more convenient,” he said apologetically, “even if it isn’t very scenic. Trying to get down the Gulf Freeway on a day like today would be well-nigh impossible.”

  I smiled at his turn of phrase. Sometimes he sounded like one of the nineteenth-century novels he was fond of reading while Bella worked in the library.

  What are Bella and Bruce doing here? I asked myself yet again. I knew Bella’s bump of curiosity was an Everest to my molehill, but this Saturday morning visit was a bit much.

  “Mind if I use your bathroom?” Bruce interrupted my thoughts.

  “No, of course not,” I said. “It’s upstairs and through the bedroom.”

  “Right,” he said and moved toward the stairs.

  The previous owner of the duplex, in his infinite wisdom, had done away with the downstairs half bath and turned it into a big storage closet, so our infrequent guests had to trot upstairs, like Larry and I did.

  But then, I remembered with sudden clarity, Bruce and Bella knew that. They’d been here before. I looked over at Bella, demurely sipping her Diet Coke, and suddenly realized that they must have planned this. I was willing to bet that Bruce was now upstairs looking at my videotapes.

  The question, of course, was why? Why were Bruce and Bella interested in the videotapes? Bella’s only connection with Whitelock was through serving as grader in his survey course. Or was it? I watched her as she and Rob chatted about restaurants in Galveston.

  At least we could exonerate them from having broken into both apartments before, as far as I could see. If Bruce was boldly upstairs at the moment, going through my tapes, that meant he, or they, hadn’t sneaked into my place the day before. But it didn’t get him off the hook for the earlier break-in at Rob’s.

  Bruce came back into the room a couple of minutes later. He picked up his Diet Coke and smiled his thanks smoothly in my direction.

  Bella, believe it or not, had run out of favorite Galveston eateries to recommend, and no one offered a new topic of conversation. The silence lengthened as Bella and Bruce slowly consumed their drinks.

  I was determined not to be the one to speak first, and I silently willed Rob to remain quiet also. I wanted to know why Bella and Bruce had come. They had never dropped by casually before, either alone or together. Was it simply Bella’s curiosity, or was there a more sinister purpose? I was still certain Bruce had been looking through my videotapes, although he appeared innocent as he gazed at me.

  Finally Bella couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “Well, Andy,” she began, “have you heard anything more about Whitelock’s murder? The items in the paper and on the evening news have been so brief, they don’t really tell you anything.” She looked expectantly at me as she set her drink on a coaster.

  I repressed a smile as I answered. “Why should I know more than what you’ve read in the papers or seen on TV, Bella? Do you think the campus police have taken me or Rob into their confidence?” I settled back into my chair.

  She looked uncomfortable, a distinct phenomenon as far as I was concerned, since the woman’s sangfroid was well-nigh—to use Bruce’s phrase—unshakable. I watched her struggle to frame a diplomatic reply.

  She wasn’t the mayor’s daughter for nothing. “Well,” Bella rejoined, “I remember your saying how much you love reading murder mysteries, so I thought you’d probably be following this one. Besides, that detective seemed pretty interested in both you and Rob yesterday.” She shrugged. “If it had been me, I certainly would have asked him a few questions.”

  I had to laugh. “I wish you luck asking Lieutenant Herrera questions. Believe me, he tells you only what he wants you to know.” I smiled primly. “Not that I’ve been asking him questions, mind you. As much as I enjoy reading fictional murde
r mysteries, I can’t say I like being mixed up in the real thing.”

  Bruce started to say something—probably apologetic, I thought—but Bella cut him off. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot,” she admonished. “I was just curious. I wasn’t accusing you of anything.” She frowned crossly.

  Rob tried to relieve the tension. “Both Andy and I—for different reasons— can’t help but be right in the middle of this whole thing, Bella, so it’s only natural the police spend a lot of time talking to us.” He laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. “Hell, I’m their favorite suspect—of course they talk to me.”

