13
By four-thirty Charlie had the printer working again. He replaced its housing almost regretfully. It had been good to focus on a different kind of problem. A solvable problem. He slid the printer into its place on the counter and locked the room behind him. Climbing the stairs, he made himself focus on tasks he still had to do: picking up his mail, checking with Gary to see if any problems had arisen with the coding of the fourth study.
He stopped in the main office to check his mailbox and immediately wished he hadn’t. Sergeant Hines was propped against the windowsill, his notebook out, talking to Cindy. When Charlie entered he smiled. “Professor Fielding! Just the man I want to see!”
“Oh. Okay.” Charlie paused awkwardly at the mailroom door and cast a quick glance at Cindy. What kind of tales had she been inventing now? And where was Walensky? Had he abandoned the field to Hines? Well, Hines alone might be better than having two warring policemen at once.
Hines shifted smoothly to his feet. “If you can talk to me now, we can go to your office.”
“Okay. I just came for my mail.” At the policeman’s nod, Charlie pulled out the half-dozen items in his pigeonhole.
“You got a big box too,” Cindy informed him. “I had the guy put it in your office.”
“Thanks,” said Charlie. “Probably the videotapes I ordered.” He looked at Hines. “Ready?”
“Yeah, let’s get this over with. Thanks, Mrs. Phelps,” he added to Cindy.
All the well-being Charlie had felt while repairing the printer had evaporated. He could feel his neck muscles clenching, his legs stiffening. What a nightmare this was! The horror of Tal’s death, plus the damned awkwardness because he’d lost track of his memo book.
He unlocked his office. Cindy was right; there was a big box on his desk. He tossed his mail down beside it, pulled his chair out from behind it so he could see Hines, and gestured at the other chair. “How can I help you?”
The big man sat down, pulled out his notebook, and found his pencil. Charlie wondered where Porter was. Probably back at the police station running FBI checks on everyone, or trying to match fingerprints to unsolved murders, or…. Hines cleared his throat and Charlie brought himself back to reality. The sergeant had leaned back in the oak chair, long legs extended before him, notebook on his thigh. He said, “I’ve just got a few questions. Earlier today you mentioned Nora Peterson’s gun. Tell me about it.”
“I don’t know much about it.” Hines didn’t respond, merely looked up at him expectantly, his pencil still poised. Charlie explained, “I only know about it because last year after that student threatened her, she told us all that she was going to buy a gun.”
“You never saw it?”
“Well, in fact, she showed it to us once not long after. Several of us were in the hall and the subject came up. Someone asked about it. Bart, I guess, Professor Bickford. And she brought it out. But I didn’t look at it very closely. I don’t like guns much.” He realized suddenly that Hines doubtless was carrying a gun at this very moment, so he added hastily, “Except of course the police should have them.”
“Mm.” Hines was writing industriously, still lounging back in the chair. “Where did Professor Peterson keep her gun?”
“Well, that’s one of the things that worried me. She kept it in her office. Desk drawer, I think. She said she kept it locked but it still seems a bad idea to me if you have young people around. The university students would be bad enough, but around here there are younger kids too. They come in for experiments, or for the regular preschool program. I mean, you have to be extra careful if there are kids around.”
“That’s true. I’ve got kids, and I use a gunlock at home,” Hines said. “Do you know if Professor Peterson used one?”
“She never said anything about it,” Charlie said. “And I wouldn’t know one if I saw it anyway.” Where were these questions leading?
“Do you know what drawer she kept it in?”
“Look, what’s all this about Nora’s gun? Was that the one—my God, was it Nora’s gun?”
Hines didn’t move, just sat poised patiently to write down Charlie’s answer. After a moment Charlie remembered the question. “I don’t know which drawer she kept it in. I’m not even sure she kept it in a drawer. But if she did, and if she’s got a standard desk like mine, then the only drawer that locks is the top middle.”
