by Judith Mehl
“What kind of lab was he in?”
It was a general chemistry lab. The students do their lab work in them. I’m not sure why Charlie was in there. He was mostly working on his own research lately; was only teaching one lab. We don’t have any teaching assistants here,” he went on. “The personal touch one-on-one with the professor is considered essential to the package. He was setting up a student experiment like I am here. Mine’s a mixture. His experiment could have been the same, or something simple, like asking the students to identify an unknown compound or mechanism. Usually student workers prepare his. If the ingredients were already out in the main lab, Charlie would have continued where it was convenient.”
Kat frowned and interrupted again. “But you were there the night they found Charlie. What was in the tubes on the counter near the body?”
“Good point; I wrote it down somewhere. Gave it to your officer that night, detective. We could check what it was to see if it was related to his own research or his lab work. We assumed it was just for the lab.”
Burrows looked at his notes. “We already checked his schedule. He wasn’t teaching any labs that evening, and there weren’t any classes in that lab that night.”
“But his lab was early the next morning it was logical that he was preparing ahead,” Simon confirmed.
Richard agreed to get back to Simon with the information just to double check and he and Kat left. They walked slowly down the halls, watching the returning students and speculating about the murderer. It was so difficult to believe it could be one of these industrious-looking students, Kat thought.
Richard confided, “Simon doesn’t think the theft of the enzyme a couple of years ago might be linked to Charlie. But we’ll have to try again to find this Jeffrey Billings and the student involved, just to eliminate the possibility.”
“What was the kid’s name? Louise mentioned it but I forgot.”
“The kid was Steven Downings. When we checked earlier we found that he was no longer at Penn State where he’d transferred and he didn’t notify them where he was going. His parents were no longer at the address we had for him. Dead end.”
As they headed outdoors, Richard asked, “When are you going to stop shocking people? Not everyone knows you’re a health nut. Simon probably thinks you were working with Charlie in some way.”
“I was only asking basic questions!”
“The same kind that usually steep you in trouble. Go crochet a doily or something!” Burrows growled as he left for his car.
Chapter 15
There are occasions, indeed, when to make a ‘hard-sell,’ smooth talk can come dangerously close to dishonesty. The line between this legitimate activity and sharp practice is often hard to define.
“Handwriting Analysis in Business”
by Noel Currer-Briggs
Not one to pout, Kat took only a minute to regroup, did an abrupt 180 degree turn, and caught up with Burrows on the edge of the parking lot.
“I forgot. Have you heard anything about the missing journal? They scoured his office and found nothing; not in the lab where he was killed either.”
“Nothing so far,” Burrows responded.
“That’s where my idea comes in.” She told him about the coming speaker, Michael Covello, the renowned chemist who’d recently received the Nobel Prize for his research.
“If we can find Charlie’s journal, I think we should show it to Michael when he comes to speak. It’s only a few days from now and he would give a more worldly perspective of the work. It’s true that Charlie’s research could be important. But it’s also true that scientists have been trying to solve the riddle for hundreds of years. Charlie may not have truly been any closer than they were.”
Burrows agreed that Michael would provide an unbiased opinion of the research and would probably have no difficulty understanding what was in the notebook—if they could find it in time.
“I put the word out that we were looking for the journal. Why don’t you check with his students, all the ones working on his project? It would help if we could find someone who was working on it with him that day,” she said.
The detective left to get a list of the students from his assistant and Kat headed back to the office. She was scheduled to meet Nick and make plans for this speaker. He may be famous in some circles but the general public would find the in-depth chemical topic difficult to swallow, especially with a price tag. It was still the university’s responsibility to help draw as big a crowd as possible.
Kat suggested sending notices to all the high school chemistry teachers while Nick worked on tempting the average housewife with the latest possibilities in electron transfer proteins.
Looking up from the open notebook in her lap Kat studied Nick while he talked. He fit well in this office, though he’d done little to make it his own. In a way he seemed like a chameleon, not so much fickle, but able to blend in and look at home anywhere. Kat admired that, as well as the quick mind revealed by his ability to pick up on this job and run with it in the midst of a murder investigation.
Nick leaned back in his chair, pondering the logistics of making Covello sound interesting to the general populace.
Kat laughed, “If you’re waiting for me to volunteer to write it you’ll wait a long time, but I’ll hand you a bone. I’ll talk to the committee and offer to help announce it to the faculty and staff. Maybe if we send out some personal invitations it will entice them to come. That sometimes work if they think they are singled out.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Let’s take a break. I’ll show you the furniture I’m thinking of buying for my new sunroom. I’ll toss in a sandwich on the side if it fits in with your health plan.”
She rose to leave, her jacket draped over her arm. “I’m not that bad. Besides, you can always have them throw bean sprouts in the sandwich.”
He raised his eyes heavenward, as if to say, “See my point?” and followed quickly behind.
Kat insisted on the sandwich first. As he whisked her into the front door of Stern’s Discount Furniture Emporium she flipped the plastic wrapping into the trashcan out front, while raising an eyebrow at the name. “You’re buying this ‘first-rate furniture’ here?”
