Physics Can Be Fatal (12 page)

      Will observed her for some moments before approaching.

     “Miss Cadell?  May I have a word?” Will showed her his identification.

     “How can I help?” she said.

     “Is there somewhere more private we can sit and talk?”

     “Of course; let’s go up top,” Charlotte smiled graciously.

     Will followed her up a spiral staircase at the far end of the library. They emerged onto a balcony rimmed with floor-to-ceiling, glass-fronted bookcases and a smattering of reading chairs.  Sunlight streamed onto the patterned carpet through a large arched window. 

     “We are investigating the death of Alan Sidebottom.  Since you are in charge of the library, I thought you might be in a unique position to observe departmental goings-on,” Will said.  “Any information at all would be helpful.”

     “You mean, gossip I might have overheard?” she smiled coyly, raising her eyebrows at Will.

     Will returned her cool gaze and did not answer.

     “I can tell you that Dr. Fender disliked Alan Sidebottom intensely, for plagiarizing his work,” Charlotte said. “It’s common knowledge. But Mitchell Fender is a good and decent man, and would never hurt anyone.  So I think that’s probably a non-lead.”

     Will nodded encouragement and took notes.

     “A bunch of us got together the evening after Professor Sidebottom died.  Everyone was so upset.  Dr. Dubin was his usual, kind self, making sure everybody else was doing okay, you know?  I thought Dr. Cake was kind of quiet.  It was amazing, the things people said––
in vino veritas,
you know. I was awfully interested––along with everybody else––to find out that Dr. Mann knew Alan a long time ago, and had an affair with him.  I don’t think she meant to blurt that out. I think she had had too much to drink, and it just slipped out.  And I remember that Dr. Gaylord seemed on edge that night.  I can’t think why that would be. Poor Dr. Fender had too much to drink, too, and behaved rather foolishly . . . I don’t know what more I can tell you.”

     Will finished writing and set his notepad and pen on his lap.

     “That’s a very pretty ring, Miss Cadell,” he said.  “My mother had one very much like it. If I remember right, the stones spell out a message from the giver to the receiver––Victorian, isn’t it?”

     “Y-yes. Yes, it is.”

     “Let me see if I can work yours out––that’s a fire opal, isn’t it?––onyx––rose quartz––garnet––don’t know that stone––don’t know this one, either––and last but not least, an emerald. F-O-R-G-something––something––E.  Would it be, ‘forgive’?”

     Miss Cadell was silent. She stared down at the ring she had not taken off her finger for eighteen years.

     “This stone is iolite, and this one is vendite, so yes; you’re right,” she said in a soft voice.  “I was engaged a long time ago. He gave me this ring as an apology, when things didn’t work out.”

     “I’m sorry to hear it,” Will said. “Where is he now?”

     “He died in a climbing accident five years ago.”

*

     Will drove back to the police station in the late afternoon.  There was an email waiting for him from Alan Sidebottom’s doctor in Cambridge––a reply to a query about the digoxin prescription.  The doctor was able to confirm through the pharmacist that Alan Sidebottom had filled the prescription just before leaving England.  By the pharmacist’s count, there should be somewhere between twenty-six to thirty pills remaining in the prescription, based on the past usage.  Twenty-nine pills were found in the digoxin bottle.  That meant Professor Sidebottom had not overdosed with his own pills. This was not a suicide, accidental or otherwise.

     Will shared the information with Chief Val right away.

     “All right,” she said.  “Now we know we’re looking at homicide, she said soberly. Professor Alan Sidebottom was poisoned by an overdose of digitalis––but not by his own hand. The fatal dose did not come from his personal prescription. So, how did somebody get all that digitalis into our guy?”

     “Will,” she continued.  “See if the coroner checked for injection marks. And also, find out if there’s another medication that mimics digitalis? And find out how many people at the college are prescribed digoxin.”

     “Will do,” he replied, scribbling down notes. “Do you think someone could have forced pills into Sidebottom, and counted on the fact that nobody would suspect anything other than an accidental overdose?  If he was known to be a heavy drinker, maybe the killer counted on Sidebottom being drunk, thinking his death would be chalked up to his own addle-brained, drunken mistake. ”

     “May be. Except for the fact that there were no defensive marks––no sign of any kind of struggle,” the Chief said.

     “Maybe in his state of inebriation he wouldn’t have been able to put up much of a fight,” Will said.

     “Yeah, it’s possible all right. According to your report it looks like there’s no shortage of motives.  But, if there was someone there with him, forcing the digoxin into him somehow––wouldn’t there have been
some
indication of a struggle?  Nothing was disturbed in the cottage; nothing was out of place.  Nothing was knocked onto the floor or overturned.” Chief Val reached for her mug of coffee, looking back down at the open folder in front of her. “The professor was clean, nothing under the fingernails, no scratches or bruises or suspicious marks.”

     “Did the results come back on the stomach contents?”  Will said.  “Maybe the digitalis was administered in food.”

     “Not yet.  I’ll let you know as soon as I get the report,” the Chief said.

     “One other thing,” said Will. 

     “An instructor I interviewed at the college remembers something Professor Sidebottom said right before he ran off that night.  It doesn’t make any kind of sense, but I’m working on it.”

     “What was it?” asked the Chief.

