(There was nothing to note; we had no clues at all.)
‘Well, that didn’t get us very far, did it? I’m ready for some tea.’ I stood and stretched, dislodging Emmy, who protested bitterly.
‘So am I, but I think you’re being overly pessimistic, love. We’ve cleared the decks. Now we can work out a plan of action.’ Alan gently lifted Sam from his lap and followed me to the kitchen. ‘Derek is working in a number of directions, those areas where the police organization can do much more than we can on our own. But let’s not forget where you, in particular, excel: talking to people. You have a disarming way of encouraging people to tell you things.’
‘But I’ve been talking to all sorts of people, and haven’t learned much of anything.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. You’ve learned about the grudges against Chandler, and the possible blackmail, and the budget kerfuffle. I’d say it’s time to go back and talk some more and see what you can nose out.’
‘But term has begun. None of the staff have much free time.’
‘There’s one person who has a great deal of time on her hands. And who knows more about the inner life of an organization than—’
‘The secretary! Of course. I could go and talk with Mrs MacInnes. Maybe I could offer to drive her to the hospital to visit David.’
‘And I could come along, and stay with young Bruce. Don’t look so sceptical. He sounds an engaging child, and don’t forget I have grandsons. I’ll manage quite well.’
The kettle had boiled by that time, and we sat down to our tea. ‘It’s too late today,’ I said, ‘and besides, I want to talk to Dennis about what help we might be able to give her. I’m sure Gillian will have his phone number, so when she gets home, I’ll be able to call him. And that reminds me, I wanted to make a pie for dinner, so I’d best get at it.’
As I rolled out pastry, I remembered the first time I had tasted an apple pie in England, at an upscale pub in Cambridge. My husband had had an evening lecture, so I was on my own, and found a likely-looking establishment and ordered what sounded like a typical American meal: steak and a baked potato and apple pie. Everything sounded familiar, but was in fact entirely different. The steak was the tenderest I’d ever eaten, and the tastiest. The waiter explained something I didn’t quite understand about the way meat is aged. The potato was, of course, not an Idaho, and was waxy, not mealy. And the pie was made, also of course, with English apples, so much tarter than the American ones I was used to that I had to lift the crust and sprinkle on sugar.
I put a lot of sugar in the pie I was concocting, and hoped that Gillian would like it. I knew Alan would; he’s become accustomed to my cooking.
Gillian was not destined to eat it, however, or at least not for dinner. She phoned shortly after I’d put it in the oven and said she’d be working late and would snatch a bite at Starbucks.
‘I’ll save something for you. You can put it in the microwave when you get home. And while I have you on the phone, do you have Dennis’s phone number? I know it’s no good calling the office there, with no secretary.’
‘They’re going to have to find someone soon. It’s absolute chaos with no one to sort things out! I’ll just find … yes.’ She gave me the number.
‘Is he working late, too, or will he be at home this evening, do you know?’
‘He’s left the building. Of course I don’t know what his plans are for the evening.’
She said it so primly I was sure she had a good idea of his plans, and didn’t altogether approve. I wondered again about him and Amy MacInnes, but I didn’t think it was a good idea to discuss it with Gillian. ‘Well, then, I’ll just have to take my chances. Gilly, will you phone us when you need a ride home? It’s much too far to walk, and this rain isn’t ever going to stop, looks like.’
‘Oh, someone will take me home. Don’t worry.’
‘Gilly, I hate to remind you, but someone at that school is doing some very nasty things, and we don’t know who it is. I know you want to be independent and don’t want to be a bother and all that, but please say you’ll call us.’
She agreed reluctantly and I went back to preparing dinner, a quick chicken casserole that could be served almost any time.
As I slid it into the oven I had a thought. I picked up my phone.
