Acid Bath

by Nancy Herndon

  In a town whose water resources were dwindling alarmingly, Sarah wondered how long the university could maintain this green enclave in the desert. Surely the environmentalists, if not the water district, would complain when the rest of the city was turning brown under water rationing, and Herbert Hobart, because of its huge endowment and private wells, was sprinkling madly and blooming.

  In her reserved chairman’s space, Sarah parked her BMW, which she had bought as a sort of congratulatory gift to herself on the occasion of her divorce. She turned off the ignition, edged out, skirt tucked decorously around her knees, locked the door, and strode into the Engineering building.

  “Virginia.” She smiled at her secretary. “I haven’t heard a word from you. Have things been going so smoothly? Bonnard been cooperating, has he?”

  Virginia’s lips, never given to wide or even minor smiles, tightened into a grim line. “I had no telephone number for you after you left Chicago. I didn’t even know when you’d be returning.”

  “Of course you did,” said Sarah. “I left you my brother’s Boston number — and my date of return, although I’m back early.”

  “The information is gone,” said Virginia, “and no matter what anyone says, I didn’t accidentally delete it from the computer.”

  “Well, goodness, unless every hard disk in the department crashed, the loss of a telephone number and date is no major disaster. What was the problem?”

  “We’re being sued,” said Virginia.

  “Sued?” Sarah’s eyebrows rose. The average annual income of a Herbert Hobart parent was above six hundred thousand dollars. The parents could afford to, and did, sue on occasion, but Harley Stanley, the world’s most tactful and enthusiastic vice-president for academic affairs, had been known to turn a law suit into an endowment. “Did you call the vice-president’s office?”

  “I did, but these parents are being particularly unpleasant. They say that Dr. Radna Ramakrishna unfairly gave their daughter a D in the main-frame course.”

  Sarah nodded. “Is Dr. Ramakrishna in the building?”

  “No, she’s in India. Do you want her telephone number?”

  “Not really,” said Sarah. “Why should I bother the poor woman because some not-too-bright spoiled rich girl got a D in main-frame? Did Radna leave her grade books and make a deposition to the university attorney before she left?”

  “She did.”

  “Good. Any more departmental problems? No? Is this my mail?” Sarah had scooted into her office to pick up the waiting pile, which she stuffed into her briefcase. “I’m going home now, Virginia,” she said, already anticipating a long soak in her bathtub. “Anything else can wait until tomorrow.”

  “But Dr. Tolland,” Virginia called after her, “this Detective Jarvis has been calling. They made me promise — “

  “I’ll call her when I get home,” Sarah interrupted as the office door closed behind her. Air travel made her feel grimy and out of sorts. She’d have a bath, a light dinner, and an early night. It sounded heavenly.

  Twenty-two

  * * *

  Wednesday, May 27, 5:45 P.M.

  Sarah took a leisurely bath, then microwaved a pasta salad which she ate with French bread and a glass of white wine while she looked through her office mail and listened to messages on her answering machine: six click-offs, two aluminum-siding salesmen, several out-of-work gardeners (didn’t any of these people know she lived in an apartment?), and a light-bulb salesman for the blind; one call from Gus, the first on the machine, two calls from Elena, and one from Virginia telling her to get in touch with the office because they needed her post-Chicago telephone number. Damn, thought Sarah, why didn’t I call to check the machine? The only call she returned was Elena’s.

  “Hi. This is Sarah. You wanted to get hold of me?” There was a silence into which Sarah asked, puzzled, “Did you want me to pick you up for the support group tomorrow?”

  “Sure.” Another pause at Elena’s end. “Listen, Sarah, you mind if I come over tonight?”

  Sarah was surprised. “Well, not if you make it fast. I was planning to go to bed. I find air travel exhausting, and the trip from Boston is a long one.”

  “Boston?”

  “Yes, I was visiting my brother. I’m sure I mentioned it.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Elena. “Look, I’ll be over in twenty minutes, O.K.?”

  “All right,” said Sarah, glancing at her watch. It was seven. If Elena didn’t stay too long, she could be in bed by eight.

  “You heard about Gus?”

  “Gus? No. What’s he done now?”

  “Oh, well, I’ll tell you about it later.”

  Sarah hung up, briefly considered staying in her bathrobe, rejected the idea, and went into the bedroom. Within five minutes she was wearing pleated slacks, a narrow leather belt, and a silk blouse. She combed her hair and returned to the living room to go through the mail she’d collected from her box downstairs — bills, catalogues from computer companies, the usual array of solicitations from NOW and Planned Parenthood. She could make out the checks tomorrow. Magazines. Opening a copy of the New Yorker, she settled down to wait for Elena.

