Medieval Murders (12 page)

“Have any of my babblings helped?” Chesterton asked.

“Yes. I’m collecting pieces and trying to put them together in a way that will help me understand this chain of events.”

Stephanie was still planting mums. She stood as Ray approached. “You okay?” she asked.

“I’ll be better when I have some answers,” he responded, giving her a weak smile.

25

Shortly after 9:00 on Friday morning, Ray Elkins parked in the staff parking lot near the rear entrance of the medical center and made his way toward the pathology department. Almost two weeks had passed since the death of Sheila Bensen, and now two of her colleagues were also dead.

“We’re going to have to stop meeting like this,” Dr. Kristin Gutiérrez affected a stern tone in her voice. “And you’re late. Your assistant has already been here.”

“So what does my assistant know that I don’t?”

“Time of death. You know how exact I can be on that. Probably between 5:00 and 8:00 A.M. If you’re into averages, 6:30 A.M. is a good number. Cause of death is carbon monoxide poisoning. Anticipating your question as to whether or not the deceased might have been placed in the car, I went over the body very thoroughly. There are no contusions, no tissue under the nails, nothing that would suggest a struggle.”

“How about toxicology?”

“This is what I have so far, fairly high level of alcohol, I won’t have the rest of the toxicology for several weeks. I didn’t find any pills in her stomach. You know what I think?”

“Go ahead.”

“This one appears to be a suicide.”

Elkins looked thoughtful. “What else?”

“She didn’t have anything that would kill her in the near future. She did have a small benign growth on the right ovary. I don’t imagine it had been detected. It wouldn’t have caused her any discomfort. Her tubes were tied, not recently. Her period was about to start in a day or two, and she had had an appendectomy, years ago. She also had diverticulitis. Other than that, she appeared to be in fairly good health, although her muscle tone was pretty flabby. She wasn’t an athlete. In sum, the woman had no real health problems for someone in her early forties. That said, who knows what was going on in her head. That’s where the real data is in these cases. Someday we might have a way of tapping into that, our own little flight recorders.”

“I certainly hope not,” said Ray.

“Yes, that would be horrible. Someone rambling through your thoughts.”

“Is there any relationship between menstrual cycle and suicide rate?”

“I don’t know that, I wouldn’t be surprised. However, most of us aren’t crazy when we’re having our periods.” She gave Ray a long look. “I’m not accusing you of buying into that lore, Elkins. However, the combination of alcohol, hormonal influences, and her emotional state might all contribute to her....”

“Actions.”

“Yes, and if there is a history of depression, it could be a contributing factor. That’s essentially what I meant.” Her sudden change in expression indicated that the serious conversation was over. “Thanks for bringing me a body that’s in good shape. The work’s more enjoyable when the stiff isn’t mashed or fried.”

Elkins shook his head back and forth. “What will you do to my parts when I pass?”

“Don’t worry, Elkins. I’ll be totally discreet. And after I examine the contents of your skull, I’ll stitch your face back on real tight. You won’t have any wrinkles. You’ll look terrific in the box. Everyone will say, ‘Old Elkins, he hasn’t looked that good in years.’”

“Thanks. Something to look forward to.”

26

A
fter leaving Dr. Gutiérrez, Elkins walked through a tunnel from the main hospital to the new Professional Arts Building. The tunnel system was a major design feature of the new complex, allowing barrier-free pedestrian traffic under roads and parking lots from the main hospital complex to the adjacent buildings that were continuing to sprout up from former corn and soybean fields. The pedestrian subways provided year-round protection from the sometime harsh Midwestern weather, the fierce winds and arctic blasts of winter and the scorching heat of summer. They also potentially offered a safe refuge for thousands of patients and staff in the event of a tornado threatening the area.

Ray avoided the elevator and took the stairs to the third floor hoping to find Dr. Margrave in. As he approached his destination, he saw Margrave hurrying in his direction from the elevator.“Elkins, good morning.”