‘Dennis? This is Dorothy Martin. I hope I’m not interrupting your meal. Oh, good. The thing is, Alan and I have a few questions for you, mostly about Mrs MacInnes and her boys. We’d like to help, but we’re not sure if she’d be offended. We wondered if you’d like to come over for a drink and some dinner, and we could talk about it. Well, yes, now if you can manage it. I know it’s very rude to give you such short notice, but … oh, lovely. We live in Monkswell Lodge, at the end of the street by the gate … oh, you know it. Good. And you can park in front of the garage. We’ll see you soon, then.’
I went to tell Alan we were having a dinner guest, and that Gillian wouldn’t be with us till late.
‘Ah. I’d better see if we’ve enough whisky.’
‘And if you have to go get some, pick up some white wine while you’re at it. We’re running a little low.’
He decided to play it safe, and had just returned from his errand when the doorbell rang.
Alan replenished the fire, we settled with drinks, and I wondered how to begin. Dennis took the initiative.
‘I suppose you were shocked to see the way Amy lives,’ he said.
‘I was upset, certainly. No one should have to live that way. I do admire her greatly for the way she’s bringing up the boys. Even poor David, as awful as he must have been feeling, was well-behaved, and I fell in love with Bruce. But I can see the toll it’s taking on her.’
‘Yes. She’s aged ten years since she left the college. And you wonder why I’ve done nothing about it, since plainly we’re friends.’
‘I don’t know that I thought about it at all,’ I said, somewhat less than truthfully, ‘but now that you mention it, I suppose she won’t let you. And I suppose she won’t let us help, either, but I’d certainly like to try.’
‘You think I haven’t tried? I’ll answer the question you haven’t asked, too. No, we’re not lovers. I love her, but not that way. I’ve never married, you see, so I never had a daughter. If I had, I’d want her to be just like Amy. Strong, intelligent, kind …’ He became very interested in his glass of Glenfiddich.
‘Oh, dear. Then there’s probably nothing we can do. Except, she must get lonely sometimes. I mean, she can’t really go anywhere with two young children and no money, and that flat is so dark and dreary. If I were to visit now and then, do you think she’d like that?’
‘I’ll ask. But I’ll tell you what would be the most help. Find out what’s going on at the college, so we can go back to normal and give her job back to her!’
TWENTY
We talked of other things over dinner. I felt that Dennis couldn’t take much more talk about Amy without breaking down, and men get so upset about showing emotion. Especially Englishmen. The ‘stiff upper lip’ cliché holds a good deal of truth.
When he’d absorbed chicken and vegetables and was starting on his second piece of apple pie, though, I thought it might be safe to get back to part of our problem.
‘I’ve wondered what the college is doing about Matt’s classes until he comes back,’ I said, passing the cream.
He poured a good dollop of it on the pie. ‘If he comes back,’ he said. ‘That lad’s in some sort of trouble, or he’d never stay away. He’s the best artist at the college, and that’s counting myself in. The students are at loose ends, and upset, because they’re not learning anything. Our students are serious about what they do, and they’ve paid for instruction they’re not getting. And I’m upset about Matt.’
‘He’s been very unhappy,’ I said. ‘You don’t think he’s …’
‘Done away with himself. No, I don’t. For one thing, he’s a churchgoer, and the Church frowns on suicide.’
‘I hope yo
u’re right, but I do wish the police would find him. I can’t help wondering, with all the dreadful things that have been happening, if he’s been hurt or – or killed. Dennis, did you see the print studio before they cleaned it up?’
‘No. I’ve been told it was frightful.’
‘It was beyond frightful,’ said Alan, who had been listening intently. ‘It was savage. I said at the time that it was a murderous attack, though the victim wasn’t a human body, but his soul. I think someone went in there intending to kill Matthew Thomas, and when he wasn’t there, the murderer killed the centre of his life and work.’
Dennis was shaken. ‘That means,’ he said slowly, ‘that there’s a madman at large in our college.’
‘I’m sorry to say that I think it does mean exactly that. That’s why Gillian is staying here for the time being. If she hasn’t told you about some disquieting incidents, I won’t betray her trust, but I think it possible that she could be a victim, too.’
‘The phone calls? She’s told me. She won’t give me her new phone number. She said she was told not to let anyone know. But why would anyone want to harm Gilly? She’s not been at the Wolfson for long enough to create any ill will.’
