 
# MURDER AT THE BREAK

## C. G. Prado
MURDER AT THE BREAK

C. G. Prado

Copyrighted ©2015-2020 by C.G. Prado

Originally published 2015, revised edition published 2020 by C.G. Prado

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters, businesses, places, and events and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

# Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

# Chapter One

## The First Tuesday

The break at Christmas was nearly three-weeks long. The second semester officially began on Tuesday, January third, but classes didn't start until the following Monday. Charlie Douglas arrived at the philosophy department of Meredith University that Tuesday at a little after nine in the morning. As he'd expected, the building was quiet, with only the secretarial staff in the various departments it housed. Few faculty members would be in till Monday, so he had his pick of parking places.

In the mid eighteen-hundreds, Avery Meredith made a disquieting amount of money manufacturing railway engines and founded a lavishly endowed, elite liberal arts college on a large tract of land in Kingsford, on the shore of Lake Ontario. Over the years, Meredith College acquired other faculties; first a law school, then a medical school. Next came a faculty of engineering, later one of education, and then the inevitable business school. Meredith was now a medium sized university offering undergraduate and graduate programs, but the university still took up only a third of the land it owned. The rest was upscale apartment houses and a shopping mall that added annually to Meredith's already fat coffers. That income, the well-invested endowment, and Meredith's stiff fees kept the university private, allowing it to spurn government funding with all its attached strings and problems. Meredith was able to maintain high admission requirements and demanding standards and its prestige meant that placing its graduates was seldom a problem.

Charlie started at Meredith in the late nineteen-nineties, and he might have moved on after a couple of years, but Charlie liked the quality of Meredith students and his wife, Kate, liked Kingsford's size and pace. Charlie had taught philosophy at Meredith for just over two decades. His publications, supervisory record, and rank of full professor gave him an enviable position and he taught pretty much what courses he wanted to teach. His turning up on the first day of term wasn't because he had anything pressing to do; it was more habit than anything else. At the moment, though, the question he faced was whether there'd be any takers for his second-term graduate course. Charlie's orientation in philosophy had always run counter to the department's analytic bent. He took seriously the Postmoderns that his colleagues disdained. As a result, his graduate courses were attended by a small number of seriously engaged students and a larger number who were curious about what other department members saw as the dark side of philosophy. However, graduate students didn't have to preregister for courses, so Charlie wouldn't know what sort of audience he'd have until the next Monday afternoon at the weekly seminar's first meeting.

As Charlie expected, the only people in the philosophy department were the secretaries, Jodie Anderson and Phoebe McMillan. The long corridor was silent, with just the main office open.

"Happy New Year!"

"Oh, Dr. Douglas; you startled me! Happy New Year to you, too. Why ever did you come in today? Can't stay away? Well, to make it worthwhile, have one of these cookies. My daughter made them and they're great. Take a couple."

"Happy New Year, Dr. Douglas, and do have some cookies; they're delicious."

Charlie didn't let on that this was the first he knew about Phoebe having a daughter. The thought flitted through his mind that he really knew damn all about either of the secretaries.

Phoebe and Jodie were an interesting contrast; Phoebe was tall, blonde, and fond of raunchy jokes; Jodie was short, dark, and very proper. The two ran the department office efficiently, carving up the work according to their talents rather than sticking to their tediously detailed job-descriptions. Charlie picked up a couple of cookies and thanked Phoebe. He was tempted to joke with Jodie about why she'd not brought something in but passed on it; his teasing efforts with her usually didn't work.

Charlie's office was at the far end of the corridor from the main office and elevators, a location he appreciated because of the quiet, and he now started down the hall. Halfway along he was struck by a foul smell that suddenly made the cookies in his hand much less attractive. He put the smell down to no maintenance over the holiday break and someone's having left half-eaten sandwiches in an office. When he reached his own office, he dumped his laptop case on his desk, put the cookies on a tissue, and went to the cafeteria for coffee, again hitting the smell about halfway down the hall. On his return from the cafeteria the smell was still there, and he hoped the custodian would turn up before he had to go down the corridor on his way to lunch. The morning passed quickly while Charlie answered emails and did what he could to finish a paper he'd been having trouble bringing to a satisfactory conclusion. He forgot about the smell but ran into it again at noon on his way to the faculty Club for lunch. He was going to mention it to Jodie or Phoebe, but the main office was closed. They'd obviously gone to lunch, and their office being next to the elevators, they probably hadn't noticed the smell.

Charlie took a seat at the Club table, a long one seating eight on each side and one at each end and reserved for people on their own. That meant the mix of people changed from day to day despite some, like him, being regulars. Charlie liked lunching with people from different departments and faculties. He enjoyed the varied conversation, the humor that ran the gamut from subtle to embarrassing, and especially the wide-ranging expertise available to him over soup and a sandwich. He'd availed himself of it several times, getting useful information from engineers, pathologists, physicists, classicists, lawyers, and the occasional dean. Happily, it was rare for other members of the philosophy department to sit at the Club table, which was just fine with Charlie. Today he wasn't surprised to find only a few regulars seated at the table. They were arguing about the university president's Christmas message, which was a model of corporate-speak and said nothing.

After lunch the smell in the department hall persisted. When Charlie went to check his mail in the main office at three o'clock, he was about to mention the smell but Jodie brought it up first. She and Phoebe had noticed it returning after their lunch because it had reached the little lobby in front of the main office and elevators. No doubt one of the custodians would be putting up notices about not leaving food in the offices once they cleaned up whatever was causing the stink. However, four o'clock came and went without a sign of a custodian. When Charlie left the department along with the secretaries at four-thirty, he decided that the service staff had wangled an extra day through their union and that the smell would still be there the next day.

Charlie got home a little before five and found that Kate was out. He checked the kitchen but there wasn't anything going in the oven or on the stove-top, so he decided to do a couple of marinated salmon steaks and after checking that they had wine began collecting what he needed. Kate got home at five-forty-five and was clearly relieved not to have to cook. She explained she'd been trying to get the garage to wring another few months out of her barely running old Corolla.

"They just want to sell me another car."

"Your car is ten years old, it had high mileage when you bought it, you drive it hard, and you're always late for servicing. I'm surprised it's running at all."

"It's fine; it's just that they've got a two-year old Corolla there they want to sell me. It's very nice, but you know how Toyotas hold their price. I'm just not willing to pay that much. So now they claim I need to replace the air-conditioner and a bunch of parts for the steering whatsit, to the tune of some twelve-hundred dollars."

"Actually, for AC and steering that sounds reasonable."

"Well, they started out at over fifteen-hundred, but I told them I can do without the air; I certainly don't need it now. Anyway, they backed off a bit and said they'd use some reconditioned parts."

With this Kate went upstairs to change and Charlie began to grill the salmon. When they sat down to eat, they talked a little about the news and about the pleasant time they'd had New Year's Eve. It wasn't long, though, before Kate raised what Charlie now thought of as The Issue, which was giving up their townhouse for a condo.

Amanda Rankin, the department head, didn't seem to like Charlie's brand of philosophy, and since she'd become head his salary increments had been just adequate. Charlie and Kate weren't hurting for money but buying a condo they liked meant paying more than they'd get for the townhouse, plus there'd be a monthly fee and taxes would almost certainly be higher. On the other hand, a condo offered real advantages. Charlie simply couldn't make up his mind, so they discussed The Issue on and off. Friends had made the move from a house to a condo and expressed reservations. Charlie didn't know if he would just have reservations or real regrets living in what was, in effect, a very expensive apartment in a building run by others.

"You don't want to talk about it."

"Actually, I do; I just don't know what I want to do."

"Tell you what; tomorrow we'll go to Sandoval's and have a good bottle of wine, on me, and we'll talk. That'll give you all day to think about it. Okay?"

"Sounds like a plan. I really will think about it."

Charlie liked the idea, or at least the postponement. He'd mentioned the smell in the department to Kate, but only in passing. It now didn't seem important. Charlie settled down with his glass of pinot and the latest John Sanford. Later, just before dropping off to sleep, he wondered if he should stay home the next day till they did something about that smell.

# Chapter Two

## The First Wednesday

January fourth was overcast and Charlie, despite his doubts about the smell, went to the department. When he got to the university, he noticed the parking lot of his building was just as empty as the previous day. He was struck by the smell as soon as the elevator door opened. It was definitely worse. Jodie and Phoebe were in the main office talking with Amanda, who might have come in on her own or been called by one of the secretaries. Charlie entered the main office, nodded to them, and pretended to check his mail while trying to hear what was going on. Jodie was saying she thought they should go down the hall and check the offices because the custodian hadn't shown up on Tuesday and might even still be off for all she knew. Amanda was clearly uncomfortable. A painfully thin woman with an unfortunate tendency to dress like a parody of a tweedy academic, she was going on about people's privacy, something Charlie thought ridiculous since the custodians were in and out of the offices on a daily basis. She didn't want to open offices without what she called adequate reason and didn't seem to find the smell reason enough. Charlie left them to it and went to his office. He closed his door and in spite of the cold opened a window to freshen the air.

Charlie skipped a coffee break at ten in order not to go into the hall. He'd gone to the washroom earlier and found that the smell was really becoming a problem. At noon he went off for lunch and while in the hall thought that Amanda was going to have to do something. He wasn't thinking of an abandoned sandwich anymore, but of a squirrel or maybe some rats that had gotten into an office and died. Both Jodie and Phoebe had left, and Charlie saw that Amanda's door, which she always left open when she was in her office, was shut tight.

At lunch Charlie mentioned the smell but no one picked up on it and he dropped the subject. They were soon into a discussion of the university's latest scandal. The administration had once again caved in when faced with student discontent. In this case a student who'd submitted an essay plagiarized from some website had claimed she had a dual-personality disorder and that she herself had been surprised when she found the finished essay on her desk. She'd turned it in assuming she'd forgotten she wrote it, but obviously her other personality had ripped it off the web. Most at the table found this incredible, though one suggested the university should charge her double tuition. Another suggested they should fail the other personality. But the woman telling the story, a professor in English, said that things had been made worse when the student forged her doctor's signature on a note claiming she did have dual-personality disorder. The instructor wanted to fail the student, both for the plagiarism and the forgery, but after dithering for a week the dean decided she should just be made to rewrite the essay. He claimed that the forgery wasn't an academic issue and that the student was disturbed enough that she might well believe she had dual personalities. There were groans all around.

After most had finished and left, Charlie talked for a while with a friend who'd recently lost his wife, and it wasn't until after two that he returned to the department. The first thing Charlie saw when the elevator door opened was a police officer. The officer stepped aside as little as possible and stepped into the elevator as Charlie sidled by him. There were two other cops in the main office, one talking to Amanda, the other to Jodie and Phoebe. Down the corridor there was a fourth cop and a woman in a white smock, both standing in front of an open office door. As Charlie got closer, he saw it was Barrett Wilson's office, located right in the middle of the corridor. As he passed them on the way to his office, the uniformed cop turned and asked Charlie if he belonged on this floor. Charlie answered he was on his way to his office and was told not to leave without letting one of the officers know.

As he passed by the open door, Charlie caught a glimpse of two more people wearing white smocks in Wilson's office but couldn't see what they were doing. He did notice that there was now a strong antiseptic smell overriding the foul odor. He was certain that what they'd found wasn't a rotting sandwich or a dead squirrel but a corpse.

Charlie called Kate as soon as he was in his office and told her what was going on, warning her he might be late getting home. He assumed that the body found in Wilson's office was Barrett himself, and found himself wondering about his lack of emotional reaction. He'd never liked Barrett, and had had several run-ins with him, but of course he hadn't wished the man dead. Now he found he didn't feel much either way about Barrett being dead, if indeed he was.

