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Formula for Murder

Page 18

by Judith Mehl


  Covello invited Sloan to his place for a nightcap. The apartment bar was well stocked. Michael had read Sloan’s signals loud and clear and knew the Bloody Marys were just the beginning. They moved swiftly from a clinch on the sofa and rapidly disrobing, to the bedroom and naked splendor. Michael’s eyes roamed over her body, likening it to that of a thoroughbred, all sleek and slender strength.

  Sloan, for once silent, spoke with murmurs and sighs, and conveyed anything relevant with her hands, doing a thorough appraisal herself and finding every inch to her liking. They finally dozed, only to be awakened by loud noises in the night. Neither wanted to move enough to look out the window but once they gained a semblance of coherency, they recognized the raucous sounds of a drunken party coming from the fraternity house next door. The strident echoes of the boisterous activities emanated from the side yard. Once awakened Michael attempted a desultory effort at arousing Sloan. The party noise was intrusive, however, and he kept losing his concentration.

  She surprised him with a quick return to her earlier interest, rolling on her side and covering his legs with one of hers. She leaned provocatively on his bare chest and smiling into his surprised eyes said, “Let’s go to my place. We can ride horses!”

  “Not again! You’re insatiable, woman.”

  “I love it when you talk dirty, but I really meant, ‘ride horses.’ I have two. One’s a stallion. You’ll love him. We could leave now. Catch a few hours sleep, or whatever, till dawn, then go riding.”

  It didn’t take long to convince Michael, who was definitely interested in the ‘whatever’ if nothing else, and really did enjoy riding. He knew he could stay an extra day if needed to finish the journal and make his report to the detective.

  A cab ride later they were at Sloan’s, oblivious to the problems they would be creating come morning.

  Chapter 24

  Writing with excessive cover strokes—one stroke atop the first stroke—suggests the need to conceal. But who is concealing what?

  “Graphology Explained” by Barry Branston

  “What do you mean you lost our Nobel Prize winner?”

  “Thomas, it’s not so much that he’s lost as he’s not where we expected him to be. It’s not as bad as it sounds.” Nick attempted to mollify the obviously distressed president as he spoke with him mid-morning on Saturday. “You’re getting distraught over what could be nothing.”

  “What makes you think I’m distraught?”

  “It could be the shrieking, or maybe the wild pacing.”

  “I travel nineteen hours from Budapest to come home in hopes of finding a killer under wraps and to greet a Nobel Prize winner and instead I find the killer is still on the loose and our speaker has vanished!”

  “OK, so you have the right to be upset. But we all have cause to be upset about now. Let’s try to control it” Nick said firmly as he leaned forward in the chair.

  Thomas turned abruptly. “What are you upset about? Besides the obvious?”

  “You can ask that? After calling Burrows and filling him in on me when I specifically asked that no one know of my background?”

  “That agreement became null and void when you walked into a murder investigation,” Thomas asserted. He faced away from Nick when he spoke, unable to look him in the eye when he said it.

  “Why? It’s not relevant.”

  “The fact that you have very specialized experience in investigations of this sort, and knowledge that could help Burrows is relevant.”

  Nick shook his head. “I have no knowledge of the victim, the killer, the method of operation, or a motive. I’m in the dark on this as much as the rest of you, and you know it.”

  “All right, all right! I panicked. He’s the only one I told. No harm done. Now, let’s get back to Covello. What happened to the guard?”

  “The guard went home for the night on my orders. Covello wasn’t a prisoner, and no threat has been made on his life. He agreed to someone accompanying him around campus but drew the line at a full-time babysitter.”

  So if he wasn’t in danger where is he?”

  “Thomas, calm down. He could have walked into town to buy a cup of coffee for all we know.”

  Thomas stopped his aimless pacing and faced Nick calmly. He even managed to stretch out in the burgundy leather chair and attempted to work out the kinks in his neck before continuing the interrogation. “OK, why is he considered missing then?”

