The Theory of Death (6 page)

“We’re not sure.”

“Suicide?” She was kneading her hands.

“Nothing has been ruled out. Did he appear to be a candidate for suicide?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“Are suicides common here?”

“Not common, thank God, but Kneed Loft is a high-pressure environment. It’s not like the other colleges. You can’t bullshit your way through subjects like topology, thermodynamics, or structural engineering. You either know what you’re talking about or you don’t. For those who are shaky, we try to intercede at every level; tutoring as well as therapy. But there is that rare occasion when the student is not doing well and he or she feels they’ve let everyone down. Especially in the Asian culture, where failure is not an option. I know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m an observant Jew. We also have norms.”

“Not even close, Detective. Jews have guilt: we have shame. To me, guilt is internalized. Shame is something that’s foisted on you like a faceful of dog shit. And that’s why we’re a bunch of fucking Goody-Two-shoes, pardon my language. Not each and every one of us—we are over a billion people—but with our brainpower, we should be leading the world in innovation. Good Lord, how many greats have had failure? Like one hundred percent?” She shook her head. “I’m ranting. I’m nervous. What happened to poor Elijah? You can’t tell me. Ongoing investigation, right?”

“Was Elijah one of those kids who couldn’t take the pressure, Dean Lin?” Decker asked.

“Actually, it’s Dean Zhou. Lin is my first name. Chinese have the surname first.”

“Yes, right. Sorry.”

“As far as academic pressure with Elijah, I always thought he was immune. He was so engrossed in what he was doing he didn’t have time to feel shame or guilt or anything like that.” She looked at the RA for confirmation.

“Absolutely,” Dixon said. “Eli was brilliant. As I remember him, he was the one who helped other people. But his profs would know more than I would.”

McAdams walked into the room and handed Decker a slip of paper. On it was written the names Ruth Anne and Ezra Wolf along with a phone number.

“Right,” Decker said. “I’ll give them a call.” He introduced Tyler to Alistair Dixon and Dean Zhou Lin. Hands were shaken all around.

“Did you find anything?” McAdams asked Decker.

“Nope. Place has been cleared out. It’s especially unsettling because this guy was all about math and I haven’t found a scrap of paper with numbers or formulas. No computers or pads left behind, either. I can’t see him junking his electronics. Maybe he gave them away.”

“Even if we did find them, he might have cleared the hard drives. Betcha we wouldn’t have found anything meaningful.”

“Sometimes it’s the little stuff that’s meaningful. I’d like to know what happened to them.”

“Are you done?” Zhou asked.

“For now.” But Decker remained rooted where he was.

McAdams said, “What’s bothering you, sir?”

“You’re getting good at reading people.” Decker held up a finger. He walked over to the desk and pulled out the drawer on the left—the one with the toiletries—and then closed it gently. It clicked into place. Then he did the same maneuver with the right-hand drawer. It bounced back open. He then closed it slowly and forcefully and it finally locked. Then he opened it again.

He lay down on his back and examined how the drawer was attached to the desk. There was a simple lever that should have released the drawer from the mechanism that held it in the desk. It was jammed or had been monkeyed with. The drawer would simply not disengage.

“What are you doing?” Zhou asked.

McAdams said, “He’s looking to see if he can pull out the drawer because he suspects that something’s behind it.”

“Very good, Harvard.”

“Harvard?” Dixon said.

“It’s a private joke,” McAdams told him.

Decker pulled the empty drawer as far as it would go. He tried to insert his hand in the space between the back of the drawer and the back of the desk, but his hand was too big.

“Anything?” Lin asked.

“I don’t know,” Decker answered. “It could be that the drawer was crammed and something fell behind it.”

“I don’t see Eli as much of a crammer,” McAdams said. “But I can see him hiding something.”

“I agree,” Decker said. “But I can’t get my hand behind the drawer.”

“I can try,” Dixon offered.

“How about if I try?” the dean said. “I have tiny hands.”

“It’s a tight squeeze,” Decker said.

