5 - Murder on Campus

by Hazel Holt

  ‘Indeed. Practically the whole of the top floor was servants’ quarters. We keep the computers and so on up there. Would you like to have a look?’

  We ascended a smaller and plainer staircase than the handsome, ornately carved one leading up from the great hall. The top floor was a warren of corridors, the labels on whose doors proclaimed them to be study and photocopying rooms or, more simply, ‘Administration’. Theo Portman opened a few doors to reveal an impressive array of electronic equipment, which had Linda asking eager questions. She’s a terrific computer enthusiast and actually seems to understand them and, I must admit, when I see her making an index, say, on her own machine I do see the point of them and feel very much that I’m living in the Stone Age with my own cards-in-a-shoe-box method!

  ‘Oh yes,’ Theo said, ‘there is something up here you might be interested to see.’

  We went down yet another corridor and he opened a door into a large room which, in addition to the usual complement of computers, had walls lined with shelves, laden with files.

  ‘This,’ he said, ‘used to be the linen room. All those shelves used to hold linen. Smell the wood—it’s all cedar, anti-moth, you see. And this,’ he unwound a sort of roller affair, ‘was how they stored those enormous damask tablecloths, so that they didn’t crease.’

  ‘How gorgeous,’ I said, sniffing at the wood. ‘The cedar smell is still very strong. And what marvellous quality it all is and how beautifully made, everything just so and splendidly planned!’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Theo said, ‘a lot of thought went into the smallest detail.’ He moved to the far corner of the room towards what seemed like a couple of enormous chests.

  ‘These were blanket chests, also lined with cedar, of course. You see, this looks like a drawer, but actually it swings outwards on a pivot just below waist level so you don’t have to stoop to put things in.’ He put his hand on one of the chests, pulled gently and the side section swung out revealing a deep box.

  But the box wasn’t empty. Lying inside it was the body of a man.

  Chapter Five

  The man was neatly laid out in the great chest, as if in a coffin. There was a bullet hole in his head. For one extraordinary moment I thought I recognized him, but he was no one I had ever met.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Linda exclaimed, ‘it’s Max Loring!’

  I nerved myself to look again at the body and saw that the man in the chest did indeed look very like his brother, though he was smaller and of slighter build.

  Theo, who still had his hand on the chest, swung it shut. He was very pale and his hands were trembling as he fumbled with the box.

  It seemed somehow awful to shut the body away like that, almost as if we were denying its existence. But I’m sure we all had a fleeting wish that it could be shut away for ever.

  For a moment nobody said anything. It seemed too big a happening to take in. Then Theo, with an obvious effort, pulled himself together and said, ‘I’m so sorry, Sheila. I wouldn’t have had you see this terrible thing for the world. Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ I said shakily. ‘Linda?’ I turned to her. ‘How about you?’

  She shook her head as if to dismiss the sight that had distressed us all.

  ‘Yes,’ she said abruptly, ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘The police,’ Theo said suddenly, ‘I must call the police.’ He moved towards the door and we followed him. I cast a look around the room, such an ordinary room now that the body of Max Loring had been tidied away. So prosaic in the cold fluorescent light, with the shelves full of files, the closed chests and the dark blank window giving back our reflections. And, over everything, the faint, sweet smell of cedar-wood.

  Theo phoned the police from his office, while Linda and I sat silently like two obedient children waiting to be told what to do next. Suddenly I felt very tired. I looked at my watch and was surprised to see that it was only 10.30. It seemed as if an entire night had passed since the concert. Theo put down the telephone.

  ‘I must go and see who, if anybody, is left here,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid the police would like you both to stay until they’ve questioned us all. I’ll have some coffee sent up—or would you like something stronger?’

  ‘No,’ Linda said, ‘coffee’s fine.’

  For a few moments after he had gone we sat in silence, possessed, it seemed, by a sort of lethargy. Then Linda got up and began to walk about the room.

  ‘Max Loring,’ she said, ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘I wonder if his brother’s still here,’ I said. ‘It will be a terrible shock for him.’

  ‘Yes,’ Linda said, ‘it will. It’s a terrible thing to lose a brother.’