  “It’s just that he agreed with Karl, the bodyguard, that he would stay in his apartment until Karl came by at eight this morning. Karl was being conscientious, came by at seven and waited, watching the place from his car. No one went in or out but when he tried to reach him at eight there was no answer. Karl immediately called security, went in with his key, and found nothing. No one there, nothing disturbed. The bed is rumpled. His suitcase is still there. Wallet missing.”

  “Maybe he’s out jogging.”

  “It’s 10 a.m. now. No one goes jogging for three hours.”

  Thomas paced around the room, trying to gain perspective and analyze the possibilities. He was a strong man; not one wrought with passions to cloud his thinking and a man of deep emotion. He also believed in education and that belief became the deed time and time again. He’d turned many a boy into a man, altering their course in life with a hard-edged grin and a challenge that couldn’t be denied. Nick was one of those boys. He respected, trusted, and liked him.

  Nick brought Thomas back to the present. “Thomas? Can I proceed with the investigation?”

  “A few more questions, Nick. Karl was the last one to see Covello last night?”

  “No, from what Karl said it was probably Sloan Mallory.”

  Thomas’s eyebrows rose quickly and then realized this was no time for personal moralities. “Sloan? How so?”

  “When Karl left last night, Covello and Sloan had just entered his apartment to have a nightcap. In case you’re interested, the lecture went quite well. I’m sure Covello was feeling successful and wanted to share that feeling.”

  “And he picked Sloan?”

  “Well, it was more the other way around, but he went willingly!”

  Thomas tucked his hands in his pockets and faced the windows, frowning. “So, have we asked Sloan what happened after that?”

  “We can’t reach her. Doesn’t answer her phone. We’ve left messages.” Mark’s men are scouring the campus and the town. I wanted to head out to Sloan’s myself now, unless you need me for anything else. I’d like to see if her car is there and look around. She didn’t have it with her on campus yesterday. I picked her up to bring her to the dinner with Michael. At that time her car was in her driveway.”

  Thomas walked back from the windows, still in thought. “OK, Nick. But take one of Mark’s men with you just in case. I’ll stay here. Report to me frequently. With any luck the press won’t hear of this until it’s over.”

  “I’m with you there, but I have Kat working on a vague statement if we need it.”

  Thomas immediately noticed the warmth in Nick’s voice when he spoke of Kat but let it ride for the time being. He waved Nick out the door and settled at his desk.

  His first day back, Saturday or no, was going to be a long one.

  Nick hailed Mark Raub on the walkie-talkie he’d carried from the moment Karl called him that morning. The men were all keeping in close contact. One of them, Jack Donahue, met him in front of the building and they sped out to Sloan’s. Nick liked Jack. They’d worked together planning the security on campus for the lecture. Campus security, though fraught with minor vandalism and drunk and disorderly calls, seldom had the challenge of a city beat or a murder investigation, but Jack seemed able to endure the daily tedium without losing that needed edge. Nick enjoyed the way Jack’s mind quickly grasped possibilities and was able to play out some ideas.

  Because Sloan owned horses, her place was out of town. As they pulled up he noticed the car in the driveway, exactly where it had been the night before. That could be
good news. Or bad. She was supposedly going to catch a ride back home last night. If she stayed with Michael, her car still parked in the same place fit. And if it had been late then she might still be in bed. But Nick couldn’t wait. They walked up the stone path lined with a white split rail fence flanked with dormant rose bushes. Nick pictured it in full flower. It seemed too formal, too symmetrical for his tastes. The dramatic effect suited Sloan. He preferred the natural look at Kat’s place. He rang the bell. When no response came after a minute, he banged on the door. “Sloan, if you’re in there, open up now. We need to talk.”

