Death by Dissertation (11 page)

“Well,” I replied in a considering tone, drawing the word out into almost three syllables. How could I sidestep this one? “Blackmail always makes a good motive for murder... in fiction. I’m not saying Charlie was blackmailing anyone, or Dr. Whitelock in particular. But... who knows? It’s just as possible as anything else, I would think.” I shrugged and lifted my hands in a vaguely interrogative gesture. I hoped that, by ignoring her remark about the article, she would forget it, at least for now.

Ruth stared at me coolly from across the desk, blue eyes narrowed in speculation. I gazed hack, trying to look innocent. After two years of working with me, however, she knew better.

“I’m willing to bet you know something, but you can’t or won’t tell.” She smiled, lest I think she was annoyed. “I know more about how your mind works than you realize, Andy. Someone should point out to you, though, that playing detective can be dangerous in a situation like this. Whoever killed Charlie won’t take kindly to interference from you.”

“Warning duly noted,” I replied, but not flippantly. I appreciated her concern. I had realized the possible dangers only too well when Rob woke me with his story of the attack on him. This was no game, but I couldn’t just sit calmly by and see him charged with a murder he didn’t commit, simply because it would be an easy and—to the police—obvious solution. I couldn’t explain this to Ruth at the moment, although I felt she would sympathize with my motives.

She stood up. “That’s all the homily for today—not quite the
Sermo Lupi ad Anglos
, but suffice it must. We both have work waiting. Papers to grade for me, plenty of reading for you.”

“I’ll be careful,” I promised, avoiding the subject of reading. Who knew, the way things were going, when I’d get back to my books?

Saying goodbye to Ruth, I stepped out into the hall and immediately—and literally—ran into two of my friends rounding the corner.

Chapter Ten

I disengaged myself from Bruce Tindall, the male half of the duo, and straightened my glasses. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I never look where I’m going.”

“No problem,” he replied easily. “No damage done.”

His companion, Bella Gordon, laughed. “It’s okay, Andy, he comes with a guarantee. All damaged parts easily replaced. My father will send you the bill.”

They both smiled broadly. I just looked at them, tired of the joke. Bella frequently referred to Bruce as some form of property or as an inanimate object. Most of the time, that’s the way she treated him, too. I wondered how she would treat a bodyguard she didn’t like.

She offered me a spider’s grin. “I’ve just got to hear everything you know about what’s been going on up here.” She took me by the arm, giving me little chance to argue, and steered me into an empty seminar room, not far from Ruth’s office. I cast a quick glance at Bruce, but, inured by now to his charge’s enthusiasm for scuttlebutt, he gave me a smile that offered little sympathy.

Bella settled me, none too gently, into a chair at the head of the long seminar table, seating herself on my right and motioning for Bruce to sit on the left. Were they afraid I’d try to escape? Bruce did as he was directed, while I tried to organize my thoughts. I had to be careful what I told her, because whatever I said was bound to be repeated for the benefit of anyone willing to listen. Bella never failed to find an audience.

“Tell me about finding the body,” she commanded. “Again,” she said, anticipating my protest.

It hadn’t taken long for Charlie to become “the body,” I reflected, but at least Bella wasn’t hypocritical. She and Charlie had never liked each other when Charlie was alive;
de mortuis nil nisi bonum
was evidently not part of Bella’s vocabulary.

“There’s not a lot to tell, Bella,” I said, though without conviction. “I was on campus early, as usual, to retrieve a couple of books I’d left in the grad lounge the night before. When I walked in, I found Charlie lying on the couch. At first I just thought he was asleep, but then I realized something was wrong. I could see that he’d been struck on the back of the head and that he was dead. Then Consuelo came in, she called the campus police, and that was it, more or less.” If my bland recital of the bare minimum of facts disappointed her, she didn’t show it. When Bella retold the story, though, I’d be willing to bet it would be suitably embellished.

“Who do you think did it?” she asked abruptly. “Was it Rob?”

“Why on earth do you think Rob would do such a thing?” I asked indignantly.

“Relax, Andy. I don’t know who did it, but knowing the nature of the relationship between the two of them, and knowing what a jerk Charlie was, I wouldn’t be surprised if Rob had some reason to bash his boyfriend over the head.”