“Do you have a few minutes?”

“Let me check my schedule.” Margrave unlocked the outer office. Elkins followed him through to the consultation room. Margrave sat at his desk, turned on the terminal, and brought up his calendar. “You’re in luck. My first patient has canceled. What can I help you with?” he asked as he came around and sat, motioning Elkins to the patient’s chair.

“Constance Dalton, was she a patient of yours?”

“Yes, she has been for several years. What’s this about?”

“You don’t know?”

“Know?”

“She was found dead yesterday morning. It appears to be a suicide.”

“Oh, God. No. We were up to the cottage getting in a few more vacation days. Didn’t return until late last night. What happened?”

“Carbon monoxide. A friend found her sitting in her car, motor running, garage door closed.” Elkins paused for a moment and let the information soak in. “Did you think that she was suicidal?”

“That’s a really hard question.”

“How so?”

“With most people who talk suicide, it’s usually an attention seeking device or a cry for help.”

“How about Dalton?”

“She never mentioned it, but she was extremely closed, very hard to work with.”

“What can you tell me about her?”

“You know, Elkins, after you were here last time I sought out the medical school’s ethicist, name is Barney Carrick, old fellow, looks a lot like Freud.”

“And?” pressed Elkins.

“He didn’t call me back yet. And you need the information…” his voice trailed off.

“When there is an unnatural death, we have to make a complete investigation of the circumstances surrounding the death. In this case we are trying to determine whether or not this was a suicide.”

Margrave rubbed his chin as he thought things over. He got up, opened a file drawer and after a few moments of looking, withdrew a folder. As he sat down again he looked over his notes. After a long silence Margrave looked up and said, “She never discussed suicide as an option, but somehow her taking her own life is not totally surprising. Constance was a very bright, complicated, and confused woman.” He thumbed again before continuing. “She was an only child, her parents were close to forty at the time of her birth. By her account, they were two very neurotic people who were constantly giving her mixed messages. As an adult she was never able to unload any of this baggage. Constance was always trying to conform to their standards, and, at the same time, rebel against them. The irony, of course, was that her parents had been dead for years.” Margrave looked up at Ray. “That’s one of the dumb things we often do to ourselves, try to meet our parents’ expectations long after they are gone.”

“What can you tell me about her personal life?”

Margrave flipped to the front of the folder. “She was married, let’s see, for about a dozen years and divorced about two years ago. They had one child, a boy. I imagine he’s ten or twelve by now. He lives with his father. She didn’t want custody. I worked with Constance and her husband in couple therapy before the divorce. He seemed like a decent sort of fellow, he was in physics. She would give lip service to trying to save the marriage, but I could tell her heart wasn’t really in it. Shortly before the final split, she got involved in a lesbian affair. I didn’t know it at the time. She brought it up when I started seeing her in individual therapy.”

“Did she tell you with whom she was involved?”

“I don’t know. All she ever said was the woman was a colleague. Well, I guess there is a little more.” He looked at his notes. “She said she finally understood that one could have a richer relationship with a woman than a man because women have so much more emotional depth.”

“But she never named the person?”

“No.”

“She didn’t mention Bobby Jo Hendrickson or Sheila Bensen?”

“No. She didn’t use names. ‘Colleague’ was the term she always used.”

“How about Mary Caswell. Ever mention her?”

“No. Constance had a great many taboos. Using names was one. Sex was something else she couldn’t talk about. Shortly after this affair started, the marriage was over. She was really,” Margrave paused, “I’m searching for the right word. I don’t think she was openly hostile toward men, but she certainly was uncomfortable with most men. I was always curious about her relationship with her father. Might there have been some sort of physical, or psychological, or sexual abuse?”

“And?”

“She skirted the issue. I don’t know. Perhaps there was nothing there, or maybe she wasn’t ready to confront the issue. As she talked about her parents, they seemed to be a unit and she was the outsider. They had been together for almost twenty years when she arrived. From her description, they never quite figured out how to deal with her.”