Charlie was pretty sure Barrett had a partner but had never met her. He didn't think Barrett had any children. In fact, Charlie found it hard to think of Barrett being willing to parent a child he'd then have to care for. Well, it was too bad if he was, in fact, dead. Charlie's animosity toward Barrett had been personal at one level, professional at another. Personally, he'd found the man overbearing, arrogant, and incapable of speaking except in a hectoring tone. As someone had said, Barrett was a man who was often wrong but never uncertain. Professionally, the main problem he'd had with Barrett was methodological or, some might say, ideological. Barrett Wilson thought that how he did philosophy defined the discipline; he didn't tolerate other approaches. Additionally, in any academic argument, Barrett's basic assumption was that either his opponent didn't understand the issue or was just wrong.

"Dr. Douglas?"

Charlie heard the question just as his door was opened by the cop he'd seen at Barrett's office door.

"Yes?"

"I guess you've figured out that we found one of your colleagues in his office. Can you tell me what time you came in today?"

"Uh, about nine-ten or nine-fifteen. Jodie and Phoebe, the secretary and senior secretary, were already here, of course. They were talking with Amanda, that's Prof. Rankin, the department head. I left for lunch just at noon."

"You noticed the smell in the corridor"

"Oh yes; I noticed it yesterday."

Charlie internally kicked himself for volunteering that he'd been there the day before, but then it was no secret and Jodie or Phoebe had probably already mentioned it. The officer immediately confirmed this.

"Yes, one of the secretaries told us that you and they were the only ones here yesterday. The custodial staff didn't work yesterday, so no one found the body, but Dr. Rankin looked in the offices today when everyone left for lunch. Then she called us."

So, it'd been Amanda who found Barrett. Probably thought it best to check the offices when no one was around. She'd let it go long enough as it was.

"Did you know Dr. Wilson well?"

"So, it was him; that's his office you all were in, but I suppose it could have been someone else."

"If you'd just answer my question, Dr. Douglas."

"I knew him as a member of the department. I never saw him socially. Someone's bound to tell you, so I'll add that we didn't get on."

"Was there something personal between you"

"Not really; it was academic mutual dislike. I don't know what it'll mean to you, but we had a profound difference of opinion on our discipline, on what philosophy is all about. But it was all literally academic. In fact, I don't think I ever spoke to him outside of this department, though I saw him around town occasionally."

"Are we going to find anyone who saw you two together away from the university?"

"No, you aren't. I wanted nothing to do with him."

"Okay; well, one of the detectives will want to speak to you. We're understaffed, so it may not be until tomorrow. Will you be staying the rest of the afternoon?"

"The main office closes at four-thirty and I usually leave then or a bit before."

"We're asking everyone who came in today not to leave until five. If the detectives don't make it by then, they'll contact you tomorrow."

Charlie waited until five, as did Amanda, Jodie, and Phoebe. The detectives didn't show.

Charlie got home about five-thirty. Kate got ready and they set off for Sandoval's a little after six. The restaurant was sparsely attended when they got there, as they knew it would be. They preferred to eat early to avoid the crowd. They got their usual table and Derek, the waiter they knew best, raised his eyebrows a bit when Kate ordered an expensive Oregon pinot noir that Charlie especially liked but which they seldom had.

"Alright, do we jump right in or do you want to talk about what happened first?"

"Not much to say. What got me was that I felt nothing. I'm sorry Wilson's dead, in an abstract way, but I'm not going to miss him. What's bugging me now is how he came to die in his office, and over the holidays. He had to have been dead a couple of days or more for the smell to be as noticeable as it was. I thought he'd had a heart attack or something, but he was probably killed. Otherwise, why send detectives on top of the cops who responded to the call?"

"Killed? You mean you think Barrett was murdered in his own office?"

"Well, why else are detectives involved? Anyway, what was he doing in his office during the break? He never went to the department unless he had a class or office hours. Most of the time he'd go directly to his class and then leave, and his office hours were a joke: one hour on Friday mornings."

"Do you think your difficulties with him could be a problem?"

"I can't see how; we had no contact outside the department, and surely no one would think that his worship of Saul Kripke would drive me to kill him. I may not sympathize with hard-core analytic philosophy, but irritation is as high on the rage scale as I go."

"The police don't know that."

"I know, but let's not borrow trouble."

Charlie asked about dessert. Kate said he could buy her an apple crumble if he really wanted to. He agreed, but when Derek got to the table Kate ordered a Spanish coffee, so Charlie had a glass of port. Over their drinks they made a half-hearted effort to talk about the condo but soon gave it up.

When they got home there was a car carelessly parked in front of their townhouse. A man and a woman stood near it and watched them as Charlie pulled up behind their car. The man looked like central casting's definitive plain-clothes cop, burly and rumpled; the woman was better dressed and could have been in business. The man addressed Charlie.

"Dr. Douglas? I'm detective Bolster; this is detective DeVries. We need to speak with you."

Charlie led the way into the townhouse and Kate invited Bolster and DeVries to sit down. Neither did until both Charlie and she sat down.

"I assume this is about Barrett Wilson? I thought you were going to speak to us tomorrow."

DeVries answered.

"Yes, it is about Dr. Wilson; we just have a few questions that really can't wait."

Bolster continued.

"I understand there was bad blood between you and Dr. Wilson."

"Hardly that. We had professional differences. I didn't know the man outside the department."

"I've been told that, but I know academic disputes can be very passionate."

"Let's slow down a bit; are you saying I might have had reason to kill Barrett? And was he in fact killed? I was thinking he might have had a heart attack or fatal stroke."

"No, Dr. Wilson was shot. Do you own a gun, Dr. Douglas?"

"Shot? No, I don't."

"Is it going to be necessary for us to get a search warrant?"

"You want to search for a gun? Now?"

"We'd be happier if we could look now, before, ah, anything might happen."

"You're welcome to search the house, as long as you do so without doing the damage I'm told the police routinely do."

Bolster stiffened but DeVries flashed the ghost of a smile. Bolster was about to say something when DeVries stood and took the edge off things by suggesting they get on with it. Bolster, reasserting himself, said that Charlie and Kate should stay where they were and would be called only if he or DeVries found a locked door or box.

Charlie ignored Bolster's order long enough to get a bottle of wine and two glasses. He poured as DeVries went into the kitchen and Bolster went upstairs.

Charlie and Kate's townhouse was small. The downstairs consisted of a longish living room and dining area and the kitchen. The upstairs was two bedrooms and a bathroom. One of the bedrooms was used as a study for them both. There were a couple of closets upstairs and a hall closet downstairs, and that was it. It wasn't too surprising, then, that in less than an hour Bolster and DeVries were back in the living room. Charlie hadn't heard a lot going on and began to think the search might have been less serious than he'd thought it would be.

"Do you have an office, Ms. Douglas?"

"No. I'm a copy-editor and work at home. I receive and return manuscripts on-line."

"What about out-buildings? Sheds and such?"

"No. Our backyard is very small, as you can see from the kitchen's back door."

Charlie got up and led Bolster to the back door, opening it and turning on the outside light. Five-foot fencing enclosed the tiny paved yard on three sides. On the left were some potted plants, on the right a garden bench; nothing else. Bolster grunted and went back to the living room. Charlie followed.

Kate was responding to something DeVries had said.

"Me too. I'm a terrible pack-rat; I keep everything. Charlie can't stand it; he's forever tossing stuff and most of the time I don't even notice."

DeVries had her coat on and Bolster shrugged his on.

"What about your garage? And do you have a safe-deposit box?"

"No garage. As for a safe-deposit, yes, but it's just for the house deed and stuff like that. Are you going to want to see that, too?"

"Dr. Douglas, we must be thorough. We looked through your office earlier. It is university property, so we needed only your department head's permission. I would like one of us to meet you when your bank opens tomorrow."

Charlie agreed and told them what branch. Bolster then asked if they could have a quick look at Charlie's car. Charlie handed over the keys and follower them out and watched as DeVries and Bolster looked through the inside of the car and the trunk.

As soon as the detectives left Charlie and Kate checked the house. Bolster had been a bit careless upstairs, leaving some drawers half-open and having moved a few things in the study. DeVries' excursion through the downstairs hadn't left a trace. Charlie didn't think they'd really expected to find anything. Kate and Charlie finished their wine and went to bed.

As Charlie slipped into sleep, he wondered what Barrett had done to bring a killer to his office over the holiday break.

# Chapter Three

## The First Thursday

On his way to the bank Thursday morning Charlie picked up a copy of Kingsford's daily, _The Times-Standard_. Sure enough, keen always to discover scandal at the university, the editor had devoted the entire front page to the "heinous murder" of Professor Barrett Wilson. There was a picture of Barrett's empty office, one of a couple of paramedics stowing a gurney in an ambulance, another of a couple of cops and a man he recognized as detective Bolster talking to Amanda, and one of Barrett in mortarboard and gown at a recent convocation. One story gave the known details, another compared the murder to an earlier homicide at a community college in a nearby city, a third speculated on the motive for the killing, laying heavy emphasis on the possibility that a disgruntled student might have taken an extreme step.

Meredith was the big frog that supported an otherwise dubiously viable small pond. Kingsford had no other significant employer, no industrial presence. Anything that happened at the university, therefore, was news, and a murder was sensational news. Charlie now thought he might have more trouble with persistent reporters than with Bolster and DeVries.

It was DeVries who waited for him at the bank. She stood just inside the door and had no doubt been there when the assistant manager unlocked it. Charlie muttered a good morning and asked where her partner was. She ignored his question and suggested they get things over with. Charlie went to the counter, asked to get into his box, and was led into the vault, followed by DeVries. He handed his key to the clerk, she used hers, then his, and pulled out the flat, narrow box and handed it to Charlie. He said that if she'd wait just a minute, she could lock it up again. He handed the box to DeVries. She took it, opened it, quickly riffled through the folded papers it contained, closed the box, and handed it to the clerk. Both thanked the clerk, who replaced the box and handed Charlie his key.

Just outside DeVries thanked Charlie for his cooperation and surprised him by suggesting they get a cup of coffee. His curiosity made it impossible to say no and he followed DeVries to a coffee shop a half-block from the bank. She moved so decisively that Charlie was sure she'd checked out the coffee shop before they'd met or maybe went there often.

There were only seven or eight people in the coffee shop, four in a booth and the rest at the counter. DeVries led the way to a booth and Charlie was certain now that she'd been there before. This was confirmed when an acne-plagued teenager slouched over and asked what she'd like and called her what sounded like ossifer. The teenager ignored Charlie but registered his asking for black coffee because she returned with a mug for him as well as one for DeVries and a plate holding a couple of doughnuts.

"Dr. Douglas, this may surprise you, but I took an introductory course in philosophy as an undergraduate. We read Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, and Hume, but nothing contemporary, so I haven't any idea of what divided you and Dr. Wilson and I've only the fuzziest notion of just what the difference is between analytic and Continental philosophy. I read about Foucault, but in a literature course. I take it from your course-descriptions that his work interests you?"

"Yes; for the last decade or so I've worked on Foucault, but before that I was pretty much in the other camp. My dissertation was on D. M. Armstrong, if that name means anything to you, a hard-core analytic philosopher in his time. Later I got into Richard Rorty, you must have heard of him, and that led to Foucault. I met Rorty when I was on sabbatical at Princeton and did a book on him several years ago, but all my recent stuff has been on Foucault. How'd you go from philosophy to being a detective?"

"Oh, I always intended to go into law-enforcement. The philosophy course was one of my electives. My major was in communications. It offered courses of some relevance to what I wanted to do and more electives than other majors. Frankly, though, very little of what I studied has been of any use in my work."

