“No, ma’am.”
“If the police officer outside had decided to make the inside of Kammerer House part of his patrol, you could have been caught, arrested, and jailed. Did you think about that? What would happen to your scholarship if you were charged with a crime?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I do. You would have lost it, that’s what would’ve happened. And worst of all, if you were followed or seen by the murderer, your life could be in danger. Can you be sure you weren’t?”
He didn’t answer.
“Think of your parents, your family, your friends, Eli, how devastated they would be if anything happened to you. You can’t just act without thinking. You have to know what you’re getting into, and you have to consider your responsibility to others. So yes, Eli, I’m still angry at you for taking those chances.”
“I’m sorry, Professor Fletcher. I didn’t realize.”
“I know you didn’t. That’s what scares me. We’re not playing a game, Eli. If the one who killed Wes Newmark is still on campus, he’ll go to great lengths to make sure he’s not found out.”
“Or she.”
“This is no time for wisecracking. Don’t tell anyone what you did or where you went tonight. Does Tyler know?”
“No, I came right here.”
“That’s good. Don’t tell him under any circumstances. I don’t want to scare you—well, maybe I do, a little. If you’re not concerned for yourself, keep in mind that you could put in jeopardy the lives of everyone you tell.”
I watched as Eli walked out into the night.
Young people have no concept of danger,
I thought. It was ironic. I had chided him for doing in effect what I had done myself. But I had been truthful in telling him that the risks must be weighed. A decision to act made with full knowledge and understanding of the consequences could be justified. But he had dashed into the water without gauging the potential depth. It was a perilous move. Now we would see if he’d created any waves.
Chapter Eighteen
“Did you get a sample of the deceased’s hair?” asked Mort Metzger, the sheriff in my hometown of Cabot Cove and a former New York City policeman.
“The coroner said he’ll send it separately, along with his autopsy findings to date. A few test results haven’t come back yet.”
“Are you sure he’ll do it, Mrs. F.? Is this Dr. Zelinsky a trustworthy guy?”
“I think so, Mort. I talked to him before I called you. He sounded embarrassed. I think he’s sorry that he backed down when Lieutenant Parish dismissed the idea of Newmark’s death being a murder. He’d like to show the lieutenant that the coroner’s office was correct in its findings, but he’s afraid to stick his neck out without the proof. If we can confirm that there’s a residue on the shaft that matches Newmark’s blood and hair, then we can make a good case that the poker was what killed him. And I think I can persuade Zelinsky to ask for a further analysis of the carbon in the wound to see if it will match the carbon on the poker.”
“You’ll want the lab to look for fingerprints, too.”
Mort had provided me with the name and address of one of the country’s foremost forensic laboratories, where I was to send the fireplace poker. He had personally placed a call to the laboratory director, and had authorized the use of his name and his position to get past the strict requirements regarding who was allowed to utilize the lab’s services.
“I’m not sure we’ll find fingerprints even if the poker proves to be the murder weapon,” I said. “I’m concerned that it’s been contaminated by so much handling.”
“How so, Mrs. F.?”
“When I pulled it out, I used my kerchief. Then it lay under the desk, so I’m sure it picked up some of the fibers from the carpet. At least the hair that was caught on the shaft is still on it. But there may be smudges where the original fingerprints were, assuming the killer didn’t wipe them off, because Eli used rubber gloves when he retrieved the poker.”
“No kidding. You’ve got a smart student there. Think he might be interested in going into law enforcement? Tell him to give me a call, if he is. I know a lot of departments that’d like to have a smart one like him on the force.”
“He’s smart, all right, Mort. After he got the poker, he put it in a plastic bag and sealed it. But I’m not going to praise him just yet. He took a big chance, and I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to him.”
“Well, he got the evidence, so send off that box and the experts will take it from there. Even if there’s only a partial print, the lab will pick it up. Did you give them all the information you’ve told me?”
“Yes. I typed up a report and placed it in the box, along with your name and address as a reference. I’m going to ship it later today.”
