Death by Dissertation (31 page)

I thought then of my conversation with Dr. Farrar. She had heard Whitelock argue with four different people the afternoon of the day he had probably died. Two men, two women had argued with him. Bella and Rob accounted for two of the people. Who had been the other man and woman?

What if the other woman had been Margaret? Surely the police could check easily enough whether she had been at work that afternoon. If she had been arguing with Whitelock, she could have stormed out of his office and gone right down the hall to her father’s office.

The more I thought about it, the more excited I became. Anthony Logan could have been the other man who had argued with Whitelock that afternoon. What was it Dr. Farrar had said about Logan?

He often had tea with her in the afternoon, but that particular afternoon, after she left her office in disgust at the noise coming from Whitelock’s office, she stopped by Logan’s office, and he wasn't there.

I was sure those were her exact words. He wasn't there. She hadn’t said he’d already gone home for the day, just that he wasn’t there. Because, I thought, my elation mounting, he was in Whitelock’s office at that very moment, arguing with him.

I developed the theory further in my mind. Logan and Whitelock were arguing in Whitelock’s office. Logan, having heard the whole sordid story from his daughter, tried to reason with Whitelock. Whitelock, of course, probably refused to listen. Then, angrily, Logan picked up the ashtray and bashed Whitelock over the head. Stunned at what he had done, Logan left quietly, Whitelock dead or dying on the floor. Probably no one noticed him leave Whitelock’s office.

I mulled it over for a moment longer before I spotted one flaw in the sce-nario—I assumed that there were two murderers. Logan had killed Whitelock to protect his daughter, but he hadn’t killed Charlie.

Or had he?

Maybe Margaret had come to her father with her problems before Charlie had been killed. If that had been the case, then Logan could have killed Charlie and Whitelock. Charlie first, because he was the most direct threat. Logan could have assumed that Whitelock would be more pliant than Charlie, with more to lose. Then Whitelock was killed when he panicked and threatened to give everything away. Someone would have to prove that Logan had known about all this before Charlie’s death, however.

My head was beginning to hurt, plus I was feeling a little ashamed of myself. I was still having trouble seeing Logan as the murderer. I had to admit that the need to protect his daughter was a powerful motive, especially for a man who seemed to have hated Whitelock. Margaret was just as capable of protecting herself, though, as she was of asking her father to do it for her. There was no need for her to have involved him at all.

That was enough for the moment, I thought grimly. Before I tried to carry this much further, I had to talk to Ruth and confirm that Margaret was using what I suspected was really Philip Dunbar’s work. Ruth could at least tell me more about what Margaret’s dissertation actually contained than my hasty perusal had allowed. And, I brightened at the thought, Ruth might actually know a little something more about what Dunbar had written.

Then, almost as it on cue, Ruth’s door opened, and an undergraduate popped out.

I checked my watch; she’d been in there at least half an hour. She smiled uncertainly at me, and I’m afraid I probably glowered at her before she skittered nervously away.

I could almost tell the length of the young woman’s visit by the look on Ruth’s face as I closed the door behind me.

“Isn’t advising undergrads fun?” I asked cheerily as I sat down across from her.

She shot me a dark look. “Full of laughs,” she muttered, running a hand tiredly through her hair. “What can I do for you today, Andy? I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of spare time the next few days.” She indicated the manuscripts on her desk.

I took a deep breath. “Actually,” I began, “that’s what I need to talk to you about.”

“These dissertations?” she asked, the puzzlement obvious in her voice.

I nodded, trying to figure out the best way to proceed. “You already know that I’ve been nosing around, trying to figure out what’s going on,” I stated, and Ruth smiled in affirmation. “And you warned me to be careful, and I’ve tried to be. But I think I’ve finally got things figured out, and I think you can help me prove it.”

She regarded me with something approaching polite disbelief. “What do I know that could help you? How do these dissertations relate to anything?”

Well, I could either launch into a long story and try to convince her, or I could cut to the chase and simply ask what I needed to know. The explanations could come later.

“Selena Bradbury and Margaret Willord were supposed to defend their dissertations this semester, and I’m assuming, from what I observed earlier today, that you’re going to be taking over for Dr. Whitelock.” I waited for Ruth’s confirmation, and after she nodded, I continued. “I need to know the subjects of their dissertations.”