  Twenty-three

  * * *

  Wednesday, May 27, 7:05 P.M.

  Elena felt a moment of acute discomfort as she punched in Leo’s telephone number. She hadn’t faced until now just how terrible she was going to feel when Sarah realized that Elena viewed her as a suspect in Gus’s murder. I as good as lied to her, Elena thought. I’m not going over there for a friendly chat. I’m not even going by myself. “Leo, she’s back.”

  “Listen, I got two steaks on the grill, one I paid for, and two hungry neighbors salivating on the patio, not to mention my wife. Who’s so important — ?”

  “Sarah Tolland. I think we should get over to her place right now.”

  “Well, shit,” said Leo.

  Elena could hear Concepcion in the background, making remarks about how much steak would be left if he took off before he finished cooking it.

  “The one steak we’ll have this month,” he muttered, “and I won’t get a bite.”

  “I’ll buy you a taco after we’ve had our conversation with Sarah.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” said Leo. “I’ll pick you up.”

  “O.K., but hurry. I told her I’d be there in twenty minutes. She said she wanted to get to bed.”

  “So we’ll roust her out.”

  After thirty minutes, which Elena spent dreading the confrontation to come, and Leo complaining about missing his own B.Y.O.S., bring-your-own-steak, party, the two detectives pulled into the parking lot of the faculty apartments. Here she’d parked to investigate the exploding snail and later when she’d been an invited guest at Sarah’s place. Here she’d parked the night they found Gus’s bones in the tub. Elena sighed as the red doors of the elevator slid closed.

  Two minutes later Sarah opened the door, laughing. “You’ve got to look at this,” she said, handing over a New Yorker cartoon. Then she noticed Leo, looming behind Elena. “New boyfriend?” she asked.

  Sarah seemed almost lighthearted, and Elena found the mood disconcerting. “This is my partner, Leo Weizell,” she mumbled.

  A little frown flitted across Sarah’s smooth forehead, but she shook hands with Leo and invited the two of them in. “Well, look at the cartoon,” she said. “You’ll love it.”

  Dutifully Elena looked at the cartoon, which was funny, although she didn’t feel much like laughing. “Sarah, Gus is dead.”

  Sarah looked at her blankly. “Gus McGlenlevie?”

  “Right.”

  “I don’t believe it,” said Sarah, her voice now level and matter-of-fact, her smile gone. “The one thing you can say for Gus, maybe the only thing, is that he’s healthy.”

  “He was murdered.” They were both watching her closely.

  “You’re not serious!”

  To Elena, Sarah looked convincingly flabbergasted as she dropped into one of her
brown silk chairs. “Murdered? By whom? Some husband? Or an irate boyfriend?”

  “Or an ex-wife?” said Leo.

  “What ex-wife? I’m the only — “ Sarah turned pale. “You can’t think — “ She turned to Elena. “I haven’t even — I’ve been out of town.”

  “He’s been dead for some time.” Elena hated this. Sarah looked so bewildered.

  “But he’s on my answering machine.” Sarah gestured toward the machine on the end table. Leo immediately went to take the tape out.

  “Look, Sarah, we’re going to have to ask you to come down to headquarters.”

  “Am I really a suspect?” she asked wonderingly.

  “At this point, ma’am, everyone connected with the late Mr. McGlenlevie is,” said Leo.

  Sarah stared at him searchingly. “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “If you want a lawyer, ma’am, we can certainly wait while you call one.”

  “But do I need a lawyer? Are you, for instance, going to read me my rights?”

  “At this point,” said Elena, “we just want to ask you some questions, Sarah. You can understand that we have to, given that snail complaint on our books.”

  “Snail? Surely he wasn’t killed by a snail!” she exclaimed. “You haven’t said how he was killed. And I haven’t said how bizarre I find this visit. I don’t understand why your questions can’t be asked here.”

  The questions couldn’t be asked in Sarah’s apartment because Leo had called Lieutenant Beltran, who wanted to observe the interrogation from behind the one-way glass at the station. Because he doesn’t trust me, not on this case, Elena reflected gloomily. Maybe not ever. And if my superiors don’t trust me, my career is down the toilet. Everything she’d been afraid of was coming down on her because she was a cop with divided loyalties. And because the thought of doing her duty made her miserable.

  “It’s better to do it at headquarters, ma’am,” said Leo. “If you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind,” said Sarah wearily. “I don’t even understand.” She rose and picked up her handbag. “How long do you think this is going to take?”

