Sounds of Murder (16 page)

"I take it, you've listened to it," he looked
at her.

"Yes," she said, "I didn't want to bother
bringing it here if it didn't have anything on it."

"Okay," he said. "Let's see what all the fuss
is about." He brought up his
Sound Player
and hit "enter."
From the built-in speaker on his computer, the choking sounds of
Charlotte Clark, plus the extraneous bumps, scratches, and clicks
that Pamela had also heard when she first played the brief
recording sprang to life. Soon the sounds ceased as abruptly as
they started.

"That's it?" he asked, pulling his large
cloth handkerchief out of his pocket and again rubbing his
nose.

She cringed. If she stayed in this office
much longer, she’d surely catch some wayward bacteria. "That's
it."

"It does seem to be the sound of someone
choking,” he noted. “I'll have forensics take a look at it. If they
think it warrants further investigation, they’ll probably go back
and extract the data from your master console themselves." He
removed the CD from the drawer and slid it back into the
sleeve.

"Detective," Pamela spoke rapidly, fearing
that Shoop would not heed her ideas, "I think you can clearly hear
Charlotte struggling on this recording. It’s possible that she
might be trying to say something--maybe sending a message or a clue
to the identity of her killer."

"Unlikely," said Shoop.

"And those other noises," added Pamela,
"those aren’t human sounds. Some may be sounds of Charlotte or the
killer bumping into things as they thrash around during their
struggle. But we don't know. If we could identify those
sounds--even just one of them--they might lead us to Charlotte's
killer."

"Unlikely there too," said Shoop, “Our techs
have gone over the inside of that carrel looking for trace
evidence, Dr. Barnes. Also, there was no skin found under Dr.
Clark’s fingernails, so any thrashing she did, didn’t produce any
trace evidence from the killer.”

"Detective," she said, insistently, "that’s
wonderful, but I was thinking about clues inherent in the sounds on
this recording. I don't know what type of forensics analysis your
unit will be able to conduct, but I’m trained in acoustics and I’m
able to evaluate the sound waves on this recording for a variety
of...."

He cut her off mid-sentence. "Dr. Barnes," he
said, rising, "I do appreciate you bringing this CD to our
attention. We’ll definitely investigate it. Rest assured." He stood
up behind the desk. She was being dismissed.

"Detective Shoop," she interrupted, remaining
seated, "there are a few more things I wanted to tell you. A few
things that I--remembered---and you said I should let you know if
there was anything at all that I remembered about the murder or the
people connected to Charlotte."

"Yes," he said, sitting back down, and
sighing heavily, "what do you remember, Dr. Barnes?"

"First," she began, "I forgot to tell you
that the conversation between Dr. Marks and Dr. Clark that I
overheard the night of the murder was really more of a fight."

"You heard them?" Shoop asked.

"Yes."

“Do you have any idea what the fight was
about?" he asked, jotting this new information in his ever-present
notebook.

"Not really," she replied. "Then, the other
thing I forgot to mention. This is related. The next day, the day
after the murder, our secretary Jane Marie Mira found an envelope
in Dr. Marks’ mailbox that she believes was put there by Dr. Clark.
In it was a photograph of a woman."

"Did she see Dr. Clark put it there?"

"No," she mused, "But, Jane Marie says the
envelope was like Dr. Clark’s personal stationery. There was
nothing in his mailbox when she left and it was there the next
morning. And I know for sure that Charlotte was in the main office
that night."

"We have only Ms. Mira’s word for this," he
added.

"Why would Jane Marie make up these things
about Charlotte?" Pamela argued, defensively, "Jane Marie was
mystified as to who the photograph was. Then, she tracked the photo
down from one of the school's yearbooks."

"The photograph that was supposedly placed by
Dr. Clark in Dr. Marks's mailbox?"

"Yes," she exclaimed, "The
photograph--supposedly--placed by Charlotte in Mitchell’s mailbox!
Jane Marie found this woman's photograph in a yearbook. She was a
student at Grace University about ten years ago, she said. Her name
is Evelyn Carrier."

Shoop jotted this information in his notebook
too.

