by Lee Harris
“I don't know whether it's true,” I said. “It's what he told me. I found the story of his alleged plagiarism quite moving and I felt sorry for him. He said that he eventually ran into the person from whom he was supposed to have lifted material—but that in fact it had happened in reverse—and got him to admit that he had stolen from Marty.”
“I know nothing about that. It's possible that it's true. I did insist that Mr. McHugh take another English course to clear his name. He did that the following year.”
“Professor Addision, I really need to know who the other party in this affair was.”
“I'm not sure that I should divulge that, Ms. Bennett.”
“Sir, I am trying to find out how Heinz Gruner died. I am quite sure that someone on his dorm corridor that year was responsible.”
“Well, let me not shilly-shally. I checked my class records an hour ago—I keep all of them forever, to my wife's dismay—and I have the name.”
I closed my eyes, waiting to hear him say Heinz Gruner.
“The person he plagiarized—or the other way around, if you will—was a young man named Steven Millman.”
“Steve Millman,” I echoed. “I must say that's a surprise.”
“Surprise or not, that's who it was. Is there anything else I can tell you?”
I tried to think quickly. “Was Heinz Gruner ever a student of yours?”
“Not that year and, let me see, not the year before.”
“Those are the only possible years,” I said. “He died at the end of that semester.”
“I do recall that.”
“Well, thank you very much. You've been very helpful.” I hung up feeling almost dizzy. My hope of finding a motive for the death of my old acquaintance had evaporated. What on earth had happened on that mountain almost twenty years before?
I took Saturday off from actively pursuing the case, although Jack and I talked about it when we had the opportunity. There were many preparations to be made for our guests and Jack and I discussed the menu, which I had to admit was more enjoyable than thinking about that unfortunate death.
Since it was warm, we decided to barbecue, and Jack said we should spring for filet mignon, which Prince's had on sale just for the weekend. The price still nearly knocked me off my feet but I grabbed a package and dashed down a nearby aisle before I had second thoughts.
At home we scrubbed the patio table and chairs till they gleamed, and then Jack did all the preparation that could be accomplished a day in advance so that he would have as little as possible to do when we returned from church on Sunday.
It was a hectic but relaxing day, at least for my overworked mind. When we were finally alone in the evening, I told Jack about my conversation with Professor Addison the day before.
“Well, that's unexpected,” he said. “Maybe they weren't after Heinz.”
“I'm afraid Heinz may have been implicated in the plot, though.”
“Sure puts a different face on things. But what points to his having a part in an attempted murder?”
“Just the fact that he wasn't the intended victim but he was there.”
“You still haven't convinced me that this wasn't a terrible accident rather than a homicide. Three guys on a mountain, one of them slips and falls, two of them run like scared rabbits—”
“And drive away with Heinz's suitcases, which they loot.”
“But then the crimes, if you want to call them that, are failure to report an accident and stealing. That doesn't add up to murder.”
He was right, and I had no answer for him. Either something was missing or the ethics of those young men were well below what passed for normal—albeit somewhere above criminal.
I thought later in the evening of Don Shiller's quote that there was a family relationship between Steve and Heinz. That was still as puzzling to me as it had been when he read it to me from the letter. Enough, I thought. Think about tomorrow and your company.
Arnold and Harriet arrived at twelve thirty. We made ourselves comfortable in the family room, which was well cooled, and Harriet delivered a couple of small gifts to Eddie. One of them was a toy that a friend of his had just been given, and he jumped up and down to see it. After we had exchanged family information, Arnold asked us what we were up to. Jack glanced at me briefly and told our guests that I was looking into a twenty-year-old unexplained death, and we were off and running.
Arnold teased me, Harriet put him in his place and asked to hear all about it, and eventually I delivered an abbreviated sketch of my case.
“Nice,” Arnold said, “three men on a mountain and one of them dies. Not a very strong motive, if you don't mind my saying so.”
“I don't mind at all. Please shoot holes in anything I say. It may help me get to the right place. Nothing seems to be right at this moment.”
“Who kills a guy for plagiarizing his work?”
“Allegedly, the victim paid for it, the plagiarizer didn't.”
“It's still weak,” Arnold said. “I'd get him off in ten minutes. I think something's missing.”
“I do, too,” I agreed. “I just don't know where to look for it.”
“Well, I'm firing up the grill,” Jack said. “No use going hungry while we talk.”
We moved out-of-doors, taking our drinks with us. The patio table was out of the sun thanks to the umbrella, and we sat down and kept talking. I listened carefully to what everyone said. Two new points of view were present, and one of them might see something that I had missed.
“This Koch person,” Arnold said at one point, “how does he fit into this thing?”
I explained Mrs. Gruner's violent reaction when I asked about Alfred Koch. “I've spoken to him, but I left feeling cheated. He didn't tell me much and he was—how can I describe it?—overbearing. There was one memorable moment in our conversation. I told him I had spoken to every man who had lived on that corridor and he said ‘All of them?’ or something like that, as though he didn't believe me.”