‘And she’s not that kind of person anyway,’ I said. ‘I can’t imagine anyone hating her. And speaking of Gilly,’ I added, looking into the kitchen at the clock, ‘she surely should have called by now. I took her to school this morning and made her promise to call us to pick her up. She was working late.’
‘Not this late,’ said Dennis, and tension suddenly filled the room.
I pulled out my phone, found her number under the alias I’d chosen, and punched it in.
It rang and rang and finally went to the canned ‘not available’ message.
‘Right,’ said Alan, getting to his feet. ‘Dennis, do you want to come with us or follow?’
‘I’ll follow, or rather lead. See you there.’ He was out the door.
Watson, who had stayed courteously in the parlour while we ate, appeared and whined a little, sensing our disquiet. ‘Alan, let’s take him along. Because we don’t know …’
He nodded and went to get the car out.
We didn’t speak on that short ride to the campus. Watson, in the back seat, whined now and then. I was feeling the same way.
Alan ignored the parking regulations and left the car behind the Fine Arts building, in the dock area. The rain had diminished to a steady, persistent drizzle. Watson was soaked by the time we found an open door, not on the dock this time, but one of the side doors. He shook himself energetically when we got inside, and for once I didn’t care.
Dennis was nowhere in sight. The building was dark save for an occasional corridor light. I took Alan’s arm with one hand and Watson’s leash with the other, and kept a firm grip of both. ‘Where are we?’ I whispered. Watson whined.
‘I don’t know. This confounded building! I wish we’d brought something of Gilly’s. Watson might be able to find her.’
‘Oh! I have a scarf. She left it in the car this morning, and I put it in my pocket to return to her. Not as good as a shoe or sock, but something.’ I handed it over.
Alan took Watson’s leash and held the scarf to his nose. ‘Find Gilly, old boy. Find Gilly!’
Now Watson is a spaniel mix, mostly mix. He’s no bloodhound. He has no training in search procedures. But like all dogs, he has a nose that’s something like a thousand times more sensitive than anything we paltry humans can claim. Once before he had helped us find someone, and I was hoping that this time he’d come through.
We could have roamed through that building calling Gilly’s name. Somehow I didn’t want to. There was a feeling about the place … I wished Dennis would show up.
Watson showed no signs of following a trail. He stood there, looking up at Alan as if to question what he was supposed to do. ‘Right,’ said Alan quietly. ‘Let’s try to find the main corridor. That’ll take us to the sculpture studio.’
On the maze principle – when in doubt, turn left – we eventually found it. We also found Dennis, waiting for us by the front door in an agony of impatience.
‘Where have you been?’ He didn’t bother to keep his voice down. ‘I’ve been all over the studio. She’s not there.’
‘Did you see her rain gear anywhere?’ I, too, spoke in a normal voice. It felt wrong, in that dark, silent place, but if Dennis thought it was okay, I supposed it was.
‘Didn’t look. I’ll see.’
He led us at a near-run to the niche where coats were hung. There was Gilly’s waterproof, bone dry. Her umbrella was propped in a corner, barely damp. ‘She hasn’t been out at all today,’ I said, stating the obvious. ‘She’s here somewhere.’
Dennis gave voice to a full-throated roar. ‘GILLY!’
Watson quivered. Somewhere in the vast building footsteps pounded down a stair and a door banged shut.
The humans looked at each other. Watson gave one short, sharp bark.
‘Oh, Watson,’ said Gilly’s voice, followed by Gilly, coming out of the stairwell.
Watson trotted over to meet her, quivering with joy. She patted him and spoke love words, but then gently pushed him aside. ‘I almost had him,’ she said. ‘And then you all charged in and he ran away.’
‘Almost had who?’ I asked ungrammatically.
‘I don’t know.’ She ran her fingers through her long hair, which was dishevelled, with clay stuck here and there. ‘The one who’s been doing all these dreadful things. I heard him in the photo studios. I thought it must be Sam, because what student would be here this late? Somehow, though, I didn’t like to call to him.’