"You know, Dr. Barnes," he surmised, "Ms.
Mira, your secretary, never mentioned any of this to me when I
questioned her the other day."

"I know," said Pamela, sitting up taller,
"Jane Marie told me she hadn't thought about it until later. She’s
actually a bit fearful to say anything about this to you--or
anyone. Dr. Marks is her boss. She doesn’t want to antagonize
him."

"But you can?" he asked, leaning back in his
chair and stretching his long legs out over his desk.

"No, but Dr. Marks isn't my immediate
superior in the same way that he is Jane Marie's. I assume he
didn’t mention the fight or the photograph to you."

"Hmmm," mused Shoop, ignoring her question.
"Well, is that all, Dr. Barnes? Or do you have any other piece of
hearsay or another secret recording you'd like to share?" He
stuffed the large cloth back into his pocket. The sound of the
humidifier churned away in the corner.

“You know, Detective," she said, “you went to
great extremes to encourage me to report to you any little piece of
information that I might think of. Now, here I am, bringing you
what I consider, some remarkable evidence, and you treat it as
inconsequential. At least, I’ve been able to find something that
might help discover Charlotte’s killer. Unlike you. It certainly
doesn’t appear to me that you and your “forensics” team have been
able to uncover anything that might lead to a break-through in this
case.” She stood and was about to leave, her fury increasing by the
moment. Her lead foot was itching.

“Sit down, Dr. Barnes,” Shoop ordered.

She looked at him and the skeptical,
facetious look had disappeared from his face. She slowly lowered
herself to the sofa.

“Rest assured, Dr. Barnes,” he said with calm
intensity, “we are working night and day to find Dr. Clark’s
killer. I don’t belittle any of the information you have provided
me. Far from it. I intend to pursue every item. You’re not aware of
everything we’re presently doing to track down the person who
killed Dr. Clark, but that doesn’t mean that we’re not hard at
work.” He ran his hand through his hair and looked around, as if
trying to decide if he should continue. Then he bent over his desk
and spoke to her in a whispered voice. “Dr. Barnes, let me
enlighten you as to our progress. First, we scoured the lab and Dr.
Clark’s office for fingerprints, and we’re comparing prints taken
from Dr. Clark’s body with those of all potential suspects. We
don’t expect to find much there as it appears the killer wore
gloves and finger prints from virtually every faculty member are
present in the lab. We’ve searched her office and her home for
evidence. Second, we interrogated all individuals who might have
seen any suspicious vehicles or persons in or near Blake Hall at
the time of the murder. Third, we’ve interrogated all faculty,
staff, and graduate students in your department—in some cases more
than once. Fourth, I have, at your suggestion, contacted the
subscription database service used by your department and have been
able to track down—as of about 45 minutes ago” and he looked at his
watch, “the exact site Charlotte Clark was looking at when she was
murdered.”

“You have?” asked Pamela, now thoroughly
engrossed in the man’s tale. ”What was it?”

“Maybe you can enlighten me on this,” he
said, almost to himself. “When she was murdered, Dr. Clark was
reading an article, a dissertation actually, by a Jonathan Pierce
Culver, on your specialty subscription to
Dissertation
Abstracts
’ full text service. She was on page 87, the cursor
highlighting paragraph 5. The dissertation was entitled, “Sexual
Dysfunction in Late Adolescence: Addictive Behavior among Young
Criminals.”

“It sounds like something she might read for
her own work on addiction,” responded Pamela. “We do subscribe to
Dissertation Abstracts
and that extra database you mention
does allow us access to the full-text of all registered
dissertations.”

“So,” he said, “you believe that her research
the night she was murdered was just something she was working on
for one of her own studies?”

“It sounds like it,” said Pamela, hesitantly,
“yet, I was there Tuesday night, Detective, and I heard how furious
she was when she left Dr. Marks’ office. I can’t see her just
storming off to the lab and suddenly changing gears so fast and
abruptly working on some of her regular addiction research.”