"You might not think so, but the main value of a university education isn't supplying you with a lot of information; it's how it molds you to think in certain ways. I'm sure little of what you studied bears directly on what you're doing now, but it all contributed to who you are, and that determines how you approach problems."

"You're probably right, but what I'd like now is for you to give me some idea of what we're dealing with. I know you had little to do with Dr. Wilson, but perhaps you could just sketch for me where he fit in the grand scheme of things?"

Charlie fought not to lecture and to keep his remarks brief and to the point. He took a couple of sips of coffee and accepted a doughnut when DeVries pushed the plate toward him.

"Okay; a thumbnail sketch. Right now, philosophy is under siege. Few administrators value it and enrollment is down. Unless they want to teach it, most students don't see the point of philosophy. A number of major publishing houses no longer do philosophy books. Barrett Wilson was in one of what I think of as three distinct camps. He and others have circled the wagons; they've redefined philosophy very narrowly as logical and linguistic analysis and reject everything else as irrelevant or, worse yet, as basically sociology. That's one camp. Another camp is applied philosophy. That's work in medical ethics, business ethics, cognitive science, and multicultural studies. People in that camp see what Barrett does, ah, did, as a kind of in-house game. Then there's the third camp, and I guess I'm in it. These are people in the contemporary European or Continental tradition. A central point is that the third camp allows political issues to be part of the discipline. Guys like Barrett see the applied philosophers as sell-outs and people like me as having been taken in by postmodern relativism."

DeVries looked at him for what seemed too long, and he thought he'd put her to sleep, but her next remark showed he hadn't.

"Okay, I understand about the applied stuff, but what about this big break between analytic and Continental?"

"The break has an historical aspect. Rudolf Carnap, you probably heard of him in your course, ignorantly characterized what was going on in philosophy in Germany and France as not rigorous because contaminated by politics. He was very influential in his time and American and British philosophers bought into his view. There's also the canonical aspect, what philosophers read and think important: the works that they see as defining the discipline. Analytic philosophers read Plato and Aristotle, Descartes, Hume, and Kant. Continental philosophers also read Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, and Hume, but after Kant they read Hegel and Nietzsche and, of course, Heidegger. Analytic philosophers largely ignore Hegel and Nietzsche and dismiss Heidegger. But I'm lecturing now; you can't have wanted this much."

"No, go on; is there another aspect?"

"Yes; it's got to do with method. Basically, analytic philosophers think in terms of particular problems, whether it's how knowledge and belief are related, or just what we mean by saying something is true. Unfortunately, that inclination has gotten out of hand. A recent issue in a major journal was about vague nouns: specifically, just what is a heap. You wouldn't believe the number of articles that issue generated. Anyway, on the other hand, Continental philosophers think in terms of historical development and the big picture. That's why they can't avoid the political."

"And Dr. Wilson was an analytic philosopher?"

"Oh, yes. Adamantly so. He saw my stuff on Foucault as deplorable and an embarrassment to the department. J. D. Allen, in my department, works on Nietzsche, and he was also a write-off as far as Barrett was concerned. And it wasn't just a matter of not coming to our papers or not talking to us. I know he bad-mouthed us to the students. Trouble was that usually backfired, because many of the students didn't like him."

"You weren't the only one who didn't get on with him, then?"

"No way; he didn't talk to J. D., as I said. He didn't talk to Theresa Bartolini because she does feminist and multicultural stuff. He didn't talk to Don Grahame, who's the medical ethicist. As far as Barrett was concerned, the department consisted of himself, Jack Shwayder, who is another staunchly analytic type, and of course Amanda Rankin, but he included her less because he respected her work than because he needed her on his side to get what he wanted."

"What did he want?"

"Mainly to be on the major committees and to give two-term courses in one term by doubling the hours so he could go off somewhere the other term."

"Just one more thing. Do you think it likely or even possible that a student might have shot Dr. Wilson? I guess what I'm asking is whether you know of any student who was very angry at him for some reason."

"I know a couple left the department because of problems with his supervision of their theses, but I don't know of any student who might have had reason to want him dead."

"What sorts of problems?"

"Well, typically, an M.A. or Ph.D candidate puts a lot of effort into a thesis, but some supervisors are slow to review their work. Barrett was notorious for that. Also, sometimes supervisors push too hard to have their students agree with their own views, and Barrett did that in spades."

"Was Dr. Wilson a threat to you?"

"A threat? No. He irritated the hell out of me, but he wasn't a threat. I was senior to him and have a much better publication record as well as many more successfully supervised M.A.s and Ph.Ds. The closest I came to a real confrontation with him was at a department meeting when he ridiculed something I'd said and I responded that the trouble with contempt is that it doesn't work when it's mutual."

"Quite a nice dig. I suspect you enjoyed that more than putting a bullet in him."

"I still can't believe someone shot him."

"Yes; Dr. Wilson was shot, and it seems he was shot in his office while talking to whoever killed him. There's nothing to suggest a struggle. Our big problem right now is that we've not found the gun, but there's no need for you to mention that to anyone even if it isn't exactly a secret."

"Did you really expect to find the gun in my house? Or in the safe-deposit box?"

"Now, Dr. Douglas, that would be me blabbing and you turning this pleasant conversation into a fishing expedition."

"So, this hasn't been a grilling?"

"Not at all; what you said about philosophy was very interesting and it's useful to learn that Dr. Wilson and Dr. Shwayder shared a professional bond and were a little at odds with Drs. Allen, Bartolini, and Grahame. What about others in the department? If you could just give me a rough idea? Then I really have to go."

"I don't really know the three adjuncts. Two are post-docs, one working with Shwayder and one with Don Grahame. The third has been here for a couple of years, mostly handling one of the introductory courses. I've seldom spoken to any of them. Their offices are on another floor, so there's very little interaction. Marcela Reilly is a cross-appointed member. She's an M.D. and also teaches in the medical school. What she does in the department is teach a course on medical ethics, rather like Don Grahame does, but hers is more practically oriented and includes rounds at the hospital. She didn't like Barrett any more than I did. I don't think any of the others liked him much, either."

DeVries thanked Charlie and hurried out of the coffee shop. He decided to get another coffee. Could Barrett have so pissed off a student to get himself shot? And again, what was Barrett doing talking to someone in his office over the holiday break? It was rare enough to see him in his office during the work week.

Charlie wished he knew the new crop of graduate students better, especially those who had anything to do with Barrett. But it wouldn't be any trick to get a list of Barrett's ongoing supervisions; he could also get a list of students who'd recently had orals involving Barrett. Maybe he'd failed one of them. Or could it have been an undergraduate? Charlie didn't think so. First of all, Barrett had little to do with undergraduates. He taught a large logic class, but that was it. Mostly he worked with grads that had an interest in his area of expertise. More important, Barrett would never drag himself down to the department to meet with an undergraduate during the Christmas break.

Charlie finished his second coffee, walked to his car, and drove to the university. The department felt crowded when he arrived. In the main office several people were talking to Jodie and Phoebe. Amanda was there, too, looking harassed.

Charlie was no sooner in his office than J. D. turned up in his doorway.

"Whaddaya think? Did the cops question you?"

"Hi, J. D. Oh yes; they came to the house last night, then I had to meet one this morning, which is why I'm late. As to what I think, I just don't know. I've realized how little I knew about Barrett and that I haven't any basis on which to speculate about what happened. Did they question you? I assume they questioned everyone."

"They talked to everyone who was here Tuesday or Wednesday. They asked me if I knew him well. I told them the truth: I didn't like him and had as little to do with him as possible. I said I'd never spoken with him outside the department."

"Glad to hear that. I told them the same thing, so it's nice not to be the only one who admitted disliking and avoiding him."

After J.D. left Charlie booted his laptop and skimmed through his email. As usual most of it was spam but there was one from Marcela that he opened quickly.

"I couldn't believe it. I didn't like him, but shot? Do you know anything that wasn't in the _Times-Standard_? Wish I could make lunch at the Club today, but I've got rounds."

Charlie responded briefly and worked through his other emails. He then turned to a different task. Charlie had been coordinator of graduate studies for the department two years earlier and he'd recently found by accident that the access password for records still hadn't been changed. Changing it was a little complicated and Theresa, who'd taken over, wasn't too keen on computers. It was a simple matter, then, to print out a list of Barrett's supervisions as well as a list of the oral committees he served on as an examiner. Charlie looked over the lists, but nothing struck him as significant or interesting. Eventually he went to lunch. The Club table, as he'd expected, was abuzz about the killing, and because Charlie was in the department, silence fell as he sat down. Everyone looked at him expectantly.

"No, I don't know anything that wasn't in the _Times-Standard_. I told some of you about the smell in the hall yesterday but had no idea what it was."

"Wasn't Wilson the guy you had a lot of scenes with, Charlie?"

"Only a couple; we didn't like each other, and I had very little to do with him. And yes, the cops gave me a grilling. They also searched our house and the car for a gun if you can believe it."

When it was clear that Charlie had no more to offer, the conversation turned to how the administration would handle the matter. Nothing remotely as sensational had happened at Meredith since the suicide of a student more than two years earlier. The administration was all different now, with a new president having been appointed just the previous January. No one was optimistic, as the woman had so far displayed little leadership. No doubt her hope was that Barrett's killer was an intruder and had nothing to do with the university. Meredith then would look victimized rather than as harboring a killer.

When Charlie got home, Kate told him that Bolster had called not five minutes before and would call again in a half hour. They decided to wait for the call before doing anything about dinner, though Charlie insisted on pouring them both a glass of wine.

Charlie and Kate were staring at one another when the phone finally rang. It was Bolster, sounding surprisingly pleasant.

"Thank you for showing your safe-deposit box to detective DeVries, Dr. Douglas, but I have a couple of questions for you. They don't have anything to do with you, personally."

"Okay, go ahead."

"Have you any idea whether Dr. Wilson was involved with anyone?"

"I thought he had a partner; surely Shwayder or perhaps Rankin could tell you that?"

"Apparently not; that is, Dr. Wilson was living alone, and no one we've talked to, including Dr. Shwayder who seems to have been his closest colleague, knows if he was in a relationship. Previously he lived with a woman named Janet Milford. They were apparently together for about three years till he recently bought a house and moved."

"Last I heard he was living in an apartment on the water. Someone said he had a great view."

"He did live downtown before, but then he bought a large house just outside the city limits. That complicated things a bit because we had to get the sheriff out there to let us into the house. But let me get back to my questions. This next one may surprise you, but have you heard anything about Dr. Wilson using drugs?"

"Barrett? I doubt it, but I really don't know. No one's ever mentioned that to me."

"One last question; to your knowledge, did any issues ever arise about Dr. Wilson's credentials?"

What was this all about? First drugs, now doubts about Barrett's credentials?

"Not that I know of. Do you mean his degrees, or where he'd taught before?"

"Either or both."

"No, I don't recall anyone questioning his academic or employment background. I don't even know where Barrett taught before coming to Meredith. I was on sabbatical when he was hired and had nothing to do with the process. I do know he got his doctorate from Stanford. That was something he didn't let you forget."

Bolster thanked him and hung up and Charlie told Kate about Bolster's questions.

"Barrett doing drugs? I don't believe it."

"I don't either, but it might explain a lot."

Kate set about preparing dinner and Charlie opened a bottle of shiraz. Later, before dropping off, he wondered whether Barrett dabbling in drugs made any real difference to figuring out who'd shot him. But Barrett hadn't struck Charlie as someone who'd use drugs. Barrett was very big on clarity of thought and control, or maybe he only talked like that because he couldn't meet his own standards.