  I remembered Dan, dead in Vietnam, and cursed my thoughtlessness.

  ‘Do you think anyone will still be here?’ I asked, more to change the subject than with any real wish to know.

  ‘I guess a few may have hung on. There was some more wine and food set out for after the concert, I think.’

  After a while, one of the Institute’s guards arrived with a tray of coffee and said that the police had arrived and Mr Portman would be with us shortly.

  We drank our coffee in silence—I think we were both still in that state of shock when simply speaking seems like too much of an effort.

  ‘I’m sorry to have kept you.’ Theo was back in the room. ‘This is Lieutenant Landis of the Police Department, who wants to ask you a few questions.’

  The lieutenant was a big man, heavily built, with the sort of heaviness that comes from a large appetite and not enough exercise. He was middle-aged and his long-jawed face had deep lines etched by the years from nose to mouth. His hair was thick and straight and grey, brushed back from a high forehead. He was wearing a navy blue suit and a lighter blue tie, slightly askew under a crumpled shirt collar. He looked tired, as if he’d already had a hard day.

  ‘The lieutenant’s going to use my office to interview people,’ Theo said, ‘so would you like to come with me, Sheila, while he has a word with Linda.’

  We went into an adjoining office and sat on either side of a large desk.

  ‘Were there many people left?’ I asked Theo.

  ‘Just a few,’ he replied. ‘The Hurons and Dave Hunter. Oh, and Nora O’Brien and Rick Johnson—a couple of others from the Institute.’

  ‘What about Carl Loring?’

  ‘No,’ Theo said, ‘he’d gone. He left straight after the concert. The police are trying to get in touch with him now.’

  ‘It will be awful for you,’ I said, ‘having the police all over the place.’

  ‘And the Press and TV,’ said Theo gloomily. ‘We don’t get many murders in Allenbrook, and the fact that the body was found in such, well, bizarre circumstances will bring the whole pack of them down on us. Not the sort of publicity the Institute needs right now.’

  I looked at him enquiringly.

  ‘Funding,’ he said, ‘as always.’

  ‘I thought you were quite well off with the Whittier millions,’ I said, ‘and don’t you get something from the Orlando group?’

  ‘Oh, sure. But, as you said, this place has always taken a lot of upkeep and every year it gets more difficult, what with heating and security and such—not to mention insurance. No, we were just on the verge of launching a new appeal State-wide. This couldn’t have come at a worse time. Trust Max Loring to bitch things up as usual!’

  Seeing my startled expression he said: ‘Forget I said that! No, I expect you will have heard from Anna that he was a very tiresome man, not easy to work with—hell on committees.’ He gave a short, sardonic laugh. ‘It just seems the last straw that he should have been killed in such a way that will make things difficult for the Institute!’

  The door opened and a uniformed policeman put his head round.

  ‘The lieutenant’ll see Mrs Malory now.’ As I followed him into Theo’s office Linda rose to go.

  ‘I’ll see you downstairs when you’ve finished,’ she said.
‘In the main hall.’

  She went out, followed by the other policeman.

  ‘Sit down, please.’ The lieutenant had a deep, pleasant voice. ‘There’s coffee left if you’d like some.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ I replied. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You’re sure? You must be kind of shook up.’ He drew the tray towards him. ‘I guess I’ll have a cup.’

  He poured a cup of coffee, drank a little, then sat back and regarded me.

  ‘You’re British?’

  ‘English,’ I said. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘You’ll think all the things you’ve heard about violence in the States are true,’ he said, ‘but I guess this kind of thing doesn’t happen too often in Allenbrook. As a matter of fact,’ he laughed, ‘this kind of thing—bodies of art experts in blanket chests—doesn’t happen at all!’ I gave a reluctant smile and he continued, ‘Have you been over here long?’

  ‘Just a couple of weeks,’ I replied.

  ‘And do you like it here?’ His very blue eyes were fixed on me sharply, as if this was somehow an important question.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘I love being at Wilmot, it’s so different from anything I’ve ever done before.’

  ‘And what have you done before?’ Again he seemed anxious to hear my answer.

  ‘Oh,’ I replied, rather taken aback. This wasn’t at all what I had expected. ‘I’ve led a very quiet life in a small country town.’

