“Right.” Anne smiled. “The usual academic angels on the head of a pin.”
“Sure. But with some practical implications all the same. I mean, besides maybe helping us understand how to teach people to read better, there’s lots of grant money and other academic prizes riding on it.”
“True.”
Sarah was tugging at Maggie’s sleeve. Maggie bent her head toward the little girl, nodded at her urgent whisper, and gave her another cracker. Will, sitting flat on the floor, was crooning to his book. Maggie smiled across at Anne. “So I was hired to help prove your husband was wrong!”
“To try to,” Anne said with spirit. “He was assembling counter-evidence. Tal said this latest study would hit right at the heart of Charlie’s theory. Showed the importance of word shape over meaning.”
“Really? Who knew about this study?”
“I don’t know. Tal only analyzed it a couple of days ago. But I don’t think it was a big secret.”
“So someone might have realized the problem it would cause Charlie?”
“What are you suggesting? That Charlie was framed because someone thought he had a motive to—to—But that’s ridiculous!”
“Maybe. But Charlie’s put a lot of years into this study. If it collapsed now it wouldn’t be a small thing.”
Anne nodded morosely. “So maybe someone thought it would make a passable motive. But it’s irrelevant anyway, right? Charlie was with you.”
“True, but…. That’s a horse, Will. Horse.”
“Doggie!”
“Well, have it your way.” Maggie caressed the little boy’s shiny curls.
“Silly Willy,” declared Sarah scornfully.
“No, not silly. He’s labeling sets, Sarah. Just hasn’t subdivided it between horses and dogs yet. Charlie was with me, yes,” she continued without breaking stride, “but no one knew he would be. So the killer might have chosen to frame Charlie because there was a kind of motive and because it was easy to get Charlie’s memo book and drop it there to point the police in the wrong direction.”
“I see.” A sensible plan. Would Bart be that sensible? Probably. “But I thought it was supposed to look like a suicide.”
Maggie said, “Like a staged suicide. Staged by Charlie.”
“Pretty complicated!”
“Yes. But I wondered—well, suppose the police hadn’t found Charlie’s memo book. This is an unkind question, but since there’s a kind of motive for Charlie, I wondered if there might be some kind of motive for suicide.”
“Absolutely not!” Anne leaned across the table, stabbing at the air in front of Maggie with a stiff forefinger. “He was happy! Celebrating, for God’s sake! It couldn’t be!”
“I know.” Maggie didn’t cringe from her anger. She reached toward Anne gently. “My husband’s first wife—they thought it was suicide. He was shattered. Absolutely shattered. And it wasn’t even that much of a surprise. She’d had a history of depressions and suicide attempts.”
“Nothing like that!” Anne shook her head. “Two years ago, sure, in the midst of chemotherapy, Tal was depressed. Who wouldn’t be? But after… well, he valued life that much more. And he’s doing fine. His doctor gave him a good report just this morning!”
“Charlie thought that’s what he might be celebrating at lunch.”
“But you’re suggesting that the killer thought that the police might believe suicide. If they didn’t find the memo book.” She leaned back, exasperated. “Sounds like an academic mind at work, doesn’t it? Explanations behind explanations, in case the first explanations don’t work.”
“Yes. Also, it’s an easy way to get rid of the gun in a hurry.” She combed her curls back with her fingers. “But now I have to ask an even nastier question. You arrived on the scene pretty soon. You’ve got nice insurance policies in there on the coffee table. You know Tal’s department well, could have set things up.”
“Merde!” Anne slammed her fist onto the table. “You’re worse than that idiot Hines! Look, it’s true, two years ago Tal and I both had to face the possibility that he’d die. We had to face that it was out of our hands. But damn it, I wanted every instant of that man that I was granted! In whatever shape it came!”
8
“Yes,” said Maggie. “I believe you.”
“Well, then, why are you asking these things?” Anne demanded.
Sarah had moved to her mother’s side at the sound of Anne’s raised voice, and Maggie gave her a reassuring hug. Oblivious, Will still crooned “Doggie” to his book. Maggie said, “It’s my first day on a new job, and somebody’s murdered, and my boss is implicated. I want to know what’s going on. And it’s hard to find out without asking rude, gross questions. You see,” she added gently, gesturing at Anne’s clenched hand on the table, “you’re on my list, Anne. Just as I’m on yours.”