# Chapter Four

## The First Friday

Jean Grahame, Don Grahame's wife, had done a Master's degree with Charlie. She'd then gone on to medical school and was now well established as Kingsford's best dermatologist. Charlie and Kate occasionally had dinner with Don and Jean, but more often he saw her over lunch. Her schedule meant that he might get a call at ten-thirty or eleven for lunch at noon, but he always made time for her. The call on Friday came much earlier. Charlie had just arrived at his office and it was only nine-fifteen.

"Okay; I put off a meeting; we're having lunch."

With that she hung up and Charlie got busy with his email and his stubborn paper. When he got to the Club, Jean was at a table for two and half-way through a glass of wine.

"Fill me in. Did you finally shoot Wilson?"

"Don't joke like that; the cops actually searched my car, my house, my office, and even my safe-deposit box for a gun. Since then, they've learned I wasn't the only one that didn't like Barrett. Anyway, I don't know much at all. I just learned yesterday that he was living alone in a big house after giving up his apartment and his partner, unless she gave him up."

"You're trying to figure it out, aren't you? You read so many mysteries there's no way you wouldn't be. What have you learned? Tell me or I won't buy lunch."

"You never do! Anyway, I've learned almost nothing. Barrett must have done something that got him killed, but all I have reason to suspect is that Barrett may have dabbled in drugs."

"If you can keep your mouth shut, I'll pass on one little tidbit. I treated his partner, Janet Milford, for a rash a little over a year ago. It was all over her lower arms. I never did figure out what it was; she came to me late, when it'd become very itchy, and I just gave her some standard salve and didn't hear from her again. I didn't know who she was till she started going on about her partner, Barrett, being upset about the rash. I asked her if she meant Barrett Wilson and she nodded."

"Do you think Barrett did drugs?"

"No idea. I saw him occasionally at parties; he knew a friend of Don's. He never looked even remotely high on anything."

"You never mentioned that before. What was he like socially?"

"Boring. I only spoke to him for a few minute on occasion, and only when he was standing with Don. He seemed to be able to talk only about himself. Do you think it was a student? I can't see any of the department members knowing how to shoot a gun, never mind plugging someone."

"Student attitudes have changed a lot, but it's pushing it to think they're now ready to shoot a prof. Everybody's baffled. Barrett was a pain in the ass, but he was more a nuisance than a serious problem. All you had to do was avoid him. Of course, someone he was supervising couldn't avoid him and might well have been seriously pissed off."

"So, this was a bust. I thought you'd have a lot of good stuff. So, you buy lunch. You're as bad as Don; he didn't know anything either, not even about the move. By the way, no one came around to search our house."

"I think initially Bolster and DeVries, the two detectives, were overly impressed by the fact that I was in the department both on Tuesday and on Wednesday, when they found the body, and that he and I didn't get on. Yesterday they must have realized that several people disliked Barrett, so I faded into the background."

"Unless they only want you to think that."

"No, I really don't think they believe they can get more from me, not about the actual shooting. They might come back about the background to it."

"I gotta go. Keep me informed. Bye."

Jean was always on a tight schedule, and once she'd gone Charlie carried his coffee over to the Club table where several people were lingering. He was again asked about new developments, but the conversation soon returned to what they'd been talking about, which was the president's comments published that morning. Charlie hadn't looked at the paper. Apparently, the president had shuffled her vapid assurances yet again and told the _Times-Standard_ she had every confidence in the Kingsford police and was sure it was an intruder and nothing to do with Meredith as an institution. One less than diplomatic remark was about how the university relied on its alumni for generous funding and how regrettable it was that Barrett's death might upset them.

Back in his office, Charlie half-expected or half-hoped one or another student would come in about his course, but that didn't happen. He made a desultory attempt to work on his paper, but that came to nothing. He went for coffee about three-thirty and gave himself over to thinking about Barrett's death.

Clearly Barrett had done something to get himself killed. Barrett seemed to have been talking to someone in his office, apparently unsuspecting or at least underestimating that person's anger or resolve. What was odd was Barrett being in his office over the break. He had to have gone in to meet someone, and it probably was someone he didn't want at his house. That did make it look like it could have been a student, and since there was no way Barrett would meet with an undergraduate during the break, it had to be a grad if it was a student. Charlie got the lists out and went through them carefully. The next thing he did was something he should have done earlier, which was to check how many of the students listed were actually in residence. It was more or less the norm that people who finished their qualifying exams would leave campus and register part-time to save tuition.

Currently, Barrett had only two Ph.D supervisions and a solitary M.A. One of the Ph.Ds was nonresident and lived some eight-hundred miles away. As for students on whose committees Barrett served, there were four; all in residence. That was a total of six possibles, assuming the nonresident Ph.D hadn't been in Kingsford over the Christmas break.

Of the six possibles, Jennifer Pullen, the resident Ph.D, was the one Charlie had seen most often. Richard Dalton, the M.A. candidate, was older, having enrolled in the M.A. program after whatever he'd been doing since getting his B.A. Dalton had sat in on one of Charlie's courses on Foucault. He hadn't registered for the course, no doubt so Barrett wouldn't know he was taking it, but he'd made good contributions in the seminar and seemed to take the material seriously.

The students on whose committees Barrett served were Peter Burton, Jane Casagrande, Matt Richards, and John Wesley. Casagrande had not yet paid her Fall term fees, so it was possible she had dropped out of the program. That would make things a little simpler. Charlie turned to his laptop again and looked up Jane Casagrande. He learned that she had N.W. after each of the three courses she'd registered for the previous term, which meant she'd not written the exams or submitted term papers. That, together with the outstanding fees made it look as if there were only five possibles. A call to Phoebe confirmed that no one had heard from Casagrande for weeks before the break and certainly she'd not been in the department since the beginning of the Winter term. On the other hand, if she'd dropped the program because of a serious falling out with Barrett, she might have come to see him at the break.

But was his killer a student? One point in favor of it being a student was that all the grads had keys to the building, which would have been locked during the break. Of course, the point applied equally to colleagues. However, if whoever Barrett had met didn't have a key, Barrett would have had to wait for him or her at the building's main or side door.

One thing that seemed clear was that the murder wasn't the result of sudden rage. If Barrett had been beaten to a pulp, maybe, but whoever killed him had brought a gun to their meeting. Even in the most unlikely event that Barrett kept a gun in his office, the killer getting at it would have left traces of a struggle. Still mulling things over, Charlie went home and when he got there, he was met with a declaration.

"I want to go out tonight."

"It's Friday; all our favorite places will be jammed."

"They always have a table for us at Sandoval's"

"We were just there!"

"And your point is?"

"Okay, okay, but let's go early. We can go in a half-hour."

"That's when they open; I don't want to be there when they unlock the door. Call Derek and say we'll be there at six. I'm going to take a shower."

Charlie called and then sat down and let thoughts continue running through his mind. He was beginning to feel that Bolster asking about drugs was probably him just fishing. Charlie couldn't see how drugs fitted in, unless Bolster thought Barrett had been shot by his supplier for owing money or something. But that seemed strained, especially for Barrett to have met a drug supplier in his own office. No, the more Charlie thought about Barrett and drugs, the more out of line it seemed.

Sandoval's was already busy when they got there at six. Probably people wanting an early dinner before a show or party. Derek had saved their table and whisked off the reserved sign as they sat down. Charlie ordered a bottle of a New Zealand sauvignon blanc he liked and Kate thought too pricey. He then gave the menu his usual attention even though he knew it by heart. As usual, Derek had a special that was more interesting than the dishes listed, and both ordered it.

"You look, I don't know, kind of worked up. What's going on?"

"I've been thinking about Barrett's murder."

"Spare me; don't tell me you're really going to get into this."

"Not really; it's just that I got a list of the students working with Barrett. I think it'd be worth looking closely at those students. There are only six; well, five, really, since one seems to have taken off."

"Can you really picture a student shooting Barrett?"

"It seems unlikely, but it's not absurd."

"Charlie, might you be letting your dislike of Barrett color your thinking on this?"

"I'm trying not to. Do you think it's possible he was in his office for some reason and wasn't expecting anyone and somebody just walked in?"

"I've no idea. Was the door to Barrett's office locked when they found the body?"

"I don't know. Whoever shot him could just have closed it and it might have locked."

The department doors could be opened by turning the key to the right or to the left. If the key was turned to the right, the door opened but stayed locked and locked automatically when it was closed. If the key was turned to the left, the door opened and was unlocked and could be shut and reopened without a key. The new locks had been an attempt to cut down on theft when the university's insurance began to soar due to the number of computers that went missing. Most department members opened their doors by turning the key to the right, so they could go to the washroom or main office and lock their doors just by shutting them. Barrett almost certainly did the same.

"Let's forget about Barrett for a while. I want to know if you've thought about what you want to do about the condo."

"The Barrett thing has been a tremendous distraction, but you're right. There are things more important to us. Trouble is, I just can't make up my mind."

"I've been thinking hard about the money side. You know, we've always indulged ourselves; we've never saved in any serious way. The income from my copy-editing helps but it's sometimes sporadic. We really can't afford a condo in our neighborhood. There're only two things we can do without seriously changing our lifestyle. We could sell the house and buy a condo in another neighborhood, away from the lake, or sell the house and put the money in some kind of trust to pay the rent on a nice apartment in our own neighborhood."

Charlie began to feel hassled and was relieved when Derek turned up with their main courses. Derek poured more wine, then left, but it'd been enough to break the tension. Kate seemed to understand, and they talked about other things. They finished and Charlie offered dessert. Kate opted for a Spanish coffee and he finished the wine. Perhaps to draw things out both decided to have an espresso.

Later, as he was waiting for sleep, Charlie gave some thought to whether he might be putting himself in danger by talking to the students whose names he'd collected. The thing was, he didn't really believe any one of them had shot Barrett. Dalton; he'd start with Dalton.

# Chapter Five

## The First Weekend

Kate stood at the kitchen door. "What's our plan of action?"

"First, I finish my coffee; then you shower, then I shower. Then lunch."

"Uh, Charlie, a little seriousness here? There're things we need to get. We're out of bread and other stuff, I really need a new bathrobe, I have to get cash for the week, and most important, I've almost finished my mystery and must get another. As for lunch, where?"

"We haven't been to La Casa for a couple of weeks."

"Good; I'm going to shower."

When Kate finished, Charlie gave the water-heater a chance to recover and went to the phone.

"Yeah?"

"Theresa, ever try saying hello instead of barking at your caller?"

Theresa Bartolini was a tall, almost gangly woman somewhere over thirty and under fifty; it was hard to tell. She had a permanent grin that was rather at odds with her brusque way of speaking. She and Charlie had very different interests, often disagreed on departmental matters, but still managed to get on well. One of Theresa's achievements was an enviable closeness to students. She also had an uncanny ability to know what was going on in the department while spending the minimum possible time there.

"Two things; first, you still owe me a jar of your pesto for my sorting out your computer; second, heard anything new about Barrett?"

"Charlie, are you playing detective?"

"No, no. Kate's been after me about that, so save your breath. It's just that having avoided him all this time I now realize that I know damn all about him, and I'm curious, not just as to who shot him, but why."

"I know what you mean. I don't know a lot about him either. I met Janet Milford, his partner, or rather ex-partner. She seemed nice and is very attractive. I couldn't figure them together. Well, it didn't last. I think they lived in that apartment on the water for less than three years. Then all of a sudden, he gets a big house out of town and she moves out and buys a house in Coulton. I know a guy that lives in that same apartment building and knew Janet from the laundry-room. He said he thought she and Barrett had a real row before she left. Said he found her crying while her stuff was in the dryer."

"Coulton? Why would she go there?"