She stared at me for a long moment. “I cannot, for the life of me,” she said, her voice dry as dust, “understand what their dissertations have to do with this whole mess. But I assume you think you have a good reason for asking.”

“Yes, I think so.”

Ruth grinned. “The great detective obviously isn’t going to explain things to me, so I suppose I’ll go along. There’s no great secret, as far as I can tell, about their dissertations. Selena has done a new study of the Frankish laws and actually translated them into English. It’s an excellent work of legal history. I’ve been pleased with the whole project.”

My heart started beating a little faster. I hadn’t given much thought to Selena as a viable suspect, and it now seemed that she was truly out of the running. A dissertation on the Frankish laws was quite different from Dunbar’s work. I could see the noose beginning to tighten around Margaret’s neck.

“And Margaret Wilford?” I prompted eagerly.

“Margaret surprised me a little with her choice of topic. She’s working on the Norse invasions of the Frankish kingdoms, focusing on the military aspects. You know,” she mused, “I hadn’t realized Margaret was so interested in military history.”

Dumbfounded, I stared at Ruth. “Are you sure?” I croaked.

“Of course I’m sure, Andy,” she said and thumped one of the piles on her desk. “Here’s her dissertation.” She pointed over to the corner, and I saw another pile of papers on a table. “That one is Selena’s.” Then she put her hands on a pile near the center of her desk—the one I had been reading through earlier. “This one is Dan Erickson’s.”

“Dan’s?” I managed to ask. “What’s his topic?” I had never heard him talk much about the subject of his dissertation, just that damned post-doc at Harvard! The more I thought about it, the more I realized how odd that had been.

Watching me carefully, Ruth responded to my query. “Dan’s work is very interesting. Anglo-Saxon England isn’t my period, of course, but I know enough to realize that he’s offering a major reinterpretation of the life of one of the seminal figures of the period, Alfred the Great. He’s going to cause quite a stir with this. I was astonished at the quality of it.”

I stared wordlessly at Ruth. It had been Dan Erickson all along.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I felt like an utter fool. I had focused so intently on Margaret that I hadn’t thought seriously about Dan, even after his so-called confession putting him at the scene of the crime. He had known Philip Dunbar; he had been around at the time of his death. He had as much to gain as Margaret or Selena by stealing Dunbar’s work. That junior fellowship at Harvard would be worth killing for—at least for some people. Dan had certainly put me off the scent, at least for a while, with his confession. Did he think he had convinced me of his innocence?

“Goodness, Andy,” Ruth’s voice broke through my chaotic thoughts. “You look dumbstruck. What does this mean?"

I felt I owed her the truth. As the person who would have to sign off on the dissertation, Ruth would be in a difficult position if Dan’s work was proven to be plagiarism. But I wasn’t completely certain what the truth was. I had to have a little time to assimilate this new information and review my obviously flawed reconstruction of events.

“Well,” I said shakily, “at the very least, I should tell you there’s a good chance Dan’s dissertation isn’t his work.”

“That’s a serious accusation,” Ruth warned. “What proof do you have?”

I looked at her for a long moment, and I saw the concern—and the fear— in her eyes. Spotting a pad of paper and a pen on her desk, I reached over and picked them up. I started scribbling while she watched with growing irritation and concern.

“I’m going to give you a citation,” I told her as I wrote, “to an article you should check out. You read it, compare it to Dan’s work, then you tell me.” I handed the piece of paper over to her, and she examined what I had written.

Ruth studied my face, as comprehension dawned in her eyes. She had known Dunbar, and she was certainly astute enough to make the connection.

She slumped back in her chair. “I thought there was something vaguely familiar about that chapter on Asser’s Life of Alfred."

“Look, Ruth.” I leaned forward in my chair. “I think I’ve finally got it figured out, and I’ll talk with the campus police when I’m ready. Then they can handle it. I don’t want to run the risk of getting anyone, you and me included, in trouble.”

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right about turning it over to the police, but I’m still having trouble understanding why a dissertation could be a motive for murder. It’s by far the best work by a graduate student that I’ve read, but is it worth killing for?” She shook her head.

