“I’d like to meet him.”
“Oh, you should. I could set it up.”
Lucy hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”
The following day, Mary Alice met Lucy in the library, and they walked through the parking lot east of the building to the village of graduate student houses where the Knights had an apartment.
Roger’s size affected people in either of two ways, but Lucy’s reaction was one Mary Alice understood. It made you want to mother the massive Huneker Professor. After the introductions, Roger sank into his special chair and then, realizing his guests were still standing, started to rise. They stopped him.
“If only I had behaved in a more gentleman-like manner,” he said.
“Mr. Darcy!” Lucy cried, and from then on the visit was a dream.
Listening to the chatter about Jane Austen, Mary Alice was aglow, having brought together two of her favorite professors to find that they were kindred spirits. Roger made popcorn and hot chocolate, falling snow was drifting by the windows, a Mozart piano concerto provided background music, it was wonderful. Inevitably, the conversation turned to the terrible events in Decio.
Roger said, “I know the detective in the case.”
“Your brother?”
“Oh, Phil is just an auxiliary. I mean Jimmy Stewart.”
Mary Alice described the memorial service and the beautiful Mrs. Izquierdo. “She was wearing the most colorful scarf. Long as a stole.”
“I’ve met the young fellow who is accused of the murder,” Roger said. “Did you know him?”
“He was a protégé of Raul’s. What on earth he is doing working in campus security I just don’t understand.”
“That is curious, about Mrs. Izquierdo’s scarf.”
“Oh, they each had one,” Lucy said. “A matching set.”
Roger thought about it. “Well, that explains two of them.”
Philip Knight came in then, and Roger introduced him to Lucy, but Philip was preoccupied. He had just come from downtown.
“Anything new?”
“Henry Grabowski has confessed to killing Izquierdo.”
6
After the women left, Roger asked Phil to tell him all about it.
“He says he did it.”
“What led him to say that?”
“The widow showed up and asked to see him. Furlong put up a fuss, but Jimmy let them talk.”
“What was the point of the visit?”
“She said she wanted to see the man who had killed her husband.”
Ten minutes after Mrs. Izquierdo left, Henry asked to see Fauxhall, the assistant prosecutor, and confessed.
“Of course, Furlong will plead him not guilty, but Grafton the reporter was lurking around and he heard of it, so it will be public knowledge that the accused confessed to the crime.”
“What does Jimmy think?”
Henry’s confession cleared up all kinds of loose ends. He had access to Izquierdo’s office; that had been known for some time. The protégé had become progressively disenchanted with his mentor, particularly his boasting about all the conquests he made with women students.
“Is that true?”
“Oscar Wack says his colleague was an animal.”
“I suppose it could be established one way or another.”
“I doubt that Jimmy wants to get into that.”
“Of course not.”
In any case, fed up with Izquierdo, Henry had decided to act. The fire in the wastebasket in Izquierdo’s office suggested firebombing the Corvette.
“He admitted doing that?”
“He told them to check out his car.” There were an empty gas can and lengths of rags in the trunk as Henry said there would be. He thought that would be a nice touch because of the threatening notes that Izquierdo had pasted together. Henry had delivered them, in his guise as campus security, all except the one to Oscar Wack. Izquierdo wanted to do that himself. It was Izquierdo’s stoic reaction to the loss of his car that elevated Henry’s efforts to a tragic level. The murder had been committed in the early evening. Henry was using Izquierdo’s office; the professor showed up, chuckling about the fact that his jealous wife had refused him entry to his own house. Henry ceded the desk chair; Izquierdo sat, that long many-colored scarf around his neck. Henry stepped behind him, grasped the scarf, and used it to strangle Izquierdo.
“But no scarf was found at the scene.”
“He says he took it with him. For a lark, he tossed it into Larry Douglas’s loft, with the result that we all know.”
“Until Mrs. Izquierdo came to the rescue. So much for the mystery of the three scarves.”
Phil opened a beer and checked the TV listings but didn’t turn on the set. “So that’s that, I guess. I’ll have to let Father Carmody know.”
“I said it the first time,” the old priest said, when Phil telephoned him. “Thank God it wasn’t a student.”
Phil nibbled at the remains of the popcorn and finished his beer.
Roger said, “You don’t seem very happy.”
“It’s all so neat.”
“Oh, I don’t know. What about the pogo stick?”
“Larry Douglas looked into that. It seems it was bought by Professor Goessen.”
“The woman who just left?”
“I suppose Jimmy will talk to her. But what’s the problem? The thing was hers, not Izquierdo’s. At least she bought it. Pauline Izquierdo just laughed at the suggestion that her husband would have exercised with such a thing.”
* * *
It was the following day that Roger called Professor Goessen to ask her about the pogo stick. Her explanation removed any need to explain how it had got into Oscar Wack’s office. Roger wasn’t surprised when she confided in him about her estranged husband.