Coulton was not so much a town as a village of about fifteen-hundred people whose homes were clustered around two churches, a couple of diners, and a bunch of antique shops for the tourists. Coulton didn't even boast a movie theater because of its proximity to Kingsford, and the so-called town hall was a drab little house adjacent to one of the churches. It was inland, lacking a lake view, but only a fifteen-to-twenty-minute drive from Kingsford. Its main attraction was low house-prices plus students found cheap accommodations in the rooms a number of widows rented out. The presence of the widows, many of them widows of professors from Meredith, was due to how a house could be had in Coulton for less than half of what it would cost in Kingsford. Another attraction for the students was that one diner served a humongous breakfast for a magically attractive $2.99.

"Same reason others do. I don't think she had a lot of money. She has a job in the City Planner's office here, but I think she mostly coasted on Barrett's income while they were together. She probably saved enough to buy a house down there to give herself a little security."

"What about others Barrett saw outside the department?"

"You really think Barrett had friends? No, that's not fair. I did see him with a couple of people in a couple of lounges downtown. One was a younger, tough-looking guy that dressed pretty casually. The other was a woman, also younger than Barrett. She looked well-off, going by her clothes, and had great looking blonde hair, all done up in a French twist. Saw them at the Dog."

The Black Dog was a bar that called itself a lounge and was owned by an ex-mayor of Kingsford. It had good food at reasonable prices, though nothing more complicated than Reuben sandwiches and nacho platters. It was popular with Meredith faculty.

"Do you know any students he was particularly close to?"

"Ah, let's see. I saw him around campus with Rich Dalton several times, but Barrett is, er, was supervising him, so they weren't necessarily friends. Dalton's a bit older; I think he was in the army before starting his program."

"Dalton was in the army?"

"Yes; he went from university straight into the army, then signed up to do an M.A. when he got out. I heard that from a woman I know in the grad school administration. She told me over coffee that Dalton had an impressive military record and she couldn't figure why he wanted to do philosophy."

Charlie heard Kate bustling about. He thanked Theresa and said he had to go, that he'd talk to her later.

After some shopping, they went to La Casa. It served what Charlie thought of as faux Tex-Mex, a long way from Mexican food. However, the sous-chef, a former student of Charlie's and himself Salvadorian, was always happy to do something special for him and Kate. The chef, who was actually Greek, never worked Saturdays, which was why Charlie and Kate were regulars there for Saturday lunch. Today, Jane, a waiter Charlie and Kate knew nearly as well as Derek at Sandoval's, told them that the sous-chef would make green tamales for them. Both ordered the tamales and had a bottle of a Chilean generic red Charlie had discovered years before and which was surprisingly good for the price. After a pleasant lunch, Kate decided to have a DVD binge and Charlie took a nap. Dinner was light, given the size of the green tamales at lunch, and after, they both picked up their respective mysteries.

Sunday was overcast. Charlie woke up late, despite the previous day's nap, and scruffed around until noon. He did the _New York Times_ acrostic, which he got from the web and it was almost one when he showered. Kate hadn't gotten up until eleven and was still drinking coffee and reading the Sunday edition of the _Times-Standard_. In the shower Charlie decided to go into the department on the off-chance that Barrett's office might have been left unlocked. He was sure no one would be there on a Sunday afternoon. He'd go on his way to getting Thai take-out for a very late lunch.

The department was deserted. Barrett's door no longer had crime-scene tape on it, though Charlie could see the odd patch of adhesive where the tape had been. Obviously, the cops had finished with the office. Wishing he had a master key Charlie tried the knob and was delighted to find the door unlocked. As he'd hardly dared hoped, the cops, unfamiliar with the department locks, had likely just closed the door and not checked that it was locked. Charlie wasted no time slipping into the office.

Just as in books and movies, most of the surfaces had obvious traces of fingerprint powder; drawers in the desk had been left open; the cupboard was open. The desk drawers held the usual odds and ends: pencils, note-pads, papers, a filthy coffee-mug. One drawer, the sort that has bars to hang files from, was empty. Perhaps the cops had taken some files. The cupboard held a pair of snow-boots, a winter coat, and a rather nice-looking cardigan; nothing more. Barrett's monitor and printer perched on a small filing-cabinet, but no computer was in sight. Clearly the cops had been interested in whatever was on Barrett's hard-drive. Wall-mounted shelves held Barrett's books. Someone had obviously checked behind the books because many were down on their spines. The small filing cabinet had two drawers but only the top one held files. They were clearly labeled and pertained to Barrett's courses. Charlie looked through a couple or three at random. They each contained reading lists and notes, records of registrants, and copies of departmental grade-sheets. There was no file labeled Hot Clues and Charlie began to think his luck in finding the door unlocked was something less than that. He'd called in his order to the Thai place, and he had some twenty minutes to pick it up and get home before Kate would be suspicious.

Something about the files made Charlie pause. He then realized that one had a course number that didn't exist. The label read Philos. 110, but Barrett never taught introductory courses, and, in any case, there were only four: Philosophy 100 through 104. The folder held a single sheet of paper that appeared to be a reading list that puzzled Charlie because the books on it were a very odd assortment of classics in various areas, only one really having to do with philosophy. Eight books were listed: Thomas Aquinas' _Summa Theologica_ ; Cicero's _De Oratore_ ; Dante's _Divina Commedia_ ; Dioscorides' _De Materia Medica_ ; Erasmus' _Adagiorum Chiliades_ ; Seneca's _Opera_ , edited by Desiderius; Sun-tzu's _The Art of War_ ; and von Clausewitz' _Principles of War_. What course might Barrett give that would include a first-century CE treatment of medical questions and a sixth-century BCE treatment of military tactics? Strange, but Charlie was out of time; this would have to wait. He snapped a picture of the list with his iPhone and left.

That night Charlie puzzled over the book list. He'd not mentioned anything to Kate; his sleuthing was going to have to be done discreetly. He should have been thinking about the course he might or might not be starting the next day, but he never got beyond Barrett's book list before dropping off.

# Chapter Six

## The First Monday

Lunch on Monday was productive. Charlie had spent the morning getting himself together for that afternoon's possible course, but at lunch he'd talked about Barrett's murder. The Club table again demonstrated its advantages. A pathologist Charlie knew slightly said that a corpse would start to smell after some twenty-four to thirty-six hours in a room at sixty-to-sixty-five degrees. The usual temperature for most buildings on campus was sixty-two, but the heat would have been lowered for the holiday break, so Barrett's body had probably been in his office for more than a couple of days. That made it seem most likely that he was killed on New Year's Eve. The police would have more exact information, but Charlie was glad to have a rough idea for two reasons: the timing suggested that Barrett's killer was someone only willing to meet Barrett, or that Barrett was only willing to meet, when there was no one else around. It also seemed unlikely that Barrett had gone to his office for any other reason than to meet someone.

As he walked back to the department, Charlie was surprised to find himself nervous. He hadn't been nervous before a class in years. Part of it was that he didn't know if he had a class and another part was apprehension about lecturing to students whom he had to interest in the work of a thinker that no doubt they had been warned against. The main thing, though, was that he had to carry on as if the Barrett business had never happened.

The room assigned to him was in Trevor Hall, which boasted a small coffee shop on the first floor. That would make their halfway-point break more pleasant. Assuming anyone showed up.

Unable to decide whether to be a bit early or a bit late, Charlie dithered until he was a bit late. He reached Room 221 three or four minutes after the hour, braced himself, and walked in. He got a real shock. The small seminar room had a table in its center around which some twelve people could sit. Every seat was taken and there were several students standing at the back of the room. Charlie quickly realized some were there to check out the course and most of those wouldn't be staying, but he noticed that all but a couple of the students at the table had the assigned book. Students never bought a course-text unless they planned to take the course.

Charlie's surprise evidently showed because several of the students smiled and looked at one another. He immediately decided not to pretend.

"I didn't expect so many of you here; I thought at most five or six. In fact, we now have a bit of a problem. If you all stay, we'll need another room. Well, let me say a bit about the course and perhaps we won't have a numbers problem."

While the polite laughter died away Charlie decided to scrap his intended remarks, which had been aimed at a few students already familiar with Foucault. He was certain that with this many in the class, he had to begin further back than he'd planned. That wasn't a problem, though, as he'd just give his standard opening mini-lecture.

"Michel Foucault was an original thinker. He was also a thinker many or most of you won't have encountered because he worked in a tradition quite different from the one favored by the department. In fact, to some of my colleagues, Foucault didn't even do philosophy. They see him as a kind of social psychologist and intellectual historian. But familiar labels don't do Foucault justice. One of my favorite quotes is where he asks, in _The Use of Pleasure_ , what intellectual activity can consist in 'if not in the endeavor to think differently.' Unfortunately, too many academics only pay lip-service to thinking differently. Most are content to take part in established debates and focus on issues that have been thrashed out by other like-minded scholars."

Charlie talked for about twenty minutes, then gave the first reading assignment and let them go. He went directly to Amanda's office. Happily, she was in.

"Amanda, I've got some eighteen students in my course, when I expected five or six. I'm going to need another room, if they all stay."

"Charlie, Barrett's death has made a difference to several course enrollments. I'm going to have to work things out regarding rooms. You'll just have to cope for a little while."

"You're suggesting I've got a bunch of Barrett's students? I can't believe that; they'd be the last ones interested in doing a course on Foucault."

"No, it's more complicated. The students that would have been in Barrett's course have mostly been accommodated in Jack's, which met this morning. He had thirty in his class and so needs a larger room. The same has happened in one other graduate course. We'll sort out the room issue when things settle down."

Charlie called Kate and told her that he actually had quite a few more enrollees than he thought he might have. She congratulated him, then said:

"Before I forget, detective DeVries called you. She tried your office, but you must have been in class. She said she'd drop by around six but to call her at a number she left if you wouldn't be home for some reason."

When Charlie arrived home, it was just five o'clock. Kate offered him a glass of wine.

"No; I'll wait for dinner; I don't want to drink anything if DeVries is coming. Did she mention Bolster?"

"No, she didn't."

Charlie read for a bit but couldn't concentrate. When DeVries turned up she was alone and apologized for bothering them at home. It struck Charlie that she was acting almost as if she were either selling something or wanted to ask a favor. DeVries and Charlie sat down; Kate went for a bottle of wine and glasses. Charlie was curious to see if DeVries would ask to speak to him privately. She didn't. Kate returned with the wine and Charlie was a little surprised when DeVries accepted a glass. They talked about how the weather had suddenly turned colder for the compulsory few minutes before DeVries got to the point.

"Dr. Douglas?"

"Call me Charlie."

"Charlie, then. Dan and I, that is, detective Bolster and I, seem to have hit a brick wall. The forensics on Dr. Wilson's death were very straightforward but of no help to us. He was shot in his office; he wasn't moved. We found hundreds of prints and now have to go through the tedious business of excluding most or all. So far none of the prints we found have matched any in our database or others we have access to. There was nothing we found in the office that was of any use. Dr. Wilson's computer was password protected, but our technicians had no trouble accessing it. Unfortunately, he had only course stuff on the hard drive. There was nothing of a personal nature. Even his email program proved useless; he clearly deleted messages after he'd read them, or perhaps had another computer, though we didn't find one in his house. He was also knowledgeable enough to use a program that overwrites deleted files with zeroes. Dan and I think you may be able to help us. You might know students who worked with Dr. Wilson or knew him well. I'm sure that given the interest in your department in his death, it should be easy to get someone talking about Dr. Wilson. All you have to do is listen carefully."

Charlie wasn't surprised. This was partly why he planned to talk to Barrett's students. But now he was torn between telling DeVries about the oddness of the Philos. 110 course-folder and keeping his mouth shut because of what she would think about his going into Barrett's office. He opted for discretion. He couldn't help thinking, though, that Foucault would have liked his predicament. It was a perfect example of how his action, or non-action, would no doubt have unforeseen consequences.