Anne looked at her fist. Beneath it was the paper on which she’d written the names of people who’d been in the gorge: Charlie, Nora, Bart, Maggie, Dorrie.
She said, “Merde,” and sagged back in her chair.
“Yeah. Look, it’s your turn if you want. Ask me rude, gross questions. Or if you prefer, I’ll leave. Up to you.”
Anne glared at Maggie. The younger woman hugged her child to her side but gazed back at Anne with those frank, intelligent eyes. Anne raised her Gauloise to her lips and said, “You’re a ruthless bitch, aren’t you? Don’t give a damn what people think. Or feel.”
Maggie shrugged. “Depends on the stakes. If we’re talking about murder, yeah, sometimes I’m ruthless.” She released Sarah and bent down for her bag on the floor. “You want me to go, then.”
“Just a minute,” growled Anne. An idea was taking form amongst the clouds of suspicion and rage. “A little ruthlessness may be just what we need. And I’ve always preferred truth to good manners myself.”
“Ditto,” said Maggie, straightening. “Honest, I’m not here trying to add to your troubles. But I’m curious, and sometimes rude and gross is the only way to get answers. So I’m an oaf sometimes.”
“Listen, oaf.” Anne took a long draw of fortifying smoke. “I’ve been remembering a little about Jackie Edwards. You struck me as much more sensible than the police back then. And you found Jackie’s killer.” She fought down the embarrassing tremor in her voice. “Maggie, help me find Tal’s.”
“Hey, whoa!” Maggie arched her eyebrows at Anne, then gave Sarah a pat of dismissal. The child went to sit on the vinyl floor next to her little brother. The two children began to argue about Will’s book. Maggie ran her fingers through her hair and frowned. “I’m not police, Anne. There are plenty of police.”
“Too many,” Anne snapped. “Hines seems to know his job, but he doesn’t know the campus. City cops hardly ever set foot on it. So he’s here asking dumb questions about insurance, just like you. And Walensky knows the campus but I don’t think he’s ever handled a murder. Even botched that hit-and-run two years ago, when the little Hammond boy got two broken legs. Tal was furious. Said Walensky was more interested in making NYSU look good than in catching the driver.” She squinted at Maggie. “But you know all this! You came here to ask about Charlie. You must not trust the cops all that much yourself.”
“You’re right.” The children were up now, wandering around the room. Maggie’s gaze followed them as she spoke. “Walensky seems out of his depth. Hines is starting from way behind because Walensky isn’t helping him. Also, he has to spend time checking out Charlie Fielding, and checking out me. I can take a shortcut because I know neither of us did it. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to think about—Hey!” This last was directed to Will, who was opening one of the base cabinets. Maggie dove across the room like a hawk after a mouse and snatched Anne’s cut-glass bowl from his plump hands.
Anne ground out her cigarette. “We’ve still got an hour of light left. They can play on our swing set out back if they want. And we can have a glass of wine on the terrace.”
“Perfect!” Maggie’s wide
smile flashed. She’d found a toy for Will in her bag but apparently it didn’t match the charms of the cut-glass bowl. She chucked the whimpering boy under the chin. “Will, did you hear? Do you want to go swing?”
“Swings! Hurray!” cried Sarah.
“Wing! Way!” echoed Will.
Maggie took the children out to the swings while Anne got out a second glass and arranged them with wine, crackers, and ashtray on a tray. She glanced out the window. Maggie was checking the chains and seats of the swing set, at one point shinning up to the top bar of the frame to inspect the bolts. Apparently it passed muster because when Anne came out to the terrace with the wine, Maggie loped back up the lawn to join her on the flagstones. “That’ll keep them happy for a while,” she said. “They’re going to play astronauts, sailing through the air.”
