Sounds of Murder (9 page)

Pamela cringed. Yes, she’d thought that. But
to have Shoop say it formally was frightening for Pamela.

"Just because there was no evidence of theft
in the lab?" she asked.

"That," he responded, "and other things. For
one, the killer didn’t appear to be looking for anything.
Apparently, the killer went directly to Dr. Clark and strangled
her. Also, there is the fact that the killer picked a time when Dr.
Clark was alone, a time when it would be unlikely that anyone else
would be around and the killing could be accomplished without
witnesses. This murder has all the hallmarks of an intentional
crime, Dr. Barnes. That’s why I’m back here talking to you. I want
you to dig deep into your memory and pull out anything you
remember, either from the events that took place when you
discovered the body or any other occurrence that might--even in the
slightest way--relate to this crime.” He leaned forward and spoke
in a conspiratorial voice, “Because, Dr. Barnes, this is a murder.
There is a killer out there and we don't know who he--or
she--is."

"You don't suspect me, do you?" she asked,
suddenly flustered.

"No, not at the moment," he responded, "But
for the moment, you--and your young assistant--are our only sources
of concrete information. We really need your help."

"Are you telling me, Detective Shoop," she
phrased her words carefully, "that you believe Charlotte's killer
is someone in our department?”

"It’s quite possible, Dr. Barnes," he
replied, "and until we’re certain otherwise, I'd advise you to be
very careful who you talk to and what you say. As the person who
discovered the body, you may have special knowledge that may lead
us to the killer--even if you don't realize it. The killer may
perceive you as a threat and your life could be in danger. I don't
say this to scare you, Dr. Barnes, but only to urge you to be
cautious in what you say and do. If the killer is one of your
colleagues or a staff member or a student, you might inadvertently
reveal information which the killer might consider threatening and
thus jeopardize your own welfare.”

“I couldn’t believe that...,” she stammered,
but the detective continued.

“I noticed,” he said, speaking softly but
intently, “when I came in that there was a group of your colleagues
here chatting. Now, I'm sure they were all just very concerned
about you, and their presence gave you a sense of support, but, Dr.
Barnes, you don't know who you can trust. So, for the moment, until
we catch this person, I'd advise you to keep conversations with
people on campus to a minimum--or at least--avoid discussing the
murder."

She absorbed this information and the
policeman's suggestions. It was difficult to believe that she was
in any danger--particularly from her friends and co-workers. Even
so, she vowed to do as the man requested.

"All right, Detective," she nodded, "if you
think that's best, I’ll be very discreet."

"Good," he said, smiling his sad smile and
looking over his notebook, which he finally closed and placed back
in his shirt pocket. He pushed himself out of the sofa where he’d
almost taken root in the soft cushions.

"Detective," she stopped him as he started
for the door, "One question."

He turned to her. "I was wondering," she
asked, "if your men are still working in the lab? This may sound
callous, but I have data collection scheduled in there and I know
you have the lab screened off. I was just wondering when we--I
mean--the faculty could get back into the lab to work?"

"They’re not there now," he said. "But we’re
leaving the tape up because we may want to get back in. Also we
need to go over the lab with your Department Head, Dr. Marks, with
his inventory list and confirm that nothing of value is missing.
You’ll have your lab back in a day or two."

"Thank you, Detective," she said.

He was at the door. He turned back to her.
"Oh, and Dr. Barnes, I'm serious. Keep a low profile," he said,
"and if you think of something else that might have
anything--anything at all to do with Dr. Clark's death-- contact me
at once." Then he loped down the hall and out of her sight.

Pamela waited for his disappearance. She
looked at her watch; it was after three o’clock. Other than her
colleagues earlier and Shoop's visit, no students had shown up for
her office hours. That was typical, she noted. Some days it was
barren and other days her office was like a zoo. Today’s lack of
student visitors must be a reaction to Charlotte's murder. She
guessed that she too would find it hard to think about academic
pursuits if one of her instructors had been murdered.

