Rogues Gallery (14 page)

“You astound me, Jefferson! Sherlock Holmes on more than one occasion indicated that imagination was an indispensible tool in the arsenal of a good detective. Once again you have proved that you have that aplenty.”

Was that a compliment or an insult? I was still trying to decide when I heard the little pinging noise that told me I had a text message. It was from Lynda, a response to my text about lunch and a meeting with Cecily:
Works for me. Meet u at my office.
Lynda still hangs her hat at the
Observer
offices, right next to Daniel's Apothecary.
Excellent!
I texted back.

Mac stood up. “Data, data, data - we must have data. And for that, we shall have to descend to the belly of the beast.”

V

So we trekked over to Ralph's office in Gamble Hall, discussing on the way how we would approach Ralph. A delicate touch and a little bit of subterfuge were called for when interviewing one's boss as a potential murder suspect.

Ralph's administrative assistant was away from her post when we got there, so we were able to duck in unannounced. Ralph's walnut-and-hardwood office looked like digs of a Fortune 500 CEO, all hundred acres of it. Okay, I'm exaggerating, but it's several times larger than my little hole. I felt a twinge of anger. With all the budget-cutting that had been done at St. Benignus - and Popcorn now in the crosshairs - Ralph hadn't skimped a bit on keeping his office maintained. The walnut was well polished, and he didn't do that himself.

“Good morning, Ralph!” Mac boomed.

Ralph tore his eyes away from the computer on his desk to look our way. “It was.” It took him a second or two to realize that Mac wasn't alone. “If you've brought McCabe with you to plead your budget, Cody, I have to say I find that highly inappropriate and I assure you it will be unfruitful.”

“You amaze me, Ralph.” I actually meant it as a compliment. “How can you stay focused on the college's bottom line when a dead body was found in your home yesterday?”

He looked as startled as if I'd just asked him why he breathes. “Because it's my job.”
The show must go on!
“What happened at the house on Campion Lane was very unfortunate.” He made it sound like a minor social gaffe. “But it had nothing to do with me. That isn't even our home anymore. We merely own it. Mrs. Pendergast and I moved out late last year.”
We know. Your wife told us.

“I'm afraid the news media won't see it that way, Ralph,” I said. Media, as in plural, wasn't an exaggeration. There's only one newspaper in Erin, but we're only forty miles upriver from Cincinnati, and occasionally the Cincinnati TV stations and newspaper notice. This would probably be one of those times, given the dramatic nature of both the homicide and its discovery. I went on with the line that Mac and I had agreed on, playing to Ralph's paranoia. “You know how sensationalistic they are. They may ask some tough questions about you and the dead woman, questions that will plant ideas in people's heads - even the trustees of St. Benignus - if they aren't answered properly. I'm here to help you prep for that by brainstorming the likely questions so you can get the answers ready.”

He narrowed his eyes, not quite buying that I was offering what amounted to a favor. After all, this wasn't college business - not from his perspective. I looked at it differently. Any news involving an employee of St. Benignus affects the school, and I really did think the media might be interested. So I wasn't entirely serving up Ralph a hearty dish of baloney stew. I just left off the part about how we were also hoping to get information from him that would eliminate him as a suspect in the murder.

“Most generous of you, Cody,” Ralph finally said, barely moving his thin lips. “But why do I have to talk to those busybody reporters at all?”

“You don't,” I assured him. “Feel free to just say ‘no comment' - if you want to look like you're trying to hide something. You can't do that to Oscar and his cops, though. Sooner or later you're going to have to answer somebody's questions. I can help you with that.”

This was proving to be an even harder sell than I'd expected.

“Well, I certainly have nothing to hide,” Ralph said. “If that's what you're here for, why is McCabe tagging along? Doesn't he have trouble to make somewhere else?”

The Lorenzo Smythe Professor of English Literature and head of the popular culture program at St. Benignus ranks high on one of Ralph's lists. I'll leave you to figure out which one it is. Even though Ralph hadn't addressed him, Mac answered for himself. “Are you unaware that today is ‘Take Your Brother-in-Law to Work Day,' Ralph?”

