Sounds of Murder (6 page)

“She didn’t really expect all the committee
members to read three dissertations, did she? That’d be like
reading three novels—three long, boring novels.”

“I don’t know. They’re sitting in her office
as far as I know. I sure haven’t had time to read any of them. I
guess I figured I’d go down and thumb through them just to see what
they were about. But it wouldn’t matter what we committee members
did or didn’t do. Charlotte pretty much controlled who would and
who wouldn’t get tenure."

"Yeah," he nodded, yawning. "That would make
for enemies. But surely not for murder. I’m glad I’m just an
instructor and don’t have to worry about tenure."

"It’s a ridiculously outdated system, isn’t
it? Oh, who knows why she was murdered? We may never know." She
scooted down in the bed. "I've got to get some sleep. What time is
it anyway? No, no. Don't tell me."

"Your wish," he answered, yawning again. She
rolled over and fluffed her pillow. The silence in the room was
haunting. Then she heard the soft, delicate little snuffles of
their poodle Candide, snoring lightly under the bed, his favorite
sleeping place.

There were so many questions, so many details
that were just starting to come into focus about the death of
Charlotte Clark. Pamela had found the body and thus, she felt a
sense of obligation to find some answers to those questions. But
they’d have to wait. They’d have to wait until tomorrow and, for
all she knew, that was only a few hours away.

Chapter 6

When Pamela arrived at work the next morning,
it was just before nine o’clock. As she came through the Blake Hall
parking lot entrance, she could see that the police had draped
yellow "crime scene" tape over the lab door, barring any entrance.
As far as she could tell, all faculty office doors were closed. As
she walked towards the main office, she passed Charlotte's office.
That too, had yellow tape covering it. She wondered why, as no
crime had occurred there. She assumed that the police had or would
be examining Charlotte's computer and personal items in her office
and wanted to keep people out of there.

As she walked down the hallway, she didn’t
see any of her colleagues. Either none of them had arrived yet or
they’d already heard about Charlotte's death and were lying low.
When she entered the main office, she spied Jane Marie Mira, the
departmental secretary, typing at her keyboard, but obviously
keeping an eye on Mitchell Marks’ office door which was closed.
Jane Marie had been with the department for as long as Pamela had
been there. She was a highly competent and fiercely loyal watch dog
of their Chair, and actually, the entire faculty. Pamela quietly
made herself known to Jane Marie and gestured to her.

"He's with the police," Jane Marie whispered,
"Oh, Dr. Barnes, you poor thing! Finding Dr. Clark like that. You
must have been horrified!" She came out from behind her desk
festooned with Halloween decorations and a Jack-o-lantern full of
candies and hugged Pamela. The softness of her cashmere sweater
felt good against Pamela's face.

"It was unpleasant," Pamela said to her
friend and co-worker, "It makes me cringe just thinking about it.
When did Mitchell find out?"

"He said the police called him at home last
night," Jane Marie replied, "They called the Dean too. All upper
administration knows. It’ll be all over the news today. Didn't you
hear them talking about it on the local radio?"

"No," responded Pamela, "I try to keep things
quiet when I'm driving. I, uh, have trouble concentrating on the
road, sometimes. Do you know who's in there with Mitchell?"

"Some tall guy. Snoop? Or Scoop?" Jane Marie
said.

"Shoop," corrected Pamela.

"That's it," Jane Marie said. "He's a weird
bird."

"Tell me," agreed Pamela, "He was questioning
me in my office--afterwards--last night until at least eleven."

"Oh, God," said Jane Marie, "Why didn't you
call in sick this morning?"

"That's what Rocky said to do," Pamela
responded, "But I figured I'd better meet my classes. They’re going
to be upset--even more so when it gets out that I found the
body."

"Listen, Dr. Barnes," continued Jane Marie,
"If you change your mind, just let me know. I’ll see that your
classes are cancelled. You might feel a lot better if you just went
home. I mean, the police are probably going to want to talk to you
again, aren't they?"

"Yes," Pamela answered, sighing. "Shoop made
that clear. That's actually another reason I felt I needed to be
here. If he asks for me, tell him I'm in class until noon and then
I'll be in my office."

