A Spartan Murder

by L. A. Nisula

“I hope it is. So you’d have build-able plans how early in the process?”

  “Well, it has to be built by the end of the school year, so we try to get them done before Christmas. Why?”

  “Just a thought. If Graham Steamworks came out with a new product, when do you think the plans would have to be done?”

  “That’s an odd question. I don’t know. When I was in my first year, we got a tour of the facility and they showed us plans for something that came out four months later. Does that help?”

  “It might.”

  He looked confused but left without questioning it.

  I drummed my fingers on the desk, but really I had to stop trying to find something on Professor Graham. We had no evidence he was involved. There had been nothing in the blackmail drawer on him, nothing about tinkering notes, and nothing about the cricket team at all. And just because I disliked the man did not mean he was a killer. Wasting time trying to connect would not help Inspector Burrows solve the case or Mr. Langley get out of prison. Finding more evidence would. I turned to the bookcase. Perhaps Professor Headly had hidden something useful in one of his books. I got up and started to leaf through them looking for anything useful.

  I was about a third of the way through the first shelf when I heard the door open, but by now I had gotten used to being interrupted while poking around and did not immediately suspect the ghost of Professor Headly. I did, however, recognize the young man who poked his head around the door. I’d seen him behind the circulation desk at the library. He looked startled to see me. Perhaps he was expecting Professor Headly’s ghost. I could only think of one reason for someone from the library to be poking around the murder scene, so I smiled and gestured for him to enter. “Don’t let me bother you.”

  I stared at him in what I hoped was a friendly manner until he realized he had no choice but to come in. He glanced around the room trying not to look like he was trying to get a glimpse of the desk. Oh well, I didn’t really think I would be lucky enough to have someone lead me to a second cache of materials so easily. Maybe I could get a name for Inspector Burrows.

  “I’m Miss Pengear. I believe I saw you at the library?”

  Good manners took over automatically. “Mr. Winston. Yes, I’m there most days. Do you know where his papers are? I was looking for, um....” He fumbled for a lie.

  I took pity and provided a suitable one. “Tinkering journals?”

  “That’s right. Yes. Tinkering journals. I was looking for...um...tinkering journals.” It was clear from the way he said it he had no idea what tinkering journals had to do with anything.

  “I’d heard some had gone missing from the library. I believe Inspector Burrows has all the papers from the office. You could check with him.”

  “I suppose I’ll do that.” His eyes darted to the desk again. “You said your name was Miss Pengear?”

  “Yes?”

  He seemed to relax a little. “He telephoned you the night he died.”

  “Professor Headly? Yes, but we were cut off, so I never found out why he did.”

  “I’m afraid I was to blame for that.”

  “You were?”

  “Yes, I was dropping off some materials for Professor Brookwald and saw he was on the telephone when I passed by, so I reminded him that they would stop serving dinner soon. He put the receiver down to speak to me, and I suppose he forgot to pick it up again before you decided to disconnect.”

  “I knew something distracted him. Did you discuss anything else, anything that might have suggested where he went after?”

  “No, but Professor Graham might have. I saw him in the hall. I even joked to Professor Headly about him. Looked like he was searching for loose change like the students sometimes do.”

  He seemed to think that was a capital joke. I managed to smile at it. “Thank you for clearing that up.” So no connection at all. “Where was Professor Graham? Maybe he was in a position to see something.”

  “I doubt it. Like I said, it looked like he was going through pockets looking for loose change. The coat rack doesn’t have a good view of the offices, just the secretaries’ desks. But the subject of the telephone call. I mean, your check. It should be there. I saw him put it under the blotter before he left.”

  The murder had taken up so much of my mind, I hadn’t really thought about being paid by Professor Headly, although if I had, I would have assumed the check was waiting for me in Mrs. Albright’s sitting room. “Thank you.”

  But some of my confusion must have shown on my face. “You didn’t think he’d forgotten, did you?”

  “That was why he telephoned the night he died? To tell me the payment would be delayed?”

  “That’s right. Apparently he realized he'd mixed-up the envelopes and sent you something else. He didn't want you to be confused when you received it.” Mr. Winston edged closer to the desk, and I realized he was waiting for me to look for the check.

  I gave him a moment to get in a position he liked then slid back the blotter to reveal absolutely nothing.

  “Under the paper, not the blotter itself.”

  I put the blotter back in place and removed the thick card from the leather corners. My check was there, right on top, made out to “Cassandra Pengear” in the amount of £3. There were a few other papers. I spread them out as I picked up the check, letting Mr. Winston look at them. I could tell by his disappointed expression none of them were what he was looking for.

  I picked up the check. “Thank you for finding this for me.”

  “Of course.”

  “Inspector Burrows probably has everything else. Maybe your—tinkering journals are there.”

  “Perhaps I’ll ask him.” He left the office, and I was quite certain he would not be going to the police station.

  I scanned the papers under the blotter, but they all appeared to be notes Professor Headly had made to himself about appointments and things to remember to bring home. Nothing about blackmail unless it was encoded. Still, Inspector Burrows might be able to find some other suspect out of it. And I would tell him about Mr. Winston. Maybe he had seen something that would connect to the murder, or at least clear Mr. Langley. I left everything including my check where it was and collected up my things, intending to leave for the police station.