“I expect they’ll send both of us copies, but I’ll call you when I get mine, just to be sure.”
“That’s a great load off my mind, Mort. I can’t thank you enough.”
“We help each other. Always have. Always will. I’m looking forward to sharing a pot of coffee and hearing all the details when you get back.”
“Me, too,” I said, adding to myself,
I hope the police will realize they have a murder on their hands before then.
It had started to drizzle when I rode my bike over to Phil Adler’s house to replace the tape in his answering machine and the address book in his desk upstairs. I had paged through the book following Eli’s nighttime visit, and found two entries that could have been Kate’s sister, a Linda under the Ws, and a Linda and Ken under the Bs. No last name was given. After I’d called Mort, I’d tried the Linda W. first and got a recording stating that the number had been disconnected. I hung up and dialed the number for Linda and Ken B. A man answered. His wife was out shopping. Yes, she had a sister Kate, who’d been married to a Philip Adler, and who’d lived in Indiana. But no, they hadn’t heard from her. It was sad, really. The two of them hadn’t spoken since their parents passed on, something about who got which piece of jewelry. I left my telephone number and asked that his wife call at her convenience.
I pedaled around to the back of Phil’s house and pulled the bike up onto the rear porch and out of the weather. It was raining in earnest now. The second key on Phil’s key ring fit the kitchen door, and I let myself in. The house looked even gloomier than I’d remembered it.
I put my bag on the counter, rummaged around inside until I found the minicassette tape with the three messages on it, and went to the telephone. The panel that concealed the tapes was open, revealing the gap where I’d removed the message tape. I replaced the missing cassette, pressed down the panel, and studied the phone. I hadn’t left that panel open the last time I was in the house. I was sure I’d closed it.
Not bothering to turn on any lights, I left the kitchen, went down the hall, and trotted upstairs to the little office. I replaced the address book where I’d found it in the orange desk and returned downstairs. There were several envelopes scattered on the rug in the foyer beneath the mail slot. I gathered them up and scanned the return addresses as I walked back into the kitchen.
“Find anything interesting?” said a large figure silhouetted against the open porch door.
I must have jumped a mile. “Larry? Oh, my gracious, you gave me a turn,” I said.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, Jessica,” Larry Durbin said, coming into the room. “Melissa said she saw someone breaking into Phil’s back door, and I came over to investigate.”
“Well, I’d hardly call it breaking in when I used the key,” I said, realizing that I’d foolishly left it in the lock. “You can see it’s right there in the door.”
“You don’t say? I thought you barely knew Phil. How did you get his keys?”
“Harriet Schoolman Bennett gave them to me. She had an appointment she couldn’t get out of. She asked me to meet the lady from the Visiting Nurse Association, and help get the house ready for Phil’s return.” It was only a slight distortion of the truth, since the nurse had already been and gone, but Durbin didn’t need to know that. “Do you know when he’s coming home?” I asked, adding the day’s mail to the pile on the kitchen table.
“I haven’t heard,” he said.
He was making me uncomfortable. He hadn’t moved from the door, and I couldn’t see the expression on his face in the dim light.
“There’s a light switch to your left,” he said, as if divining my unease.
I found it and flipped it up. The glare of the fluorescent fixture cast a harsh light on the dull cabinets and countertop, reinforcing the impression of neglect that permeated the whole house.
“Not exactly
House Beautiful,
is it, Jessica?”
“Not unusual for a man living alone. Many men don’t pay much attention to housekeeping.”
I could see his face now and relaxed under his wistful gaze. He was dressed in a baggy gray sweatshirt and matching pants; the fabric, strained to accommodate his heavy build, was stretched at the knees and elbows, and had smears of tan paint on it where he’d wiped his fingers. He was a big man but looked more soft than muscular. He moved into the kitchen, pulled out a chair, sat down, and began idly looking through the mail.
“When Kate was still ...” He hesitated. “When Kate was here, she kept this place just so. She was a very neat, pretty little thing. Loved to dress up. Rings on every finger. She had beautiful clothes. I used to tease her that she came out to the country so she could put on her finery and go dance with the cows.” He smiled.