"Okay," said Jane Marie, shaking her head of
pretty brown curls, "but I really think you should get out of
here." She shook her finger at Pamela.

"I appreciate your concern," said Pamela,
"but I'm going to tough it out."

Jane Marie bit her lower lip and looked down.
Pamela sensed a problem.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Dr. Barnes, don't tell anyone, but there was
an envelope in Dr. Marks’ mailbox this morning when I arrived that
wasn’t there when I left last night.”

“Maybe a faculty member left it for him. I
was in the office last night after you locked up and I’m sure other
faculty were too.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“Phineas was just leaving as I was going in
and…well…Charlotte was in Mitchell’s office. They appeared to be
having quite a fight.”

The young secretary blanched. “A fight? With
Dr. Clark?” She scowled and leaned back in her chair. “That’s what
I was afraid of.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I took the envelope out of his mailbox this
morning and I opened it. I suspected that Dr. Clark was the one who
put it in his mailbox. It looked like her private stationery."

"What was in it?" Pamela asked, moving closer
to Jane Marie’s desk.

"I probably shouldn't have opened it, but I
am his secretary and I often open his mail. It didn't say
'personal' on it and I might have opened it on a very busy day and
even called it to his attention. Now, I almost wish I had called it
to his attention so I could see his reaction when I showed it to
him,” she spewed out her narrative so fast that Pamela could barely
follow her.

“But it's too late now,” continued Jane
Marie, even faster, “He opened it himself. Or, rather I think he
opened it himself, so I won't be able to see him react. Maybe he
hasn't opened it. It could still be sitting there on his desk
unopened. He was horribly upset when he came in. Opening his mail
was probably the furthest thing on his mind."

"Jane Marie!" shouted Pamela in a stage
whisper, "What was in the envelope?"

"Do you think I’m horrible for opening it? I
was just concerned for him? I just want to protect him."

"No, you're not horrible. You have his best
interests at heart. What was in the envelope?"

"If I tell you, you have to promise not to
tell anyone."

"All right, all right," Pamela nodded. "I
won't tell. Just tell me what was in this mysterious envelope that
you think Dr. Clark put in Dr. Marks's mailbox."

"It was a photograph of a woman."

"A woman?" Pamela asked. "What woman?" She
pulled up a chair next to the secretary’s desk.

"I don't know," said Jane Marie. "I'd never
seen her before." She rubbed her face again, stroking her cheeks
upward as if they were the source of her grief.

"Was it his wife?"

"No, not Velma," said Jane Marie, "I know
her. I'd recognize her photograph, even an old one."

"Describe it," ordered Pamela, scooting her
chair closer to Jane Marie.

"It was a black and white photo and it
appeared to be snipped from a newspaper--fairly recently. The woman
looked to be in her mid-thirties. Pretty. Smiling. Blonde. Very
stylish."

"Was there anything written on the
photograph?"

"No, I checked. Nothing front or back. No
handwriting. No print."

"Why would Charlotte put a photograph of a
woman no one knows in an envelope and stick it in Mitchell's
mailbox?"

"My question exactly," said Jane Marie. "Do
you think it has something to do with their fight?"

"Maybe. But I may be wrong in my other
assumption."

"What other assumption?" asked Jane
Marie.

"That it’s a photograph of a woman no one
knows. You don't know her, but that doesn't mean that Mitchell
doesn't."

"You’re right," said Jane Marie, her eyes and
mouth widening in concert. "What should we do?"

"Nothing," announced Pamela. She stood
up.

"But what if it’s related to Dr. Clark’s
death?" she said, trembling.

"Jane Marie," said Pamela, firmly. "If I were
you, I’d forget that you ever saw that photograph. This is
Mitchell's problem. He’s an adult--and head of the department, I
might add. If he believes it’s pertinent to Charlotte’s death, I’m
sure he’ll mention it to the police." Jane Marie seemed to take
solace from Pamela's words.

"You’re right. Thank you, Dr. Barnes. Have a
candie" She held out the Jack-o-lantern and Pamela grabbed a
wrapped toffee.