She glanced out her window at the parking lot
below. Shoop was climbing into his car and heading out of the lot.
The police still had the lab barricaded, he’d said, but no one was
in there now. Reardon was a small town with a small town police
department—not the New York City Crime Unit. Just how sophisticated
could Reardon’s little police department be and what could they
possibly have found?

No time like the present, she thought.
Quickly, she grabbed her jacket and purse and headed out her office
door, locking it securely as she left. As she walked down the hall,
she noticed that Joan's and Willard's offices were closed. They
were either in class or had left for the day. Hopefully, the
situation would be the same on the main floor. As she headed down
the stairs, she felt her heart start to beat faster. At the bottom
of the steps, she opened the stairwell doors and peeked through.
The coast was clear; she could see no one in the side hallway that
led to the lab. Quickly she slipped through the doors and down the
hall. Shoop was right. The yellow tape was visible at eye level,
barring the lab door. The door was securely locked, too, forcing
her to fumble in her purse for her keys. As she unlocked the door,
stooping carefully under the tape, and went inside, she thought,
what are you doing? This is probably exactly what Charlotte did
yesterday, and look where it got her.

She looked around the lab. She noted the sign
plastered above the check-in table. It’s large font stated, “Only
graduate students and faculty are allowed keys to this laboratory.
Please do not leave the lab unattended.”

At the far end of the room were some storage
compartments where they kept replacement parts for the computers,
microphones, and headphones. She walked to the back of the room and
surveyed the entire laboratory.

Taking up almost the entire room were four
rows of computer carrels, each with a computer terminal. The second
through fourth rows had computer terminals only. The carrels in the
first row had computer terminals, free-standing microphones,
headphones, and control panels immediately to the right of the
free-standing microphones. The front-row booths were all separated
by acoustic paneling that rose to a height of eight feet and
extended out a width of five feet on both sides.

Pamela walked up the side of the lab and down
the first row of carrels. When she arrived at Carrel #4, where the
murder had occurred, she saw that the police had removed the
computer terminal, keyboard, and microphone, and all the attaching
wires. They were probably looking for trace evidence and dusting
for fingerprints. She noticed bits of black powder on the interior
walls of the carrel and realized that it was probably remnants of
fingerprint powder from where the technicians had examined the
interior of the booth—its desk, the walls, and probably the chair
and the surrounding floor too.

She sat at an unoccupied booth in the first
row. Thus seated, she could see no one and hear no one in either
booth beside her if anyone were sitting there. She loved these
first row terminals. In addition to the extra recording
paraphernalia, the computers in the first row also provided the
subscription database services that were not available free over
the Internet and that had made her research much easier.

Directly in front of her and facing the four
rows of computer carrels, was the master control panel. This long
table allowed graduate students and faculty to have access to and
control of the data being recorded or listened to in any of the 40
carrels. Indicator lights showed which computers were in use. These
lights also indicated which computers were in "record" versus
"listen" mode. They indicated the number of subjects who had used
each terminal each day and how many times each stimulus tape had
been played, among other types of data. From the master control
panel, a faculty member or graduate assistant could, technically,
control anything going on in any of the terminals, and could
record--or delete--anything recorded in any terminal.

Carefully, she touched the keyboard in front
of her. She noted the various buttons for volume control and other
output. The toggle switch, as she had described to Shoop, was
located on the right side of the keyboard, slightly toward the
front edge of the desk. She imagined Charlotte sitting here. This
booth was just like Carrrel #4. Someone had grabbed her from behind
and strangled her. Was it at all feasible that Charlotte might have
inadvertently bumped or pushed the toggle switch while she was
being strangled? If that had happened, Pamela knew that nothing
would show on the monitor because Charlotte wasn’t attempting to
record anything. The police obviously had checked or would check
the monitor from Carrel #4 to discover whether or not a recording
had been made. But, Pamela reasoned, if Charlotte had bumped the
toggle switch and then maybe bumped it back---quite possible if
there was a violent struggle---then the sounds of that struggle
might have been recorded. Not here on the computer in Carrel #4,
but....