He hates it when we call him Ralph, which is all the time.

Seeing by the contortions in Ralph's face that Mac's answer was somewhat less than satisfying to him, and not wanting him to stroke out, I hastened to say, “I thought he'd be better off with me here than playing bagpipes in the Quadrangle. He tends to do that at this time of the year, you know. And he might even have an idea or two. We need all the help we can get.”

“Sit down.” Ralph pointed to a group of padded leather chairs gathered around a round table a few yards from his desk. We sat and he joined us.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘tough questions'?”

“You knew Olivia Wanamaker,” Mac said, “and your relationship with her was one of open conflict. To a suspicious mind, it seems a rather curious coincidence that she should be found dead in a house you own. The fact that you no longer live there is of little consequence. You still own it and you still have a key.”

“So did the real estate company that she worked for!” Ralph calmed himself with a visible effort. “She could have met anyone there, using the key I provided to Happy Homes Realty.”

I gave him full points for a good argument. But then, nobody ever said Ralph is stupid. While Mac nodded approvingly, I moved on. “Tell me about your relationship with Olivia Wanamaker.”

“Relationship?” Ralph showed his teeth in a grim parody of a smile. “What is the relationship between a dart player and the dart board? Mrs. Wanamaker was a politician, pure and simple. She was trying to capture the student vote by an aggressive campaign against student-housing landlords in general, and against me in particular.”

“That sounds rather abstract,” Mac observed. “I presume she had some particular, er, dart to hurl.”

Okay, enough with the darts metaphors, please
.

Ralph sighed, as if begrudging the time spent talking about these murder-related trivialities. “I'm a busy man. Perhaps I don't spend as much time as I ought in supervising the student rental property my wife inherited. Some minor city code violations have accumulated. That was a regrettable mistake, but Mrs. Wanamaker blew it all out of proportion. I can have all of the violations remedied in short order. Then I plan to sell those buildings and get out of the rental business for good!”

Nice plan. Good luck with that, Ralph.

“Picking on me was like shooting fish in a barrel.” He had his second wind now, bringing in a new simile. Too bad it was a cliché. “I'm not especially popular with the students. I don't try to be. That's not my job.”

“I don't think you need to stress that,” I said in full counselor mode. “It sounds like you're bragging. In fact, keep the politics out of it altogether. Emphasize that the issue you had with the deceased was easily fixed - a lot of drama, but not really a big deal.”

Ralph surprised me by nodding. “Yes, I see what you mean.”

“When was the last time you saw Olivia Wanamaker?” Mac asked.

“I was at last Wednesday's City Council meeting. I got wind that she was going to be grand-standing about student housing, so I thought I should be there to defend myself.”

“You're sure that was the last time you saw her?”

“Of course I'm sure, McCabe. What are you getting at?”

“If you mean what am I implying, nothing. However, that will not be the last time you are asked that question, I assure you. Think hard, because if you even occupied the same sidewalk with Mrs. Wanamaker in downtown Erin after that occasion someone will have noticed and you will be seen as deceptive for not mentioning it.”

If Ralph had any curl in his slicked-back hair, it probably would have come out at that point. Maybe it would be an exaggeration to say that he turned pale, but he looked like a man who was finally starting to understand the pickle he could be in.

He licked his thin lips. “I'll think about it, but I don't remember seeing her again after that.”

Mac leaned forward. “Then, of course, there is the crucial issue of the fish in the freezer.”

“Fish?” Ralph blinked like an owl. “What are you talking about?”

“The murder weapon, of course,” I said.

“How would I know what the murder weapon was, Cody? I'm not the murderer.”

“That wasn't a trick question. Everybody in Erin knows what the murder weapon was. It was in Johanna Rawls's story in the
Observer
.”

“Oh. I didn't read the story. My wife read me parts of it and summarized the rest over breakfast. Either she didn't mention the fish or I wasn't paying sufficient attention.”

