Medieval Murders (13 page)

28

W
hile Elkins was on the phone, Reda Rudd settled into a chair in his office. She dropped her backpack in the next chair, opened it and extracted a folder. She removed a sheet from the folder and placed it in front of Elkins.

Elkins, obviously listening to the person at the other end of the phone, nodded to Reda. Then his eyes traveled down the article.

Faculty Suicide Stuns University

Professor Constance Dalton, 42, was found dead in her car in the closed garage of her townhouse Thursday morning. The motor was still running at the time the body was discovered. The cause of death has been officially listed as carbon monoxide poisoning. The body was discovered by a friend, Ms. Mary Caswell, a reference librarian in the graduate library.

Ms. Dalton, a specialist in medieval and Renaissance literature, was beginning her fifth year at the university. She was divorced and the mother of an eleven year old son. It is believed that the child resides with his father.

This is the third death of a member of the department of English in less than two weeks. Ms. Sheila Bensen died in a fall from the university carillon. That death, while still under investigation, is listed as a probable suicide. Five days later, Ms. Bobby Jo Hendrickson, died in a traffic accident.

Reda Rudd dropped a second clipping in front of Elkins. In ball-point at the top it was marked, “Editorial,
State Journal.
”

Faculty Deaths Teach Important Lesson.

The members of the Legislature had better sit up and take notice of what is happening at State. The recent deaths of three faculty members is just another indication of the type of individuals being recruited to educate our sons and daughters.

In less than two weeks there have been two suicides, and a bourbon soddened professor lost her life in a fiery late-night traffic accident. These are just the most recent examples of what’s been going on at State for years.

It’s time that the members of the Legislature got the message that the people of this state are getting tired of having their hard earned dollars taxed away to support a bunch of drunks, psychotics, drug users, feminists, and sodomites.

Even worse, we’re getting tired of having lifestyles and values modeled for our youth that we find reprehensible. It’s time the legislature sent a message to Chancellor Pearson that they’re not going to tolerate this kind of behavior anymore. It’s time to pull the purse strings tight and get some reform started.

“Yes, I’ve just read it,” Elkins said into the receiver. He looked across at Reda and shook his head from side to side. His tone changed, and showing obvious anger he retorted, “And I want to remind you, sir, that I’ve kept you informed every step of the way. We’re not creating these events. We’re on the receiving end. We are investigating each one thoroughly. No one will be able to criticize the quality of the police work.” There was a pause as he listened to the other party. Then he responded, “If there are any new developments, I’ll get back to you immediately.” He tossed the receiver at the cradle.

“Let me guess,” Reda said with a mocking smile. “Pearson?”

“You’ve got it. You brought the editorial in just at the right moment. I was able to see what set him off. Pearson doesn’t do well with criticism, especially if it’s in the
State Journal.
He’s convinced that the members of the legislature get most of their information from that rag and, unfortunately, he’s probably right.”

“How can he take those assholes seriously? Most members of the legislature are unemployable in any other kind of work.”

“He has to. They determine our budget. And the
State Journal,
their editorial policy, as provincial as it is, is probably pretty close to what most of their readers believe. Probably quite close to what Pearson believes, too.”

“Depressing thought,” she responded.

“It’s a reality.”

“I know it is, but one I choose not to believe. It’s too painful.” Rudd pointed to the first article. “I talked to Pascoe about the Dalton death. My article is based on that. Is there anything new?”

“
No, you know what I know.”

“Isn’t this too much of a coincidence?” she asked.

“Yes. Too much, but I don’t have any other explanation. Unlikely, chance, rare, statistically improbable, you can generate all kinds of adjectives, but we still don’t have the smallest bit of evidence of foul play in any of these deaths. Have you heard any interesting rumors?”

“Yes. The NCAA is out to get our football program. The major brewers are in collusion to force up the price of kegs this fall—things like that. The death of a few English department members of the doesn’t generate much interest in the undergraduate world.”

The phone rang again. Elkins said, “Let me take this call.” As he started to talk, Reda gathered up her backpack. She waved on her way out.

29

R
ay asked Pascoe to accompany him on the short trip to Dalton’s townhouse in University Gardens. During the ten minute trip Pascoe gave him a summary of Arlin Merchant’s criminal history. “He entered the juvenile justice system at thirteen. He was in and out of Branch County’s juvenile center, more in than out, until he was sixteen. Then he prepped at Pine Lake Center for Juvenile Offenders. When he left at eighteen, he had managed to earn a GED. By the time he was twenty he was a guest of the state again, only this time with the big boys.”

“What for?”

