Medieval Murders

by Aaron Stander

  “What now?” asked Stockton.

  “Let’s get the ladder out of the way,” said Ray. “Okay, now, John, I need to do some role playing. Would you go up the rungs and open the latch, and push that trap door open.”

  Stockton climbed up several rungs and carefully grasped the handle. “These old slide locks are a bitch to unfasten. They tend to rust tight.” He struggled briefly to push the bolt back. “That wasn’t too bad,” he said, looking down at them. Then he started to push the steel door open. “Damn rug,” he said under his breath, finally getting the door clear. “Go ahead and climb up into the carillon,” said Ray.

  Stockton peered down at them from the room above, his face framed in the light from below.

  “Do you think you could do that while carrying a small, unconscious woman on your shoulder?”

  “Only if I had first opened the door. Two trips. And then you’d have to be strong, athletic, and probably a lot younger than me.”

  Pascoe climbed up the ladder, Elkins observing from below. After a few minutes Stockton came down, followed by Pascoe. She pulled the door back, held it open with her head, and grabbed the rug, pulling it over the door before she lowered the door completely. They moved back into the main tunnel.

  “What do you think?” asked Elkins.

  “It wouldn’t be easy, but it’s possible,” Pascoe responded.

  Elkins turned to Stockton, “Can you show us the access door to West Foundation Hall?”

  “It’s the next one,” Stockton said, leading the way. He stopped at a door where the tunnel made a ninety-degree turn to the left.

  “What does the door open into?” asked Elkins.

  “This one opens into a mechanical room. The real old buildings had their own boilers at one time. The boiler rooms became mechanical rooms after the powerhouse was built. Do you want to look around?”

  “Yes,” said Pascoe.

  Stockton unlocked the door and they briefly examined the space and the adjoining hallway in the lower level of the building.”

  “So there’s an entrance to this tunnel system in every building?” asked Char.

  “Yes, you saw the map. It connects all the buildings on central campus. As you can see, the space is jammed. Seventy or eighty years of accumulation, work done by university employees early on, mostly outside contractors now, things done at different standards and codes. I don’t have accurate mechanical plans for much of the older work. And I bet there’s a ton of asbestos on the old pipes. It’s a disaster waiting to happen. It should all be ripped up and replaced. But you know our budget, it will never happen,” said Stockton. He led the way back to Central Campus Engineering.

  “The sunshine feels good. I can’t imagine working down there for any length of time,” said Pascoe as they walked back to the patrol car. Once Pascoe was behind the wheel, she asked. “Do you want me to restate the obvious?”

  “Go ahead, that’s a major function in academic life.”

  “And in police work,” she responded. “It would have been possible to use the tunnel system to get Bensen to the carillon undetected. If she were unconscious, the murderer needed to be strong enough to carry her. Climbing from the tunnel into the carillon would have been difficult, but doable. The perp took pains not to leave any prints. The key we found under the keyboard was probably just a plant to take us off the scent. Last, the perp could have gained access to the tunnel system from a lot of different buildings. The equipment rooms in most of them are in out of the way places. Unfortunately, we still don’t have a suspect.”

  “We will,” said Elkins. “Will you drive me to the office, please?”

  “Shouldn’t you be at home resting?”

  “There must be a pile of paperwork that needs....”

  “It’s all taken care of,” she said with a smile. “It’s probably the first time anyone has ever been able to see the surface of your desk. I’m taking you home...”

  “Here’s the deal,” said Elkins. “I’ll go home now and take it easy for the rest of the day if you pick me up tomorrow morning. There are things that I need to get done.”

  Pascoe heard the earnestness in his voice. She decided that getting him to take the rest of the day off was a start. “You’ve got a deal. I’ll pick you up at 8:00 A.M.”

  Elkins nodded and made an affirmative sounding groan.

  45

  Reda Rudd found Elkins on his back deck in a lounge chair reading a newspaper. He was startled by Reda’s sudden appearance and not happy about having his privacy constantly invaded. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I went by the medical center, they said you were discharged yesterday. Then I went to your office and found Pascoe working at your desk. I asked where you were, and she said you were home resting. I promised her I wouldn’t bother you.”

  “And you always keep your promises,” said Ray, motioning toward an empty chair. “I’d offer you something to drink, but I don’t know what’s here. You might want to check the refrigerator.”

  She reached into her backpack and pulled out a Diet Coke. “I carry my own supply. I’ve got another one,” she gave Elkins a questioning look.

  “No, I can’t do caffeine.”

  “I’ve got a lemon seltzer, too. It’s warm, but I’ll get you a glass with ice.”

  “That would be great,” he said, reluctantly happy to be waited on.

  When Reda returned from the kitchen, he asked, “Is this a social call, or are you collecting information for a Daily exclusive?”

  “This is a social call. Pascoe has—I’m getting like you, just using last names—been keeping me informed on the investigation.”

  “The last name thing,” said Ray, breaking in, “That’s a bad habit, something I picked up in the military.”

