Physics Can Be Fatal (15 page)

     “Oh, sure,” she said.  “I have a while to go, yet, and my doc says the walking is good for me and for the baby.”

     A text message rang on Lois’s phone.

     “Sorry,” Lois said.  “I need to check this.”  Lois read the message and texted something back.  She rose to leave.

     “Sorry, guys.  I’ve got to get going.  I said I might meet somebody later.  Thanks for dinner, Francesca.  It was absolutely delicious.  See you this weekend.  ‘Night, guys, see you at work tomorrow.”

      Francesca walked Lois to the door and they hugged good night. She looked at Paolo and Ravi with a puzzled expression.

     “Is she dating anyone?” Francesca said.

     “Beats me,” Paolo said, moving a pawn.

     Ravi shrugged.

     “Well, I can tell you pretty definitely that she
is
,” Francesca said.  “Lois’s cheeks turned bright pink when she read that text.”

     “Wait a minute,” Paolo said, looking up from the game.  “Now that I think of it, there was something funny that happened the night Ravi and I were at the lab––remember, Ravi, the night Lois didn’t show up?”

     Ravi looked up from the chessboard.

     “You remember,” Paolo repeated.  “She texted you about having stomach ‘flu.”

     “Oh, yes, right.  I remember now,” Ravi said, turning his attention back to the game board.  “What’s your point?”

     “After I left the lab, I picked up a few things for Lois––crackers and ginger ale––and I left them by her front door,” Paolo said.

     “As I was leaving her house I saw––or I
thought
I saw––a curtain moving in an upstairs window.  Now I’m wondering if Lois had company that night?  Maybe she wasn’t really sick?” Paolo said.

     “Well, good for her,” Ravi replied without looking up.  “She’s a great girl.  I just hope the guy is good enough for her.”

     “By the way, Ravi,” Francesca said.  “I always wondered why
you
never asked Lois out?  Paolo and I have met some of the women you date, and Lois would make a nice change,” she said teasingly.

     Ravi stayed focused on the chessboard.

    “Not really my type,” he said, moving a bishop.  “I quite like Charlotte Cadell, though.  I was thinking of asking her to dinner some night.”

Chapter 11

   Will paid another visit to the Carriage House cottage where Professor Sidebottom had stayed during his short time in New Guilford, and where he had died.  Perhaps something had been overlooked. 

     He parked his car in one of the campus lots, and walked along the footpath that eventually snaked its way around to the Carriage House.

     Charlotte Cadell peered from a window in Sanborn House at Will.  She craned her neck in order to see him until he finally passed out of her sight.  She sat at her desk with an uneasy feeling, unable to concentrate on her work.  She hoped the police would clear things up quickly.  It was awfully unsettling having had a murder take place practically next door to where she worked.

*

   There had been no evidence of a break-in when Will and his officers first examined the scene at the Carriage House.  The doors and windows were locked.  Alan Sidebottom could easily have let his killer in through either the front door, or the rear service door at the kitchen.  And since Professor Sidebottom had been drunk at the time, he might have let in anyone, even someone he did not know.  Comings and goings at the Carriage House were very difficult to observe by passers-by, set back and obscured from the path as it was by trees and foliage.  No witnesses had come forth.

     The Carriage House and environs were restricted by yellow police tape.  Will ducked into the cordoned area and let himself into the cottage with a key.  He stood in the center of the living room and closed his eyes, as if hoping to absorb new information about the crime through osmosis or inspiration.  After a few minutes, he walked into the bedroom.  Alan’s lifeless body had been discovered in the morning, under the covers in bed, dressed in pajamas.  He had died in his sleep from a heart attack.

     Will sat down at the dressing table in the corner of the bedroom, and slowly gazed around the room.  Diffuse light filtered indirectly through sheer curtains, reflecting off the glossy pale blue walls.   

     There had been no cup or glass by the bedside that might have revealed traces of a fatal dose of digitalis.  Still, someone could have forced a fatal concoction on Alan, rinsed the glass afterward, exited the cottage through a window, and closed it behind them.  Every glass, cup, and utensil had been tested for fingerprints, as had the entire place.  The cottage and grounds had been gone over meticulously for every manner of evidence, but the place was clean.

      How had the fatal dose of digitalis been administered?  Alan’s body had been checked for injection marks, and none were found.  Food was the likely possibility. The results from tests being done on the stomach contents were not back, yet.

     Will sat down on the bare mattress, the bedding having been stripped.  There was a faint odor in the room, difficult to identify.  He leaned over toward the night table and put his nose next to the wood, touching it.  Was it a wood wax or polishing product he smelled?  The scent got fainter when he sniffed the wood table.  The odor was unfamiliar – slightly chemical, but also sweetly pungent.  Will walked through the rooms of the cottage, stopping to smell the curtains, the carpet, inside the drawers and closets, the furniture cushions.  He returned to the bedroom and sat down again on the bed.  The scent seemed to be strongest there in the bedroom.  He walked slowly around the bedroom again.  The smell got fainter.  It was strongest near the mattress.  Will sat down and scratched his head.

    
A crime scene where the only evidence is an illusive scent!
 

     Will locked the cottage door and walked to Sanborn House.  He headed up to the second floor, and knocked on Dr. Seth Dubin’s door.