“Then please pay attention now,” Mac said with a show of patience. “Olivia Wanamaker was bludgeoned with a frozen fish. Do you remember leaving a fish in the freezer?”

Ralph shook his head. “I would have sworn that we cleaned everything out of the house before we left, including the contents of the freezer. What kind of fish was it?”

Good question, Ralph. The murderer wouldn't have to ask. But a clever killer would realize that and ask anyway.

“Salmon,” Mac said.

“We don't eat salmon. I'm afraid of the mercury.”

“If you stick to wild-caught Alaskan and Pacific Coast salmon and don't eat it too often, I think you'll be okay,” I advised.

“Well, this is rather intriguing,” Mac said. “I wonder where the salmon came from if it was not yours.”

“What difference could it possibly make?”

“Possibly a great deal.”

I figured Mac was just blowing smoke - which he is a master at, even without a lit cigar in his mouth - so I didn't pay too much attention to that enigmatic response as he led Ralph through a few other questions.

“Did you know Mrs. Wanamaker in any other context - social, for example?”

“Certainly not. If I'd seen her at a party, I would have run in the other direction.”

Just imagining Ralph at a party was a stretch for me. “You might not want to put it that way on the witness stand,” I told him.

The look he gave me was not one of appreciation.

“Had Mrs. Wanamaker ever shown your house to a prospective buyer?” Mac asked.

“Not that I know of, but I wouldn't necessarily know. The house was available to any agent who wanted to show it.”

It went on like that for a few more futile minutes.

“I hope this has been helpful,” I told Ralph, as we got ready to leave.

“I don't see how.”

“Well, maybe you will later.”

“Why didn't you ask where he was when the murder was committed?” I asked when we were down the hallway from Ralph's office.

“Because we do not know when the murder was committed. With the body frozen, it could be have been days ago.”

“Oh.”

Mac pulled out his phone and began punching numbers.

“Who are you calling?” Okay, I should have figured that out, but I didn't

“Mrs. Pendergast.” He pressed the last number and put the instrument to his ear. “Grace? Sebastian McCabe here. Fine. I just have a simple question of fact: Are you certain that you cleaned out the freezer of the house on Campion Lane when you moved to your current place of residence? You did not leave a fish behind? Ah, that is what Ralph said but I wanted to be sure. No, no, we employed a subterfuge. He has no idea that we are acting on his behalf.”
Actually, we aren't. We're acting on behalf of truth, justice, the American way, and the good name of St. Benignus College.
“We have barely begun making inquiries. I will keep you informed. You are most welcome. Good-bye.” He disconnected.

I put up my hands in surrender. “I give up! What's the point?”

Surprisingly, he answered me - and without riddles.

“The point, old boy, is that the murder was premeditated, as shown by the fact that the murderer must have brought the murder weapon. However, the nature of that weapon - which looks on the surface like the murderer picked up the first thing handy - means that it was intended to appear spontaneous. We are, as Sherlock Holmes would say, in very deep waters.”

VI

“Now what?” I asked Mac. “Or should I say who?”

“Her Honor, the Mayor. She knew the victim. Perhaps she can shed some light on motive.”

Still in her first term as mayor of Erin, Professor Lesley Saylor-Mackie had already proved to be an adept politician. I credit those backslapping and backstabbing skills honed during long years in academia. Her gracious manner concealed a tough-when-necessary cookie.

Her office is in Herbert Hall, just two floors up from Mac's. Since the distinguished historian is a tenured professor and head of the history department, we figured the odds were good that she'd be in her office rather than in a classroom. And she was.

She looked up from a book at Mac's rap on her open door.

“Professor McCabe!” she enthused. “And Jeff!” She whipped off her reading glasses, showing her clear hazel eyes to good advantage. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” See, a politician.

Saylor-Mackie stood and smoothed her gray pleated skirt. I can't exactly say why some women are pretty and some are handsome - by which I don't mean masculine - but I'd call her handsome. The gray streaks in her perfectly coiffed hair added to that, and didn't do a thing to hurt either her academic career or her political one.