  “Interrupting people is a bad habit, too,” she flashed a smile. “Now listen, we’ve been running follow-up stories, but there hasn’t been much to print. Besides, the killing and maiming of professors isn’t of much interest to our readers. This week’s major investigative report is on price-fixing by the local beer stores. We have to report on what’s really important to our readers. However,” she paused and gave him a waggish grin, “I’d be happy to learn about any new developments in the case. By the way,” her tone changed, “I’ve started to get to know Pascoe the last few days. I like her. I can see why you hired her. She’s a lot like you. But back to the topic, is there anything new?”

  “About?”

  “Let’s start with the recent shooting. Are there any suspects?”

  “Not at this time. We had one possibility, but he’s no longer considered a likely suspect.”

  “Why were you at Professor Arden’s townhouse? We printed what Pascoe told me, that you were there on routine police business.”

  “She was concerned about her door locks. I went there to check them.”

  Reda looked amused. “Come on Elkins, there has to be more to the story than that. You’re too busy to be running around checking the locks on university-owned housing. Was she getting threatening calls or something?”

  “I can’t talk about it yet. Please be patient.”

  “If you can’t, or more accurately won’t, how about Bensen. Anything new there, or are we still doing suicide?”

  Elkins was feeling uncomfortable. Their communication had always been open and without pretense, but there was a need not to let the murderer know they were starting to close in. “We’re continuing to investigate.”

  “How long is that going to go on?”

  “Until we can say with great certainty it was a suicide. If we end up thinking it was something other than suicide, we’ll continue until we make arrests.”

  “How about Constance Dalton?”

  “The same. Her death appears to be a suicide. We are still investigating. Reda, I believe our purposes would be best served if you would let this drop for a while. If these deaths turn out not to be suicides, I’ll make sure you have all the information.”

/>   “Fair enough. But this is rather strange. I’ve been looking through the Daily archives. Not many faculty members kick off, at least until they’re emeritus. Three people, one department….”

  Ray inhaled deeply. “It is statistically improbable, Reda. That’s why I’m going so slowly. I have to ask you to be patient. I promise you will have the full story.”

  “I trust you. I know you will,” she said. “How are you doing?”

  “Good. I should be back to normal in a few days. How about you?”

  “Okay, mostly good. I think I’ll be able to get my classes under control, and I’m feeling more confident about the new Daily staff than I was a few days ago.”

  Elkins looked at her, he had a hunch about something, but he wasn’t sure how to approach the topic. “Do I remember you telling me about ending a relationship, or was that just one of my many dreams after my tumble?”

  “No, that was real. It wasn’t a long-term relationship. Right from the beginning I knew we had no real future.”

  “I didn’t mean to pry into your private life....”

  “Don’t worry about it, no big thing. It was intense, sort of wild, but I don’t need any more fucked-up relationships. The person I was in a relationship with, we couldn’t even go out publicly.”

  “He’s married or what?” asked Ray.

  “It would have been clumsy. He’s a priest.”

  Elkins leaned forward in his chair.

  “Yeah, Father Bob at the campus religious center. I went to him for counseling, not that I’m much of a Catholic, but when you’re having difficulty, you seem to wander back to your roots. One of my friends told me he was a great counselor, really able to help you get things into perspective fast.” She looked over at Elkins. “I went to see him because I was really confused. I had gotten involved with someone in the history department—a man with a wife and three kids. It was the first time in my life that I felt my actions could hurt a lot of other people. I needed to talk it out. He helped me get out of that relationship, but we ended up as lovers.”

  “When did this all happen?”

  “I first went in for counseling right before Christmas break. By the third or fourth session we were lovers. The first time right in his office, you know in the lower level of the religion c enter. He’s got a couch in his office. It was wild. After that I’d meet him at his apartment. He’d call me when he was available. It went on for several months. Then one day he called me and said we had to talk. I met him at his office. He told me that he needed to end the relationship. He couldn’t deal with the guilt anymore. He told me that he really loved me, but that he had committed his life to God, and that he couldn’t stray from that promise. I didn’t see him again until the night of the Chesterton party.”

  “How did you feel about that?”

  “Well, at first I accepted it. It made good sense. I was impressed that he could overcome,” her eyes crinkling, “the yearnings of the flesh and maintain his commitment—I have too many hormones in my system to ever consider celibacy. Then, you know how it is, something didn’t seem right. I asked my friend, Kari—she’s the one who recommended Father Bob—if she had ever been involved with him. She was embarrassed—she has trouble talking about sex—but admitted that she had a one-night stand with him. So I asked her, given that experience, how could she recommend him to me as a counselor? She said Father Bob told her that it had never happened before, and he didn’t think that it would ever happen again. He gave her this line that there was something about her that awakened feelings he had never had before. I wonder how many women have fallen for this?”

  Elkins poured some more seltzer into his glass.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I’ve had limited contact with him. He seemed bright, sincere, and professional. Given his role as a counselor, his actions were totally inappropriate. So where are you now?”

  “I say I’m okay, but I’m hurting. Even though I knew the whole thing was absolutely impossible, I really fell for him. But,” she smiled, “someone new will come along. I haven’t had any extended periods of celibacy since I was sixteen or seventeen.”