  Bruce leaned forward to look intently at Rob. “Are you still a suspect? I mean, with the second murder, surely they can’t think you had any reason to kill Whitelock?” He looked uncomfortable as he continued. “Everyone heard about your argument with him, but if everyone who had argued with that guy was a murder suspect, the police would have to investigate practically the whole campus.” He shot a thumb in Bella’s direction. “Even Bella argued with him that afternoon.”

  That contribution earned him a sour look from Bella.

  Rob laughed, in genuine amusement this time. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but the campus police certainly haven’t told me that I’m no longer a suspect. We don’t know yet whether they think there are two murderers or one. If there’s only one, then I think I’m in the clear, because it seems possible Whitelock was killed when I was here with Andy and Maggie.” He neglected to mention that Herrera had been here during part of that time.

  Bella grinned smugly. “So you do know a little bit more than we do,” she said smoothly. She rubbed the tip of one elegantly manicured fingernail around the rim of her Diet Coke can. “The papers and the newscasts haven’t said a word about the time of death, sis far as I can remember.” She looked at me.

  I returned the stare evenly and replied, “We don’t know the time of death ourselves, Bella, but Maggie, Rob, and I were together most of that afternoon and evening. And that certainly should cover the times when Whitelock was probably murdered.” I smiled grimly at her. “So, you see, we don’t know any more than you do.”

  Frustrated, Bella’s mind went off on another tack. She shook her head. “You know, Whitelock could be a royal bastard when he wanted, but that doesn’t explain why someone murdered him—or Charlie either.”

  “I imagine,” Bruce said, “that the police are searching for some sort of connection between Charlie and Whitelock—beyond the obvious one, of course.” He looked at me in puzzlement. “But how does it all add up to murder?”

  I shrugged, although by now, I was virtually certain both Bella and her tame hunk could probably answer that question it they didn’t have to maintain facades of innocence. Although I was now suspicious of them both, I just couldn’t picture Bella having an affair with Whitelock. Of course, if she had, and her bodyguard had found out about it, he could have killed both Charlie and Whitelock in anger, the former for his blackmail threats and the latter simply because of his affair with the woman I was convinced Bruce loved. If he didn’t love her, surely he could have found another job by now. As stingy as the mayor was, Bruce couldn’t be earning that cushy a living. Only love, I was willing to bet, made Bruce put up with her.

  Bella still played with the rim of her can, running her finger round and round. With her eyes centered on her moving finger, she commented, “There is one good motive, I guess, in Whitelock’s case.”

  Content that she had our close attention, she continued, after a quick glance in my direction. “You know—what we talked about yesterday. The guy simply couldn’t keep his pants zipped whenever he saw a woman he wanted. You wouldn’t believe some of the outrageous comments he would make in class to pretty undergraduates.”

  She looked at each of us in turn, as if expecting one of us to contradict her or to utter some form of protest. When no response came, she smiled wickedly and continued, “But I think he had the sense to confine his attentions to consenting adults, most of the time.”

  Rob shook his head. “So he was having an affair—or was it more than just Azalea, like you were telling us yesterday? From the way you talk, it sounds as if you were keeping a scorecard.” There was a challenge in his tone, one Bella couldn’t resist. Baiting Bella was generally a sure bet.

  “Not really,” she retorted, “but I couldn’t help overhearing things when I was in his office. He wasn’t always discreet. I suppose he thought of me the same way some people think of servants—I was simply beneath his notice most of the time.” She grinned, reminding me of a cat about to pounce on a sluggish mouse. “It wasn’t only secretaries or graduate students he fooled around with,” Bella stated smugly.

  She was bursting to tell what she knew, but neither Rob nor I would give her the satisfaction of asking. Bruce looked as if a dog had peed on his foot.

  Seeing that no one was going to ask what she meant, Bella sulkily continued, “One member of the history department managed to overcome her political differences with him lately.” She giggled.

  Wilda! I was suddenly excited, but I didn’t want Bella to realize the depth of my interest. “Oh, really,” I said, “and who might that be?”