“I know it all seems like a bizarre nightmare,” I said, “but I believe this is the key to the whole thing. After all, a postdoctoral fellowship at Harvard is riding on this work.”

Ruth nodded. I could see that, against her will, she was coming to believe in the truth and strength of Dan’s motives for murder.

“The only thing I can’t figure out,” I said, “is how he got hold of it. According to the story I heard, nobody could find a copy.”

“If I remember correctly,” she said slowly, “they were sharing an apartment.” That clinched it, as far as I was concerned.

I stood up. “Please don’t say a word about this to anyone, except maybe Maggie or Rob. I’m going down to my carrel to wait for them. I want to talk this through with them first, before we talk to the police.” I grinned to reassure her, and myself as well. “Maybe, by tomorrow, this whole thing will be over.”

Ruth shook her head. “It won’t be quite that easy, but I’ll do as you suggest.” She shot me a look. “And you be very, very careful until you talk to the police. Thank God I don’t have an appointment with Dan today or tomorrow.” She shivered. “Maybe I ought to go home and lock all the doors and close the blinds, or maybe I should just lock myself in here.”

Both sounded like good suggestions, I said, and I promised that I would be careful. When I left, Ruth was still shaking her head, staring at the piece of paper I had written upon. The hallway outside her office was quiet as I made my way to the stairs. Down on the fourth floor, I headed to my carrel.

I switched on the light and sat down. Staring at the postcards of cathedrals, I wondered where Maggie and Rob were. There was no note on my carrel, so I supposed they hadn’t made it to campus yet. If I headed home, I’d probably miss them. Surely they were on their way.

I tried to focus on the implications of what Ruth had told me. I unlocked the desk drawer in my carrel and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen and began to jot down notes.

Dan was the one who had stolen Dunbar’s work. Ruth should be able to confirm that partially, once she compared Dan’s dissertation to Dunbar’s article. After that, it would be up to the police to connect Dan to the murders. Would they believe that he would kill just so he could pass off someone else’s dissertation as his own?

I had no idea what kind of evidence the police had, like time of death and forensics, but perhaps they had something which could link Dan if they were aware of his motives. Up till now, the police had no reason to connect him to the scene of the crime.

Then I cursed myself for an idiot. I had played right into Dan’s hands. I had tried to be magnanimous and honorable, to allow him the time to go to the police on his own, because I had been certain that Margaret was the thief. There was no telling what Dan could be up to now. An hour earlier, I had seen him upstairs, and then he had gotten away from me quickly. He could be headed for the airport now to catch a flight to anywhere.

Should I call Herrera and tell him everything? Would he think I was a crazy, interfering busybody, still trying to deflect attention away from Rob and myself?

I had a sudden prickling at the nape of my neck, as if someone was watching me. I stuck my head out of my carrel and looked up and down the stacks. I didn’t see anything, and all I could hear was the hum of the lights. Trying to control my nerves, I settled into my chair again.

Dan had manipulated me so easily. He had told me a convincing story of seduction and blackmail, which had steered me completely away from his real motive. I didn’t know if Dan had told me the truth about his relationship with Charlie, but the story had definitely served its purpose. I had set him aside as a viable suspect, despite the fact that he had told me he was at the scene of Charlie’s death. I decided to call Herrera and tell him what I knew—or was it what I thought I knew?

A dark shape fell across my desk, startling me, and I almost banged my head on the metal shelf behind me.

“Thank God you’re finally here,” I said quietly to Maggie and Rob, my heart hammering away in my chest. “You startled me, but, boy, am I glad to see you.” I got up and peered through the stacks at Dan’s carrel and was relieved to see it dark.

Rob pulled a chair from the carrel next to mine, and Maggie perched on the edge of my desk. Sensing my excitement, she asked, “Okay, Andy, what’s going on?”

I described my conversations with Dan Erickson, Dr. Farrar, and Ruth McClain. As I related Dan’s story, I could see the distaste in Rob’s face and something I couldn’t identify in Maggie’s. Maybe Dan hadn’t been making up everything he told me; obviously there was something to my speculations earlier about his ambiguous sexuality. Perhaps Maggie would enlighten us once I finished.