Read Online The Square Root of Murder (Professor Sophie Knowles) by Ada Madison - Free Book Online
Authors: Ada Madison
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ID’d by the janitor.”
“He’s not . . .” I stopped in time, holding myself back from another irrelevant correction—technically speaking, Keith was not a full professor yet, though most people used the term to mean simply college teacher. “Never mind.”
Virgil picked up his thread again. “The first officers on the scene report that the victim is on the floor behind his desk in a position that appears he fell or was pushed from his chair. His shirt collar appears to have been torn open, by himself or another. The victim’s face and neck exhibit a pink discoloration.” Virgil ran his finger down the page and turned the leaf before he continued. Trying to spare me unpleasant details? Or keeping some matters confidential? Both, probably. “Some things are knocked over. A clock—”
“That’s his distinguished alumnus clock from Harvard,” I said, swallowing a gulp. “He was extremely proud of that.”
Virgil nodded and appeared to appreciate the information. “A photograph—”
“Keith with Senator Kennedy, right? He loved that picture. The only one in his office. It was taken at a special fund-raiser only weeks before the senator died.”
“Thanks again,” Virgil said.
I nodded. “Uh-huh.”
Why were my nerves so rattled? I felt like clamping my hand across my mouth. I looked around the den to find something calming. I settled on a poster, rolled up in the corner, waiting for me to take it to a shop for mounting. I imagined it unfurled, revealing the sweet, smiling countenance of Emmy Noether, said to be the most important woman in the history of mathematics. Even a huge Sophie Germain fan like me would have to agree.
Virgil cleared his throat. “There was some other stuff. On the desk is a clear bottle of white powder, a crystally substance, the officer called it, labeled potassium chloride. The uniforms ask the janitor to come in and ID the bottle. Did he ever see it before, to his knowledge did it belong in this office, et cetera, et cetera. This is where I arrive with my partner, Archie—you’ve met him a couple of times, I think. We send the uniforms out . . .” Another pause to flip through pages. “The janitor says the bottle looks like it belongs down the hall in a chemistry laboratory, in a cabinet that’s always locked.”
“I know the cabinet you’re talking about. A lot of people have a key,” I said. Including Rachel.
“Your friend has a key,” Virgil said, echoing my thought.
“But she’s not the only one. Every chem and bio faculty member has a key, plus a couple of interns. You’d have to have a lot more than that before—”
My voice had risen again. Virgil put his hand out to stop me before I made a complete fool of myself. Perspiration that had formed on his forehead made its way down his face. Here was this very tired, very busy detective in my home, to accommodate me, as a courtesy to his best friend. He had no obligation whatsoever to be here or to share information.
“There is more,” he said, mopping his brow.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice back in control.
Virgil waved away the second apology I’d made in less than ten minutes. “An eyewitness saw Ms. Wheeler outside the door to Professor Appleton’s office in the afternoon between one thirty and one forty-five, which looks to be close to the time of death, though we don’t know that for sure yet. That was just a quickie guess by the ME. Could have been any time from about noon till the gentleman found him at four.”
An eyewitness saw her? Probably Woody. I could take care of that little nothing of a clue. “Rachel went upstairs to take Keith some food from a party we were having on the first floor.” I felt and heard a triumphant ring to my response. “We were celebrating Hal Bartholomew’s doctorate. He teaches physics.” That should clear things up.
Virgil scratched his head. “What kind of food was that?”
I described the paper plate with cake that Rachel had assembled.
“He’s not . . .” I stopped in time, holding myself back from another irrelevant correction—technically speaking, Keith was not a full professor yet, though most people used the term to mean simply college teacher. “Never mind.”
Virgil picked up his thread again. “The first officers on the scene report that the victim is on the floor behind his desk in a position that appears he fell or was pushed from his chair. His shirt collar appears to have been torn open, by himself or another. The victim’s face and neck exhibit a pink discoloration.” Virgil ran his finger down the page and turned the leaf before he continued. Trying to spare me unpleasant details? Or keeping some matters confidential? Both, probably. “Some things are knocked over. A clock—”
“That’s his distinguished alumnus clock from Harvard,” I said, swallowing a gulp. “He was extremely proud of that.”
Virgil nodded and appeared to appreciate the information. “A photograph—”
“Keith with Senator Kennedy, right? He loved that picture. The only one in his office. It was taken at a special fund-raiser only weeks before the senator died.”
“Thanks again,” Virgil said.
I nodded. “Uh-huh.”
Why were my nerves so rattled? I felt like clamping my hand across my mouth. I looked around the den to find something calming. I settled on a poster, rolled up in the corner, waiting for me to take it to a shop for mounting. I imagined it unfurled, revealing the sweet, smiling countenance of Emmy Noether, said to be the most important woman in the history of mathematics. Even a huge Sophie Germain fan like me would have to agree.
Virgil cleared his throat. “There was some other stuff. On the desk is a clear bottle of white powder, a crystally substance, the officer called it, labeled potassium chloride. The uniforms ask the janitor to come in and ID the bottle. Did he ever see it before, to his knowledge did it belong in this office, et cetera, et cetera. This is where I arrive with my partner, Archie—you’ve met him a couple of times, I think. We send the uniforms out . . .” Another pause to flip through pages. “The janitor says the bottle looks like it belongs down the hall in a chemistry laboratory, in a cabinet that’s always locked.”
“I know the cabinet you’re talking about. A lot of people have a key,” I said. Including Rachel.
“Your friend has a key,” Virgil said, echoing my thought.
“But she’s not the only one. Every chem and bio faculty member has a key, plus a couple of interns. You’d have to have a lot more than that before—”
My voice had risen again. Virgil put his hand out to stop me before I made a complete fool of myself. Perspiration that had formed on his forehead made its way down his face. Here was this very tired, very busy detective in my home, to accommodate me, as a courtesy to his best friend. He had no obligation whatsoever to be here or to share information.
“There is more,” he said, mopping his brow.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice back in control.
Virgil waved away the second apology I’d made in less than ten minutes. “An eyewitness saw Ms. Wheeler outside the door to Professor Appleton’s office in the afternoon between one thirty and one forty-five, which looks to be close to the time of death, though we don’t know that for sure yet. That was just a quickie guess by the ME. Could have been any time from about noon till the gentleman found him at four.”
An eyewitness saw her? Probably Woody. I could take care of that little nothing of a clue. “Rachel went upstairs to take Keith some food from a party we were having on the first floor.” I felt and heard a triumphant ring to my response. “We were celebrating Hal Bartholomew’s doctorate. He teaches physics.” That should clear things up.
Virgil scratched his head. “What kind of food was that?”
I described the paper plate with cake that Rachel had assembled.
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