“I’ve been in many tight squeezes and have always come out on top.” She bent down and inserted her tiny hand and fingers over the top of the back end of the drawer. “There is something …” She stretched her arm as far as it would go, pulling out a wad of around twenty pieces of paper stapled together. Then she shook her arm out and looked at her find. “Here are your formulas.” She started to look over the pages, but Decker gently pried them from her hands.

“This may be evidence.”

Zhou looked annoyed. “Of what?”

“Who knows? Thanks for your help.”

“I could help more if you’d let me look over the pages.”

“How about if I look?” Dixon said.

The dean looked at the RA. “I can take it from here, Alistair. And don’t say a word about this. We will announce it in due time.”

“Uh … okay.”

“That’s your cue to leave,” Lin said.

Dixon gave a forced smile then decided it was inappropriate. “Bye.”

After he left, Decker did a quick scan through the pages, then gave them to McAdams. “Anything familiar?”

“It’s like Greek or Latin. I can read it, but it means nothing.”

The dean said, “I could tell you a lot in just a quick glance. For instance, I saw Fourier transforms.”

“Which we knew he was studying,” Decker said. “Let me look them over first and make sure I’m not missing something crucial. Before I show anyone anything, I need to call the parents up and see them personally. At some point, if it’s not germane to Eli’s death, you can certainly look over these pages, Dean Zhou. And I’d like to think if I need your help with the numbers, you’ll be available.”

“Of course. I still don’t understand why you wouldn’t want me to help you out now. I thought time in police cases matters.”

“It does. Thanks for your offer. I’m sure I’ll get back to you on it.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I’m just a wary guy,” Decker said. “But I hope you don’t take offense. I’m a cop. It is my sworn duty to be suspicious.”

E
VEN THOUGH THERE
were six official detectives in Greenbury PD, everyone pitched in with major assignments in potluck fashion. Over the past year, Decker’s duties had run the gamut: from a grisly homicide almost a year ago to traffic patrol when power lines had fallen in an ice storm. Before McAdams left for school, he and Tyler shared a partners desk in the same area with Ben Roiters and Kevin Nickweed. Now that Tyler was gone, his desk had become spillover for the three of them.

He wanted to make the notification from the landline at the station house. The call lasted a few minutes, and after he hung up, McAdams knocked and then came into the office. He noticed Decker’s grim face.

“How was it?” Tyler said. “Stupid question.”

“I’m going to their house tomorrow at lunchtime—around ten in the morning because they work very early. I offered to come up tonight, but the father said it was too late. He had to get up early and he needed his sleep.”

“Wait.” McAdams furrowed his brow. “You just told him his son is dead and he’s worried about his sleep?”

“People grieve in all sorts of ways.”

McAdams looked at his watch. It was a hair past nine. “How far away do they live?”

“About an hour.”

“You could be there in an hour and they’re not interested? They must be really alienated from their son.”

“Don’t know because there wasn’t a whole lot of conversation over the phone. It felt like as I was talking, the father was nodding on the other end. Listening but had nothing to say. It could be shock. It could be cultural. It could be he’s suspected that this phone call was a long time coming.” Decker sighed. “I’m tired emotionally. I need to call it a day.”

“Sure …” McAdams made a sour face. “What the hell happened to my desk?”

“You didn’t expect us to leave it as a memorial, did you?”

“You could have kept it neat at least.” He picked up a pile of papers. “What is all this crap?”

“Those are Ben’s cases. You’ll have to ask him about it.”

“You let Ben pile up his shit on my desk?”

Decker spoke to the ceiling. “Someone needs dinner.” He stood and put his arm around the kid, but Tyler shook him off.

“Nuh-huh. Don’t give me that fatherly act of yours. You have betrayed my trust.”

“How can I make it up to you?”

“I have to think about that one.” He turned to Decker. “How about if you put a picture up of me on your piano?”

Decker laughed out loud until Tyler told him he was serious. “Okay, then.” Decker cleared his throat. “Send me a snapshot of your good side and I’ll gladly include you as part of my family. Can we go? I’m starving and Rina is waiting for us with dinner.”

“I will eat dinner with you but only for Rina’s sake.”