“You’re welcome.” She smiled weakly. After
grabbing her mail out of her slot, she started to go, but stopped
when another thought crossed her mind. She turned abruptly,
frowning.

"What?" asked Jane Marie, "Oh, Dr. Barnes,
you do think that photo is related to Dr. Clark’s death don’t
you?"

"I don't know. They did have that fight last
night." Pamela stood there scowling.

"I know, but, surely that isn’t related to
her death." Jane Marie looked at Pamela. "I mean, I thought someone
came into the lab and attacked her--someone unknown. That's what
Mitchell thought it must be."

"They don’t know much yet," answered Pamela,
"We’ll just have to wait and see." Keeping her eyes on Jane Marie,
Pamela turned and headed out of the main office, not looking where
she was going.

As she exited, she bumped into a younger
colleague, Rex Tyson, entering, looking dapper in a grey pinstripe
suit. Rex was Phineas Ottenback’s research partner and the two of
them made a prolific and productive team. However, they were as
different as two professors could be—Phin being the shy, nebbish,
and Rex, the dynamic, gregarious ladies’ man. Pamela knew that
their interests in deviant personality behavior obviously brought
them together as researchers, but they were definitely the
departmental odd couple—although she doubted they were homosexuals,
as both had wives--somewhere. Neither wife appeared with any
regularity at department functions.

"My God, Pamela," Rex crooned, "You came to
work? I thought for sure you’d stay home. How awful for you to
discover Charlotte like that."

"Yes," she agreed, "Not at all pleasant."

"You really shouldn't be here," he reiterated
in his warm voice, placing his hands gently under her elbow. "I
mean, you really shouldn't have come in." He tsk-tsked her with a
sympathetic smile and two very deep dimples.

"Maybe not," she sighed, "but I'm here now,
so I'm going to stay." She smiled at him. Really, she wasn’t an
invalid, she thought, and she wished people would quit acting as if
she were. She continued on her way up the side stairs towards her
office.

Now, hours later, after her morning classes,
she found herself sitting on her sofa eating her lunch. It was a
lovely thin-sliced turkey sandwich on a crescent roll--with
tomatoes, endive lettuce, and a creamy garlic sauce. Normally,
Pamela would be savoring each delectable morsel. But today, she
just couldn’t enjoy it. Rocky loved being her personal chef and had
created her favorite sandwich, knowing how stressful the day would
be for her. She sipped her orange spiced tea from the thermos he
always packed. He’d even included two crispy Madeleines that he
baked last week. She smiled as she thought of the effort her sweet
husband invested into creating these sack lunches for her as well
as their family dinners. The Army had taught him the basics but he
had taken that knowledge to new heights of gourmet magnificence.
For her, it would be work, but for him gourmet cooking was
therapy—more like an obsession, something like working out at the
gym was for her. Oh, my God, it had been ages since she’d worked
out and she could feel her thighs expanding just sitting
here....

She grabbed her hair brush from her purse and
walked to her full-length mirror on the back of her office door
(great for checking to see if one’s slip was showing before class)
so she could run her brush through her hair. She perused her form
and face. Every time she saw herself in the mirror, it didn’t seem
like the person she pictured in her own mind—definitely older,
plumper, and not nearly as cheerful-looking as she usually felt.
Did she look particularly more stressed today than usual? She
couldn’t tell. She certainly felt it. Flip, flip. A few strokes
with her brush and her hair-do looked renewed.

Replacing her brush in her pocketbook, she
returned to her couch and half-heartedly attempted to nibble on her
sandwich for a while. Suddenly she stopped mid-bite. Here she was
munching away, drifting off, when one of her colleagues had just
been murdered. What kind of a person are you? she chided. Then,
answering her own question, she responded mentally, Oh, give
yourself a break, Pamela. This is the first moment she’d actually
sat down and relaxed since she’d arrived on campus this
morning.

She had awakened at her regular hour of seven
o'clock and had made sure both Rocky and Angela were up and got to
their classes on time. As for Rocky, he’d been out the door with
only a brief kiss and a whispered warning to be careful. Rocky
never let his feelings stand in the way of his duty—part of his
military training—and something he’d instilled in both her and
Angela over the years.