He grabbed her elbow and tucking her next to his side, kept walking through the aisles. “Don’t be so hasty. This is perfect. It’s a comfortable rattan, with the class of a deep fan-back and even a rattan lamp. It’s me!”
At that, the selection came into view and he waved his hand as if to say, “See.”
Kat was impressed with his taste and his ability to find what he wanted in this otherwise nondescript furniture outlet. Nick was to take possession of his new apartment in two days. He’d already sent for his stored furniture, and was quickly lining up the rest of what he needed, efficiently, but also with the enthusiasm of a small boy with a new toy.
He’d adroitly juggled a lingering illness, a murder investigation, a new and unfamiliar job and the establishment of a home adroitly and she would have felt ignoble even teasing him anymore about his purchase. Instead, she offered an invitation to dinner at her home one evening soon, hinting that she would love a return invite once his furniture was in place.
Nick cheerfully agreed as they headed back to the campus and the afternoon’s agenda. For Nick it meant meetings into the evening. For Kat, it was tackling a challenging bit of writing, but first she wanted to check with Dennis. She wondered if he might be able to track down Billings’ student once he left the university. As sports information director, he had created a massive system of information on any student in sports. It would hinge on whether Downings was on a team while here but it was worth checking since Burrows had hit a dead end.
She felt lucky to find him in. He was pulling something smelling wickedly good from the microwave. “You caught me, Kat. Want some?”
“Dare I ask what it is?”
“It’s my own concoction, a version of a s’more with crackers and chocolate and marshmallows.”<
br />
“I think I’ll pass, though I appreciate the genius of the recipe. Do you cook often?” she joked.
“You haven’t heard the rumors? They call me the gourmet microwave chef. I can cook almost anything you’d want, as long as it’s in the microwave.”
“I can believe it, but I came here today to tap your other area of expertise.”
When he lifted his eyebrows and the smile reached his eyes, she set him straight quickly. “You know, your skill on the computer?”
“Oh, that. What do you need?” He listened carefully to the details she knew about Steven Downings, commenting or questioning only for clarification.
He stretched his fingers over the keyboard like it was a piano and he was the maestro. “That name sounds familiar. I think I remember him.”
She waited a few minutes while his fingers flew over the keys, and voila, there was Steven’s name. “Great. Does it give a clue where he is now?”
“Actually, it doesn’t. He left the University of Illinois to go on to grad school, but from this I could probably track him down with a few phone calls to other sports information directors.”
She struggled to hide the excitement in her voice at perhaps besting Burrows. “How soon? Not that I’m pushing or anything.”
Dennis took another bite of his snack and agreed to do it right away. “Don’t forget, you owe me one after this.” He turned away to look up some phone numbers, not even waiting for a promise.
Kat returned to her office to work on the overdue article while she waited. Her first draft complete, she studied the campus from her window. Everything looked serene and mellow, like a watercolor. The students were in their pre-dinner showdowns, whether it be soccer, lacrosse, or hockey. Others battled behind closed doors, conquering electronic fiends in the latest round of computer games, killing time until the dining hall opened.
Kat hustled over to the dining hall herself. She ate there often when she worked on campus in the evening. She brought a book and relaxed while eating, preparing to confront demons of another sort. It was two nights before Halloween and one of the dormitories planned a party for the underprivileged.
Kat and the photographer roamed hallways packed with eager little monsters, pouring through in controlled chaos, knocking on doors and encouraging the students to play the game of Halloween with them. Even guys, whom she noticed could sometimes be grumpy about such things, got into the spirit of it, making the youngsters squeal with delight. The photographer, on the other hand, provoked similar squeals from the coeds. Kat dealt with embarrassed girls who squealed, “Don’t take my picture!” while smoothing their hair into place and posing.
She enjoyed and absorbed the jumble of loud human voices, skeleton costumes, cowgirl outfits, angels’ wings, and struggles for position. She caught snippets of conversation—“Sharp costume!” and “Who are you?”
She saw the deferential faculty mom supervising, and many of the youngsters’ parents. Most had mothers only. Many of them were single-parent families. The parents appeared appreciative of the special attention their children were receiving.
Kat inhaled the intoxicating scent of microwave popcorn, bowls of Hershey’s chocolate bars and the fresh fruit the students were handing out. The moms seemed to stick closer to their kids this year—the fear in their eyes counteracting the joy at seeing their little ones having a great time.
Maybe just weeks after a murder wasn’t such good timing for a magazine article on the two sides of Halloween on campus. Kat had hopes it would provide insight without instigating too much anger in the powers that be. Tonight was the easy part, the humanitarian side featuring a party and trick or treat for the underprivileged. On Halloween itself, they’d explore the darker side—the rumors of drunken orgies practiced by some of the frat houses. That was the touchy side of the feature. The university administration didn’t like too much introspection—certainly not openly explored in a magazine that reached thousands. Kat liked the contrast. College students were so diverse.
The photographer became caught up in the excitement. Kat hoped he would cut his fee.