“What kind of marriage did they have?” I asked, taking the chair opposite him.
He scratched the back of his head, further mussing red hair that looked as if he hadn’t combed it in a while. “You mean when they weren’t fighting?”
“Yes.”
“‘If ladies be but young and fair, they have the gift to know it.’ ”
“As You Like It,”
I said.
“Aha, the lady knows her Shakespeare. Kate was like many pretty young women: narcissistic as hell. She was a fish out of water here at Schoolman, needed the excitement of the city to bring her alive. She was wasted here. Phil could never see that. He thought if he was happy in the country, she should be happy in the country, too. Stupid ass. He never appreciated her.” He chuckled. “Identify this: ‘The hind that would be mated with the lion must die of love.’ ”
I shrugged.
“All’s Well that Ends Well.
If you aim beyond your boundaries in love, you’d better be prepared to suffer for it. Phil suffered plenty.”
“What does she look like?”
“Kate? Little, delicate ... like, I don’t know, like a ... like a little pixie with long blond hair. She used to come crying to me. I would say she cried on my shoulder, but she only came up to here.” He put a hand at midchest.
“Why would she be crying?”
“She was begging me to talk to Phil, to convince him to move back north.”
“Why did she think he’d listen to you?”
“She said Phil admired me, respected my opinion.” He pulled a magazine from the pile and began leafing through it. “I told her I was sorry I couldn’t help her, that she should stay here and things might get better. But I wasn’t surprised when she went back to Chicago.”
“What family does she have in Chicago?”
“I don’t really know. She talked about a sister, but they weren’t close.”
“What about her parents?”
He shrugged. “I never heard her mention them. I assumed they were dead.”
“So you never met her sister?”
“No. Why are you interested in her sister?”
“I just wondered where Kate went when she left here.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because she left a lot of things behind.”
He looked at me for a long time. “Have you been going through Phil’s things?”
“I had to bring down clothing for him,” I said. “He won’t be able to get upstairs if he’s in a wheelchair.”
He lumbered to his feet. “Melissa probably knows. Ask her.”
As if on cue, Melissa Durbin opened the door. “Larry, is everything okay? You never came back. I got nervous.”
“I can’t imagine what you’re nervous about. Nothing ever happens in Schoolman. That’s why we moved here.” He pushed past his wife and stepped out to the porch. “There’s your housebreaker,” he said, pointing at me. “The famous Jessica Fletcher.” The harsh tone in his voice put me on edge.
“How do you do,” she said, ignoring him. She was a tall woman, almost as big as her husband. She wore a pastel green sweatshirt, a pair of worn jeans, and a baseball cap over her hair. “Larry told me that you were on campus. We haven’t had a chance to meet yet.” She thrust out her hand and I shook it.
“C’mon, Melissa, I have to change for my class soon. If you want that room finished, don’t dawdle.”
“Sorry I can’t stop and talk,” she said, backing out of the kitchen. “We’re repainting the den.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I think it’s time I left anyway.”
Chapter Nineteen
Edgar Poole gave me a ride into New Salem and dropped me off in front of FedEx, with a promise to return in an hour. I arranged for overnight shipment of the florist’s box containing the fireplace poker to the laboratory Mort had recommended. I had no idea how long it would take the lab to analyze the evidence and get back to me, but I urgently needed the results. Any delay, even one day, was of concern now.
The shop also had a copier, and I took advantage of the service to photocopy Wes’s cryptic notebook and his letter to his sister, planning to return them to her that evening. I looked forward to seeing Lorraine again. She was the only person in Schoolman, other than Eli, who shared my view that Wes’s death should be investigated.
I paid for my copies and shipping charges at the register, and looked at my watch. Edgar would not be back for another fifty minutes.
“Is there a coffee shop or luncheonette nearby?” I asked the clerk. “Somewhere where I can buy a newspaper and sit for a bit?”