What was going on here? Elena wondered. The Crimes Against Persons budget never ran dry. At least, not that she’d ever heard. “Then I guess we wait for May thirty-first.” She kept her eye on him, expecting him to decide that maybe he could find the money for the calls after all.
Instead Beltran nodded gloomily. “You can make one call — to the Boston police. See if they’ll help. In the meantime go talk to people at the university.”
Eighteen
* * *
Tuesday, May 26, 1:25 P.M.
Leo, enamored with the idea of female engineers, had insisted that Elena take the male professors and he the female, which, as it turned out, gave her more or less everyone, and him more or less no one. Now she wasn’t as irritated. None of her professors at the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque or the University of Texas at Los Santos had ever been as good-looking as Dr. Karl Bonnard, who had thick brown hair that looked as if it had been razor cut by an expensive hair stylist. Frank, when he’d got his hair cut at all, had gone to students at a barber college. He said the results added to his narc look. Elena had once thought the shaggy hair and stubble sexy. How did Sarah manage to keep the coeds from jumping Dr. Bonnard’s bones? Elena wondered. Maybe she didn’t care. The English Department obviously didn’t.
Karl Bonnard responded to her question about the relationship between Sarah and Gus by saying, “He was a talented man, I gather, but not one a sensible woman like Sarah could remain married to for long.” Bonnard gave Elena a smile so serious, so warm, that she felt a sudden avid curiosity about his marital status.
“McGlenlevie was given to pursuing women,” Dr. Bonnard continued, “even girls. Naturally that was a problem for Sarah, but being an engineer, she solved it. We engineers, Detective, are logical, problem-solving people. We see a problem, we solve it. Logically.”
“Perhaps you could elaborate on that, Dr. Bonnard. Dr. Tolland’s solution, I mean.”
“Well, it wasn’t by attempting to blow him up with a snail, if that’s what you’re thinking. Engineers are not given to bizarre solutions. I realize your files will show that McGlenlevie accused her of attempting to murder him with a snail, but I think you can attribute that to bad conscience on his part. Having been such a deplorable husband, he probably expected her to retaliate. Being a poet, he might expect bizarre solutions, passionate retaliations, that sort of thing. But let me assure you that Sarah Tolland, as any of her colleagues will tell you, is not the sort of woman to murder an ex-husband, no matter what the provocation. She did the sensible thing and divorced him. It’s just unfortunate that McGlenlevie stayed on here at the university.”
The man seemed downright indignant on Sarah’s behalf, which was decent of him, considering that they were colleagues, not family. Elena could remember Frank laughing when she complained about her first partner in C.A.P., who hadn’t wanted to work with a woman and took pains to make her life miserable. “You wanted to be a detective,” Frank had said. “Get used to it.” Fortunately for her, she hadn’t had to. She’d moved to Escobedo’s squad and worked so well with Leo that the sergeant paired them off more often than not.
Elena smiled at Bonnard, who smiled back. And what a smile! She’d be willing to bet he’d broken some hearts in his time. And he had great cheekbones and teeth. Elena always noticed teeth, probably because one of hers was a little crooked. Nobody’d ever had orthodontia in Chimayo while she was growing up. You’d have had to go into Santa Fe. And no one had the money, anyway. When Josie, Elena’s younger sister, had wanted her teeth straightened, their father, the sheriff, had said, “You got ’em all. What’s the problem?”
“Sarah,” Bonnard added, “is a fine woman and a distinguished electrical engineer.”
Loyal, thought Elena. Especially considering he works for her. Elena tried to imagine how Lieutenant Beltran would act if she were the lieutenant and he the detective. “Could you give me any idea of Dr. Tolland’s schedule during the last few weeks?”
“Why?”
“Well, the information might eliminate her from suspicion.”
Dr. Bonnard considered her request. “As I am acting chair, I do happen to have information, and I suppose it’s my responsibility as a citizen, as well as Sarah’s friend and colleague.” He flipped a few pages back on his desk calendar. “Her last final was May eleventh. I would assume that she left the next day because — “
“Wait a minute. May eleventh?”
“Yes, Monday, May eleventh.”
“She was here in Los Santos on May eleventh?”
“She would have to have been.” Dr. Bonnard gave Elena such a charming smile that she almost lost her train of thought — that the ticketing in Sarah’s name showed her to have left on Friday, May 8.
“Sarah is not the type to ask someone else to conduct and grade her final, much less assign her grades for the semester. So as I was saying, I assume that she turned her grades in and left on the twelfth. On the thirteenth, Wednesday, she was to present a paper at the national meeting. She’d hardly miss that.”
Elena’s head was whirling. Sarah in town on Monday, maybe Tuesday? That gave her plenty of time to keep the lime boiling. “And after the conference?” Elena asked.