     A slight man in his thirties with sandy hair and horn-rimmed glasses, Seth Dubin had a gentle and kindly air about him.  When he spoke it was in a soft-spoken voice.

     Will introduced himself and showed Seth identification.

     “I understand Professor Sidebottom was something of a hero of yours?”

     “Oh, yes,” Seth replied.  “Very much so.  I was thrilled when he came to Cushing.  Honestly, I could hardly believe my good fortune.”

     “But I also understand that he was less than friendly when you finally met him at the cocktail reception?”

     “Oh, I expect he had had too much to drink,” Seth replied, folding his hands in his lap.

     “Might there be some other reason Professor Sidebottom was so disagreeable toward you?  A personal reason?”

     “I really have no idea,” Seth smiled.  “But my guess would be, he behaved like a bully because he was used to behaving that way.  And because he could get away with it.  It didn’t particularly bother me.  I attached no real meaning to it.  I’ve seen other successful people behave like bullies.  Perhaps it’s an occupational hazard.”

     “What occupation are we talking about?”

     A weary smile crept over Seth Dubin’s face.

     “The occupation of having power over other people, I guess you could say,” Seth replied.

     “Had you ever met Professor Sidebottom before he arrived at Cushing?”

     “Never met him, no,” Seth said.  “Of course, everyone in the field is highly aware of him.”

     “Was your wife acquainted with Professor Sidebottom?  I understand she was also at the cocktail party,” Will said.

     “My wife?”

     “Yes, sir.  I believe she accompanied you to the reception for Professor Sidebottom Friday evening.  I wondered if she knew him?”

     “Oh, no.  Sheila and I were both meeting Alan Sidebottom for the first time,” Seth said.

     “My wife enjoys Department functions,” Seth continued.  “Gives her a chance to get out and socialize, and get to know my colleagues.  I think she wishes we had more of a social life.”

     Will made notes.

     “What is your field of special interest, Dr. Dubin?”

     “I teach a few beginning courses, for my sins.  But my area of research is string theory.”

     “Similar to Professor Sidebottom’s interests?”

     “Oh, yes, very much so.  Which is why I was so looking forward to his being at Cushing this semester.  There’s a lot of very exciting work going on right now, and it would have been fantastic to be able to discuss all of it with Alan Sidebottom. ”

     Will asked for Seth’s account of the gathering at the New World Tavern the evening of Professor Sidebottom’s death.  Seth’s memories were consistent with the stories of others, and he more or less repeated what Will had already heard.

     Will gazed around the office as he got up to leave.  There was an advertising flyer sitting on top of a stack of mail, the same pink color as the flyer he had seen in Helen Mann’s office.  He reached in to retrieve it.  It was a copy of the same advertisement for a discounted haircut.

     “Where did you get this, Dr. Dubin?”

     “That?  Oh, those were stuffed into everybody’s mailbox, I believe.  You could check with Ruth Benjamin, the department secretary.”

     “Thank-you for your time, Dr. Dubin.  If you think of anything, please give me a call.”

    
Seth Dubin presents a very convincing picture of the mild-mannered, gentleman scholar,
Will thought as he left Seth’s office. 
But can anyone really have that much equanimity?  He sure takes a lot in his stride. . .

*

     The second floor landing at Sanborn House spilled out into a light and airy reception area.  A wall of windows lavished sunlight onto a row of potted geraniums lined up along the sill.  Area rugs were scattered throughout the spacious reception area, and low, white bookcases wrapped around the room.  Two sofas flanked the fireplace at one end of the room.  Department secretary Ruth Benjamin sat at her desk at the other end of the large space.

     “Ruth Benjamin?  Detective William Tenney from New Guilford P.D.,” Will said, proffering identification.  “I’d like to ask you some questions, if you have a moment.”

     Ruth Benjamin looked up and smiled.  An appealing woman in her thirties, she was dressed in a cream-colored ruffled blouse and dark skirt.

     “Sit down, detective.  Can I offer you a cup of coffee?” she asked.

     “No thanks.  I wanted to ask you about the pink advertisements for a hair salon you distributed into everyone’s mailbox, that arrived around the same time Professor Sidebottom came to New Guilford,” the detective said.

     “Oh, you mean the ones Edwina was asking about?”

     “Yes, I expect so,” Will replied.

     “What did you want to know about them?” Ruth asked.

     “If you can remember, when exactly did they arrive, and who delivered them?”

     “As a matter of fact, I do remember, because they were sitting on my desk bright and early Monday morning, which was Professor Sidebottom’s first day of teaching––and sadly, turned out to be his only day teaching at Cushing.  Anyway, the flyers must have been delivered by hand early Monday morning.  I usually get here around 8:30, and as I say, they were already here when I arrived, sitting in a nice, neat pile on my desk,” Ruth said.

     “Did Professor Sidebottom receive his mail on Monday?” he asked.

     “Yes, he did.  I put his mail on the desk, myself––including the haircut flyer.”

     “Why did you hand deliver his mail, instead of leaving it the mailroom, along with everyone else’s?”

     “I thought it would be a nice gesture––you know, a welcoming gesture, for his first day here.” Ruth said.