Hines noted it down, stared at the page for a moment, then pulled in his feet and stood up. He walked across to the window and looked down at the parking lot for a moment. When he turned to Charlie again, backlit by the window, Charlie couldn’t read the expression in his dark face. Hines said, “I want you to think about Wednesday morning, Professor Fielding.”
“Wednesday morning?”
“Day before yesterday.” Hines’s voice had changed subtly. It seemed harder, more brittle. “Can you tell me what you did? Start with arriving at the building here.”
Charlie’s mouth had gone dry. What could this have to do with Tal’s murder? Or even with Nora’s gun? He said, “There were several things I had to do Wednesday. I was checking with my assistant about finishing the third study. He’s the chief coder. And I wanted to get the material ready for the statistician because she was arriving the next day. Had to redo a couple of frequency graphs for her because I only had preliminary ones. And I had to order some—”
Hines broke in. “What time did you arrive Wednesday?”
“About nine. As usual.”
“And what did you do first?”
“I unlocked my office. Is that what you mean?”
“Right. You went straight to your office from the parking lot?”
“Yes.” Charlie pushed his glasses up on his nose. He had never thought of the sergeant as friendly, but now he was brutally cold.
“And then?” Hines’s words were abrupt, jabbing.
“Went into my office. Put my things down. Checked next door to see if my assistant was in, but he wasn’t. Came back to my office and started pulling things together for the statistician. For Dr. Ryan.”
Hines was writing again. “Good. What next?”
“I started to work on the graphs, and realized I needed a ruler because my assistant had borrowed mine. I checked his office again but he still wasn’t there. But down the hall I could see that Nora Peterson’s door was open, so I went there and borrowed it. I finished the graphs and—”
“Just a minute, Professor Fielding. Why did you go to Professor Peterson’s office to borrow a ruler?”
“I told you, the door was open.”
“Wouldn’t it be more usual to go to the department office?”
“Not really. It’s halfway to the other end of the building. Nora’s office is much closer.”
“Professor Bickford’s office is closer yet.”
“But his door wasn’t open!” Charlie adjusted his glasses. “He might not even have been there. And even if he was he wouldn’t want to be bothered if his door was closed. It’s sort of an unwritten rule. If we’re willing to talk to people we leave the door partly open.”
“Fine, Professor Fielding, fine.” Hines was smiling but Charlie got no sense of warmth. The big sergeant was still silhouetted against the glare of the window. “Please go on. You went to Professor Peterson’s office.”
“Uh, yes. I didn’t see her at first so I knocked on the open door. You know the way you do. She said, ‘Come on in,’ so I stepped in.”
“Yes?”
“She was standing on a chair rearranging some books on the top shelf. She asked what I wanted. I said I wanted to borrow her ruler for half an hour. She said—” Damn. Oh, damn. Charlie rubbed a hand over his chin. He wished the Coach was here to tell him what to do.
“She said what?” Hines’s cool voice was relentless.
“She, uh, she said sure, I could borrow it. She said it was in her center top desk drawer and just to help myself.”
“And did you?”
“Yes. The drawer wasn’
t locked.”
Hines had stopped writing. Charlie tried to see his expression against the brightness behind him. He seemed to be thoughtful, studying Charlie in turn. Probably looking for signs of guilt—cold sweat, trembling hands. At this rate he’d find them too. Charlie added hoarsely, “I didn’t see a gun.”
“You didn’t? You mean it wasn’t in the drawer?”
“No. Maybe. I mean, I didn’t see it if it was there. I pulled the drawer open maybe six inches. The ruler was right at the front.” He demonstrated, pulling his own drawer out. “I have no idea what might have been in the back of the drawer.”
Hines began writing again and Charlie pushed his drawer closed with shaky hands. It was terrifying to see his most innocent actions take on evil shadows from the spotlight of this policeman’s suspicion. And why was Hines focused on him? Why not Nora herself? Why not Bart, or Cindy, or—
He’d been talking to Cindy just now. Maybe she’d said something. Or maybe he’d been asking her questions too. Charlie hoped so.