  He glanced down at a paper on the desk. ‘Some kind of visiting professor at Wilmot?’ he asked.

  I laughed. ‘Nothing as grand as that! I’ve written a few books on English literature, but I’ve never actually taught in a university at all.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He reached forward to put his coffee cup back on to the tray. ‘A kind of amateur? Isn’t that what you British like to call yourselves?’

  ‘An amateur,’ I said rather formally, ‘in the strict sense of the word—a lover of English literature.’

  He nodded approvingly. ‘I like that,’ he said. ‘I’m a kind of lover of English literature myself.’

  He leaned back comfortably in Theo’s chair and regarded me amiably. ‘Well, Shakespeare mostly,’ he said. ‘If you have Shakespeare you have the best.’

  ‘I love Shakespeare,’ I said warmly, ‘as a person as well as a writer, if you know what I mean. He’s so real. I can’t imagine how there could be any doubt that he wrote the plays—not if you’ve ever been to Stratford and wandered about the Warwickshire countryside. Have you ever been to Stratford?’

  ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘But pretty soon, when I retire, I mean to go there and stand on that bridge—what’s it called?’

  ‘Clopton Bridge.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, Clopton Bridge, and see those old houses and the school, and the church where he’s buried, and the river and that Forest of Arden—’

  He broke off and the words seemed to hang in the air. I suddenly felt how extraordinary it was that a man had been killed and here I was, at eleven o’clock at night, talking about Shakespeare with an American detective. As if he had caught my thoughts, Lieutenant Landis took out a notebook and assumed a more official expression.

  ‘Well, I guess I’d better get your statement down,’ he said.

  He asked me about discovering the body, and if I knew the deceased. ‘No,’ I said, ‘I’d never seen him before. I’ve met his brother, of course, at Wilmot.’

  He closed his notebook. ‘You’ll be around,’ he asked, ‘until the end of the semester, in case anything crops up and I need to see you again?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘I’m here for three months.’

  I got up to go and to my surprise he rose too and held out his hand. ‘Thank you, Mrs Malory. It was nice meeting with you. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay.’

  We shook hands and, as he moved towards the door and opened it for me, he gave me a warm smile.

  ‘Goodbye and thank you,’ he said.

  I found myself smiling back and, indeed, I was still smiling as I made my way down the great staircase to find Linda waiting for me in the hall.

  I hastily composed my face into a more suitable expression.

  ‘Sorry to be so long, Linda,’ I said, ‘but we were chatting.’

  ‘Chatting?’ She looked startled.

  ‘About Shakespeare, mostly,’ I said.

  ‘Shakespeare?’ she echoed, looking at me with concern.

  ‘No, really,’ I said. ‘He’s a Shakespeare freak, as you would say. Longs to go to Stratford-on-Avon.’

  Linda shook her head.

  ‘Cultured policemen I can do without at this time of night.’

  She led the way out of the great house and down the drive to where the car was parked. There were still a few other cars, looking scattered and lonely as cars do when all their companions have gone, waiting for their owners.

  ‘Who’s still there?’ I asked.

  ‘Mostly Institute people,’ Linda replied, ‘and the Hurons. I think Rob feels that as the senior Wilmot person here tonight he has to stay to the bitter end.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Even at a time like this he’s very conscious of his status.’

  By the time we got back home it was well past midnight and, perversely, I felt wide awake. So, apparently, did Linda. ‘Do you want some coffee or a real drink?’ she asked.

  ‘What I’d really like,’ I said, feeling stereotyped even as I spoke the words, ‘is a nice cup of tea.’

  Linda gave a little crack of laughter.

  ‘Of course you would. And so, actually, would I.’

  ‘And,’ I suggested, ‘some cheese and biscuits, I mean crackers.’

  We sat with our elbows on the kitchen table, mugs of comforting tea cradled in our hands.

  ‘I just can’t take it in,’ Linda said. ‘Did all that really happen or did we dream it?’

  I had a sudden vivid picture of the face of the man lying in the blanket chest, a bullet hole in his head, and I shuddered.