"I can certainly talk to students who worked with Barrett. To be honest, I'd planned to do just that to satisfy my own curiosity. I'll be glad to pass on anything I learn."

When DeVries rose to leave Charlie got up and accompanied her to her car. As soon as they were through the front door and Kate was out of earshot, Charlie told DeVries some of what he'd been doing.

"Look, Kate's rather leery of my playing detective, but I've already looked up the students Barrett was either supervising or on whose committees he served. I'm going to speak to each of them, as casually as I can manage, to see if I can learn something. I did find out that one, Richard Dalton, was in the army before registering for his M.A. It probably means nothing, but it might."

"It could be important. This is just the sort of thing Dan and I would miss. If there is anything, please call one of us and don't ignore things you think trivial. Let us decide. What seems unimportant to you could be significant when we connect it to something else that we know."

DeVries wished him goodnight and drove off.

"Were you pumping her or the other way around?"

"No big deal; I just told her I'd learned one of Barrett's students was in the army."

Kate looked suspicious, but she didn't press him.

"So, what are you going to do about your course?"

"I actually haven't thought about it anymore. If they all stay, fine; if only a few do, fine. At least I can be pretty sure that some will stay, which means the course is on. Now, let's go to Sandoval's or somewhere else if you'd prefer."

As it turned out, Charlie later regretted adding that last bit. Kate wanted to go to a restaurant run by an Italian couple, Guido and Flavia Grimaldi. He was the chef and she waited on tables and did everything else. Grimaldi's was tiny. There were just two tables for four, four tables for two, and a small bar near the door with only four stools. Grimaldi's didn't take reservations, so there was always someone at the bar waiting for a table, usually sipping a glass of the overpriced house wine. The food was excellent, but Charlie always felt crowded. He and Kate usually went early or quite late. Turning up at seven o'clock was hopeless.

When Charlie and Kate got to Grimaldi's, a little later than was their custom, no tables were available but two stools at the bar were free. They perched on them and began their routine. Charlie complained about the house wine; Kate reminded him of the glories of the saltimbocca and the pesto linguini. The trouble was that Guido, Charlie didn't want to blame Flavia, not only overpriced the house wine, he charged outrageously for anything worth drinking. After several sticker-shock tabs, Charlie and Kate formed the habit of ordering glasses of the house red or white and having a good bottle when they got home. Charlie could live with the usual restaurant practice of doubling the price of a bottle, but he balked at tripling it and more.

Charlie and Kate had been at the bar for about twenty minutes, sipping frugally at the house red they'd ordered, when they saw a couple at one of the tables for two ask for their bill. When Charlie noticed them signaling to Flavia, he realized it was Jack Shwayder and an attractive woman. Flavia was busily serving desserts and espresso to a table for four and didn't notice she was being summoned. After a couple minutes Jack rose and waved at her. One of the people at the table she was serving gestured toward Jack and Flavia looked over, smiled, nodded, and continued serving the desserts and espresso. Jack accepted this for another minute or two and then harrumphed pointedly. Flavia nodded to him again, held up one finger, and disappeared into the kitchen. Charlie knew that doing so was not to get the bill because she kept them in a wallet she tucked into the pocket of her apron. Sure enough, when she emerged she was carrying another two espressos and took them to a table just behind Jack's. Charlie could see that Jack was beginning to get unreasonably angry. When Flavia finally gave Jack his bill, he took one look at it and asked in a loud voice why he was being charged an exorbitant amount for the wine he'd ordered. Flavia, having faced this problem many times before, grabbed a wine list from the bar and pointed at something while showing it to Jack.

"I didn't notice that outrageous price for a bottle of very ordinary Chianti; that's ridiculous, it's almost four times what it costs!"

With this Jack now held the attention of the other diners and Charlie noticed several sympathetic nods. Flavia, though, looked embarrassed. She said something to Jack and went into the kitchen. In a moment Guido was at Jack's table. They exchanged some quiet remarks, but body language made clear that both were angry. Finally, Jack gave Guido some money and rose to leave. Guido smiled vacantly around the room and returned to the kitchen. Jack's partner got up and they started out of the restaurant. When Jack was opposite Charlie on his way to the door, he stopped and glared at Charlie.

"Ah, Charlie Douglas. Celebrating Barrett's death?"

Jack's partner was as surprised as Charlie and Kate, and she began to tug on Jack's sleeve.

"I know you hated him and did everything you could to bring him down because you can't begin to understand his work. I suppose you're happy now."

Charlie stood and pushed his face very close to Jack's.

"And you must be happy now that you're the main asshole in the department."

Jack looked taken aback at the vitriol in Charlie's voice, made all the more effective by Charlie speaking at a conversational level. Jack's partner then pulled at him sharply and in a moment both were out the door. Flavia hurried from the kitchen and beckoned Charlie and Kate to the empty table while quickly resetting it. Kate, after a quick look around the restaurant at all the interested patrons, gave Flavia her best smile and sat down as if nothing had happened.

"I can't believe that jerk; I also can't believe the anger I felt toward him. I've had as little to do with Jack as with Barrett, but suddenly it was as if everything I felt toward Barrett was redirected at Jack. I was sympathetic to him when he was arguing about the Chianti; you know how I feel about Guido's wine prices. Then for him not only to make a scene but to talk to me like that?"

"Forget about it. How long has Grimaldi's been open?"

"About five years."

"Did you see Flavia's resigned look when Shwayder started in on her about the wine? Who knows how often that happens? The trouble is that Guido doesn't use an agent; he buys from a couple of local stores, so most customers know what their wines cost and that Guido multiplies that by three or four times."

"Well, Guido ought to get the message. Maybe something good will come out of Shwayder's boorish behavior."

Charlie realized that something else productive had come out of the unpleasantness: he'd seen that there was still another element in the recreation of the person that had been Barrett Wilson. It seemed Barrett had inspired genuine loyalty in some, and if he'd done that with Jack, he'd probably done it with a few of the grad students he'd dealt with. The other side of the coin was that Barrett might also have inspired real hatred.

"Who was the woman with Shwayder?"

"I don't know. I didn't really notice; too busy with him. I don't think I've seen her before. He certainly didn't seem interested in introducing us, and she seemed embarrassed by how he acted. Maybe he had more of the over-priced wine than he should have."

When they got home, Charlie went to brush his teeth. Later, in bed waiting for Kate, he reviewed what he'd gathered so far about Barrett. He tried to brush aside the dark presence of Foucault, who would describe what Charlie was piecing together as a new construction rather than a reconstruction. He tried to take it that what he'd learned really did describe Barrett Wilson as opposed to manufacturing an essentially new subject out of his own conjectures and other peoples" perceptions. So far, he had a man with two sides to him. On the one hand he was barely tolerated by some; on the other he seemed well-liked by others, or at least by Shwayder. As an academic he had been insufferable; socially he may have been congenial. Then Kate came out of the bathroom and Charlie forgot all about Barrett.

# Chapter Seven

## The Second Tuesday

A Freudian might explain Charlie's sleeping in on Tuesday as unconscious reluctance to take the next step in learning what he could about Barrett Wilson, but that wasn't the reason it was almost nine when Charlie staggered out of bed. It was nearly ten-thirty when he walked into the department. Charlie had only the one course in the second term, so he didn't need to be there, but he went in pretty much every week-day. Aside from his research, he felt an obligation to be available to students. As it was, there was a woman waiting for him wanting to talk about the course. Charlie was pretty sure she'd not been at the first meeting, something she confirmed as soon as they were in the office.

"I, like, wasn't at the first class, but a bud of mine said it looked like a cool course, so I, like, want to register. Is the text very expensive?"

"First of all, tell me what interests you in Foucault."

"I did a film course in which we read something by him. I'm doing an M.A. in film."

"A film course? What did you read?"

"Uh, actually it wasn't actually by Foucault, you know, it was, like, about him."

Charlie had had enough and told her there was a problem with the number of registrants and he wasn't any new ones. The moment she was out of the office he pulled out the departmental directory and tried Richard Dalton's home number. Voice-mail kicked in and Charlie hung up. He then tried the teaching-assistant office, asked for Dalton, and was told to "waidaminid."

"Richard? This is Dr. Douglas. I'd like to speak to you for a few minutes. When could you come up to my office?"

The T.A. offices were on the first floor and basement of the building, so if Dalton didn't have a class, he ought to be able to see Charlie in the next few minutes.

"Professor Douglas? I could come up now, if you want. I don't have a class till this afternoon."

Dalton appeared at Charlie's door and entered looking a little puzzled. Charlie was a bit surprised because Dalton looked disheveled and as if he hadn't slept.

"Richard, thanks for coming. Sit down. It may seem a little odd my wanting to speak with you, so I'll be candid. I'm rather disturbed to realize that I barely knew Barrett Wilson despite our having been colleagues for some years. I know he was your supervisor, and I assume you got to know him fairly well. I don't want to intrude, but I was hoping you might fill me in a little about what Barrett was all about, especially who he was outside the department. I'm sure you know that he and I had our differences, and now that he's dead, I'd like to better understand Barrett the man. I was shocked by his death, as we all were, and I don't like remembering him only as a kind of academic sparring partner."

To Charlie's astonishment, Dalton looked at him, not with puzzlement or even irritation, but with grief and tears in his eyes. A full minute passed before Dalton spoke, during which Charlie feared that he might just walk out.

"I, I think I understand. I know you two didn't get on, and I'm touched by your wanting to have a better picture of Barrett."

This response made Charlie cringe for his hypocrisy. The lame story he'd spun had not only been accepted, it had been appreciated. Dalton's next words made it clear that he wasn't really talking to Charlie; he was voicing his grief to a convenient listener.

"Barrett Wilson was everything I wanted to be in philosophy. He was very hard on me about my thesis, but I know it was to force me to do my best work. I tried to tell that to some of the other grads, but they didn't like him and wouldn't listen. Barrett was much more to me than just my supervisor. He was a model for me to emulate. I admired him tremendously. I can't believe he's dead. Every little while I think about something I need to tell him, and then realize again that he's gone."

"I'm sorry to put you in this position, Richard. I just wanted to know a little about him as a person, and I've obviously caused you pain."

"It's okay; actually, I'm glad you asked. I've been needing to tell someone how I feel. Around here everybody seems relieved he's gone or indifferent. I don't understand. He was murdered, but it's as if he just left for another job. I feel there should be real mourning. I can't handle everything going on just as before. Barrett is dead."

Dalton choked up and covered his face with his hands. Charlie was staggered by the deep emotion Dalton was showing. They must have been very close. Only that could explain the state Dalton was in and especially his willingness to talk like this on so flimsy a pretext as Charlie had provided. Could they possibly have been lovers? That would explain Dalton's emotional condition and it suddenly occurred to Charlie that it would also explain the departure of Barrett's female partner and Barrett's move from downtown to a more secluded location.

Charlie felt very uncomfortable thinking those thoughts and all he wanted now was to get rid of Dalton as gently as possible. Dalton was staring at the floor and wringing his hands.

"Richard, I don't know what to say, but you're clearly upset. Can I get you some water or a cup of coffee?"

"No, thank you; I'll be okay. Now I feel I'm imposing, but I really appreciate you listening to me. I needed to get this out and I couldn't before. There wasn't anyone who'd listen. Worse than that, I couldn't seem to start; do you know what I mean? It's as if I needed prompting to voice my grief."

This last made Charlie feel even guiltier and the two sat silent for several minutes before Dalton continued.

"I haven't answered your question. Barrett was quite different away from the department. He didn't have a lot of friends, but he had good times with those he did have. They weren't from the university. They didn't say much about their own lives, though, so I can't tell you much about them."