“How about her relationship with her son?” asked Ray.

“She didn’t seem to connect to him emotionally. I didn’t see any real maternal feelings or that she was conflicted over giving her husband custody. In fact I had a sense that she was happy to have that part of her life over. I never made much progress with Constance. We wasted her money and my time.”

“And you think that suicide was a possibility?”

“Absolutely. She was very brittle, very fragile. As long as she kept her guard up, she could continue to function, but if something happened that would put a chink in her psychic armor, I’d think she’d collapse.”

“Would the death of a lover do that?”

“Death, betrayal, or just a crack in her carefully constructed defenses.” Margrave sat still for a minute, and then gestured with his left hand, pointing two fingers at Ray. “I guess I’m really angry. I hate it when a patient commits suicide. I’m angry with myself for not finding a way to get to them, and I’m angry with them for being so completely stupid. Anything else?”

“If this is a suicide, could Bensen’s have triggered a copy cat behavior?”

“There’s a chance of that. With adolescents, a suicide in a high school is often quickly followed by several more. In some instances the later casualties were close to the first victim, but often they didn’t even know the person. They just saw death as an escape from the awful pain many teenagers experience. But in this case, I don’t know.”

“If Dalton had a strong emotional attachment to Hendrickson, the woman who was killed in the accident last week, might that...?”

“Again, I don’t see that as a primary motivating cause for her decision. She was very conflicted, lots of dissonance. If there had been a close relationship with one of the women, that death might have been the triggering event. You know, the straw that broke the camel’s back.” Margrave closed the folder and dropped it on the top of his desk with his left hand. He sat and looked at Ray, finally asking, “Is there anything else?

After a long pause, Elkins responded, “No, not now, but I’m sure there will be.”

“You know where to find me,” responded Margrave, rising from his chair and grasping Ray’s hand. “One more thing.”

“What’s that?” asked Ray.

“Did you ever start keeping a journal? We talked about it.”

“I bought a blank journal,” said Ray.

“That’s the first step. Now you need to get some words on the pages.”

27

Elkins walked up the back steps in the Campus Police building from the parking lot. As he headed toward his office, he was stopped at the desk of Bonnie Ferguson, the department receptionist. “There’s someone in your office, Elkins. The woman’s name is Jane Arden, a member of the English Department. She was quite insistent that she had to talk to you. And here are your phone messages, everyone wants to talk to you today, including Pearson.”

“My lucky day,” he responded as he headed down the corridor. The woman looked up, a smile crossing her face, as he entered his office.

“Good morning, ” he offered his hand. She stood and grasped his hand firmly.

“Jane Arden. Sorry to crash in on you this way, your secretary suggested I wait for you here. Stephanie Chesterton introduced us.”

“Yes, of course,” he responded. He remembered her very clearly, but he was trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, his tone formal and professional “How can I help you?”

“I played tennis with Stephanie early this morning. She suggested I talk to you. Actually, I feel sort of embarrassed about it.”

Elkins studied her as she talked—petite, tan, fine features, deep blue eyes, and a warm, attractive smile.

“I’m frightened.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Under normal conditions, I’d probably laugh it off, but....” Tears filled her eyes and she reached for her purse. Elkins pushed a box of tissue across the desk.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you,” he pressed.

“Do you know about the University’s program at the state penitentiary?”

“I know we have one, but I’ve never been involved with it.”

“I have been working in the program for four years. It’s helped fill out my load, and the students are often more interesting than our average undergraduates. I have taught a number of courses there: freshman composition, intro to fiction, and world lit. It’s not uncommon to have students for more than one course. I had one student, Arlin Merchant, in two different classes. His last class with me was this past fall. Months later I started getting letters. They were addressed to me at the English department, and I never responded to them. At first they were chatty and interesting. Then the letters changed.”

“Let me guess, they became romantic?”