“What does it profit a woman if she gets tenure and suffers the loss of her husband?”
“Why can’t I have both?”
Phil and Jimmy Stewart had begun to wonder, first separately, then together, about Pauline Izquierdo. It was her visit to Henry that preceded his confession that each of them found intriguing. Was it some kind of absurd gallantry, or had the sight of the widow brought on remorse?
“Gallantry?” Roger asked.
“The kid’s a romantic. He reads poetry.”
“Ah.”
But Roger was thinking of what Henry had confided in him about his unsuccessful seduction of Mrs. Izquierdo, prompted by her husband. When Phil and Jimmy went off to a Notre Dame hockey game, Roger called a cab. He had to have a talk with Henry.
Half an hour later, a cab pulled up in front of the building and Roger, all bundled up, moved slowly out to it. The driver hopped out and came to help him.
“Thank you, thank you. Do you think I’ll fit?”
The cabbie laughed. “You should see the size of some of my passengers.”
With an effort, and the help of the driver, Roger was wedged into the backseat, and they set off.
“The jail?”
Then Roger noticed the license displayed over the rearview mirror. Alan Goessen. His eyes met the driver’s in the mirror.
“I’m going to visit a murderer.”
“The kid who killed the professor?”
“That’s his story.”
“He performed a public service.” They stopped for a red light. Alan said, “You know, I met the guy, the professor. What a jerk.”
“How so?”
“I knew guys like him in the service. Real Don Juans, all they talked about was their conquests. Most of them fantasies.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“He was sitting right where you are. I drove him home from the airport one night.”
Roger remembered Lucy’s story of how Pauline had come to her, accusing her of dallying with Raul. Hell hath no fury? But then came another thought.
“I know your wife, Alan. She’s a brilliant woman.”
The light changed, and the cab moved forward. Alan was avoiding the re
arview mirror.
“Did Izquierdo talk about Lucy?”
The cab seemed to slow, then regained speed. “What do you mean?”
“She was one of his imaginary conquests.”
“The guy was a jerk.”
“There seems to be a consensus on that.”
“His wife was no better.”
“Oh.”
“Driving a cab is like being a cop, you see the seamy side of everything. She was having an affair with that kid. I know, I drove him there.”
“The night he killed the husband.”
Alan hesitated. “You’re right.”
The rest of the drive was mostly in silence.
At the courthouse, Alan helped Roger out of the cab, then took his elbow and walked him to the entrance.
“Could you come back for me?”
“Sure.”
“In an hour?”
Alan gave him a little salute, and Roger pushed through the revolving door.
“I’m Philip Knight’s brother,” Roger told the corpulent desk sergeant, who, looking at the massive speaker, seemed to grow thinner.
“So what?”
Roger sought and found his identification as a private investigator.
“I suppose it’s all right.”
“Think of him as a client.”
“Is he?”
“You can ask him.”
The sergeant thought about that, then decided against the effort it would take. He made arrangements for Henry to be brought to a visiting room and had an officer show Roger to it.
Roger was settled somewhat precariously on a chair when Henry was led in. He stared at Roger, then smiled. “What brings you here?”
“‘When I was in prison you visited me.’”
“Sure.” Henry sat across from Roger.
“So you murdered Raul Izquierdo?”
Henry just looked at him.
“Someone confesses to a crime either because he did it or because he is trying to protect someone else.”
“Does that exhaust the possibilities?”
“They are the only ones we need. So you think Pauline murdered her husband?”
“Look, I did it, and that’s that.”
Roger shook his head. “But you couldn’t have.”
Henry smiled. “Did implies could.”
“An unassailable principle, whose counterpart is: could not have, therefore did not. I refer to the second scarf, the one you say you put in Larry Douglas’s loft.”
Henry hunched forward. He was enjoying this as a puzzle. Roger could imagine the sessions Henry had had with Izquierdo.
“Why not?”
“Pauline put it there.”
“Why would she do a thing like that?”
“The question is rather why you would have. You had no reason to throw suspicion on Larry Douglas. He was a friend of yours. The fact that you did not come forward when that scarf was found in Larry’s place proves that you knew who did it.”
“That’s pretty flimsy.”
“The truth is never flimsy. Of course, the scarf is relatively unimportant. More important is your alibi.”
“What alibi?”
“I understand it is a delicate matter. You described your seduction of Pauline Izquierdo as unsuccessful. But it wasn’t, was it? She is your alibi.”
“That’s crazy.”
“And you are hers, aren’t you? When did you leave her that night?”
Henry sat back. “You’ve been reading too many novels. That’s a plot worthy of F. Marion Crawford.”
“Indeed it is. You would confess, there would be a trial, and she would come to your rescue and say that you were with her at the time of the murder. That’s the plan, isn’t it?”
Henry smiled. “It’s your story.”