I took a firm hand with my temper. “Rob did not bash Charlie over the head, for any reason. And I don’t know what you mean by ‘relationship,’” I added frostily. “If you think they were lovers, you’re mistaken. They were friends and roommates, nothing more. And as annoying as Charlie was, he didn’t do anything to Rob to make him commit murder.”

Bella snorted and tossed her head, like a temperamental horse. “Well, if you think they weren’t lovers, that just shows how naive you Mississippi boys can be. Didn’t you ever see the way Charlie looked at Rob? He had hungry eyes. But if you insist that they weren’t in a relationship, I guess I’ll take your word for it.” She paused. “And why are you getting so hot under the collar, anyway? Were you jealous of Charlie? I’ve noticed the way you’re always looking at Rob.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” I snapped. “You’re imagining things, as usual! I’m not interested in Rob.” My denial sounded weak, even to me. Maybe Bella was right and Rob had lied to Maggie and me about his relationship with Charlie. Charlie was the only person who could have contradicted Rob, and he was dead. And if Charlie left Rob something in his will, that surely meant Charlie had strong feelings for him. What was it Charlie’s letter had said? That Rob would never have to worry about money again? Sounded like love to me.

Then I thought of something else. Was Rob trying to make peace with me simply to disarm me? Did he want to divert suspicion from himself? Was he lying about his relationship with Charlie? This left me more shaken than I wanted to admit.

I tuned back in to Bella. “Charlie must have annoyed someone an awful lot. Who knows, Whitelock may have finally gotten enough of Charlie’s misunderstood genius routine and done it himself. It sure irked me most of the time.”

Bruce spoke, startling both me and Bella; we had forgotten he was there, he had been so quiet. “Then that gives you about as good a motive as Dr. Whitelock, doesn’t it, Bella? If sheer annoyance with the little twerp were the motive, hell, I could have done it myself.” He shrugged.

The “twerp” had taken special delight in making maliciously jocular remarks about the relationship between Bruce and his charge, most often within Bruce’s hearing. Fortunately for Charlie, Bruce’s even temper and tolerant good nature had kept him from responding to the taunts. II he had, no doubt Charlie would have emerged the loser; Bruce could easily have broken any bone in Charlie’s body. So could Bella, I thought suddenly. She was in excellent physical condition; she worked out with Bruce, who made sure she knew how to defend herself. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

“I think annoyance is an inadequate motive for murder in this case, or else you both might be in trouble,” I responded spitefully. “Charlie certainly gave you cause—not to mention practically everyone in the history department, for that matter.”

Perplexed, Bella shook her head. “I know. I’ve never seen anyone who put so many people’s backs up deliberately.”

I wanted to laugh. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

“And the worst thing,” she added, “Charlie got away with it.”

Bruce laughed. “Everyone was afraid of what he’d say next—Bella, even his professors. No one else was quite that fast with his tongue, or enjoyed being that malicious. And you have to admit, he was pretty funny sometimes.”

Recalling Charlie’s remarks about Azalea, I had to agree, although I felt uncomfortable in doing so. She was fully capable of defending herself; some of Charlie’s other targets, like Elspeth Farrar, had not been.

“He was really bright,” Bella said. “I give him that, even though I was jealous. Seemed like every time I turned around, he was winning some sort of award. This year, I heard he was a shoo-in for the Dunbar Award. I was hoping for a chance at it, so I could go to North Carolina to do research in the Southern Historical Collection.”

She rolled her eyes in annoyance; her father, who, before seeking political office, had been one of the Southwest’s most successful criminal lawyers, could certainly afford to fund his daughter’s research trips. But since Bella had defied him by seeking a Ph.D. in history, rather than a law degree, Frank Gordon was unsympathetic to her needs as a history graduate student. “But Logan,” she continued, “who’s on the awards committee, you know, hinted to me a couple of days ago that Charlie was going to win.”

Anthony Logan, professor of Southern history and an amiable gossip, was Bella’s advisor and, often, the source of the interminable flow of information about the goings-on of the history department. She was probably right, since Logan was seldom wrong. He made it his business to know something about everyone in the department.