“But you did,” Harriet said.
“I definitely did, including Steve Millman, my main suspect. If it was Steve Millman I was talking to. I didn't place the call to him.” I described the arrangement.
“So it could have been anyone,” Arnold said.
“Yes. And it may have just been someone Marty McHugh picked out of a hat to do an acting job.”
“You need to talk to him again and ask him some key questions,” Harriet said. “But I don't know what those questions would be.”
I had to admit I wasn't sure what they would be, either.
I got busy with serving our dinner then and we dropped the subject. Arnold got up and threw a ball to Eddie, who caught with his baseball mitt. They were a good pair. Eventually, Jack joined them and they formed a triangle while I kept my eye on that expensive beef.
The dinner was a great success. The meat was easily the best I had ever eaten, enhanced by Jack's surprise of a bé arnaise sauce he had made while I wasn't looking. Eddie wasn't crazy about it but the rest of us were. We all overate and still had a good amount left over for another meal.
After a rest, I went inside and brewed some coffee, taking out Aunt Meg's fine English bone china cups and saucers to serve it in. We had pastries from our favorite bakery, and I set everything up in the family room as the heat outside was becoming uncomfortable. Just as I was about to sit and enjoy my dessert, the phone rang. I dashed back to the kitchen, grabbed the receiver, and walked into the dining room so as not to disturb my guests.
“Miss Bennett, this is Alfred Koch.”
“Professor Koch, yes.”
“I've been thinking about our conversation of a few days ago. Did I hear you correctly when you said you had spoken to all the men who lived on Heinz Gruner's corridor the last semester of his life?”
“Yes, you did. I've done a lot of telephoning in the last couple of weeks, and I've been able to reach all of them.”
“Could you read that list to me?”
“
Just a moment.” I put the phone down and rummaged for my list. “Here it is: Herb Fallon, Steven Millman, Barry Woodson, Andrew Franklin, Arthur Howell, Jereth Phillips, Eric Goode, and Martin McHugh.”
“I see.”
I waited. There was a long silence. Finally he said, “Perhaps we should speak again. Can you come to my office tomorrow morning?”
“I think I can make it.”
“Eleven will be good for me.”
I was just annoyed enough at his attitude that I said, “I can't be there till eleven thirty.”
“That will be satisfactory.” He hung up.
I went back to the family room and reported the new turn of events.
“You've got him,” Arnold said. “He can't believe you spoke to that fellow who's been hiding out all these years.”
“And I can't prove I really talked to him. But this should be interesting. I knew he was holding something back. I hope he's ready to give it up.”
“Don't believe everything you hear,” my husband said, and everyone laughed.
The first thing I did on Monday morning was call Dean Hershey.
“Ah, Miss Bennett. I ran into Herb Fallon on campus the other day and we discussed your investigation. He's quite impressed with your progress.”
“Thank you. I'm a bit surprised at it but I'm still not at a point where I can identify the person responsible for Heinz Gruner's death.”
“It sounds as though that's just around the corner.” His voice was almost jovial. “What can I do for you today?”
“I have a question or two about Prof. Alfred Koch.” I gave him a moment to go back in time and place the name.
“Koch, yes. He used to teach history here, but he's been gone a long while. I thinkhe was wooed away by Columbia.”
“He was. I've met him a couple of times and I'm going to see him again later this morning, but I wanted to talk to you first. He had some connection to Heinz Gruner, a connection that distressed Heinz's mother when I last spoke to her. Do you have any idea what that might have been?”
“Let me see. That was a long time ago. What he did at Rimson, besides teaching history, was his job as a scout. He had connections with high schools in various places around the country, good high schools that produced the kind of candidates we were looking for. We're a small school, you know. We try to pick top people who don't want to go to a large university. Alfred had a knack for sizing up young men and women, for knowing who would be successful here. That's what he did and he did it very well.”
“I assume he's the person who convinced Heinz Gruner to attend Rimson.”
“Without checking records I couldn't say for sure, but it's possible.”
“How would that work, Dean Hershey?”
“He might have a guidance counselor select a few seniors for him to talkto early in the senior year or even during the junior year. He would see their transcripts, talkto them, decide that this one or that one would be a good Rimson student, and follow up with letters and phone calls. This wasn't a full-time job, you understand; it was something he enjoyed doing. He brought us a number of fine students.”
“Did he check on them after they became students?” I asked, remembering the letter that said that K had come to the campus.
“When he was teaching here, he saw those students frequently. I don't honestly know if he kept up with them after he left for Columbia.”
I thanked him for giving me the inside story on Alfred Koch. Then I got ready to go into New York for my appointment with the man himself.