“He had gone into the auto parts business. He would steal cars and strip them. From the air a state police pilot looking for marijuana plots noticed a wood lot on a farm filled with cars. They sent someone to investigate and found twenty-some late model cars, partially stripped. The woods were located on Merchant’s grandfather’s farm. I talked with the sheriff in Branch County. He said the grandfather had lost it, probably didn’t notice what the kid was doing.”

“Any other convictions?”

“No, that’s it.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s back in Branch County, and get this, the parole board helped get him a job washing trucks and doing light maintenance for the county road commission. His parole officer wasn’t available. He’s supposed to call me tomorrow. I’m also meeting with an assistant prosecutor tomorrow to see what our options are.”

“You did all that in a couple of hours,” Ray formed his question as a statement, but Pascoe understood that he was complementing her.

She was embarrassed and changed the subject by pointing to the weedy and wilted flower beds in front of the townhouse complex and asking, “Is that why they call this University Gardens?”

“God, you’re becoming a cynic,” retorted Ray. “I understand that the horticulture department once occupied this area. They had a classroom building, greenhouses, and gardens. When the university quadrupled in size in the sixties and early seventies, the College of Agriculture—including the horticulture department—got a beautiful new facility on West Campus. At that time there was a severe housing shortage, both for students and faculty. The university built all those high-rise dorms, and this one complex of condos for faculty members.”

The police line was still in evidence and a patrol car was parked in the drive, the front of the car facing the street. As they approached, a young woman in the department’s light blue summer uniform with the white lettered ‘Cadet’ patch at her shoulder emerged from the car.

“Boring assignment?” asked Ray, as the young woman unlocked the door for them.

“This morning I got to meet all the neighborhood boys on their way to school. Since then it has been very quiet.”

After they were in Dalton’s townhouse, Pascoe asked, “What’s our purpose here?”

“Two things, and then I just want to have a look around.”

“What specifically?”

“I want to see if she has any other liquor, and I want to look for medications.” Ray went into the kitchen. “You dusted the cabinet doors?”

“We dusted everything.”

“Any alcohol?”

“There were a few bottles in one of the cupboards. I think they were in here.” She opened a cupboard next to the sink. “Yes, this is the one.”

Ray pulled on some rubber gloves, dropped to one knee, and looked in. “Let’s see, four bottles. Two Jack Daniel’s, one close to empty and one unopened. And two bottles of gin, one half gone and the other unopened. I’ve always wondered how Queen Victoria would have felt about having her picture on a bottle of gin.”

“Who?”

“That lovely lady,” he said, holding the bottle so she could see the label. “Check these for prints, all four bottles.” Elkins pulled the refrigerator door open. He noted the bottles of diet tonic water, one half empty, three more unopened, and the two unsliced limes. He let the refrigerator close.

“Oh, by the way, what did you find in the trap?” Ray asked.

“Nothing, just soapy water,” Pascoe replied and followed him up to the second story. He checked around the nightstand, a two-shelf arrangement with a clock radio on the lower shelf and a reading light on the top.

“I thought I was organized,” Pascoe observed as they looked around. “Everything here is just perfect.”

“But perhaps not perfect enough,” said Ray. His irony wasn’t lost on her.

He went into the bathroom. It was papered in a pastel flower design, and curtained with a material that picked up the colors in the paper, or vice versa. The bath and hand towels were carefully hung, they looked to Ray like they had never been used. Something about the room repelled him. It looked as though every attempt had been made to disguise the room’s primary function.

Elkins opened the medicine chest—toothpaste and floss on the first shelf, makeup, other toiletries on the second shelf, and medications on the top shelf. Everything was neatly arranged alphabetically, all the labels facing the front. He looked at the bottles: aspirin, Tylenol, and two bottles with prescription medications. He could read the label on the first, an antibiotic, the prescription two years out of date. He turned the second bottle.
Bobby Jo Hendrickson
was typed in following
Patient’s Name,
and
Seconal 100 mg
was typed at the bottom of the label. He pointed to the bottle. “You’ll be interested in this. Check it for prints and find out why this guy was prescribing this for Hendrickson. Then we’ll have to try to figure out how Dalton ended up with it.”

Pascoe, with gloved hands, picked up the bottle and dropped it into a plastic evidence bag. “Anything else in here you want?”

“No, that’s all. I’m finished for now, but let’s keep the place secure for a few days, just in case we want to do a bit more work here.”

30

It was after 8:00 P.M. when Ray completed the day’s paperwork, a task that he hadn’t been able to start until after 5:00. As he arranged the folders on his desk, he remembered his promise to check the door locks at Jane Arden’s townhouse and kicked himself for not doing it earlier when he and Pascoe were in the area.

