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That Sleep of Death

Page 17

by Richard King


  “Well, housekeeping, really. I cleaned and tidied but he made a point of not allowing me to move anything. So I kept things as he left them. I did some laundry, the sheets and towels and things he didn’t send out. And I cooked. I prepared three meals and I left them in the freezer. He bought prepared foods or ate out the rest of the time.”

  “How did he pay you if you hardly saw him?”

  “He left a cheque.”

  “And how often would you say that you saw him in a month?”

  “About once.”

  “Once a month?” Gaston couldn’t believe how tightly organized the good professor was.

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you know if he entertained at all?”

  “Entertained? I don’t think so. I know that he had people over, mostly women from what I could tell, but, I don’t think he went in much for entertaining.”

  Gaston perked up like a hunting dog at the whiff of a prey. “Mostly women? Did you ever see any of his guests?”

  “Not hardly. But women leave things behind. Makeup and things like that. I stored it all in the second medicine chest in the bathroom if I found any. And other things. Perfume. I could tell by the scent if a woman had been here. I could tell when he got a new girlfriend. The smell of the place changed,” she said with a smile.

  “When was the last time you noticed such a change?”

  “Boy, that’s a tough one. It’s been the same scent for quite a while, but … I’ve got to think.” She closed her eyes and sat back in her chair and was obviously lost in thought. Her head nodded slightly and her lips pushed in and out as she tried to recall the various scents of the perfumes that passed through Professor Hilliard’s home. I thought that we were lucky that smells are stored in long-term memory otherwise Mrs. Smith would never be able to answer the question.

  Finally she sat upright and opened her eyes. “A couple of years ago,” she said. “There was a definite change. I started to notice a really nice scent. I didn’t know what it was called but it sure smelled nice. I wanted to buy it but I could never find it at the places I shopped. Then whoever she was left a bottle of it in the bathroom. Jade it was called. No idea where she got it but I’d sure love a bottle of it.”

  “Jade?”

  “Yes, the cologne. It’s probably expensive and hard to get.”

  “I see,” said Gaston. “Jade. And what is there about this perfume that makes it so different from its predecessors?”

  “Not perfume; cologne. Well, one of the things that is different is that there was someone wearing cologne at all. Before that it was all soaps and lotion but nothing fancy and certainly no perfume or cologne. Do you see what I mean? For the first time in a long time there was some one here who treated herself to some of the finer things.”

  “So, before the arrival of the Jade lady the visitors, so far as you could tell, were less luxurious in their tastes.” Gaston summarized.

  “Exactly. Now may I ask you a question?” Mrs. Smith inquired of Gaston.

  “Certainly, madam. What is it?”

  “Has any one seen to funeral arrangements for the poor professor?”

  This was the first time any one had expressed any practical concern for the deceased. Jane Miller-More was unquestionably sad at Hilliard’s passing but her grief seemed more self-centred than altruistic. Arlene Ford seemed to be more angry at the professor than sad. Neither Sarah nor Allan seemed particularly upset at the death of Professor Hilliard; in fact Allan seemed almost pleased that Hilliard was out of the way. Mrs. Smith who only saw Professor Hilliard once a month had a personal interest in the man.

  “It’s thoughtful of you to ask. But we’ve had the body at the morgue for the last few days so that we could do an autopsy. These things take time.”

  “Yes, but sooner or later a family member will want to arrange for a proper burial won’t they?”

  “I suppose. But so far we haven’t been able to locate any family.”

  “He wasn’t from here. I think he was American originally, from Ohio or one of those places.”

  “We’ll make some efforts to find his family after we finish the autopsy. If you hear from them please have them get in touch with me.” He handed Mrs. Smith one of his cards.

  The buzzer from the lobby sounded again and I checked my watch. Ten o’clock exactly. “We have another guest coming,” Gaston explained. “Please tell me if you recognize her.”

  We waited for the knock at the door and Gaston answered it. “Please come in, Ms. Ford. Thank you for being so punctual.” He stood back to allow Arlene to enter and we heard the tap of her high heels as she walked into the room.

  Arlene stopped short when she noticed Betty Smith sitting in the chair with the window’s light behind her.

  “You know my colleague, Mr. Wiseman. Permit me to present Professor Hilliard’s housekeeper, Mrs. Smith. Mrs. Smith, this is Ms. Ford from the University. She worked for Professor Hilliard. I don’t think you’ve met.” Gaston was standing behind Arlene and she couldn’t see him.

  “No. I haven’t but there is something very familiar about you,” Betty said, getting to her feet. We were quiet as we watched Betty Smith extend her hand to Arlene Ford.

  “I know!” Betty said suddenly. “You’re Jade!”

  Arlene Ford froze. But only for a second. She dropped Betty Smith’s hand as if it were suddenly aflame and turned quickly. I think she was in the “flight” part of fight-or-flight but Gaston stood between her and the door. She froze again and I could see her facial muscles tighten with fear and anger. She whipped her head around and saw me standing in the alcove archway. It was clear to her that neither flight nor fight was a possibility. She turned her tight, frightened face back to Gaston and I noticed that large tears formed in the corners of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. For the first time I believed that her tears were sincere and that she had something to cry about.