     “’Time for the Barnet Fair hat-toss’”, Will read from his notes.

     Chief Val stared at him blankly.

     “I told you it didn’t make sense,” Will shrugged.  “I’m working on it.”

     When Will returned to his office he checked his messages.  There was one from Edwina.  He returned the call and she answered right away.

     “Can you meet me somewhere?” Edwina said breathlessly.

     “What’s going on?” Will asked.

     “I think I’ve got something for you,” she replied.  “I don’t want to talk about it on the phone, or in my office, for that matter.  Can I come over to the police station?”

     “Sure––”

     “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Chapter 8

     Edwina locked up her bike outside the New Guilford Police Station, a low, brick building with American and state flags flying in front.  A cement walkway bordered by uneven shrubs led to the main entrance.

     Edwina asked at the Information Desk for Detective Tenney.  The woman at the front desk was dressed too young for her age, which looked to be late thirties.  Her ruched purple blouse looked a size too small, and her oversized hoop earrings looked dangerously heavy.  She regarded Edwina coolly.

     “In reference to what?”

     “He’s expecting me,” Edwina said impatiently.

     “Name?”

     “Edwina Goodman.”

     The woman dialed an extension on the phone.

     “Will, there is a Miss Goodman here who wishes to speak with you,” she said into the phone, looking anywhere but at Edwina.

     Hanging up the phone, she spoke in a deflated tone. 

     “Turn right when you get to the hallway, second door on your left,”

     Will stood outside his office door, waiting to greet Edwina.

     “Hi,” he said.  “Please come in.”

     Edwina sat down, a little out of breath. She sat leaning forward in the chair at a slightly awkward angle.

     “Would you like to take off your backpack?” Will asked.  “You might be more comfortable.”

     Edwina removed her backpack and set it down on the floor beside her. She removed a bottle of water from it and took a swig.

     “I did a little research,” she began, shoving her bangs aside. 

    “Once I remembered that bizarre phrase Professor Sidebottom muttered when he ran away, I got to thinking.”  Edwina’s eyes glinted with excitement. 

     “
Time I got the Barnet Fair hat toss,
” she repeated slowly.  “Only it wasn’t ‘hat toss’––it was ‘hack toff’.  It suddenly came to me! ‘Toff’ is British slang, meaning an upper class person.  So that got me thinking that maybe the whole phrase was British slang.”

     Will listened intently.

     “I found some books in the main library that confirmed my suspicions,” she continued excitedly.  “Turns out ‘Barnet Fair’ is slang for ‘hair’.”

     Will looked at her with a confused expression.  Edwina had seen the same expression often enough in her classroom.

     “It’s called rhyming slang.  It’s an English thing––like––‘white cliffs of Dover’ means, ‘hangover’,” she explained.  “Or––‘apples and pears’ means stairs.”

     Edwina paused a beat to allow Will to process this information.

     “
Time––I––got––the––Barnet––Fair––hack––toff,
” she said slowly.  “Substitute the word ‘hair’ for ‘Barnet Fair’ and say it,” she said.

     “Time––I––got––the––hair––hack––toff,” Will repeated.

     “You see?” Edwina exclaimed.  “Time I got the hair hacked off! Time to get a haircut! What if Professor Sidebottom went to get a haircut after I had dinner with him? What if something happened during the haircut that freaked him out?  Maybe he ran into someone who gave him a scare––maybe someone from his past, an old nemesis or something––and the shock caused him to have a heart attack?”

     Will nodded and started to say something, but in her excitement Edwina interrupted him.

     “There are five hair places in New Guilford,” she continued. “I’ve already checked. Three hair salons for women, one barbershop and one unisex place.”

     “Please don’t tell me you went to all of them and asked about Professor Sidebottom,” Will interjected.

     “Of course I did!” Edwina replied. “I had to go where my research––”

     “There’s something you don’t know,” he interrupted, “and if you’d just listen to me for a second . . .”

     They glared at each other for a few uncomfortable seconds.

     “There has been a development in Professor Sidebottom’s death,” Will said. “It is now a murder investigation.” 

     He let these words sink in slowly.

     “Professor Sidebottom died of a massive heart attack––caused by digitalis poisoning,” Will continued.  “Which means that it’s dangerous for you to go around, randomly asking people all kinds of questions.  Having said that, I
would
appreciate it if you shared with me what you found out when you canvassed the hair salons and barber shops.”

     “Murder?” Edwina said, a few beats behind.

     “Yes. Professor Sidebottom was intentionally killed by person or persons unknown. Now, about your interviews.”

     “Jesus, murder!” Edwina repeated. “The hair salons?  I completely struck out. Nobody admitted to seeing the professor, or cutting his hair, or anything. Someone must be lying.”

     “Well, we’ll see about that. I’ll find out in due course,” Will said. “By the way, that was a pretty good piece of detective work you did, figuring out that British slang stuff,” Will said. “Listen, thanks for coming in to see me.  I really appreciate it.”

     Edwina did not move from the chair.  She looked at Will expectantly.  “So, what’s next?” she said.

     “Well,” he began, “I imagine you’ll be getting back to the college.  I’m sure you have a class to teach, or papers to grade.  As for me, I’ll be getting along with the investigation. You’ve really been a big help.”