Roger put his hands flat on the table. “And Izquierdo was already dead when you had your rendezvous with Pauline.”
Clearly this had not occurred to Henry. Roger recalled for him the supposed time of the murder. “That was before you went to her, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, come on.” But there was a speculative look in Henry’s eye.
“So you see, you can’t be alibis for one another.” Roger paused. “Something I am sure Pauline realizes.”
Henry now had a realization of his own. He avoided Roger’s eyes as if he were reviewing the events of the night Raul Izquierdo was strangled.
“She wouldn’t do that to me!”
“Let’s go back to your F. Marion Crawford plot. You think she killed her husband, she thinks you did. Which of you suggested your confessing? Of course, it could have been either of you who confessed, but noblesse oblige. You confess, the charade begins, she testifies, and the upshot is you are both exonerated. That was the idea, wasn’t it? But why should she exonerate you if she did it?”
Henry pushed back from the table. “Save this kind of crap for your students.”
“Do you trust her that much?”
Henry stood up, and the door of the room opened. An officer looked in. “Your cab is here.”
“Would you have him come in here?”
“The driver?”
“Please.”
“You through with him?” He meant Henry.
“Not yet.”
Then Alan Goessen was standing in the doorway. He looked at Henry and Henry looked at him.
“Hi, kid.”
Henry said, “Who is this?”
“Your real alibi, Henry. I regret to say that this is the man who murdered Raul Izquierdo.”
POSTSCRIPT
There were some who expressed surprise at the way Alan Goessen had reacted to Roger’s accusation, but Roger was not among them. It is for the Izquierdos of this world, and their apprentices such as poor Henry Grabowski, to so blind the eye of conscience that evil may parade as good. Alan’s fundamental decency rendered him helpless before the truth of what he had done.
He did wheel and leave the room, and he might have left police headquarters if Phil and Jimmy Stewart had not arrived. An indication from Roger sufficed for them to prevent Alan’s going, and then, feeling surrounded, almost with relief, he acknowledged the truth of what Roger had said.
Ahead lay the slow turning of the wheels of justice. Roger found that he felt sorrier for Lucy than he did for her husband. There must be some elemental sense of the rightness in killing a man who had wronged one’s wife. The irony was that, whatever the truth of Raul Izquierdo’s claim to be the playboy of the western world, South Bend division, there had been nothing between him and Lucy. When the truth of this was brought home to Alan, he looked at his estranged wife with an indescribable expression. She took him in his arms, and in a broken voice he asked her forgiveness. When a plea of innocence was entered for him, it seemed to have some plausibility.
“He’ll probably walk,” Jimmy Stewart said. He didn’t sound regretful.
Larry Douglas had been accused, and he was free. Henry Grabowski had been accused, and he was free. The two young men were not true precedents for Alan Goessen, but who knew what might happen in the present state of the courts?
The liberated Henry had been reunited with Kimberley, whose mind now seemed adequate enough to match her beauty. Larry Douglas stopped by with a possessive Laura clinging to his arm, her unmittened hand displaying a diamond.
“Congratulations!” Roger said, but it was Laura who said thank you.
ALSO BY RALPH MCINERNY
MYSTERIES SET AT THE UNIVERSITY OF NOTRE DAME
Irish Gilt
On This Rockne
Lack of the Irish
Irish Tenure
Book of Kills
Emerald Aisle
Celt and Pepper
Irish Coffee
Green Thumb
ANDREW BROOM MYSTERY SERIES
Cause and Effect
Body and Soul
Savings and Loam
Mom and Dead
Law and Ardor
Heirs and Parents
FATHER DOWLING MYSTERY SERIES
Her Death of Cold
The Seventh Station
Bishop as Pawn
Lying Three
Second Vespers
Thicker Than Water
A Loss of Patients
The Grass Widow
Getting a Way with Murder
Rest in Pieces
The Basket Case
Abracadaver
Four on the Floor
Judas Priest
Desert Sinner
Seed of Doubt
A Cardinal Offense
The Tears of Things
Grave Undertakings
Triple Pursuit
Prodigal Father
Last Things
Requiem for a Realtor
Blood Ties
The Prudence of the Flesh
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE LETTER KILLETH. Copyright © 2006 by Ralph McInerny. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McInerny, Ralph M.
The letter killeth / Ralph McInerny.—1st St. Martin’s Minotaur ed.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-312-35143-4
ISBN-10: 0-312-35143-7
1. Knight, Roger (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Knight, Philip (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 3. Private investigators—Indiana—South Bend—Fiction. 4. Mail bombings—Fiction. 5. University of Notre Dame—Fiction. 6. College teachers—Fiction. 7. College stories. I. Title.
PS3563.A31166L48 2006
813'.54—dc22
2006012808
First Edition: December 2006
eISBN 9781466841963
eBook First edition: March 2013
The Letter Killeth Page 16