The Halloween party wasn’t as frightening as the creaky silence of the science building without its daytime quota of students. Kat went there immediately after the party, knowing it was early enough to still catch Gerald in his office. There must not be any classes at the moment, she thought. The silence was almost eerie. There was a chill in the stairwell. It hovered there in the heat of summer and was magnified in the damp of autumn. Its icy fingers, like ghosts of long-dead scientists, wrapped round her as she scampered up the stairs to visit Gerald.
The raw cold seemed especially menacing today. Silly, she’d been up those stairs so many times over the years, alone, at night. What bothered her tonight? Her footsteps echoed in the wide stairwell. She slowed her steps. Why did Gerald have to be so high up? Was there someone coming behind her? She stopped. Had the echoing footsteps stopped also? Had there even been any footsteps? Maybe she was just spooked from the Halloween party. Ghosts and goblins didn’t really strike fear in her heart though. She didn’t stare transfixed in horror during The Birds but that didn’t mean The Shining was on her preferred reading list either.
She’d felt the urge to talk with Gerald all day and someone in the stairwell below her wasn’t about to deter her. She shuddered and hurried quickly up the last steps. Gerald wasn’t snoozing as she reached his office this time, nor battling flies, but deep into a discussion with one of his students over the merit of studying for mid-terms. The “D” on the exam remained unchanged, finally clinching Gerald’s point.
Kat wandered the hallway waiting for him. Her newfound unease kept her close to his office. She hoped that Gerald could help corral her misgivings about Charlie. It’s like there was a big void where his life should have been; anytime she questioned people about his outside interests, his friends or hobbies, there was a blank stare. No one could think of anything. Charlie was his research, nothing more, nothing less.
When questioned after the student left, Gerald provided his viewpoint, and gave Kat insight into a professor she’d known, yet not known, for years.
“Charlie was a loner, Kat. You won’t find much personal information on him because there wasn’t any. He looked for satisfaction in the laboratory. Some may find emptiness in beakers and reports but for him the emptiness was in the frivolous conversations of the social scene. He never felt at home there.”
Kat stared at Gerald, trying to discern where that loneliness fit in with his murder, if at all. As Gerald talked, he leaned back in his chair and Kat could see his rotund stomach, so round that the flesh peeped between the buttons. She rested her chin on the palm of her hand, her elbow on the arm of the chair. She wasn’t so much tired as perplexed. Maybe she was searching for clarity where there was none. Gerald’s forthrightness pulled things back into perspective. He stayed late and came in early just like Charlie. Yet everyone liked Gerald. What was the difference between them, she wondered.
“Just because he was a loner and didn’t feel comfortable in the social world doesn’t justify his orneriness nor his narrow-mindedness.”
“You’re right. I was beginning to feel sorry for him. I suppose I still can as long as I keep it in perspective.”
Gerald locked up and they discussed the murder briefly on the way down the stairs. Kat was grateful for his company and looked around warily. She didn’t see anyone lurking on the landings behind doors to the other floors. She continued her conversation as they headed out of the building, “But the murder is really getting me down.”
Before he could respond she noticed the student who had been in Gerald’s office. “Excuse me. Did you see anyone on the stairs right after you left Dr. Higgins office?”
“He looked at her a little strangely, but answered politely enough. “No, no one but Dr. Prosnerian. At least it looked like him from the back. He was walking down ahead of me. I assumed he was leaving his lab.”
“Thank you.” She tur
ned back to Gerald as the student left. Although Gerald noticed her puzzled look at the student’s response, she didn’t confide in him, and when she continued their earlier conversation he let it drop.
“Why can’t we find any leads?” she asked.
“Maybe the police have more than they’re letting on. Give them time.”
“Point made,” she sighed.
Chapter 16
Tics indicate negative feelings like temper, anger, and hostility.
“Handwriting Analysis: The Complete Basic Book”
by Karen Amend and Mary Ruiz
Dawn in the mountains blushed with the rosy hues of an exuberant sunrise. The air was still, dreamy. The chatter of nuthatches and chickadees rose with the sun, replacing the cacophony of crickets from the night before. As the birdsong slackened, wind broke through the trees, rustling the changing leaves into sparkling gems. Kat admired the scene while she sipped coffee on the porch, letting the colors seep under her skin to soothe and warm. It was her Shangri-La, a balm before facing the working world.
Thoughts of the job intruded, turning from the idyllic setting to the gruesome matter of murder. Yes, the chase was intriguing, but what she’d been holding at bay was the reality of death. It invaded her thoughts now, breaking the calm early morning routine.
Charlie had not been popular. Friends weren’t lined up in tears. No family had come to mourn. A coffin had been shipped home to a father who long ago learned there was no need to visit. But death bequeathed to those left behind a film of uncertainty, of introspection, and always, of guilt for times lost and words unsaid. Murder added fear, bravado, and suspicion. Kat didn’t like facing any of it, but knew that for her, finding the killer would put to rest some of those feelings. She set aside the breakfast dishes and left for work.
The sun glazed a path through the treetops with a Midas touch as she drove down from the mountains. It was time to wrap up some of the mundane chores related to her job on campus, finish the freelance feature that was due at the magazine next week, and follow through on inquiries out to students regarding the victim, his work, and journal.