“Romantic at first, but soon the romance vanished. They became purely sexual and quite obscene. I contacted Jim Zeigler, the administrator at the prison who coordinates the program. He said that Merchant has been paroled.”

Elkins studied the envelope, no return address but the postmark, although smudged, was clearly visible. He removed the letter, two pages of lined paper torn from a stenographer’s pad, covered with an almost illegible scrawl in heavy black ink. He read the letter, pausing to read the last paragraph a second time.
I am watching you. I’m all ways out there waiting. I’ll do all those things.

Ray looked at her and said, “I can understand your concern. Are you sure this was written by....”

“Arlin Merchant. Yes, same handwriting, same paper, just like he used for my class.”

“I’ll put someone on this and find out what options are available to us. This might take a day or two. Obviously, you’re going to have to be very careful. Where do you live?”

“In the faculty apartments, University Gardens on Varsity Court. That’s the end court in the back near the railroad tracks.”

Ray visualized the location. “It’s fairly isolated out there. Anyone you can stay with for a few days while I try to find out what we’re dealing with here?”

“Stephanie has invited me, but I don’t want to do that. I want to be in my own place; I don’t want some crazy dictating how I have to live. There is something you could help me with. Do you have anyone who can tell me if the locks on the doors and windows are adequate? I called University Housing. They said as long as the locks are working, they won’t do anything. But the locks seem to be awfully flimsy. I’d like some expert advice on how I can make the place more secure.”

“Well, that’s a hard one. We’re not organized like a city police force with a crime prevention bureau or officer. Let me think,” Elkins tapped his finger on his desk, an outward manifestation of an inward grinding. “If you’re going to be home late this afternoon, I’ll try to stop by and see what I can suggest.”

“That would be wonderful. I’ll make it a point to be home.”

“But,” said Elkins, “let me say again. I think you should really consider staying with someone else.”

She nodded her head, and he could tell by her expression she had no intention of doing so.

Elkins held up the letter, “May I keep this? We’ll probably need this as evidence.”

“I’m glad to be rid of it.” She stood. “So I’ll see you when?”

“I’ll try to make it before six. I’ll call before.”

They shook hands and Elkins watched her go. Then he picked up the phone and dialed an extension. Char Pascoe was in his office within a few minutes.

“Read this letter. It was sent to a member of the English faculty by a former student in the penitentiary degree program.”

She unfolded the letter and read, and then looked up, “Has a way with words, but he’s no Browning.”

“Where did that come from?” asked Ray.

“Hey, you think you were the only one to take survey classes. I thought Browning was pretty hot.”

“And Arlin is not,” said Ray. “So follow up on this. The contact person at the prison is Jim Zeigler. Find out who Arlin Merchant’s parole officer is, and the conditions of the parole. And find out what options we have in dealing with this. The woman is scared and rightfully so.”

“This is the kind of assignment I like. I like to nail bastards like this.”

“She complained about door locks. I said I would come by later this afternoon and take a look. Changing topic, what did you find in the Dalton apartment?”

“We dusted the house for prints and went over the place very thoroughly for other possible evidence. A copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets was next to her computer. Her prints are on the keyboard, but we couldn’t find a copy of the text saved on the hard drive. I did print a couple of lines and had them compared with the note we found in the car. The lab confirmed the note was printed on the same paper.” She paused and looked at Ray for a long moment before continuing. “The house is sealed, just in case you want to have another look around. Dalton’s ex-husband and son are flying in this evening. I’ve got a suite for them at the Union. He’s making funeral arrangements. I’ve told him he won’t have access to the house for several days.”

“I’m always impressed by how thorough you are.”

“Elkins,” she said with a smile, “you like me because I’m so much like you, a compulsive, type-A, workaholic—the kinds of traits that drive most people crazy. Additionally, I’m better organized than you, and neater, too.” She stood and started to leave the office, stopping briefly and turning toward him again. “If you were only ten years younger and rich, we’d have a great future.”