Bonnard looked further in his calendar, stared in thought at a framed photograph on his desk. Elena couldn’t see the picture, although she wanted to.
“Perhaps she stayed over in Chicago.”
“She didn’t.”
“Well then, the secretary can certainly provide information. Sarah always leaves word where she can be contacted when she is out of the city.”
“Unfortunately, this time there is no such information in the secretary’s computer,” said Elena.
Dr. Bonnard’s handsome face registered disbelief. “No address? No telephone number?”
Elena shook her head.
“Well, that does surprise me,” he mused, “because Virginia would have tackled her, if necessary, to get the information. Virginia is very strict with us,” he added wryly. “Of course, it’s easy enough to delete something from the computer — deliberately or inadvertently — if you have the access code, but Sarah would have no reason to do that, and as efficient as Virginia is — well, it would be almost impossible for her to make that kind of mistake, not that the most efficient of us don’t make mistakes.” A quick smile flashed across his face.
Elena smiled back. She liked Bonnard. He was a little stuffy, but he had a good word for everyone — even grumpy Virginia. “Does Dr. Tolland have the access code to the computer in which that information would have been entered?”
“Of course. She’s the chairwoman.”
“Do you know of any confrontations between Dr. Tolland and her ex-husband after the snail incident you just mentioned?”
Dr. Bonnard looked uncomfortable. “Just rumors,” he murmured. “Nothing from my own knowledge.”
“I’d be interested in hearing the rumors,” said Elena with a sinking heart. This man, who was obviously on Sarah’s side, must know something incriminating.
“I’m sorry, Detective Jarvis, but I don’t deal in rumors, and I hardly think you can expect me to. This is a close-knit department.”
“I see.” Elena minded less than he probably thought. “Well, if you think of anything that might be relevant, here’s my card. Don’t hesitate to call.” She passed the card across the desk to him and noted that he touched her fingers as he took it. The contact took her by surprise.
“If it’s not out of line,” he said, looking a little embarrassed, “I think you have beautiful hair.” Then he added with wry humor, “Is that overstepping the bounds between police officer and interrogatee?”
Elena had to laugh. “Well, I don’t usually receive compliments during the course of a murder investigation,” she admitted.
“No?” He looked flatteringly surprised. “Well, then if I may further overstep the line, Detective, are you married or seriously involved with anyone?”
I’ll be damn
ed, thought Elena. He wants to ask me for a date. She’d never dated a college professor. In fact, she’d never dated anyone quite as handsome as Karl Bonnard. Frank looked pretty good when he didn’t have that drug-dealer, dirty-blond stubble on his chin, but he was no movie star. “I’m divorced,” said Elena, knowing she ought to put a stop to this turn in the conversation as she had with Charlie Venner.
“I, I must admit, am separated from my wife,” said Dr. Bonnard. “It’s a difficult period in one’s life.”
He looked depressed, and Elena’s heart went out to him as she remembered the miserable end to her marriage with Frank. “Well, it gets easier,” she said sympathetically.
“I don’t suppose — “ He looked touchingly hesitant. “I don’t suppose you’d care to have dinner with me? I mean if it’s not professionally improper. I’m not a suspect, am I?” he asked. Again the wry smile.
“No, of course not,” said Elena. Her mind skittered in momentary confusion. Would it be improper? She’d love to go out for a change with someone who wasn’t the beer and bowling type. Someone who’d never played a practical joke on anyone in his life. And they did have something in common — failed marriages. She glanced at him. He looked so handsome. And dignified. He was probably lonely; she’d certainly been lonely those first months after she kicked Frank out. She glanced at Bonnard again and thought. Why not? As he said, he wasn’t a suspect. “I guess we could,” she said.
“Tonight?” he asked eagerly. “There’s an excellent new restaurant across the river. Santa Maria del Valle.”
Elena’s eyes widened. She’d read a review of it in her morning paper that said it was very good and very expensive. When had anyone ever taken her to an expensive restaurant? “Why not?” she said. She didn’t have to tell Leo.
Karl Bonnard glanced at her card, evidently looking for an address. “Shall I pick you up at seven?” he asked.
Elena reached across the desk for the card and wrote her address on the back. “The neighborhood’s not too dangerous,” she said. “Most of the residents are over seventy, and there are enough house alarms to discourage the rougher element.” Except Frank she added to herself.
“I know the area,” he said. “Very interesting homes. Well-built, I should think. I’ll look forward to seeing yours, Detective Jarvis.” He glanced at the card again. “Or perhaps you’ll permit me to call you Elena?”