He found her number in the on-line staff directory and called, apologizing for not getting over to her place earlier in the day. Arden inquired whether he had eaten. When he said he hadn’t, she invited him to come over for dinner, adding that she would feel better if she had his advice on the locks, that she wanted to make her place as secure as possible. Ray looked back at the screen to check the address and said that he would be by in about a half an hour. He put the paperwork on his secretary’s desk and had a brief conversation with the evening shift commander. Pascoe had scheduled increased patrols in University Gardens, and Ray wanted to confirm that that request had been implemented.

When he walked back to his office to pick up his jacket, Ray looked at the two boxes Pascoe had dropped off before she left for the day. One contained a new Glock 19 pistol, the other a shoulder holster. Since becoming the acting director of the campus police, Ray had put a uniform weapons policy in place. Under the department’s former leadership, officers had been required to provide their own side arms. Unfortunately, there had been a tendency on the part of a few of the department’s “cowboys” to opt for “Dirty Harry” sized weapons. Ray wanted to get rid of the Hollywood props as he worked to develop a competent and professional police unit.

Ray lifted the pistol, first checking the safety. He hadn’t owned or even handled a pistol or any other kind of weapon for years. He put the Glock back in the box, then thought of his directive that campus police officers should carry their weapons at all times.
This too shall pass,
he thought as he pulled on the shoulder holster. He looked forward to the time in the near future when he would be relieved of this administrative role and return to teaching.

Pascoe had spent fifteen or twenty minutes helping him adjust the fit of the holster, much of the time he stood with his arms lifted as she fiddled with the straps. Sliding the magazine in the base, he chambered a round, rechecked the safety, and secured the pistol in the holster. Ray pulled on his sport coat, and adjusted the position of the holster. He was bothered by the bulk of his new appendage, sure that its presence would be obvious to even the most casual observer.

By the time Ray got to University Gardens, the last remnants of a sunset had been obliterated by the heavy, black clouds of a storm rapidly approaching from the west. He could see lightening in the clouds, but the flashes were still too far away for the thunder to be heard.

The front door opened just as he was reaching for the bell. Arden unlocked the screen door and ushered him in. Ray noted that the floor plan of Arden’s townhouse was the same as Dalton’s, only reversed. There were four townhouses per unit; the two on the right hand side were oriented one way, the two on the left the other.

Ray looked around the living room. Although the interior space was the same, he was instantly struck by the contrast between Dalton’s and Arden’s decorating. Dalton’s compulsiveness was reflected by cleanliness, order, and a chilling perfection.

Arden’s decorating was warm, colorful, and inviting; the furniture was elegantly simple and tastefully arranged. Oriental rugs covered the hardwood floors, and the two oil paintings were appropriate in size to the wall space they occupied.

Arden was wearing a pastel pink linen dress, the color highlighting her tan and giving her, thought Ray, a softer appearance than she had in his office. She smelled of soap and shampoo.

“Should I start here with the front door?” he asked.

“Well, you can if you want to, but you can also sit down, and I’ll get you a drink.”

“Let me look at the doors and window, then I’ll consider the drink.”

Ray inspected the lock on the front door, then he checked the lock on the entrance from the garage. “Both locks should be replaced,” he announced, “They are old and worn, and deadbolts should be added to each door. What kind of lock does your patio door have?”

“Just that little clip thingamabob on the handle. Most of the time that doesn’t seem to catch.” Arden led him to the patio door at the back of the kitchen. Ray played with the lock. It was damaged and could only be engaged with much jiggling. “This needs to be replaced,” said Ray, “but even when it’s working right, it doesn’t provide much security. You can pop one of these locks with a screwdriver or a tire iron. If you get a length of board and jam it in here…,” Elkins dropped to his knees and showed her where the board should be placed, “it’s almost impossible to open the door.”

“How about windows?” she asked.

Elkins looked at the window behind the sink, a sliding unit with an aluminum frame. “This would also be easy to force. You can get clamps at the hardware store that fasten to the tracks here, bottom and top. They’re inexpensive and effective.”

“Anything else I should do?”

“It’s very important that you become especially vigilant and careful. Try to move about in daylight hours as much as possible so you can see if there is anyone around, and if so who it is. If you come home and there’s a strange car parked in the area, or if you see a light you don’t remember leaving on, anything unusual, don’t go in. Call and we’ll have officers accompany you and check out your home. I’ve increased patrols in this area, and they have specific instructions to keep an eye on your townhouse. Monday, I’ll call maintenance to replace the locks, install deadbolts, and do something for that patio door. And I’ll suggest that they need to check every lock in the entire complex and probably replace most or all of those as well.”

“Lots of luck,” Jane said with a smile. “As I told you this afternoon, the woman at university housing said that if the locks weren’t broken....”

Elkins cut her off. “I’ve had a bit more experience working the bureaucracy. When you make something a safety issue, people tend to get excited and usually take action.”