Hines asked, “When did you return the ruler?”
“Return it? I haven’t returned it yet.” He looked around the box on his desk and spotted it near the front edge. “There it is. Usually I’d have it back by now, but things have been so chaotic.”
“Mm.” Hines came away from the window, inspected the ruler without touching it, and then sat down in the chair again. “Tell me, Professor Fielding, what is your relationship with Professor Peterson?”
“Relationship? We’re colleagues, that’s all.”
“Do you ever see her outside the office?”
“Well, there are parties, of course. Departmental picnics. Committee lunches. The usual things. All connected with the department.”
“Nothing else?”
Charlie closed his eyes a moment. Clearly someone—Cindy?—had been talking too much. He said wearily, “Nothing. Really. At the Halloween party Professor Peterson had a little too much to drink and there was a misunderstanding. But that’s all.”
“Tell me about the misunderstanding.” Hines hadn’t softened any. Charlie could see him better now, but his expression was as hard and unyielding as he’d imagined.
“Wasn’t much.” Charlie licked his lips. “We’d both dressed as early film stars and she was kidding around. Insisted on leaving with me. Probably just as well; she wasn’t really in shape to drive. I took her to her door and that was that.”
“You didn’t go in with her?”
“No. That’s where it became clear there had been a misunderstanding. But I just didn’t want—I mean, Nora’s nice but she’s not my type at all.”
Hines looked at him shrewdly, as though weighing something, then asked, “Do you think she might hold a grudge?”
“A grudge?” My God, had Nora been the one to tell? No, surely she wouldn’t have mentioned this embarrassing incident. He said, “All I know is that we’ve been able to work as colleagues with no reference to that night. I thought we’d all agreed to forget about it.”
“Mm.” Hines made a note, flipped back through the book, then said, “Well, that’s all for now, Professor Fielding. Tell me if you think of anything more about Professor Peterson or her gun.”
“Okay, I will,” Charlie promised, standing up as the big policeman exited.
Nora’s gun. What the hell could that mean?
From the hall Sergeant Hines’s voice said, “Ah, Dr. Ryan. I have a question for you!”
“Sure. Fire away.”
“How long were you away from Professor Fielding while you mailed your letter yesterday?”
“Three minutes. Maybe five. Not long.”
“It’s an important point.”
“Yes, Sergeant Hines. I know that.” Maggie’s voice was grim.
“Think it over. Be sure,” he advised.
“Okay. What’s happened? Is there a new development?”
“There are always developments. We’re working on all of them. Have a good day, now.” Hines’s footsteps receded.
Maggie’s curly black head popped around the door frame. “Hi, Charlie. What’s going on? May I come in?”
“Yeah. He’s after me, isn’t he?”
“You mean the question about how long we were out of sight of each other? I doubt if it’s personal.” She swung into the office, her shirt sizzling red against the bland office background. She sat in the chair Hines had vacated and put her briefcase on the floor. “Probably he’s found some new information and has to double-check some of the old.”
“Maybe so.” Charlie stared at her glumly. A vivid, bony woman, at home in the world, in charge. He wished he felt in charge.
“What was he asking about? Why are you so down?”
“Well, it shouldn’t make any difference. I was with you. But he seems to have the idea I took Nora’s gun from her desk drawer.”
“Nora’s gun? You mean Nora’s gun shot Tal?”
“Must have. He just spent half an hour grilling me about what I knew about guns, where Nora kept hers, how I could have taken it from her drawer. Et cetera.” Charlie shuddered. “I don’t know a thing about the damn gun, but when I answered him it sounded suspicious anyway!”
“Yeah. A crime investigation is no lark. Why did he think you could have taken her gun?”
“I don’t know what put the idea into his head. But it turned out that Wednesday I went in to borrow a ruler, and she told me to get it out of her drawer. The drawer was unlocked.”
“Was the gun in it?”