‘It’s spooky in here at night,’ I agreed. ‘You want to watch your back.’
‘Exactly. Especially with all that’s been happening. And anyway one never opens a darkroom door without permission. So I crept up the stairs and saw that the safe light was on in one of the darkrooms – the red light, you know?’
I nodded.
‘But the door was open, which was all wrong. I saw someone in there, throwing things about. Then I knew it couldn’t be Sam, so I waited in a dark corner. I thought when he came out I’d recognize him, and then we’d know.’
Dennis couldn’t contain himself any longer. ‘Damn it, girl, have you no sense at all? This chap is a murderer! If you could see him, he could see you! The Lord alone knows what he’d have done to you. Why didn’t you call for help? Is your mobile dead? Or is it your brain?’
She put her hand on his arm. ‘Don’t you see? If I’d used the mobile, even in a whisper, he could have heard me. I wanted to catch him.’
‘But I called you, just a little while ago. You didn’t answer, but the man must have heard it ringing. That would have told him there was someone else in the building.’
‘I’d turned it to mute earlier, when classes were going on, and forgot to turn it back to normal. Fortunately, in the event.’
‘Next time,’ said Alan, ‘if there is a next time, speed-dial the number I’m going to give you. It’s a direct line to Derek Morrison, who’s investigating this series of crimes. You met him.’
She nodded.
‘You don’t have to say a word, just keep the line open. He’ll know who it is, and that it’s an emergency, and he’ll be here at the double.’ He watched her program in the number he recited. ‘Now, shall we go and see what damage has been done? Don’t go into the darkroom, and don’t touch anything.’
We went soberly up the stairs, my hand on Watson’s leash. The last thing we needed was a dog blundering into a crime scene.
Alan used his pen to flip a light switch in the outer studio, and we stood around the darkroom door.
It wasn’t as bad as the print studio. There was less space to work with, for one thing, and fewer destructible objects. But it was bad enough.
The vandal had pulled photographic paper out of the lightproof container and scattered it about the floor. He had poured out the contents of some of the bottles. Ther
e was an overwhelming reek of hypo mixed with other noxious odours.
‘Stand back,’ said Alan sharply. ‘Well back. Dorothy, get Watson out of here. And open all the windows, someone. That’s potassium cyanide he’s spilled, among the rest.’ He took out his phone and called Derek. ‘There’s been another,’ he said when he was connected. ‘A darkroom this time. Cyanide spilled on the floor, and mixed with something acid. Yes, of course. Right.’
He put the phone back. ‘He says we’re to clear out and lock the doors behind us. I’ll leave the windows open for ventilation. We’re on the first floor here; no one can get in that way. Check your shoes. Anyone step in anything?’
All our shoes were dry, or at least only damp from our sojourn in the rain. Anxiously, I checked Watson’s feet, but they were nearly dry, thank goodness.
I was glad to go with all the others down to the main floor. It was good to escape the sights and smells of that ruined darkroom, but I couldn’t banish them from my mind. I kept thinking of how my first husband would have reacted to a scene like that, and the thought made me shake.
‘Alan, did you notice the enlarger?’
‘I know very little about photographic equipment, love.’
‘The lens. The lens and its mount. They were lying on the floor, shattered.’
He took my trembling hand and held it firmly. ‘We’ll get him, my dear. We’ll capture him. Don’t worry.’
I went on worrying, but I was somewhat comforted.
TWENTY-ONE
The four of us – well, five counting Watson – huddled together near the front door, too shaken to say much. As soon as the police got there, the atmosphere changed. For one thing, they switched on lights everywhere, and the pervading gloom was conquered. The air of competent purposefulness helped as much. These men and women were clearly professionals who knew what they were doing and knew they were good at it. Derek issued a few brief orders and then came over to talk to us.
‘Is there a place where we could sit?’ he asked Dennis. ‘Perhaps with coffee?’
The Gentle Art of Murder Page 16