  Leo shrugged, and Elena hunched her shoulders uncomfortably as Sarah gave her an accusing look, which Leo caught. “I’d better take my own car,” Sarah muttered, poking through the mail on the coffee table in search of her keys.

  “You can ride with us,” said Elena.

  Sarah glanced at her quickly, alarmed.

  “And of course, you’ll be given a ride home.”

  “Ah.” Having located the keys, Sarah put them in her purse, and they left. “You haven’t said how he died.”

  “A blow to the head.”

  “And when?”

  “Let’s just wait till we get to headquarters.” After that the ride continued in silence, Sarah sitting in the back seat, Elena in front, Leo driving. The two attempts Sarah made at normal conversation had to be met with reticence because Elena was afraid that anything she said would anger Sarah or raise Leo’s suspicions.

  They took her through the side door and into C.A.P.’s nonthreatening lineup and interrogation room. Sarah glanced around and headed for the blue polka-dot Early American sofa. She sat, leaning against the arm, her back almost turned to the one-way window on the right side of the room. Elena and Leo exchanged glances.

  “Why don’t we sit here around the desk, Mrs. McGlenlevie?” Leo suggested.

  Sarah gave him a cool look. “Dr. Tolland or Professor Tolland will do,” she said. “I never took Gus’s name during the marriage, certainly not afterward. Are suspects not allowed to sit on the comfortable furniture?” The rest of the room was utilitarian, a desk, a number of armless brown vinyl chairs, two wall-mounted blackboards, and the large dark window that concealed a narrow room where officers could see and hear a suspect being questioned or victims could view a lineup.

  “It’s just that that sofa gives me the creeps,” said Elena. “I used to sit there interviewing poor little kids who’d been raped by their stepfathers and — well, you know. Bad memories.”

  Before Elena had finished her speech, Sarah shot up off the sofa and took a brown chair held out for her by Leo. The chair placed her facing Beltran behind the window.

  Once they were sitting around the desk, the questions began. “Just for the record,” said Leo, “we’d appreciate it if you could account for your whereabouts during the last three weeks.”

  “Three weeks!” Sarah exclaimed. “If you wanted that, you should have asked me at home. I have an engagement calendar.”

  “Do the best you can, Sar — Dr. Tolland,” said Elena, very conscious of Lieutenant Beltran behind the glass. Sarah hadn’t missed the “Dr. Tolland.” Her face went blank when Elena said it. “We can pick up the calendar when we take you back,” Elena finished. She felt as if there were a stone in her diaphragm pushing up, keeping her from breathing deeply enough.

  Sarah shrugged. “Three weeks. Well, I spent a week doing the usual end-of-the-term departmental business and holding finals. After my last final I flew to Chicago for a meeting. I was giving a paper.”

  “On what day did you leave for Chicago?” asked Leo.

  “May eighth — Friday. Registration for the meeting was Sunday, first sessions Monday. I had — “

  “Let me interrupt you for a minute,” said Elena. “When did you come back to Los Santos from Chicago?”

  “Today,” said Sarah, surprised. “Well, not from Chicago. I went from Chicago to Boston and then home from there.”

  “And you didn’t return to Los Santos from Chicago — even briefly?”

  “No. Why would I do that?”

  “What about your Monday final?” asked Elena.

  “Oh.” Sarah smiled in relief. “I couldn’t imagine why you’d think I returned, but I see now. The administration of the final was the last problem assigned to my students. They had to figure a way that the final could be given in my absence by computer, graded, the final grade used to produce the semester grade, and those grades turned in to the registrar.

  “It’s not really that difficult a problem, but they enjoyed solving it. And it worked beautifully. We even factored in what a failure in the program would do to the final grades of those who proposed it, although that part wasn’t necessary, as it happened. When I called the registrar’s office Tuesday, the grades were on record and sounded reasonable to me. Of course, I’ll check all the data tomorrow.”

  Elena and Leo exchanged glances. The explanation sounded bizarre to Elena, although she knew that she couldn’t discount it.

  “Is that kind of stuff part of electrical engineering?” asked Leo.

  “Our course list has a heavy computer science component,” said Sarah.

  “So you know a lot about computers?”

  Say no, thought Elena, although she knew, after the description of the final, that the answer was yes — yes, Sarah could have tampered with the lime-routing and with her travel information. But wait. Why delete Boston and the date of return if she was going to come back — and early at that? Sarah was saying that certainly she knew a lot about computers. Leo looked smug.