Charlie was working out how to prompt Dalton to say more about Barrett's friends when a knock on the door jolted him.

"Dr. Douglas?"

"Yes? Come in."

Jodie entered to hand Charlie a thick envelope. Dalton's back was to her, and by then he was more upright, so she didn't seem to notice anything odd and left immediately. The envelope contained some proofs Charlie had been waiting for, and he was delighted they'd arrived but irritated at the interruption. When he looked at Dalton, he knew he'd get no more. Dalton was collecting himself, no doubt embarrassed by his own candor.

"So, Barrett had a social life outside the department. I'm pleased to hear that. I regret having upset you, but I'm glad if it gave you an opportunity to get something off your chest. Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine. This was actually a help. Part of the awfulness of all of this is that I really can't let anyone know how I feel; they wouldn't understand. I hope you do."

"Don't give it a thought, Richard. We had a private conversation, period. If you want to talk some more, just find me, okay?"

Charlie meant it, and as Dalton left, he realized that he had a problem. He'd learned something that might be important to the investigation, but he couldn't violate Dalton's confidence, could he? Charlie stewed for a while and then worked out a compromise with himself. He would tell DeVries about Barrett's possible involvement with Dalton without saying how he'd come to that conjecture. He was sure DeVries wouldn't press him. He might find she had other sources for the same information. He'd call her later; first he wanted to find if there'd ever been a Philos. 110. Charlie got his coat and closed his office. Since finding Barrett's door unlocked, he'd begun double-checking that his was locked. It was nearly lunchtime, and he'd pop into the main office on his way to the Club.

"Jodie, I had a ditzy student in this morning asking about my course, but her standing is in doubt. She was finishing up a course for Barrett. What's going to be done about his courses? And while we're at it, do you know anything about a course numbered Philos. 110 that Barrett was thinking of giving, perhaps as a reading course?"

"I know who you mean; that's our dear Samantha. She's been nothing but trouble since she came. Anyway, Dr. Rankin is assigning Dr. Wilson's pending papers and marks to others. I still haven't been given a list or anything, but I think Dr. Shwayder got saddled with Samantha from the way he was talking to Dr. Rankin in her office this morning. I don't know anything about a Philos. 110. Let me just check the computer. No, there's no Philosophy 110 on the books for this term or next year or for previous years. Maybe Dr. Wilson never got around to proposing the course."

Happily, Jodie didn't ask why Charlie was interested. Now, as he walked to the Club, Charlie puzzled about the folder in Barrett's desk. Why did he have a folder for Philos. 110 and what surely was a very exotic reading list if he wasn't giving or going to give a course? The folder hadn't looked like one that had been sitting in Barrett's desk for some time. Suddenly Charlie found himself more intrigued by the folder than by Barrett possibly having been involved with Dalton. He was certain DeVries would be much more interested in the possible relationship than in the 110 folder, but to him it was the folder that posed the bigger question.

The Club table that day was a mixed blessing. There was a physicist whom Charlie liked and who had a sharp wit, but also an obnoxious economist with the sensitivity of a brick and an irritatingly loud, artificial laugh. Things looked up after he sat down, though, because Emma came in and sat next to him. Emma Leighton was a chemist who managed to combine a searing sexuality with great research success. Charlie had been astounded more than once at the amounts she casually mentioned when talking about her grants. He knew she was supporting five or six grad students. For a while Charlie was pleasantly distracted.

On his way back to the department Charlie was having second thoughts about talking to DeVries. Dalton hadn't said or implied anything about being Barrett's lover. Should he pass on what was only a suspicion based on no more than Dalton's emotional state? Perhaps he'd be better advised to wait until he talked to Barrett's other students.

Back in his office he retrieved the list and decided to next try Jennifer Pullen. He again called the T.A. office and asked for Jennifer. He got another "waidaminid."

"Yes? This is Jenn."

"Ms. Pullen, this is Dr. Douglas. I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes; there's something I'd like to discuss with you."

Charlie was sure that would puzzle her because, as far as he knew, they'd only exchanged pleasantries in the hall since she'd been in the department. In any case, she said she had a class but would drop by his office at four-thirty. That suited Charlie well enough and he spent the balance of the afternoon going over the proofs he'd received. In fact, he quite forgot she was coming and when she knocked on his door it took him a moment to pull himself away from the proofs and ask her in. She sat in the same chair Dalton had used, one of only two guest chairs in the office, and looked at him expectantly.

"Thanks for taking the time to see me. I'm going to be up front about this, and hope you'll respect my confidence. I'm assuming you knew Barrett Wilson fairly well, since he was your supervisor, and I'm trying to learn a little about him. The police have asked me a number of questions, quite ordinary things they clearly expected me to know about, and I didn't. I'm sure you're aware that he and I didn't agree on most things, and I feel rather embarrassed that I know almost nothing about the man. If you're willing, I very much would like to learn a little more about him as a person."

"Sure; I don't mind. Barrett Wilson was a shit. He was hopeless as a supervisor and barely competent as a teacher. He thought he made it up to us, well, to some of us, by having us over for free booze and a toke or five, but he didn't have a clue. I've been trying to figure out how to change my topic to get another supervisor, and I'm glad that now I won't have to. Wilson tried to dominate everyone, especially his students. He did it by showing he knew more than you and by playing head-games. The exception was Dalton; they seemed to get on fine. In fact, Dalton seemed to think very highly of him. Wilson was on Casagrande's committee, but he did nothing for her. She turned in two chapters of her thesis to him ages ago but never got anything back. I'm not even sure she's still enrolled. I mention her because I don't think Wilson likes, uh, liked women. He was glacial returning my stuff, and even more acid about it than to Casagrande. That's pretty much it."

"What about the social side? Were these gatherings you mentioned just for students, or did he invite some of his friends?"

"I went to some of his little parties at his apartment. I don't think he had any at his new house, at least not that I was invited to. Anyway, I only went because it'd be fatal not to, but I never enjoyed them. I can't handle more than a couple of glasses of wine or beer, and I'm not into pot or coke. I used to leave as early as I could. Why don't you talk to Rich Dalton? He really liked Wilson and Wilson treated him more like a friend than a student. I even thought, well, that's none of my business. As for friends, there was one guy who was there every time I went, and a blonde woman who was there once or twice. They were never introduced to me nor, I think, to anyone else. They were usually in another room where Wilson spent most of his time except when he was glad-handing the students and passing out drinks."

"I'm quite surprised Barrett allowed drugs at student parties."

"Well, the stuff was just there with the wine and beer and snacks. Wilson didn't, you know, offer it. No one overdid it, at least not while I was there, so I suppose it was safe enough to look the other way. In case you're wondering, I don't know if Wilson himself ever did a line or smoked a joint."

"If you don't mind my saying so, you seem angry."

"I'm angry because of the time I wasted on the thesis. I didn't get anywhere with Wilson, and now I need to start all over again with someone else. Anyway, I feel better having said all this. I hope it helped."

"Okay, I said I'd be upfront, so I'll tell you how it's helped. You've confirmed that there were two different sides to Barrett."

"Oh no; no, no. I thought that for a while: that there was the academic Wilson and the social Wilson. But that's a misimpression. There was just one Wilson, the shit. It's that he acted like he thought he should in the department, and like he thought he should outside it. See, it was always an act. You couldn't get behind the facades."

"Do you think Dalton got behind the facades?"

"I think so. What I was going to say before? Well, it's really just a guess and maybe a nasty one at that, but I thought Rich might be, you know, involved with Wilson. I really don't know, but I did think that was why Wilson and his partner split up."

"Jennifer, thank you. I really appreciate this, and I think what you said about Barrett not really having two sides is quite perceptive. Look, it's after five. Can I drop you somewhere? I put you out dragging you up here; the least I can do is give you a lift home or wherever you're going."

"Thanks, Dr. Douglas, but I've got my car here. While I'm at it, I'll tell you that I've heard really good things about you as a supervisor. If our interests were closer, I'd be working with you and wouldn't have gone near Wilson. I tried to read _The History of Sexuality_ after I heard you read a paper on Foucault at the colloquium, but I just couldn't get my head around what he was doing."

"Foucault was telling a different story about sexual behavior. He was doing so in order to show that we actually manufacture the sexual nature we think we discover and which we then believe defines who we are and what normal sexual behavior is."

Jennifer looked at Charlie and he could virtually see her thinking it through.

"So, he wasn't claiming he'd learned how things really are; he was telling a new history to demonstrate there could be different ones. I wish I'd seen that, and that I'd talked to you two years ago. I'm going to have to try Foucault again, and read one of your books. Anyway, I hope I was of some help and thanks for the offer of a lift."

Charlie went home and as he closed the front door of the house and hung up his coat Kate called from the kitchen.

"Detective DeVries called not five minutes ago."

"Did she want something in particular?"

"Just asked for you, and when I said you weren't home yet, she said she'd call back." Charlie opened a bottle of merlot and was just starting a serious debate about dinner when the phone rang.

"Dr. Douglas; Charlie, I wonder if you'd like to have a coffee with me sometime tomorrow morning. I could meet you at ten-thirty at that same shop if you're free."

They arranged to meet, and Charlie got back to the dinner debate. After he and Kate decided on staying home, Kate began on the tilapia she'd been thinking of preparing. The merlot wasn't right with fish, so Charlie opened a bottle of sauvignon blanc. It was more the wine than a conscious decision, but Charlie started telling Kate what he'd learned.

"I'm not playing amateur sleuth. I just did what I thought might help the cops, and also I admit to being very curious. So, tell me what you think; I'd really like your take before I talk to DeVries. I'll keep it short. First of all, I was puzzled by hearing different things about Barrett. Then I learned that he'd suddenly moved out of an attractive apartment and bought a house out of town, shedding his partner in the process. I've learned that Barrett had an odd reading list for a course that doesn't exist. I suspect Barrett was sexually involved with a male grad student. Another student he was supervising surprised me by suggesting at the same thing. She also dissipated my impression that Barrett had two different sides to him. She thinks that Barrett's department persona and his social persona where both fronts. Finally, Barrett supplied pot and coke at his parties, though it's up for grabs whether he used either himself."

"It seems Barrett was a bisexual social fraud who was soft on drugs and had a strange reading list."

"Right, but I don't know where the list fits in or what any of this has to do with his being murdered."

"Well, Charlie, the drugs could have involved some unsavory connections. As for the relationship, it could have prompted serious anger or jealousy on someone's part. But I don't see why you include the book list in all of this."

"It just bothers me. All I found was the fake course number and the list of book titles. The list bugs me because it bears no relation to Barrett's academic interests or expertise."

"Did you snoop in Barrett's office? How did you get in?"

"Are you getting clairvoyant? Okay, the door was unlocked and I had a quick look."

"I knew you'd get involved. Anyway, someone shot Barrett. Of what you've found out, the likely sexual relation with a student has to be the most important item. And it does explain the move out of town and his partner's sudden departure. The pot and cocaine seem less interesting; too common now. As for Barrett's different behavior in the department and with friends, that also seems unimportant. If I were you, I'd tell DeVries about the sexual thing and leave it at that. She and Bolster seem to be on to the drug thing. As for the list, I suspect it isn't important and is probably just distracting you."

"So, bottom line, what's most notable is that Barrett was likely sleeping with a male student?"

"Yes; that's my best shot. What about the student? I take it you met with him?"

"Richard Dalton. He was a wreck. I gave him some bullshit about wanting to form a better picture of Barrett and it was like opening the floodgates. He actually teared up."