  As Nick waited impatiently for a response, Jack circled around to the back of the house. Nothing looked out of order, no windows were open for easy access, and the back door was locked. When he came back around the front, Nick walked down the steps to meet him. A shout of laughter from off in the woods turned their heads simultaneously. Sloan burst from the woods on her mare, laughing and talking with Michael Covello racing up behind her on a black and gleaming stallion. Horses and riders slowed and as soon as Sloan noticed the campus security car in the driveway, stopped abruptly.

  “The jig is up,” she whispered to Michael. “Looks like we’ve been hunted down and they’re moving in for the kill.”

  Michael recognized Nick, and still not realizing the magnification of his indiscretion, rode up to him and smiled. “Nick, isn’t it a glorious morning?”

  Close up, Michael noticed the thunderclouds forming on Nick’s face and felt the force of the storm. “Uh-oh, I see what you mean, Sloan. Do we run for it?”

  “We can’t. The horses need a rest. We might as well face them now and get it over with.”

  “Sloan, for God’s sake, how could you!?” Nick didn’t even wait for the horses to come to a standstill as he approached Sloan and shouted.

  Sloan whispered to Covello, “Nick seems a little curt, irascible, and demanding. Should I even acknowledge his question?” Covello just raised his hands and backed off from taking sides.

  Nick found Sloan sassy and without conscience. Didn’t she know what harm she caused by spiriting Michael away? Michael appeared clueless to the tension, smiling at Nick and introducing himself to Jack with a friendly handshake.

  Sloan responded offensively, “What on earth is your problem, Nick? Michael and I were just having an early morning ride.”

  Michael grinned at her, his silence showing acceptance of her slightly shortened version of the night’s activities. He walked his horse slowly towards the barn to cool it down.

  Nick chose a few pithy words to explain that Thomas practically had the National Guard out. At hearing the president’s name he watched Sloan visually lower her hackles. She probably just realized her awkward position. Nick radioed the president and notified Mark Raub to call off the hunt. It seemed to take hours before the president was mollified and Karl was cleared of blame.

  Michael had settled down immediately to examine the journal, giving it all his concentration in retribution for his indiscretion. Nick rescued Kat from the office, where she’d stayed to handle any possible media calls. They’d been fortunate in that the word hadn’t leaked before Michael was “found.”

  Kat commented on the strain Nick had been under since the day he arrived on campus, and said his stay at the university was obviously more than he’d bargained for while recuperating.

  She brushed the hair from his eyes and smiled. “I guess I could have mentioned Sloan’s passionate nature. Maybe we should have kept them apart. Too late now. How would you like a great home-cooked meal? My treat?”

  He rested his forehead on hers, closing his eyes dreamily. “Sounds like heaven. Your quiet little place would be perfect tonight. Maybe Michael and Sloan had the right idea. Let’s get away from here.”

  “How soon can we leave?”

  “I’ve still to deal with Michael and the journal. I’m picking up Santora now and we’re meeting at Michael’s apartment. He said he’d have read the journal by then and we’ll know of its relationship to the murder. Burrows is meeting us there.”

  “As much as I’m curious, I think I’ll go back to my place and start cooking. Will you come and tell me as soon as you know anything?”

  “Absolutely! Burrows is escorting Covello to the airport as soon as we’re finished with our meeting. Mark is going too. I’d just be in the way and I’ve had it with this whole mess right now. I need a break. Once we hear about the journal I’m done for the day. I’ll be there by six o’clock.” He kissed her quickly on the lips and rushed off.

  Nick marveled at the casualness of the move, almost as if it had been second nature.

  Chapter 25

  When letters are unrecognizable, it can mean a blurring of the truth or a desire to confuse.

  “Handwriting, an Analysis Through Its Symbolism” by Rudolph Hearns

  Michael had indeed made up for his disappearance, spending the last few hours combing the journal for anything helpful. He struck out on all fronts. He reported to the group that he’d studied it for it’s scientific merits, for conclusions, and once again for any clues that might be lurking between the lines and found nothing.