  Reda got up and pulled her backpack over one shoulder. “I’ve got to get back to campus. Is there anything I can help you with before I leave?”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks.”

  She bent over and kissed him on the lips, a quick, playful kiss. “I like you, Elkins. Too bad you’re so old. On the other hand, I’m sorta getting into old guys.”

  Elkins watched her go.

  46

  By early evening Elkins was napping on a couch in the living room. When he heard Stephanie calling, he tried to push the sleep away. When he finally opened his eyes, Stephanie was standing over him with a bottle of champagne in one hand and glasses in the other. Jane Arden was in tow. “Time to get up, Elkins.” She popped open the bottle and started filling glasses.

  “Stephanie,” he protested, “No caffeine or alcohol. Doctor’s orders.”

  “You’re not having alcohol, you’re having champagne. Did he say anything about champagne? Of course he didn’t. This is medicinal, it gets your gastric juices going. I’ve made a wonderful dinner to celebrate your release, or shall I say escape, from the hospital.

  The three of them settled around the kitchen table. Stephanie gave Elkins a half glass of champagne, filling her and Jane’s glasses. When she had polished off her glass, she excused herself, saying she had to put the finishing touches on dinner. “Dinner is in thirty minutes. I expect you to be there on time.”

  After Stephanie left, Jane asked, “Given your last experience, do you feel comfortable sitting at the same table with me?”

  “I was just thinking about that. How did you know?”

  “Just had a feeling. Of course, you wouldn’t have to be overly sagacious to make that leap. And,” she laughed, “for all you know, I may be having the same feelings. The only time people ever shoot at me is when I’m with you.”

  “How much did Pascoe tell you about Merchant?” Elkins asked.

  Jane could read his face. He was back in an investigative mode. “She gave me a thorough briefing. I understand why Merchant isn’t a strong suspect. She also questioned me very extensively. I don’t think I was able to help much.”

  “Anything occur to you since you talked with her? If Merchant wasn’t the shooter, we’re not left with much.”

  She sipped the rest of her champagne, refilled her glass and held the bottle toward Elkins’s glass. He shook his head and covered the glass with his hand.

  “I’ve thought about it a lot,” she said. “I thought about old boy friends, former students. I don’t remember anyone being really angry with me. People don’t react that way toward me. I just can’t think of anyone. Could it have been a random event?”

  “Well,” Elkins twisted in his chair trying to find a more comfortable position, but his discomfort was intellectual as well as physical, “that’s always a possibility, but an unlikely one.”

  “Maybe they shot at the wrong house,” she offered.

  “Again, a possibility.”

  “But your tone suggests that it’s fairly improbable.”

  “Let me ask you this, is there any possibility that you might have told someone else about the Merchant letter?”

  Jane shook her head. “I told you, I told Stephanie, Zeigler at the prison. That’s it.”

  “There’s no chance that you might have mentioned it to anyone else. You must have talked to people about the deaths of your colleagues. Perhaps you just alluded to it in passing?”

  “I talked to lots of people about those deaths. Let me think. Stephanie, Chesterton, Gus, and Father Bob....”

  “Tell me about Father Bob. How do you know Father Bob?” asked Ray, suddenly alert and totally focused on their conversation.“I’m pretty much a fallen-away Catholic, but I do make it to mass a couple of times a year. And when my mother died, he was very helpful.”

  “How’s tha
t?”

  “He’s a very skilled counselor, very empathic. Among other things, he does grief counseling. And he was the appropriate person for me to talk to. I had mixed feelings toward my mother, especially when I was a teenager. After she died there were things I felt guilty about, conflicts that we had never resolved.

  She was a devout Catholic, and I think much of my proclaimed agnosticism, especially when I was a teenager, was a way of getting at her. Father Bob was able to help me work through my feelings.”

  “How long were you in this, ah, counseling relationship?”

  “About six months.”

  “During that time, was there,” Elkins paused, trying to find a subtle way to phrase the question, “any behavior by Father Bob that was different than you expected?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did Father Bob ever show any interest in you as a woman, interest that exceeded what’s usually appropriate in a client, counselor relationship?”

  Jane didn’t answer immediately. She sipped her champagne, carefully set the glass back on the table, and gave Elkins a long look. “What are you trying to find out?”

  “Let me be blunt. Did he ever make a pass at you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was that the end of it?”

  “No.”

  “Would you tell me about it?”

  She picked up the glass and took another sip. “He asked me over for dinner one night. I don’t know exactly how it happened. We probably had too much wine. We ended up in bed.”

  “You only had one encounter?”

  “No, we had a brief affair, very bittersweet. I knew it was wrong for him, I knew it was wrong for me to ask him to continue. He was stronger than I was. He was able to break it off. I hope you won’t talk about this. I wouldn’t want to hurt him.”

  “When did this all happen?”

  “Two years ago. My mother died in July. I started seeing him sometime after classes started in the fall. The affair was over by winter break.”

  “And you think that you might have recently mentioned Merchant to Father Bob?”