They donned their coats, scarves, and gloves and headed into Decker’s Porsche. The car was the sole part of Tinseltown that he had brought along in the move to upstate. He drove it only to work and back, but it reminded him of his younger years and that was always fun. He never thought of himself as much of a mechanic, but lately he enjoyed tinkering with the beast.

The temperature was in the twenties, and it was a clear night with a cold wind whipping needles into the face. Decker warmed up the car’s motor and then cranked up the heater. “All kidding aside, thanks for helping me out today.”

“Truth be told, you did me a favor. It felt good to get away from school and think about something else.” A pause. “I can come with you tomorrow to wherever you’re going.”

“I’m fine flying solo, Tyler.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but I wouldn’t mind coming. I’d like to see how you conduct an interview with bereaved parents. And FYI, I can study very well in a moving vehicle. I don’t get carsick, in case you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t wondering. But you need to concentrate without distraction.”

“You’d be surprised how distracted I can be when I’m alone. You’ll keep my nose to the grindstone. Besides, you just might want a second opinion.”

“A second opinion on what?”

“On the family, of course. Maybe they didn’t approve of his current life. Maybe Eli had an argument with his dad. Maybe that’s what drove him to suicide.”

“I think you’re projecting.”

“Of course I am. Anybody would eat a gun rather than listen to my dad spout off.” A pause. “I mean it
is
a suicide, right?”

“On the surface, it looks pretty textbook. We should have the report by tomorrow or the next day.” When the kid was quiet, Decker said, “What’s on your mind?”

“The sheaves of paper that we found. They were stapled together. I don’t think they accidentally fell behind the drawer. I mean the front sheet got a little crinkled from pulling up the packet, but the rest of the papers were pristine.”

“He was hiding them, I agree.”

“So then what are the papers about? And do they have anything to do with Eli’s death?”

“I think the first question is why would Eli be hiding anything?”

“Maybe it was his research.” McAdams paused. “Maybe he hit upon something so important that he didn’t want anyone to see it, including his professors, who might steal his ideas and claim them for their own.”

Decker stopped at a light. “The reverse is maybe he stole the papers from someone else and was trying to pass them off as his own.”

“He felt guilty about it and decided to kill himself. He does come from a community where there are strict moral rights and wrongs.”

“I don’t know, McAdams. Why not just tear up the pages and move on?”

“Maybe it was too late. Could be he already handed them in to his professor. To backtrack would expose him. Maybe he couldn’t take the shame.”

“Then why did he bother hiding the pages if he already handed something in to his professors?”

“I’m not saying that’s what he did,” McAdams said. “Just that we should find out what he was studying and compare his known papers to the ones he was hiding. Maybe they’re the reason behind the suicide.”

“You’re itching for something big, aren’t you.”

“Not necessarily big. Whatever it is, it’s more interesting than studying tort law.” McAdams took off his jacket in the overheated car. “What about a code?”

“What code?”

“Maybe the math isn’t his research. Maybe the math is a code for something illegal.”

“Now we have Eli being part of a syndicate?”

“I’m not saying he was a major-ass criminal, but there is a lot of drug dealing in the institutes of higher learning. Surely you know that.”

“The papers are filled with math formulas.”

“They are, but we don’t know what they represent,” McAdams said. “We need someone trustworthy to look them over. What do you think about giving them to Dean Zhou? Do you think she’s trustworthy?”

“I haven’t a clue. She did seem anxious to see the papers. I agree with you, Tyler. We need to interview his professors first to find out what Eli was studying. We get some copies of his work and compare it to the papers he was hiding. Because for all we know, the hidden papers may have nothing to do with his thesis.”

“But we need someone who understands math. That shouldn’t be a problem. We both know a certain Harvard math professor who has been useful in the past. I find him trustworthy. What do you think?”

Decker said, “I don’t see Professor Gold pilfering other people’s work. He’s a full professor, tenured, and well respected.”

“But then again, he ratted us out to the authorities.”

“But he did it to protect us. We might as well go to him since I don’t know anyone else.”

“Okay, then it’s settled,” McAdams announced. “First, we talk to Eli’s professors and try to get some copies of his research since we can’t find his laptop—which, by the way, is still bothering the crap out of me. Once we do that, you can call up Professor Gold and we can take a trip to Boston.”