  However when I got into the hallway, my plans changed at once. I ran into Inspector Burrows, almost literally, as he was unlocking the staff common room.

  “Miss Pengear, why am I not surprised to see you here?” He grabbed my arm and pulled me inside.

  “Nice to see you too. I’ve discovered who the tinkering notes I was sent belong to.”

  “Then you’re not here to spy on me as I question Professor Armstrong?”

  So that’s why he’d dragged me inside before I could say anything in the hallway where we could easily be overheard. “No, but now that you mention it...”

  He looked more amused than anything. “I suppose since I was the one to mention it... You can take the chair there and let me handle the questioning.”

  “Naturally.” I sat in the chair he’d indicated by the small desk, out of the way and leaving the chairs in the center of the room for the actual questioning. Inspector Burrows watched me warily for any sign I was going to interfere, but then there was a knock, and he turned his attention to his suspect.

  “Enter.”

  Professor Armstrong entered the room and went directly to Inspector Burrows. “You said you wanted to see me?”

  “That’s right. Would you care to sit?”

  Professor Armstrong did not know Inspector Burrows well enough to see the cold glint behind the polite words. He sat in the chair indicated.

  Inspector Burrows reached into his pocket and took a piece of paper from it. I recognized it as the ledger page from the drawer, but he stared at it as if it were terribly interesting. I knew he was letting Professor Armstrong sit and wonder what was happening.

  Professor Armstrong started to fidget after only a few seconds, pickin
g at his sleeves and shuffling his feet. Finally, he couldn’t take the silence any longer and filled it with, “Have you found something more on Headly’s killer?”

  Inspector Burrows didn’t look up. “Yes. We have a very good lead. We wanted you to have a look at it.”

  “Anything I can do to help.”

  “I was hoping you would say that.” He held out the paper to Professor Armstrong. “What can you tell me about these figures?”

  Professor Armstrong stared at the page Inspector Burrows held out to him. He didn’t need to take it to see what it was. “All right, I did it. I stole. I’ve been stealing since...” He sighed and rested his head in his hands. “It started out innocently enough. My poor mother wasn't well. I had to send her to a warmer climate. I knew no one here would help me, just one more old woman needing care. Then they were asking everyone to raise money for the school cricket team again, and it seemed so unfair. My poor mother needed help, and here I was getting people to give money for a bunch of stupid uniforms that the boys could have bought themselves with their pocket money. And then I thought, why not get them to help? So I planned a charity dinner and sold tickets and asked the cricket team for volunteers since it was for their uniforms, but I marked down that they'd been hired. No one noticed, so I did it again for the rowing team banquet, and the new tinkering lab, and just like that, I had the money. Mother went to France, the school had what they wanted, and it was all fine. I even started to donate small sums of my own money to the school to pay back what I had taken, so really I didn't steal a thing to help Mother, only borrowed a little.”

  “But that doesn't take into account what you've been doing since.”

  “Well, Patrice kept asking why I could afford to send Mother to France and give so much to the school but never take her anywhere. So when the cricket team needed new equipment, I organized the charity ball and tried my little arrangement again. We went to Paris. And then last fall it was the new carriage and a trip to Vienna. And then she wanted some new clothes, and the house seemed small, and then somehow Professor Headly found out, and I had to pay him, and please, please don't arrest me. It would kill Mother.”

  “So you killed Headly to stop him from telling her.”

  “No, I swear I didn't. Please, you have to believe me.”

  “Why? You’ve been swindling the school for how long now? Why should I trust anything you have to say?”

  “I couldn’t have done it. It happened on Friday night, right? Well that night, I had dinner with the head of the college and his wife. We were discussing plans for an end-of-term dinner, perhaps give awards to large donors, maybe a raffle of some sort...” He realized he was describing his next intended swindle to us and stopped abruptly.

  “Dinner, you said. How do you account for the rest of your evening?”

  “We discussed the plans until at least ten o’clock. I didn’t return home until after eleven. I know because Patrice had already locked up and gone to bed, and I was forced to use the schoolboy trick of climbing in through the kitchen window.”

  “I will check with your wife and the head of the college.”

  “Naturally. And you will have to tell him about my transgressions, I’m sure.”

  “I will.”

  “Perhaps I could go with you?”

  Inspector Burrows nodded. “You’re hoping he’ll go easier on you if you make the confession yourself? Yes, you may come if you leave when I tell you so I can question him on your alibi.”

  “I understand the necessity. Shall we get it over with?”

  Inspector Burrows gestured towards the office door. Professor Armstrong left, looking like a man being led to his execution. Now did not seem to be the time to tell Inspector Burrows about finding my check. I gave Inspector Burrows a chance to get away so he would know I didn’t intend to follow, then returned to the guest house.