  Burrows relaxed in the corner, quietly listening to Michael outline the pertinent information. He appeared mellow and unconcerned. Nick already knew better than that. He’d pierced Burrows façade earlier and knew he was absorbing not only Michael’s information but also his character and the worth of his words.

  “OK, you’ve given us the basics of the research in layman’s terms. What makes you so sure it has no merit?” Burrows queried.

  Dr. Abbott’s work is well documented,” Michael said. “There can be no doubt about what he has done and the results. But he has not bridged the gap that scientists have been striving for over the years. It’s not so much that his work is inconclusive as that his conclusions prove nothing.”

  Santora nodded while paging through the journal himself. He’d never actually seen it until now. Charlie was too private a person and too tight about his research to share it with anyone. Even students working with him complained that they had no clue how their part of the project would fit into the whole. Santora had always felt that it was an ineffective way to teach but then Charlie had tenure long before he himself had come on board.

  Although some of the letters were blurred, Michael followed enough to believe no one would have been interested in those notes or felt they were worth killing the professor over. He added that there was no suggestion of possible hidden agendas, no codes, no secret list of names. Nothing as far as he was concerned that could have led to the murder.

  “I’m not a detective mind you, but that’s what I see.”

  Nick enjoyed the peaceful drive to Kat’s home. He’d rushed once the session was over with Covello. Disappointed that there was no lead in the journal, he made a quick trip home for a shower and stopped for some wine before heading out of town. The meandering country road was in sharp contrast to the speed and secrecy of his past travels. It soothed. But not as much as the sight of Kat. She welcomed him with a bright smile and a dress that lit up his insides. It was casual, but clung in all the right places, and he admired her curves as she turned on her strappy sandals and walked across the gleaming hardwood floor to the kitchen. He smiled, thinking she’d instantly know if a shoe was a Manolo Blahnik or a Jimmy Choo, but he was lucky to even remember the names, let alone the models.

  After pouring drinks she showed him her glassed-in porch and they settled on a comfortable sofa to watch the sun begin its descent in a blaze of glory. Kat was also disappointed with the news. In unspoken agreement they left the office behind, and the murder, and began exploring a mystery of their own making.

  She made a gentle foray into his past and he countered with questions about her life. Animated and lively, she flipped out words with enthusiasm and spirit. He offered a comment and she agreed with a pleasing grin. Her own personal scent mixed with the Navy perfume she wore, caused a falter in his questioning, but he continu
ed to play the game.

  She left for a moment to tend to the food. Nick let the view ease the tension from his shoulders. He liked her yard. Dusk mellowed the contours. The landscape barely showed any lawn but the paths wandered aimlessly through natural looking beds of trees and shrubs turned crimson with autumn. He reluctantly left to offer support in the kitchen.

  Much of dinner had been prepared earlier, but Nick helped her turn the veal chops and mix the salad. She’d prepared a superb combination of foods. In between helping, he threaded his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans, leaned against the kitchen counter and watched her work.

  Kat balanced a pitcher of water on the plates, settled everything on the table, and scowled at the worn tablecloth. She wasn’t into much entertaining although she enjoyed cooking; providing a formal dinner on short notice made her palms sweat. She wouldn’t allow herself to question why she felt the need to make this such a formal, special dinner. She knew Nick would have accepted potluck with a smile.

  Nick helped her place the rest of the dishes. He didn’t notice the worn tablecloth but appreciated the romantic glow of the candles and the work she’d obviously put into helping him relax after that terror of a day.

  She deftly served the mesclun greens with creamy parmegiana dressing, followed by roasted apple fettuccini and the grilled veal chops. The banana cream pie was safely tucked away in the corner as the pièce de résistance.

  Nick sensed her tenseness but couldn’t discern the cause. He lifted his fork but before he tasted anything, questioned teasingly, “This isn’t any of your health food stuff is it? No vinegar lurking behind the fettuccini or something? No miracle powders sprinkled on the greens?”

 

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