“Sure,” she replied, and then wished she’d said something more sophisticated, like, “I’d be delighted” or “Please do, dear Karl.” She almost laughed aloud at the idea of ever saying, “Please do, dear Karl.” Karl Bonnard, obviously thinking himself the target of her smile, gave her another view of his perfect teeth.
Nineteen
* * *
Tuesday, May 26, 4:50 P.M.
“Leo, I’m onto something.” She couldn’t bear to tell him yet that Sarah might have been back in Los Santos after her Friday departure. Determined to look into it herself, she handed the remaining names on her list of engineering professors to Leo. “You see these people. I’ve got to talk to the secretary.” And Elena, who had hardly been able to concentrate on the interview that followed her visit to Karl Bonnard’s office, went off to talk to Virginia Pargetter, went off to find another piece of evidence to bolster the case they were building against Sarah Tolland.
“Didn’t you tell me that Dr. Tolland left on Friday?”
“I did,” said the secretary.
“But she returned Monday.”
“Not that I know of.”
“Dr. Bonnard says she had a final on Monday.”
“That’s right.”
“What did she do about it?”
“I didn’t ask her.”
Elena wanted to scream at the woman, who had been uncooperative throughout the investigation.
“You mean she may have left the students sitting there in the examination room, wondering why no one came to give the exam, wondering whether they’d get a grade in the course?”
“If that had happened, I would have heard about it.”
“Then what did happen?”
“You’ll have to ask Dr. Tolland.”
Elena gave Virginia Pargetter a look of extreme frustration. Ask Dr. Tolland, who had conveniently disappeared? “I call the registrar’s office to see if she turned in grades? Right?”
“You could do that.”
Without asking, Elena dragged Mrs. Pargetter’s telephone across the desk and picked up the receiver. “What’s the number?” Mrs. Pargetter, with slow deliberation, took a university telephone directory from the lower left-hand drawer of her desk and passed it to Elena. Elena ascertained within minutes that grades had been turned in on Monday for all the students in Dr. Tolland’s class, but that the clerk could not say whether or not a final had been given. “I’ll need the names, addresses, and telephone numbers of those students — here, or at home if they’ve left town,” said Elena, asking herself whether Sarah had to be in town for the registrar to show a Monday turn-in. There might be other ways. Maybe the grades arrived through the mail. No, that didn’t make sense. The final itself had been on Monday. Or maybe it hadn’t. Well, maybe someone else turned the grades in — a professor, a student, a — oh, hell — didn’t it take a while to grade the final, average the grades, fill in some —
“We close at five,” said the clerk. “I couldn’t prepare the list that quickly.”
Elena glanced at the office clock, which read 4:57. Ignoring Mrs. Pargetter’s smug look, she snapped at the clerk: “So stay open. This is a homicide investigation. Do I have to call President Sunnydale and have him call you?”
“President Sunnydale will have gone home for the day,” Mrs. Pargetter murmured.
Evidently the registrar’s clerk didn’t know that, because she succumbed to the threat of presidential intervention. Fifteen minutes later Elena picked up the information at the administration building, after a walk across the campus in 98-degree heat. She discovered that all the students in Sarah’s class lived out of town and had gone home. “Foiled again,” she muttered, knowing that there was no money in the department’s budget for even one long-distance call to see whether Sarah had actually given a final on Monday. In fact, having just put in an hour of overtime on her eight-to-four shift, Elena wondered about the status of the overtime budget.
Twenty
* * *
Tuesday, May 26, 6:37 P.M.
Listening to the evening news as she was driving home, Elena heard the chief of police tell a reporter inquiring about the acid bath case that there wasn’t enough money in the departmental budget to make the phone calls necessary to track a suspect. By mid-June the overtime budget would be gone unless the city council made an emergency appropriation. “Fighting crime costs money,” said the chief, “and money’s what we lack — money and manpower.”
So that’s why Beltran wouldn’t O.K. the telephone calls, she thought, glowering at a Honda that had just whipped into her lane, nearly clipping her fender. They — Beltran, the chief, and the rest of the brass — were playing politics. Showing the city council that heinous crimes would go unsolved without an extra appropriation.
With only fifteen minutes to dress, Elena decided that she had nothing suitable to wear to a very expensive restaurant in Mexico. Bonnard would probably show up in a tuxedo, making her look like the little match girl by comparison. And why had he chosen such an expensive place? To impress her? Make her feel uncomfortable?
Elena took a deep, calming breath and yanked from its hanger the dress she’d worn three years in a row to the policeman’s ball — not because she thought it a wonderful choice; it was her only choice. And if Bonnard didn’t like it, too bad! She was a small-town girl from northern New Mexico, not a big-city fashion model. And why was she getting mad at Karl Bonnard, poor man? All he’d done was ask her out to dinner. Like her, he was feeling lonely after the breakup of his marriage.
Acid Bath Page 11