“I have no idea! The ruler was in the front so I just grabbed it. I didn’t even open the drawer far enough to see what else was there.”
“Well, then,” said Maggie comfortingly, “it could have been anyone else who went in to see her Wednesday. Or other times, if she left the drawer unlocked.”
“That’s true. But does Hines know it?”
“Oh, I’m sure he knows. He’ll be talking to everyone.”
“Maybe so.” But the memory of the big black sergeant bearing down with his pointed questions was too fresh to dismiss easily.
“Speaking of Nora,” Maggie said, “I saw that young campus cop in her office today. Did he talk to you too?”
“No. A young one?”
“He was with us in the gorge, even before Captain Walensky arrived.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember. He looked familiar. You’re right, I did see him in the building earlier today.”
“But I can’t find anyone he spoke to this afternoon except Nora. So it’s not that Walensky sent him to talk to us, just to Nora.”
“Yeah.” Charlie remembered the young cop, pictured him talking to Nora. And somewhere in the back of his mind an old image began unreeling: Nora at her desk, cringing, an angry, stringy-haired student pounding on it, Charlie himself hurrying in with Tal to see what the shouting was all about. Charlie grunted, “No!”
“No what?”
“I don’t see how this could be. But I’d almost swear that cop is the student who was threatening Nora last year.”
“What?”
“Oh, I must be wrong. They’re completely different types.”
“He and Nora didn’t seem to know each other yesterday in the gorge,” Maggie said thoughtfully.
“Yeah. I must be wrong. Have you had any other thoughts about all this?”
She was gazing out at the sky, but in a moment she answered, “Nothing earth-shaking. In fact, I’ve been working on our project. When I got back to campus a few minutes ago your printouts were waiting. Want to take a look?”
“Yes! Let’s check them over,” Charlie agreed. Maybe they’d take his mind off Hines’s attack.
Maggie pulled out the folds of computer paper and flipped them open. “Good news and bad news,” she said. “Your main variable of contextual meaning comes through in all three studies. But looking across the studies, the effect of word shape is even stronger. So it looks like you and Tal were both right.”
“Well, we both knew that.” Yet he
was disappointed. He’d hoped his context effect would be more powerful than the word-shape effect. “What about the eye-movement information?” he asked.
She unfolded the printout next to the big box on his desk. “Here we go,” she announced, and for the next half hour they pored over the details of the statistics. Not great, but not bad either. A lot of it would be publishable, although people in Tal’s word-shape camp would jump on some of the results and parade them around as proofs of their own point of view. Well, that’s what science was, an ongoing argument among scientists with nature acting as referee—whenever you could get nature to say anything about the problems. Here, unfortunately, nature was saying word shape was pretty damn important.
“Any chance the remaining studies will change the numbers?” he asked Maggie.
“Probably not a lot. But you never know.”
“Well, this gives me a lot to work with. Thanks, Maggie.”
“Sure. I’ll keep the printout over the weekend and copy it by Monday, if that’s okay. Then you can start writing and let me know what other information you need.”
“Sounds good.”
Maggie slid the printout back into her briefcase, stood and stretched. “Well. See you Monday.”
“Okay. Have a good weekend.”
She left in a flutter of red shirttails.
Charlie stood up and pushed the box aside. He and Gary would have to move it downstairs Monday. Strange, he thought he’d received that box a couple of weeks ago. Thought it was downstairs already.
He riffled through the long-neglected mail. Mostly announcements of lectures or conferences, a request for a letter of recommendation, two journals. No, one. The other manila envelope had an unfamiliar return address in New York City. He opened it and stared without comprehension at the tabloid inside. Then he saw the circled classified ad and suddenly his legs felt wavery, like legs reflected in water. He sat down abruptly.
He was looking at a copy of Screw.
And the ugly ad listed a post office box in Laconia.
What the hell was going on? Who was advertising in Screw? Where had this come from?
Murder Misread Page 16