  ‘Yes,’ I said shakily, ‘it was real all right.’

  ‘Max Loring—God!’ Linda cut herself another piece of cheese and pushed the board towards me. ‘He was a pretty loathsome creature, but—murder!’

  ‘I wonder how long he’d been there?’ I said. ‘He wasn’t at the concert, was he?’

  ‘I didn’t see him,’ she replied, ‘so perhaps he’d been—you know—there quite a while. That makes it worse, somehow.’

  ‘You mean all the time we were listening to that beautiful music he was already lying there, dead?’

  I shuddered again and Linda looked at me critically. ‘You’re bushed,’ she said. ‘Finish up your tea and go to bed.’

  ‘You too,’ I countered. ‘You look simply awful!’

  Indeed she did, her eyes enormous with exhaustion, the pallor of her face accentuated by the rich red of her jacket.

  ‘I hope you don’t even think of going out jogging tomorrow.’

  I got up stiffly from the table and went over to put my mug in the sink. ‘Thank goodness Anna went back to New York tonight—she’d have had practically no sleep at all if she’d had to leave at crack of dawn.’

  I thought I’d have a bad night, tossing and turning with the image of Max Loring’s face floating before me, but, to my surprise, I went out like a light and didn’t awake until Linda materialized at my bedside with a mug of tea.

  ‘I looked in earlier,’ she said, ‘but you were sleeping like a child.’

  ‘What time is it?’ I struggled up on to one elbow and looked at my bedside clock. ‘Oh no! Half-past eight! I’ve got a tutorial—sorry, what do you call it?—a conference with Sam at nine!’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Linda said, ‘I called her and told her what had happened. I checked your schedule and you can see her tomorrow at ten.’

  ‘Linda, you’re an angel.’ I sat up, sipping my tea gratefully and trying to come to terms with the world again. ‘Good Heavens!’ I said, taking in her tracksuit and trainers, ‘don’t te
ll me you’ve been out already?’

  ‘Sure. Did me the world of good. I don’t need much sleep. To be honest it sort of blew the unpleasantness away a little.’

  ‘What did Sam say?’ I asked. About Max Loring. Did she know him at all?’

  ‘Only as much as we all did, I guess. About enough to know that she didn’t like him. Max was in and out of Wilmot quite a bit, partly because of Carl and partly because he used to teach a course on Fine Arts before he was full time at the Institute and he had a few friends here. Well, what pass for friends in Loring circles—toadies and hangers-on, you know the sort.’

  I finished my tea. ‘Did Sam mind changing the tutorial?’

  ‘No,’ Linda said, ‘I think she was kind of glad. Today’s her big day and she was pleased to have the extra time.’

  ‘Her big day?’ I echoed.

  ‘Sure, didn’t I tell you? She’s definitely going to marry Hal and today’s the day he’s going to sign the prenuptial contract.’

  ‘Good Heavens,’ I said. ‘How very eighteenth century!’

  ‘Sam is a smart woman,’ Linda said. ‘She’s been through all the hassle of a divorce with her first husband and now she wants everything tied up and legal before she embarks on matrimony again. She’s got a good lawyer—I gather Hal’s finally agreed to six million.’

  ‘What!’

  Linda smiled at my astonishment. ‘He’s a rich man,’ she said, ‘you must have noticed all those diamonds.’

  ‘I thought he was a farmer,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, the farm—and that’s pretty big—is just a hobby. He lives there because that’s where Sam wants to be—the animals, you know. But he has business interests all over.’

  ‘Good gracious!’ I said. ‘All that and she still wants to be a mature student!’

  ‘Sam is a very serious woman,’ Linda said. ‘She cares a lot about literature and she’s determined to finish her master’s thesis.’

  ‘I think she should do well,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘She’s very conscientious and well organized in her work. It surprised me, actually. She looks immensely frivolous—all those high-fashion clothes—but when she’s talking or writing about her own subject she’s very sound. More so, really, than Gina. Now I thought that she would be really solid, but somehow she doesn’t seem to be bringing her mind to bear on what she should be doing. It isn’t that she’s not bright, she’s very intelligent, but, I don’t know, she isn’t focusing her attention on her work.’