  “There, there, dear,” Mrs. Smith said and put a maternal arm around Arlene’s shoulder.

  Gaston caught Betty’s eye and indicated with a tiny gesture and a step forward that he would take over now. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Smith, you have been extremely helpful. I’ll get in touch with you if I need to speak to you again. Will you be able to get home all right? Shall I call for a taxi? Would you like me to have a police car drive you home?”

  “Lord, no. It’s a nice day and I’ll take the bus. Thank you.” She dropped her arm from Arlene’s shoulder but not before giving her a comforting squeeze. “Goodbye, now. Please let me know if there are any funeral arrangements, or if you locate the family.”

  “I certainly shall, madam. Thank you again.”

  And with that Betty Smith walked out of the condo.

  We turned our attention to Arlene Ford, who was standing white-faced and as still as death.

  chapter sixteen

  Arlene collapsed onto the chair recently vacated by Betty Smith. She looked awful. Tears had streaked her make-up. Fear and anger were fighting for control of her face. After the surprise Gaston had prepared it was difficult for her to retain her cool, in-your-face persona.

  We gave her a few more moments to bring herself to the point where she could talk. I sat on the other of the two chairs, beside Arlene, with my pad and pen poised to take notes. Gaston sat opposite her.

  After a pause, he leaned forward, looked her straight in the face and said very, very sternly, like a school principal talking to a badly behaved youngster, “Ms. Ford, you must pull yourself together. I shall not be offering you any sympathy even though I know that you’ve had a terrible shock. You’ve lied to me on more than one occasion. I must insist on the truth now. I’m prepared to talk to you here, but if you do not co-operate we’ll have to continue our conversation at the police station. If that is your preference I strongly recommend that you have a lawyer present. At the very least you will be charged with interfering with a police investigation and at the very worst you will be charged with murder. Do I make myself clea
r?”

  Arlene looked at Gaston. It was clear from her stricken face that she finally understood that she was in real trouble and that lying was no longer an option. “Yes.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “Do you intend to co-operate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you intend to tell me the truth?”

  “Yes.” Another whispery croak.

  “Do you understand what will happen if you continue to lie to me?”

  “Yes.” This time there was a touch of asperity that made her sound more like herself.

  “When was the last time, before today, that you were in this apartment?”

  “A week ago.”

  “What was the purpose of your last visit?”

  “To collect my things — the few things that I left here that Hal allowed me to leave here, or that I plain forgot.”

  “Am I to understand from what you are saying that you and Professor Hilliard were having an affair?”

  “Yes.”

  Arlene had regained much of her composure but she was much less hostile than during our previous meetings. Maybe the fact that she was resigned to telling the truth helped her to relax. It could not have been easy for her to lie so elaborately. Unless she was pathological it would have been difficult for her to remember all the details of the lies. She didn’t seem happy but she did seem to have come to terms with her predicament.

  “Would you like a glass of water?”

  “Yes, oh, yes please.” For the first time since I met her I saw Arlene Ford smile. She was grateful for even this small consideration.

  “I’ll get it,” I said jumping to my feet, anxious to be helpful. “Would you like one, as well, Gaston?”

  “Yes,” he said and smiled.

  I went to the kitchen and returned with three large tumblers of water. None of us wanted to put the glasses on the polished coffee table so Gaston and Ford held onto their glasses and I set mine on the floor so I could continue to take notes.

  “Please tell me about your relationship with the professor,” said Gaston.

  “The whole story?” Arlene asked.

  “From the beginning, if you please.”

  “From the beginning,” she said softly, almost to herself. She sighed and started talking in a louder, clearer voice. “I already told you that I’ve known Hal for twelve years; since I started at the department. For most of that time our relationship was strictly professional. And since I worked for all the staff in the department I can’t say that I had that much to do with him. Even at the annual staff Christmas party he was kind of aloof, distant. He didn’t mix much. At least not with non-academic staff. So time passed and not much changed.”

  “We’ve heard rumours that he had relations with some of his female students. Do you know if there is any truth to the rumours?” Gaston interjected.

  “Maybe. I can’t be sure. He was incredibly discreet — believe me, I know — so I don’t know for absolute certain, but I heard all the rumours and I’m pretty sure that some of them are true. But not all. He was lonely and susceptible but he wasn’t crazy. He never did anything in his office, like some I could name, so I never actually caught him at anything. And I’m also pretty sure that he never tried anything with undergraduates. But he paid a lot of attention to graduate students and new faculty, like Jane Miller.” She pronounced Jane Miller’s name with some of that old Arlene Ford sharpness. I wasn’t sure if Gaston noticed the change in tone, but I made a note of it — just in case we had some final questions about her relationship with Professor Miller-More.

  Gaston, too, seemed to be storing the information away, though without a pencil and paper in his case. Arlene was silent for a moment, then said, “Shall I continue?”

  “One more question first. I have to be quite sure about what you are saying. You do believe, then, that Professor Hilliard had affairs with his graduate students, correct?”

  “In essence, yes,” she responded.

  “Is it possible that he was having an affair with Sarah Bloch?”