I saw to it that I did not arrive before eleven thirty. I was fortunate to find a parking meter on Broadway, which gave me exactly an hour including walking to and from Koch's office. I didn't think he wanted me to take up his lunch hour, so I was confident I would make it back in time.
I climbed the stairs as I had the last time, knocked on the door, heard him call “Enter,” and went inside. This time he greeted me a little more warmly, indicating to me that he wanted something that he thought I could give him.
“Enjoying our good weather?” he began.
“Very much. Is the semester over now?”
“Ah yes, semester over, grades turned in, crowds gone. This is when I take the most pleasure in being here.”
“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” I asked so that we would not spend our time together talking about the weather and the empty campus.
“I've been giving a lot of thought to Heinz Gruner and his untimely death, especially since Hilda died. As I think I told you, we were acquaintances from the Old Country.”
“I remember.”
“And Heinz's accident destroyed his parents, as you can imagine. He was their only child; all their hopes and dreams rested on him.”
“Yes.”
“Hilda was very concerned that Heinz had committed suicide.”
“She told me that. Before she died I was able to determine to my satisfaction that that didn't happen. I told her his death was an accident.”
“But you don't believe it was an accident.”
“Something was going on, Professor Koch. There were people living on that corridor who went hiking with him, and I believe one or more of them caused the accident.”
“Do you have proof of that?”
“I have proof to my satisfaction that at least one other student was on that mountain. I think there may well have been two.”
“That's quite a stretch from a young man walking alone, as he told his parents he wanted to do.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“I spoke to them, of course, after I heard of his death.”
“And they said he was walking alone.”
“Yes. The trip, as you may know, was a birthday present from them.”
“I know.”
“So using frail circumstantial evidence to ‘prove’ that another person or persons were there doesn't count for much.”
“It doesn't count for much to you, Professor. When I'm done, I'll have a solid case to turn over to the Arizona sheriff's department.” His overbearing attitude was bringing out the worst in me. “It may interest you to know that my husband is a lieutenant in NYPD. We have discussed this in depth.” I rarely pull out Jack's job and status, but this man really irritated me.
“I see.” He tapped a yellow pencil on his desktop. “So you really don't know firsthand that anyone was on that trail with Heinz.”
“I have enough evidence that my police contact in Arizona is interested.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I understand you were a scout for Rimson College at one time and you recruited Heinz.”
“Who did you hear that from?”
“I'd rather not divulge my sources.”
“Yes, I did scout for Rimson. Even now an occasional parent calls and asks me about the college.”
“Heinz expected to go to Harvard.”
He leaned back. When he wasn't leading the conversation, he was reluctant to provide any information. “He had his eye on Harvard, that's true. Actually, his father wanted him to go there. Heinz preferred a smaller institution.”
“Did he apply to Harvard?”
“You know, Miss Bennett, these things are not your business.”
“I am making them my business in order to determine who killed my old acquaintance.”
“I don't know whether he applied or not.”
I was sure he had. Why else would he have said in the blurb under his yearbook picture that he intended to go there? “Do you know who the other people on the mountain were?”
“How could I possibly know that?” He was becoming as irritated with me as I was with him.
“Because I'm sure you knew people at Rimson, and one of them might have known.”
“I would like to ask you about a couple of people who were on Heinz's corridor that semester,” he said, ignoring my comment.
“Go ahead.”
“I believe you mentioned you've been in touch with Professor Fa
llon.”
“I have.”
“And he's given you much of your inside information. Have you also talked to Andrew Franklin?”
“I have.”
“What did he tell you?” “That he helped Heinz down the stairs with two pieces of luggage.”
“Did you speak to Arthur Howell?”
“Yes.” I began to see where this was going. He would ask about some people who were not on the mountain with Heinz and lead in to the important ones.
“And he said?”
“He said he was the last man out of the dorm that year. He was working on a paper.”
“Did you verify his statement?” “To my satisfaction.” I hate to lie, but this was one time that I did. I had not been able to thinkof a way to checkon Howell.
“Howell had a roommate named Steven Millman.”
Now we were getting to his point. I made a show of looking at my notes. “That's correct.”
“When did you speak to him?”
“Last week.”
“Did you call him?”
“He called me.”
“How did he get your number?”
“I used an intermediary.”
“Whose name is?”
“That's my business.”
“Miss Bennett, I can't help you if you keep secrets.”
“Professor Koch, you invited me here today. I assumed you intended to give me information. How could it possibly matter how I came to speak to Steve Millman?”
“Did Arthur Howell give you his number or make the arrangement for you to speak to Millman?” He was barely controlling his anger now.
“I think that my intermediary is privileged information until I turn over what I have to the police.” I looked at my watch. It was after noon. “I assume you're curious because Steve Millman has kept his whereabouts a secret since that summer.”
“I don't know what you're talking about. I'm sure the alumni office has his address.”
“They don't. Is there anything else?”
“Did you speak to Martin McHugh?”