I focused abruptly on something Bella was saying. “Of course, Charlie really didn’t need the money, since his parents are so wealthy. He could have taken off for Paris and the Bibliotheque Nationale anytime he wanted. He didn’t have to wait for university travel money.”

“Well, Bella,” Bruce responded, “now that Charlie’s definitely out of the running, you may just win the award yourself.” He grinned wickedly at me. “How’s that for a motive? Beautiful graduate student kills obnoxious fellow student in dispute over travel money.”

I wasn’t amused; I hadn’t liked Charlie, but making speculative jokes about his death seemed inappropriate, even under the guise of being open about one’s feelings. Bruce sensed my disapproval and had the grace to look somewhat abashed, but Bella was oblivious as ever.

“That award doesn’t offer enough money to kill for,” she replied. “It’s entirely possible that I might win now, but I’m not so sure I want to, given the circumstances. Thank goodness they don’t make you keep that horrible little trophy. I can’t stand the thing.”

“Bella,” I asked quietly, “how did you know Charlie came from a wealthy family?” I put aside my mental picture of “that horrible little trophy” and the role it had played in Charlie’s death.

She peered suspiciously at me, as if my question was some sort of trap. “Bruce and I ran into him and his mother one time in the Galleria last year. Believe me, the clothes his mother was wearing, the family is loaded.” With Bella’s experience as a model, she knew clothes and what they cost. I believed her.

That settled, I decided I'd had enough. “Well, guys,” I said as I stood up, “that’s about all from Crime Central right now. I’ve got books to read.”

Bella didn’t look happy; she would have enjoyed gossiping about the murder for hours, but I was ready to get away from the two of them.

Before she could make more than a token protest, I was out the door. Just a few steps into the hallway, I pulled up short. Heads bent together, backs in my direction, Selena and Margaret were whispering. Pretty heatedly, too, from the way Selena’s head bobbed up and down.

The two women were blocking my way in the narrow hallway. If I didn’t get past them and on to the door leading to the stairs, I was afraid Bella and Bruce would come charging out after me again.

“Excuse me,” I said, and Margaret’s head whipped around in my direction.

Her face flamed scarlet, but Selena smiled coolly and waved me through with a “Hi, Andy.”

I could feel their eyes on me as I walked down the hall. I hadn’t gone far before the whispering resumed.
Probably just dissertation nerves,
I thought.

Down on the fourth floor, I headed for my carrel, picked up a couple more of the books on my reading list, and took them to the circulation desk to check them out.

My transaction completed, I headed gratefully for the parking lot, sweating and wiping my brow as I went. The inside of my car was at least a hundred degrees, and it had just cooled off by the time I finished the short drive home.

I had barely gotten out of my car before Rob’s front door swung open, and he came running across the yard to greet me. He was carrying a videotape.

As I put my key in the front door, he exclaimed, “You’re not going to believe what’s on this tape!”

Chapter Eleven

Rob was hard on my heels as I unlocked my front door and went inside. I was intensely curious, of course, but I didn’t want to talk on the doorstep. In the living room, I dropped my books on a table and plopped down on the couch, motioning for him to sit beside me.

“You won’t believe what’s on this tape,” Rob repeated as he settled on the couch.

I took the tape from him and read the hand-printed label. “So it’s not
Conan the Barbarian
?”

“No,” he laughed. “It’s surely not.”

“Why would you even think twice about this?” I brandished the tape, and he took it back from me.

“I was cleaning up,” he explained with exaggerated patience. “My late-night visitor left things a bit messy. He had been pawing through the videotapes, and I was too tired to pick them up last night. Or this morning, rather. So, while you were gone, as I started reshelving the tapes, I noticed a couple with odd titles. Like the Conan one.” He looked expectantly at me.

“I guess Charlie wasn’t a Schwarzenegger fan?”

Rob nodded. “Got it in one. He hated the guy, so I didn’t think there was any way he’d have one of his movies on tape. Another was labeled
Predator
. I thought there was something strange about them, and, boy, was I ever right!”

“So show me what’s on the tape,” I responded, getting up, ready to head upstairs to my TV and VCR.

He shook his head. “I don’t think you want to see this, trust me. It’s pretty hard-core stuff.”