  “Possible? Yes, it’s possible, but I doubt it.”

  “So her boyfriend, Allan, is overreacting if he thinks something took place between Sarah and Hilliard?”

  “Overreacting? I’ll say. Allan is the jealous type. You know the kind I mean. Every time he sees Sarah talking to a man, he thinks she’s making a date to meet him at a hotel. Allan is capable of believing almost anything. And he has a temper. Sarah is a lovely person and Allan is going to ruin the relationship with his possessiveness. You’ll see. I’ve known men like him. They’re only happy when they’re making some woman miserable.”

  Gaston pulled Arlene back to her story. “I understand,” he said soothingly. “Please continue telling us about your relationship with Professor Hilliard.”

  “At first I knew him in a kind of distant way. He was one of the professors in the department and I did some work for him. He was always polite but not much more than that. When Jane Miller came to the department as a teacher he took up with her. For a long time he kept the relationship pretty quiet. Usual behaviour for him. But slowly he and Jane became more open about things. I guess you could say that what started out as an affair turned into a real romance. It did him a lot of good, if you ask me. Made him more relaxed and approachable. While he was with her he would actually say more than hello and goodbye to me. We would sometimes have an actual conversation about whatever, politics, the weather, anything. I was pretty sure that this was the real thing and that they would get married or at least move in together. Everybody believed that and everybody was pleased at how positively the relationship changed Harold. Then the rumours about her doctoral dissertation began.”

  “What kind of rumours?” I asked. I knew enough to know that the integrity of a doctoral dissertation is sacrosanct and that even the hint of a problem could destroy a career.

  “Just that there were some irregularities. I don’t really know what. There was never more than that. She spent a term back at the university where she got her PhD, the University of Toronto, and that was that. By the time she got back the rumours had faded away. So I guess that there was nothing to them. But it was around that time that she suddenly dropped Hal and started seeing Fred More, whom she later married.

  “The breakup just about destroyed him. One day he was happily in love and the next he was back to his old withdrawn self. Well, almost back to his old self. The difference was that somehow I happened to catch him in one of his few talkative moods. One day we were leaving at the same time and he suggested we go for a drink and dinner. The poor soul poured his heart out to me. I was so surprised I didn’t have much to say but I listened and I guess we both had too much wine with dinner. The wine loosened his tongue and my defences and we ended up here, in bed. The next morning I was furious with myself for slipping into bed with someone from work and having a one-night stand. I was determined to go back to our old relationship of hello, goodbye, politeness and nothing more. I wasn’t going to be one of his conquests. I fully intended to put that night behind me and out of my mind. It didn’t work out that way.

  “I’m not sure why but we each found something that the other needed at that time. He needed a shoulder to cry on and then to have his fragile male ego restored. And I was tired of being alone. I may not have had an ideal relationship with Hal but it for a while it was better than nothing. And nothing is what I had before I took up with him. We’re the same in that we are both very private people and, all in all, live better without too many demands on us. So the one night stand became an arrangement that seemed to work. It lasted two years and it made me happy, and I thought he was happy too.”

  “I gather from the way you’re talking that it wasn’t you who chose to end it,” Gaston said sympathetically.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, reliving a bad memory. “No, it was Hal. Just like that, he told me that he was seeing someone else and that it was a serious, permanent relationship. I couldn’t believe it. I just went berserk.
I cried and screamed and berated him and it did no good. He said his mind was made up and that he was sorry but it was over. I couldn’t believe it. I was being dumped and he was sorry? You can bet I told him what I thought of him. But it didn’t do any good. He listened until I ran out of steam and he even agreed with my assessment of him. He didn’t change his mind. It was over. Looking back on it I suppose that I have to admit that at least he was honest with me. He didn’t try to string me along or take the passive-aggressive route out — you know, slowly pulling away from me and engineering a break up by forcing me to confront him. It was quick, clean break, but it was incredibly hurtful. Apparently there was never any chance that I could have been a ‘serious, permanent’ lover. I was being dumped and insulted in the bargain. He just told me it would be best if I cleaned my stuff out of here and that we go back to being secretary and professor. I told him that two years had passed and that it wasn’t that simple. He said it would have to be. So I got my things together and left and spent a weekend at home in tears and tried my best to deal with it, with him, in some way so that I could restore my pride.”

  “You said that you got your things out of here. What exactly did you mean by that? Did you have a lot of things over here?”

  “Hardly. It’s not like we lived together or anything. There were just some odds and ends around, things I had forgotten, a sweater, cosmetics, things like that.”

  “And it was one of those things you thought we found that day in the café?” Gaston inquired.

  “That’s right. I suddenly thought I might have left a small jewellery case. I couldn’t remember seeing it at home. But when I looked in my bag I realized I’d put it inside a zipper compartment and forgotten to take it out. So I knew you didn’t find anything of mine.”

  “Were you angry with Professor Hilliard?”

  “Angry? I was furious. I felt used and discarded like old clothes. I was hurt and angry and I just hated the son-of-a-bitch. I wanted to hurt him right back. I was trying to think of a way to make him suffer the way I was suffering. But before I could do that he died.” Arlene began to cry, as if she had just this moment heard about his death.

 

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