“Fine.” Anne gestured toward the white mesh chairs and table. The living room and kitchen projected into the backyard a little farther than the dining room between them, and the flagstone terrace nestled between the two wings, protected from the worst of sun and wind. Tal always enjoyed having dinner out here, or even breakfast on hot days. Today had been too cool. Anne picked up her glass and sipped before seating herself.
Maggie angled her chair for a good view of the children, then pulled a snapshot from her bag. “May I borrow this photo?”
It was a group picture of the departmental Christmas party. Anne, Tal, Bart and his wife, Charlie, Nora, Bernie, all holding champagne glasses and grinning stupidly at the camera. Anne had last seen it posted on her refrigerator with a magnet. She said, “Be my guest.”
“Thanks.” The photo disappeared again into the bag. Maggie took a sip of wine, nodded, and asked, “Is there anything I can tell you for starts?”
“You were with Charlie Fielding the whole time, you said?”
“Yes. Well, almost. We crossed the gorge on the upper trail, and when we hit College Ave. I ran on ahead to mail a letter to Nick. Had to cross the street to the branch post office, mail it, cross back again. A couple of minutes, maybe. Charlie was just about where I’d left him. Now, he might have had time to race back to the upper footbridge and race back. But he couldn’t have shot anyone on the lower trail, stuck the gun in their hand, and gotten all the way back up so soon.”
“And you’re sure that’s when it was done?”
“Yes. We stopped on the upper bridge on our way over, and we stood looking at the lower trail pretty carefully. It hadn’t happened yet. The trail was empty. But we saw someone hiding in the bushes down there. God, if I’d known—” Maggie took a gulp of wine and sat frowning at the glass, twiddling the stem in her long fingers.
“Who was it?” Anne asked, her throat tight.
“I don’t know. We could just make out a sleeve and a shoe. Same color as those big boots Hines showed us, but that doesn’t prove much. Too far away to see if there were already footprints in the mud.” She jerked her thumb angrily at herself. “And bright girl Ryan here was maundering on about how it was probably a birdwatcher. God.”
“What about the others who met for lunch?” Anne asked. “Could it have been one of them?”
“Bart or Nora? Sure. They both say they used the upper trail too. You heard them. But either one could have been on the lower trail after we moved on.”
“And there’s Bart’s pipe.”
“Yes. He was fidgety at lunch too,” Maggie said. “Already missing it.” She took another sip of wine, peering at Anne owlishly over the rim of the glass. “Did Bart have some quarrel with Tal?”
“No. Not that I know of. You’re asking because I jumped in with his name.”
“Yes.”
“I was just thinking of the pipe. Well, Bart has his problems. He’s not a happy man. Finding it difficult to publish these days, and because of that, Bernie Reinalter has been miserly with the pay raises.”
“He has tenure?”
“Oh, yes, there’s no getting rid of him unless they can prove gross incompetence. But Bernie does the budgets, and with inflation the way it’s been I’m sure Bart is hurting. Tal said he was hopeful about this new grant proposal he was sending in. He’d asked Tal for a letter of support. Probably to counteract the lukewarm words he’d get from Bernie.”
“I see. Well, that’s not such an unusual situation. Does Bart have a family?”
“His wife works at the NYSU Press, a science editor. A couple of grown kids, moved off to the big city.”
“No family problems, then?”
“His wife had an eye operation last year. No obvious marital problems, if that’s what you mean. But who knows for sure about such things?” She wondered if anyone in the department had known about Miss Premed, years ago. Tal was a discreet man, apparently had never intended to endanger his marriage. It had been Miss Premed’s idea to show up on the doorstep to demand tearfully that Anne release Tal to his true love. Anne, a baby balanced on her hip and fifty-three undergraduate essays in French waiting for her attention, had said, “Honey, if Tal wants anything from me, he’ll have to ask me himself. I just don’t have time to work through intermediaries.” He’d never asked, of course, never brought it up at all, but had carefully brought home the news that Miss Premed had transferred to a New York City college next term. Poor kid…. Anne dragged her meandering thoughts back to the present.
“I see,” Maggie was saying. “Now, we figure Charlie’s memo book might have bounced out of his pocket while he was running from his car to his office this morning. Several people could have picked it up.”
“Bart?”