  Chapter 13

  The next morning, after a hurried breakfast of tea and crumpets in the tea shop, I went to see Inspector Burrows. Even though he wouldn’t have had time to verify or break Professor Armstrong’s alibi, I was hoping that he had released Mr. Langley now that he had more than one possible suspect. Constable Winters greeted me when I arrived at the station and waved me through.

  Inspector Burrows was alone in the office, folding away his cot, so I was able to ask him, “Have you released him yet?” without preamble.

  Inspector Burrows didn’t look up at me. “No.”

  “What do you mean? You have Professor Armstrong, who has at least as much motive. Surely you can’t keep him locked away even if you can’t clear him definitively.”

  “Miss Pengear, Mr. Langley bought a train ticket to London the afternoon before the murder.”

  “But he didn’t use it.”

  “Not at Oxford, but he could have used it somewhere else.”

  “And have you found out where?”

  “We are still checking the stations between here and London.”

  “And have you checked if he has an alibi?”

  “I do know my job, Miss Pengear. His alibi is Professor Brookwald.”

  “That doesn't mean it's not reliable.”

  “Miss Pengear, you are not officially investigating this case. You can be as irrational and illogical as you like.” He held up his hand, clearly sensing I was about to tell him exactly what I thought of that, particularly since I prided myself on remaining unbiased in our cases and in following leads even if they pointed somewhere I didn't want them to. “I do not have that luxury. I am a Scotland Yard detective. I have to remain unbiased. Mr. Langley bought a ticket to London the night of the murder. The body was dumped in London. His alibi is suspect at best. What am I supposed to do?”

  I sighed. Inspector Burrows was lucky he was my friend, otherwise I would have given him several suggestions for what to do, and only half of them would have been related to the case. And that wouldn't have helped anything. The simplest way to find out why Mr. Langley had bought a train ticket was the direct one. “Can I see him?”

  “Yes, for a few minutes at least. He might want to...send a message to someone.”

  I understood. It wouldn't do for Professor Brookwald to be seen as being too concerned about his assistant's fate.

  “He’s being held at the main station. I’ll write you...” He paused then changed to, “Constable Winters will write you a letter of permission to see him on my authority.”

  “Thank you.” So he thought the resentment had spread from this small station to the main one and didn’t want me to have any trouble getting in to see Mr. Langley. I wondered if that was speculation on his part or if someone from the main station had expressed their displeasure at his presence.

  At the main station, the officer studied the note Constable Winters had given me, then muttered something about the “London man” and led me to one of the interrogation rooms. I sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs and waited until he returned with Mr. Langley.

  “Fifteen minutes, Miss. I’ll be right outside the door.”

  “Thank you.”

  I watched as he closed the door and took up a position just visible through the window. He didn’t appear to be trying to listen, but then my friend Kate had set up listening tubes in their shop when there had been a rash of petty thefts which enabled her to hear conversations while seeming to be leaning against the table which held the yarn swift and ball winder. Still, we were as secure as we were going to be. I turned to Mr. Langley.

  He looked exhausted. He hadn’t been allowed to shave or change clothes since he’d arrived, and he appeared scruffy and rumpled and, above all, scared. He managed a smile for me. “Good afternoon, Miss Pengear.”

  “Good afternoon. I’ve spoken to Inspector Burrows.”

  “And I assume you aren’t here to tell me I’ll be released any minute.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “They haven’t said why they think it was me, although I assume the letter...”

  I wondered why
Inspector Burrows hadn’t asked him about it, unless he wanted me to try and get any information out of him and pass on the relevant bits, in case there was something besides the letter he didn’t want to know about. I cut him off just in case the constable at the door was listening, “He’s requested it be located, but that’s not the reason. He’s discovered that you bought a train ticket to London shortly before the murder.” I watched for his reaction.

  Mr. Langley looked down at his hands, suddenly exhausted. “So that’s it. Yes, I bought the ticket, but it wasn't for me.”

  “Of course it wasn't. It was probably for the murderer.”

  “I'm afraid not. You see, I bought it for Professor Headly.”

  “You bought a train ticket to London for Professor Headly on the day he was murdered and his body was left in London?”

  “That's right. That doesn't help me at all, does it?”

  “I don't think so, not yet anyway. If he needed a train ticket to London, why didn't he just buy it himself? The station isn't that far away.”

  “He didn't say. He just stopped me in the hallway and asked me to go and get the ticket. I went, got the ticket, and brought it to him in his office. At the time, I wondered if he was just trying to annoy Silas since I had been helping him grade essays, but Professor Headly even paid me for the ticket.”

  “So you saw him and gave it to him.”

  “That's right.”

  “And he didn't say why he was going to London?”

  “No, and I thought that it was strange since, when I dropped the ticket off, I heard him make an appointment with a student for the next day.”

  “Was it a return ticket?”

  “No.”

  That was odd. “Do you think it was for someone else?”

  “Why would he be buying a ticket for someone else?”

  “Why indeed.” I thought Inspector Burrows should be particularly pleased with my unbiased detecting. I didn't tell Mr. Langley that if we found the person the ticket was intended for, we'd most likely be looking at the next blackmail victim. “You said he was making an appointment with a student. Do you know which student?”