“I would appreciate that.”

Elkins rested against the counter on the back wall. Jane was directly across from him leaning against the counter that separated the U-shaped kitchen alcove from the living room. As Ray looked at her, he could sense her discomfort.

“Yes?” he prompted, reading in her eyes that a lot was going on.

“Well, there’s so much that’s out of my control. I feel like I’m under house arrest. Without your help, I can’t get locks fixed. You say I should be careful about moving around after dark.” She paused, then continued, her voice and body language showing her frustration. “I’m very self-sufficient. I don’t like this, I don’t like this at all.”

“It’s not a good situation. I’m sorry that you have to put up with it. In a few days we’ll have a better handle on this Merchant character and, hopefully, we’ll have a clearer idea what our options are.”

“I appreciate your efforts. I was feeling very vulnerable. Thank you. You must be starving.” She didn’t wait for a response. “Let me get you a drink. Stephanie says you drink Scotch.”

“I’ll take a pass on the drink now, thank you. Perhaps a glass of wine with dinner,” he responded. Ray noticed the bottle on the counter, the brand he preferred.
Stephanie
, he thought. He became uncomfortable.

“I have some fresh pasta and pesto and the makings for a salad.”

Elkins nodded. “Anything I can do?”

“How about shredding some Parmigiano?”

“I can do that.”

“The cheese is in the fridge, the grater and bowl are there,” she pointed.

Ray found the hunk of cheese, removed the butcher paper wrapping, and started putting hunks of cheese through the stainless steel mill, sampling a bit in the process.

“And when you finish that, there’s a baguette in the oven that needs to be sliced. Put it in here,” she said, sliding a cloth-lined wicker basket in his direction. The thunder and lightening were intensifying, and the wind suddenly picked up. Jane crossed the room and closed the patio door. The lights flickered, went out, and came on again a few seconds later.

“I think it’s time for candles,” Jane said, first lighting two candles in the kitchen area and then the candelabra on the dinner table. As they began to carry food to the table the lights went out again. This time they didn’t come back on.

“Good timing on your part,” said Ray.

“What can I tell you? In life, timing is everything,” she quipped, giving Ray a warm smile. “Would you like a glass of Merlot,” she asked showing him the label, “or would you prefer something else?”

“Merlot would be fine.”

“And can I take your coat? I should have asked your sooner.”

“I’m a little chilled at the moment. I would like to keep it on, thank you,” Ray said, embarrassed that Jane would see him packing.She seated Ray at a table near the patio door, and she sat across from him. As he sipped the wine, Ray felt warmth beginning to flow through his body. He hadn’t had anything to eat since late morning, a carton of yogurt consumed on the run.

After they began eating, Ray sensed that Jane was beginning to relax. The tension engendered by talk about security and the underlying reason for his visit seemed to vanish. They fell into an easy conversation.

Ray had found Jane attractive the first time they met. By candlelight she was even more so. She told him about her trip to England in June. Ray mentioned the article he had recently read on Cornwall in the travel section of the
Times
. Jane, with much animation, told him about an extended holiday she had had in Cornwall when she was doing post-doctoral work at the University of London. Elkins watched her and her shadows move. The shadows mimicked her movement, but were made even more spirited by the flickering of the candles. Outside the wind howled and cascading rain pounded on the roof and windows.Arden was in mid-sentence when the glass in the door wall exploded into the room, followed by a blast of cool, wet air. Ray pulled Jane to the floor, asking if she was unharmed, then dialing 911 on his cell phone. He slid through the shattered opening and moved along the side of the building, unholstering his pistol. Lightening flashed, and he saw someone sprinting along the thick hedge that defined the back perimeter of the complex, beyond which was a railroad embankment. As Ray pursued, he saw the figure disappear through the hedge, a dense, tall thicket designed to muffle the sounds of passing trains.

He pushed through the line of shrubs, stumbling as he came down the steep embankment. Lightening flashed again. He could see a dark form sprinting away from him, running in the low area between the two sets of tracks. Ray regained his footing and followed, crossing the first set of tracks, running between the parallel ribbons of steel. He could see the headlight of an approaching locomotive; the figure he was pursuing silhouetted by the brilliant beam. He could hear the locomotive’s bell, the pounding of the huge diesels, and then the blast of the horn sounded almost continuously as the engineer tried to warn away the approaching runners.

The figure crossed over the second track and disappeared into darkness. Ray waited as two massive tandem locomotives lumbered by, the earth shaking, their roar filling his ears. Then he crossed over the second set of tracks and ducked for cover as he was suddenly caught in the beam from the receding engine. Ray felt his right foot become wedged, and then he tumbled violently forward.