“He’s one. Nora, Cindy, the chairman. For that matter, my babysitter, Liz, was in Van Brunt in the morning. But I asked at McDonald’s about her, and a waiter there confirmed that my two kids had been there with a young woman of Liz’s description from a quarter till to twelve-thirty.”
“He was sure of the time? Not that Liz would have any reason—”
“I know. The waiter’s shift started at eleven-thirty. He admitted it was an estimate but was certain within five minutes.” She smiled. “We statisticians occasionally use common sense. Anyway, I believe him enough to let her take the kids again.”
“Well, I’m glad someone’s cleared.”
“Cross one off. Right. Now, what do you know about Reinalter?”
“Bernie? But why—”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” said Maggie brusquely. “Reinalter arrived at Van Brunt about nine, Cindy says. I met him just for a moment when I was getting forms from Cindy. She says he left at eleven-thirty for lunch with a couple of Japanese computer scientists at the faculty club. He could have found Charlie’s notebook, and if he’d left a car at the right place near the trail entrance, he could have been at the faculty club by twelve-fifteen. Not really likely, but don’t cross him off until we know a little more.”
“I see what you mean. But, damn it, after what Tal did for him! He really went out on a limb!”
“What did Tal do?”
Anne stared out at the lawn. It was almost completely in shadow now, but the sky was still bright above the evergreens. The children bobbled back and forth on the swings, their chatter thin in the distance. Sarah was on the trapeze, a strong little girl who had pulled herself up nimbly to sit on the bar. She was lecturing Will about the surface of the moon. Will was paying little attention. He had thrown himself across a swing seat on his stomach and was pushing himself forward with his stubby legs, then swinging back with a giggle.
Maggie said, “It’ll be even more rude and gross if I have to ask Reinalter.”
Well, that was true enough. “Tal was chairman when Bernie came,” Anne said slowly. “About fifteen years ago. Bernie was at some little college in the Midwest. Someplace in Iowa, maybe. He’s in educational testing, and he’d just developed a new math inventory that people thought was pretty good. He applied for a position here. Gave a good talk, and the search committee said grab him. But Tal thought it was a little odd because it wouldn’t be an advan
ce for Bernie. The rank was exactly the same, the salary was actually lower. Bernie said he wanted to move to the East, to a larger university, and so forth. But Tal had an old friend in Iowa. Not at Bernie’s school, but in a nearby town.”
“No friends at Bernie’s school?”
“It was a pretty small college. But the old-boy network came through anyway. Tal’s friend did some research and found that Tal was right. Bernie was under a cloud. Apparently the local DA in Bernie’s town had arrested a couple of prostitutes. And in exchange for leniency they’d named Bernie as one of their clients.” Anne snorted. “Didn’t name any of their cop or lawyer clients, I bet.”
“Hey, they wanted leniency,” Maggie said.
“Exactly. Bernie couldn’t bite back. Anyway, it being an election year, it hit the local newspapers before it was dismissed by the court. It was dismissed,” she added, to be sure Maggie understood. “Now, it would have been bad enough in a town like this one, with a big university. Parents sending their daughters off to college and hearing rumors that one of the professors patronized a bawdy house—horrors! But think of the reaction in a small town in the Bible Belt, that long ago. And think of a professor who works not just with college students, but who does educational research with the town’s small children. Like your children.”
“I see,” said Maggie, her eyes on the little ones swinging across the lawn. “Intolerant, maybe. But you have to sympathize with the parents too. I know I’d do just about anything to keep my kids from being hurt. Anything.” She glanced at Anne, her blue eyes dark in the fading light. “Tal hired him anyway?”
“Told him to shape up and design some more good tests, and probably no one would ever think about it again. So Bernie came and as far as I can tell, that’s what happened.”
“He looks the soul of respectability.”
“He is the soul of respectability.”
“What happened before is in those Iowa papers, I suppose,” Maggie said thoughtfully. “Any industrious reporter could unearth it. So in itself it wouldn’t make any difference that Tal knew and no one else did. But if Reinalter got into some new trouble—maybe minor in itself but looking bad against the background of the earlier accusations—what were they? Something kinky?”
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