fashion.
C.J., however, was thinking something else. These students are technology addicted. Technology. Stephen used a lot of technology. I wonder…. Is there a digital yellow brick road to showing that Stephen is innocent?
Drawn back to the present by the silent stares, some sullen, some wide-eyed, of the phone-free students, C.J. gave them a great big Texan smile. “Now, that’s just wonderful. Getting back to the demand curve. Looking around the room, I get the feeling there has been an increase in demand for tattoos over recent years. Anyone got a particularly good one on an arm or a leg they want to show?”
*****
“I knew it!” exclaimed Betsy loudly, as C.J. entered Wallaby’s at just after eleven.
C.J. just shook her head and went over to order a caramel latte, extra cream. It was that kind of day.
Betsy, C.J. no ticed, was not knitting today. Instead, she had just put aside a copy of The Pug Post . The arrest of a colleague meant Betsy’s role as sleuth superseded that of grandmother. As C.J. sat down next to her friend, drink in hand, she glanced over to see the The Pug’s headline of the day. “CHOI-KED TO DEATH! ” Ouch.
Betsy, wobbling like a Jell-O cup with excitement, continued talking. “Stephen was the lemon! All those Chinese death rituals, all that bitterness over not getting tenure. He snuck out of his office and strangled Edmund.”
“Would it matter to your conclusion if I told you that Stephen was not in his office the hour before Edmund died? But instead he was walking downtown at about one o’clock?”
Betsy looked puzzled. “But, I don’t understand. Stephen said he was in his office. Has he changed his story?”
“Not on purpose. But Mary Beth saw him walking into downtown and told Jefferson, and Jeffie told me after the faculty meeting last night. As you know, nothing is secret in an academic department.”
C.J. took a long sip of caramel-flavored coffee, savoring two of her favorite food groups, caffeine and sugar. Then she turned to Betsy and asked thoughtfully, “Why would Stephen walk downtown at one o’clock if he wanted to kill Edmund a few minutes later?”
“To give himself an alibi, of course.”
“But then, why lie about it?”
Betsy was quiet for a moment, thinking this new development through.
“Exactly,” said C.J. “I think the fact Stephen lied about being in his office shows that he is innocent. Obviously he left his office at lunchtime for some reason. But not to give himself an alibi. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t killing Edmund.”
Betsy still looked skeptical. “Well,” Betsy said finally, “why doesn’t he just say where he was? Then he wouldn’t be sitting in jail right now.”
C.J. sighed deeply, looking troubled. “Betsy, dear, you have struck at the fundamental problem. I, like you, have been assuming that all of the innocent people in this affair would do everything they could to prove that they were innocent. It seemed the rational choice. But why are we assuming that everyone is going to behave rationally? What are we? Nineteenth-century economic theorists, like Walter? I think emotions, like embarrassment or love, are coming in to play.”
Betsy looked confused , so C.J. continued her explanation in simpler terms. “My guess is Stephen doesn’t want anyone to know what he was up to on Monday afternoon because he was doing something... naughty...or...or perhaps his afternoon activities reveal something about someone else.”
“Oh. I get you,” said Betsy, with the air of sudden understanding. “ It is possible he might have been seeing a...well, you know, an escort...at one of the hotels downtown. How strange he won’t say anything. It’s not like an economist to have that much honor or delicacy, for that matter. But you never can tell with, you know…Asians. Their culture is very different.”
She sighed, clearly disappointed to hav e to give up on her first suspect. “It’s often not the first one they
C.J., however, was thinking something else. These students are technology addicted. Technology. Stephen used a lot of technology. I wonder…. Is there a digital yellow brick road to showing that Stephen is innocent?
Drawn back to the present by the silent stares, some sullen, some wide-eyed, of the phone-free students, C.J. gave them a great big Texan smile. “Now, that’s just wonderful. Getting back to the demand curve. Looking around the room, I get the feeling there has been an increase in demand for tattoos over recent years. Anyone got a particularly good one on an arm or a leg they want to show?”
*****
“I knew it!” exclaimed Betsy loudly, as C.J. entered Wallaby’s at just after eleven.
C.J. just shook her head and went over to order a caramel latte, extra cream. It was that kind of day.
Betsy, C.J. no ticed, was not knitting today. Instead, she had just put aside a copy of The Pug Post . The arrest of a colleague meant Betsy’s role as sleuth superseded that of grandmother. As C.J. sat down next to her friend, drink in hand, she glanced over to see the The Pug’s headline of the day. “CHOI-KED TO DEATH! ” Ouch.
Betsy, wobbling like a Jell-O cup with excitement, continued talking. “Stephen was the lemon! All those Chinese death rituals, all that bitterness over not getting tenure. He snuck out of his office and strangled Edmund.”
“Would it matter to your conclusion if I told you that Stephen was not in his office the hour before Edmund died? But instead he was walking downtown at about one o’clock?”
Betsy looked puzzled. “But, I don’t understand. Stephen said he was in his office. Has he changed his story?”
“Not on purpose. But Mary Beth saw him walking into downtown and told Jefferson, and Jeffie told me after the faculty meeting last night. As you know, nothing is secret in an academic department.”
C.J. took a long sip of caramel-flavored coffee, savoring two of her favorite food groups, caffeine and sugar. Then she turned to Betsy and asked thoughtfully, “Why would Stephen walk downtown at one o’clock if he wanted to kill Edmund a few minutes later?”
“To give himself an alibi, of course.”
“But then, why lie about it?”
Betsy was quiet for a moment, thinking this new development through.
“Exactly,” said C.J. “I think the fact Stephen lied about being in his office shows that he is innocent. Obviously he left his office at lunchtime for some reason. But not to give himself an alibi. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t killing Edmund.”
Betsy still looked skeptical. “Well,” Betsy said finally, “why doesn’t he just say where he was? Then he wouldn’t be sitting in jail right now.”
C.J. sighed deeply, looking troubled. “Betsy, dear, you have struck at the fundamental problem. I, like you, have been assuming that all of the innocent people in this affair would do everything they could to prove that they were innocent. It seemed the rational choice. But why are we assuming that everyone is going to behave rationally? What are we? Nineteenth-century economic theorists, like Walter? I think emotions, like embarrassment or love, are coming in to play.”
Betsy looked confused , so C.J. continued her explanation in simpler terms. “My guess is Stephen doesn’t want anyone to know what he was up to on Monday afternoon because he was doing something... naughty...or...or perhaps his afternoon activities reveal something about someone else.”
“Oh. I get you,” said Betsy, with the air of sudden understanding. “ It is possible he might have been seeing a...well, you know, an escort...at one of the hotels downtown. How strange he won’t say anything. It’s not like an economist to have that much honor or delicacy, for that matter. But you never can tell with, you know…Asians. Their culture is very different.”
She sighed, clearly disappointed to hav e to give up on her first suspect. “It’s often not the first one they
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