She walked directly to the front of the room,
toward the master control console and pressed the master power
switch. Lights lit up the entire unit. Each terminal was listed by
number. On the right side of the console, she found the storage
unit, which she knew was the device that kept all recordings made
in each carrel in the first row of computers. These recordings were
stored until a faculty member or graduate assistant went through
and manually deleted them.

As she clicked on the storage unit, the
carrels from #1-#10 lit up, each showing a graph for amount of
sound recorded. All ten graphs were at zero--except for Carrel # 4,
the carrel where Charlotte was found. Oh my God!, she thought. She
noted the date--October 30—yesterday! She carefully clicked on the
segment. There was only a small amount, probably just a few seconds
worth of sound. The time stamp said "8:27 p.m.”

She glanced around. Already she’d been here
too long. The police techs might return at any moment, and after
what Shoop had said to her, she didn't want to run into anyone in
here. Grabbing a blank CD from a bottom drawer in the master
console, she slid it into the CD slot and hit duplicate. The
console whizzed and whirled and then quickly stopped. She opened
the drawer and removed the CD, placing it back in its paper sleeve
and into her purse. Then, after shutting down the console, she gave
the lab a quick once over, and when she was certain it was the same
as it was when she entered, she hurried out, stopping briefly to
duck under the police tape and lock the door behind her.

Chapter 9

She had barely exited the lab and locked the
door when she bumped into Rex and Phineas walking out of Rex's
office. The two men had obviously been arguing, but they quieted
immediately and turned their attention to her.

"Pamela," greeted Rex, warmly, "Surely, you
weren't in the lab? I thought the police had forbidden us to
enter." He came towards her, followed by Phineas.

"I just had to check on some data," she
mumbled, "I'm running an experiment this week and I need to see
where we stand on participants. I didn’t think they’d mind." She
stopped herself before she babbled on unnecessarily.

"Dr. Barnes," said Phineas, coming closer,
"I’m so sorry about what happened. I heard you were the one who
found Charlotte in the lab. I wish I’d stayed later last night so I
could’ve been here for you."

"Yes," she nodded at the two men, "That would
have been nice." She was starting to go.

"So, what did you find?" asked Rex in a low
whispered voice, glancing back at the lab door.

"What?" stammered Pamela, clutching her purse
as if it contained gold.

"The lab. Did the police make a mess of it? I
assume they probably turned the place upside down," boomed Rex,
shaking his head of thick chestnut-colored hair.

"Yes," agreed Phineas, nodding fiercely. "Did
they--you know--clean everything up?" He grimaced squeamishly.

"It looks as it always did," offered Pamela.
"Feel free to go check for yourselves if you like." She was feeling
more and more uncomfortable standing here; the newly burned CD felt
warm inside her purse.

"Well, take care, Pamela," said Rex,
squeezing her arm, "Personally, I believe I’ll wait until the
police give their approval before I venture into the lab." He had
an uncharacteristically somber look on his face.

She stopped suddenly. "Well, that’s very
circumspect of you, Rex.”

"All I meant was," he replied, "that I’d feel
uncomfortable to go in there now." Then he smiled that broad,
toothy grin.

"Yes," agreed Phineas, nodding insistently.
"I wouldn’t want to go in the lab unless I absolutely had to. I can
just imagine how terrible it must make you must feel, Dr. Barnes.
Just being in the lab probably reminds you of Charlotte, of finding
her last night. I just can't believe I was here in the building
when it happened." He cringed and his mouth gathered into a little
pucker.

"Gentlemen," announced Pamela, straightening
herself, "I’m perfectly fine and it doesn’t bother me to be in the
lab. I’m truly sorry about Charlotte, but I’m not going to let what
happened to her prevent me from doing my job, and I assume you
won't either." She beamed her most gracious smile at them, turned,
and headed down the hall toward the main office.