  “Give me a break, Andy!” she said scornfully. “You can’t be that dense. Darling Dr. Wilda Franken, of course.”

  “How do you know?” Rob asked, putting emphasis on the word you. That was always the best tactic with Bella.

  “Like I said, I overheard a few things in his office. Besides, Bruce and I saw them coming out of a restaurant here in Montrose one night during the summer.” She laughed. “They were holding hands—it was so sweet. They didn’t see us.”

  “How do you work an alleged affair with Wilda into a motive for Whitelock’s murder?” I inquired.

  Bella laughed. “Well, you know how those Marxist feminists are, once you get them all riled up. The minute Wilda figured out ol’ Julian was cheating on her, she would’ve been ready to whack him over the head. That woman’s got a temper like you wouldn’t believe.”

  If anyone should know, it was Bella, who had taken several of Wilda’s courses. I imagined that Bella, as dearly as she loved the art of professor-baiting, had had an occasional argument with the volatile Wilda.

  I refrained from pointing out that a hot temper and a broken heart over

  Whitelock’s infidelities were not motives for killing Charlie. The two murders had to be linked, and Bella was either ignoring the connection entirely, or she thought I was dumb enough to let her pull the wool over my horn-rims. Besides trying to get at those videotapes, she and Bruce might have come here to spread the compost around a little and get it out of her backyard. Otherwise, why was she being so chatty all of a sudden?

  “So both Wilda and Azalea were involved with Whitelock?” Rob asked. “Plus I think you mentioned Selena. Anybody else?”

  Bella smirked. “I wouldn’t put it past that Margaret Wilford. I don’t know much, but there’s something peculiar about her that I haven’t quite figured out.” She frowned in irritation. “But she certainly seemed like ol’ Julian’s type.”

  “Oh, and what type was that?” I asked, prepared for some off-the-wall answer. “Blondes with short hair and good figures,” she replied, surprised that I hadn’t unraveled it for myself.

  Amazed, I looked at Rob. Damned if Bella wasn’t right. Every woman in the case—Azalea, Wilda, Margaret, Selena, and even Bella herself—was a blonde.

  “Somebody’ll get it all sorted out soon, I bet.” Bella stood up. “I guess we’d better be going, Andy. There’s a party tonight for my dad, and it’s a command performance.” She patted Rob’s arm rather vaguely as she moved past him in the general direction of the front door. Now that she’d done what she had come to do, she seemed ready to move on.

  “Thank you for the drink,” Bruce said; Bella echoed him as an afterthought. I closed the front door gratefully behind them.

  Rob had followed me, and he laughed as I gave the deadbolt a dr
amatic twist. “I know just how you feel.”

  I shook my head. “What do you think she was after?” I moved away from the door and toward the living room.

  “I’m not sure,” he responded, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if Bruce had a look at your videotapes while he was up in your room.”

  “We’re both getting suspicious in our old age,” I told him. “That’s exactly what I thought too. Hold on while I go up and take a look.”

  I was back in two minutes. “It’s hard to tell, but it looks like he might have pulled a few out to look at. He didn’t take any, though.”

  I reiterated aloud my earlier thoughts, that at least we could exonerate them from having broken into my place the day before. Rob didn’t think the intruder in his place had been either Bruce or Bella, though he hadn’t been in a condition to notice much.

  “Then maybe they didn’t get what they were here for,” Rob said. “By now everyone concerned should have had a look at those tapes and concluded that what they’re looking for isn’t there.” He tilted his head to one side. “Of course, there’s really no way for anyone to tell, since the blackmail tapes look just like any other tape.”

  “Yes,” I said, “so we’re probably not any better off. Anyone who knows about the tapes will think you or I still have them somewhere.” Thinking about that did nothing to cheer me up. I didn’t want anyone else sneaking into my house.

  “There is one thing, though,” he offered.

  “What’s that?”

  “It confirms that Whitelock was involved with more than one woman. Unless it was Bruce who broke in here each time, trying to get a look at the tapes, and I don’t think it was.”