“I agree,” he said, tapping his pen. “There’s
something else.” He paused, contemplating, it appeared, if he
should share a particular piece of information with Pamela.
Finally, he spoke, “We found a small notebook in a locked drawer in
Dr. Clark’s office desk. In it, there are two columns—one labeled
‘source’ and one labeled ‘copy.’ The ‘source’ column lists names,
dates, pages, and lengthy quotes. The ‘copy’ column lists only
quotes and page numbers. There were several different names in the
‘source’ column, but this Culver was one of them.”

“Can I see it?”

Shoop reached into a manila folder on the
left side of his desk and pulled out a small three-ring notebook.
He handed it to her.

“Any idea what all that means?”

“No,” she replied as she perused the small
notebook. “It does seem to be related to her research, “but I don’t
see any reason that she would keep any of her research locked up.”
She contemplated the various quotes and source citations.

“The fact that this Culver’s name appears
both in this locked up notebook and on the website she was reading
when she was killed,” he continued, “tells me there’s a good chance
that what she was researching online had something to do with why
she was killed.”

“If it was, why didn’t the murderer click out
of the site before he or she left?”

“I’d thought of that too,” he noted, “but
it’s possible the murderer just didn’t have any time and didn’t
want to stay there any longer than absolutely necessary. I mean,
the killer left the lights on, the door open; he or she left in a
real hurry. Is it any surprise, the killer left the computer screen
as it was too? Maybe the killer didn’t even notice the screen. And,
obviously, the killer didn’t know about the notebook locked in her
desk.”

“It’s a mystery,” she mused. “I’ll think
about Culver’s dissertation, Detective, and the notebook. Maybe
something will come to me.”

“If it does…”

“I know, contact you right away.” She stood
up, grabbed her purse, and started for the door. She exited
jauntily, leaving Shoop sitting there with a confused look on his
face.

Chapter 15

When she pulled into the garage, Pamela had
lost most of the bravado that she’d experienced in Shoop's office.
Her drive home had not invigorated her; it had depleted her. Now
all she felt was desolate. Despite the new evidence about the
dissertation that Charlotte was reading when she was murdered and
her secret notebook, she still had no greater understanding of the
sounds on the CD. It seemed obvious to her that Shoop didn’t take
the disk and the sounds on it all that seriously. He probably
thought it was meaningless. She wondered if he’d even have their
forensics’ team examine the disk like he said he would. Ha! she
thought, "forensics’" team. As if their little police force would
have major forensics capabilities. Pamela knew she was far better
equipped to analyze the sounds on the disk; she had the experience
and the training. If there was any clue to the killer hidden on
that disk, she was certain she could discover it.

She opened the kitchen door. The unmistakable
aroma of freshly baked bread filled her nostrils. As usual, Rocky
was at the stove whistling jauntily. Candide was hanging around at
his feet hoping for some morsel to be accidentally dropped. Pamela
deposited her belongings on the kitchen table as usual.

"Hey, Babe!" Rocky called out, not missing a
beat in his ferocious stirring; something on the stove obviously
required his total attention. Pamela was relieved because she
didn't want to endure another interrogation—first one from the
police, then another from her husband.

"Hey," she said, giving him a quick peck on
the cheek.

“Guess what?” he asked, pulling her into his
comfy chest. He smelled delightfully like garlic and sausage.

“You’ve been baking bread.”

“Oh, and I thought it would be a surprise,”
he said, frowning. “I tried a new recipe. Here, take a bite.” He
shoved the morsel into her mouth.

“Oh, my God,” she moaned. “There’s nothing
like fresh baked bread.”

“Technically, a roll,” he corrected.

“Roll, schmoll,” she said, gobbling down the
piece. “Give me more.”

“Now, now, don’t be greedy. Let’s save some
for supper. A lovely little sausage soup with an endive salad.”

Pamela broke away from his embrace and
started towards the bedroom.

"Where's Angie?" he asked.

"Isn’t she home yet?" she countered, turning
back towards him from the doorway.

"No, she told me when I saw her earlier today
that she’d get a ride with you," he said, still stirring.

"She came to my office in the afternoon and I
couldn’t leave so my graduate assistant Kent offered to take her
home," she said. Her trek to the bedroom slowed as she pondered why
her daughter still wasn’t home hours after she’d left campus. After
changing into her comfortable at-home clothes, Pamela returned to
the kitchen.