Lying in bed before going to sleep Charlie thought Kate could be right. He'd tell DeVries about Barrett and Dalton and perhaps about Pullen's near-enough confirmation. The next thing was to talk to the students on whose committees Barrett had served.

# Chapter Eight

## The Second Wednesday

As Charlie made his way to meet DeVries he tried to organize his thoughts. He understood that she had a methodology in place, that she had framed questions to which she wanted answers of a certain kind. What she would find useful was determined by her expectations. Charlie was too Foucauldian to overlook that.

"Good morning."

Charlie was caught off guard; he'd entered the coffee-shop without realizing DeVries was just behind him. They took a table by the window and ordered coffee and Danish pastry.

"Do you mind if I ask a couple of questions before we get into it? From what you said the killing didn't involve a struggle, right?"

"No, no struggle. Dr. Wilson was shot once while he sat in his chair at his desk. There's no indication that he saw it coming, much less tried to defend himself."

"So, it wasn't murder in the heat of an angry or passionate exchange?"

"No; it seems to have been quite cold-blooded. From the angle of the bullet we're sure that his killer was seated across the desk from him. Why do you say passionate?"

"Okay, it seems Barrett was having a sexual relationship with one of the grad students he was supervising; a male student. It occurred to me while talking to the student in question, because of his reaction to Barrett's death. Then my impression was supported when another student Barrett was supervising expressed the same idea. Barrett gave up an attractive apartment on the water to move to that house and in the process broke up with his female partner. I think both the move and the breakup came about because of the relationship with the male student. The only other thing I have relates to the question I was asked about drugs. According to one student who attended his parties, Barrett made pot and cocaine available, though I have no indication he used them himself."

"Who was the student Dr. Wilson got involved with?"

"I guess I can't get coy at this point. It was Richard Dalton."

"This is all very interesting. The relationship ties up some loose ends. Of course, I can't tell you anything about an ongoing investigation, but I think I can say this much: the move and the departure of Ms. Milford did raise questions. Dan spoke to her about both, but she was very evasive. Now the breakup and move look understandable. As for drugs, we had nothing to go on when we asked you about them; it's just something we factor in automatically and it seems we were right to do so."

DeVries insisted on picking up the tab and they parted company at the door. Charlie had parked close by and was soon in his office. He checked his email and then got the department listing out again and looked up a number for Burton. He couldn't resort to the T.A. office this time because the department hadn't assigned teaching assisting to Burton. In any case, Charlie was reluctant to bring more students to his office whose connection to Barrett was only that he was on their committees. The phone would do.

Burton's number rang several times before going to voice-mail and Charlie hung up. He'd try again in a while and call Richards after lunch.

At ten to twelve Charlie tried Burton again with the same result, so he made his way to the Club for lunch. He was pleased to find at the Club table a woman he knew who was in Law. Christine West was a senior member of the law faculty. She had a good sense of humor and Charlie always enjoyed her presence at lunch. Today he'd take advantage of what she might know about the murder. After some chatter on how changes in student attitudes were lamented by anyone over forty and welcomed by anyone younger, Charlie asked Christine what she thought about Barrett's murder.

"I'll tell you this much, Charlie, the president is all over the police to solve this crime and to be sure to do so by finding a culprit who has nothing to do with the university. One of the V.P.s is pushing an itinerant hypothesis: some bum managing to get into the building when it was locked up and who just happened to have an expensive Glock nine-millimeter in his knapsack. Oops. Please, Charlie, you don't know about the gun, okay?"

The likelihood that Christine would let something slip inadvertently was vanishingly small, so Charlie assumed she'd told him what Barrett had been shot with because she either trusted his discretion or just didn't consider the matter worth hiding. Nonetheless, he was grateful for the information.

On his way back Charlie, whose knowledge about guns came entirely from the mysteries he read, thought that a Glock wasn't the sort of gun a student could afford to come by honestly. Did Dalton's military background make it likely that he'd own such a gun?

Once in his office, Charlie called Matt Richards, who answered after a couple of rings. Thinking that Jennifer might well have told others about their conversation, Charlie told Matt pretty much what he'd told her.

"I guess this is just between us, right? I understand you wanting to know more about Wilson, but believe me, you wouldn't have wanted any more to do with him. He was arrogant. He barely noticed me though he was supposed to be checking my work. Wilson never really listened and always seemed distracted when I went to see him. It'd be weeks before he returned anything I gave him, and then it was with nasty, unhelpful comments. Nothing positive. He offered no direction. I was getting no more than what my supervisor, Dr. Shwayder, provided. The trouble is that if you're interested in linguistics and logic, there really wasn't anybody else to have on your committee."

"Did you go to Barrett's parties and meet any of his friends?"

"I went to a couple; no, three. I didn't have a very good time. Wilson spent all his time with Dalton and this other guy who was there but wasn't introduced."

"I understand Barrett had no problem with people doing a little pot or coke?"

"Yeah; there was some available. Anyway, Wilson spent most of his time talking to Dalton and that other guy, oh, and a blonde who showed up at one of the parties I went to. We were in the living-room but Wilson and Dalton and whoever spent most of their time in his study. I don't know why Wilson gave those parties; he never talked to any of us, you know, except to say hello."

"Any idea who the other man was?"

"No; he never talked to any of us except Dalton. Does any of this give you a clearer picture like you wanted?"

"Yes, but it's made me curious about that other man."

"Dalton will know who he is, but I don't know if Rich's around. He was looking really down last time I saw him."

After Charlie thanked Richards and hung up he decided that if Burton or Wesley didn't know who the other guest was, he'd have to talk to Dalton again regardless of his reluctance to do so. Charlie tried Burton again, but he still wasn't answering. Charlie then tried John Wesley but again got no answer, so he went back to his proofs.

By four-thirty Charlie was ready to go home but tried Burton again. Just as he was about to hang up to avoid voice-mail Burton answered the phone. His hello sounded strangled.

"Peter? This is Dr. Douglas. Are you alright?"

"Uh, yeah" well, not really; I've got a rotten flu or something. I've been sleeping all day. Was that you that called earlier?"

"I did call earlier; sorry if I disturbed you. I wanted to talk to you for a minute or so, but you don't sound like you're up to that. Perhaps tomorrow?"

"No, it's okay. I'm feeling a little better than earlier. That's why I picked up the phone. What did you need?"

"Well, I've been trying to learn a little more about Barrett Wilson and have talked to people he was supervising and on whose committees he served. He was on yours, right?"

"Only on paper; I never spoke to him. Prof. Shwayder is my supervisor and Wilson was just a name on my committee list."

Charlie was interested that Barrett was always just Wilson to the students he'd spoken with except Dalton. Everyone else was Dr. This or Prof. That.

"I take it, then, that you didn't attend the parties Barrett had for students?"

"Never got asked. Besides, I heard from a couple of people they were downers. I don't think I would've gone."

"Alright, thank you, Peter; I won't bother you any more. Hope you feel better."

It seemed John Wesley was the last chance, and Charlie decided that while he was at it, he might as well try him.

The phone rang just once before Wesley picked up. He was probably expecting a call.

"John? This is Dr. Douglas. Sorry to bother you, but I think you may be able to help me. Do you have a minute?"

"Dr. Douglas? Yes. I'm expecting a call, though. I've got caller ID, so I can tell if a call's the one I'm waiting for. Is that okay? I'd have to put you on hold."

"This will only take a moment, but, yes, that's fine. I've spoken with the several students working closely with Barrett Wilson, trying to form a better picture of the man. You're the last on my list and I just have a couple of questions. Barrett was on your thesis committee; can you tell me anything about him as a person?"

"Not much. Wilson was very hard to get hold of and the few times we met he always seemed distracted and in a hurry."

"Did you go to any of the parties he had for students?"

"Just one. I'm afraid I didn't take to Wilson. I gave him two chapters of my thesis and never got them back and of course I won't now. What about the parties?"

"Well, a couple of people have mentioned that Barrett regularly had a friend there, but no one seems to know the friend. I'm just wondering if it's someone we should contact."

"Yeah, there was a guy there; he talked with Wilson and Rich Dalton in another room. I think Wilson called him Chet. I've no idea of his last name. What I do remember is his car; a really cool classic Corvette, a nineteen-seventies one. Somebody pointed it out to me as belonging to the guy. It was red and totally cherry; probably worth a mint."

"Interesting. Anyway, thanks for this information. I'm sorry I disturbed you."

A red Corvette of that vintage shouldn't be too hard to track down in Kingsford. And if the man's name was indeed Chet, or whatever that was short for, DeVries would at least have an initial along with the make of the car. He could, of course, still ask Dalton about the man, but Charlie really didn't want to talk to him again unless he had to.

Should he call DeVries now? She'd no doubt appreciate a head start on the search. What time was it? Still not quite five. He should give it a shot. After one or two rings Charlie found himself talking to a woman who rather stiltedly asked how she might help him. He asked for Detective DeVries.

"May I tell her your name and in what connection you are calling?"

"This is Dr. Douglas; it's about something we were discussing this morning."

That seemed to work because the woman asked him to wait without querying him further. He waited and waited. He was just about to hang up when the woman's voice said she was patching him through. As soon as he heard DeVries's voice he knew she was in a car.

"Detective DeVries, this is Charlie Douglas. I've got some information I thought you'd want as soon as possible."

"Yes, Dr. Douglas, uh, Charlie. What is it you've learned?"

"There's a man who regularly attended Barrett's parties for students. His name may be Chet; I don't have a last name. He drives a nineteen-seventies vintage red Chevrolet Corvette. No license-plate number, I'm afraid, but it shouldn't be hard to track down."

"This is interesting. I think I owe you several espressos. Thank you."

When Charlie got home, he decided to give up all pretense of innocence and over a glass of vinho verde he filled Kate in on what he'd learned. He was delighted to find that instead of being annoyed about his sleuthing she seemed intrigued.

"I take it you passed all of this on to DeVries?"

"I told her about Barrett and Dalton and about the drugs this morning, and I called her this evening about Barrett's perennial guest. What do you think about Christine telling me about the gun?"

"If it's as expensive as you say, it seems unlikely a student would get hold of one. Is that the kind of gun you could hang on to after military service?"

"My thought exactly, but I just don't believe Dalton did it. If it'd been a fight, maybe; but it sounds more like an execution."

"Well, forget it for now; I've got a couple of good steaks about ready. We're going to need a red, though. You know, Barrett's death seems to have upped our alcohol intake."

Charlie found a cabernet while Kate put the steaks on the table and they were just about to start when the doorbell rang. Muttering under his breath Charlie went to the door, expecting some intrusive canvasser or religious type. He was surprised to find Bolster and DeVries standing there.

"Dr. Douglas, we apologize for bothering you, but it's rather important."

By the time he'd delivered this somewhat alarming remark Bolster was in the hallway and DeVries was closing the door. Kate came to stand by Charlie and in a less than welcoming voice asked DeVries and Bolster to sit down. DeVries smiled at her and promised they wouldn't be long. When they were seated Bolster continued.

"Dr. Douglas, we're glad for the information you provided, but in a way, it has complicated things and forced us to disturb you. We're pretty sure we've tracked down the Corvette owner. Unfortunately, if he's the right person there may be a problem. What we need from you is any scrap of information you might have about this man, anything you thought too unimportant to tell Pam or maybe weren't sure enough about to mention. I'll have a picture tomorrow that we want you to look at to see if you recognize him. We also need to have the students who attended Dr. Wilson's parties look at the picture."

"I'll certainly look at the picture, but doubt I'll recognize the man. I'll be in my office by nine. As for anything I might not have mentioned, I told Detective DeVries everything I learned. None of the other students provided any information other than that Barrett always had this guy at his parties and spent most of the time talking to him and Richard Dalton. Oh, hang on; there was a reference to an unnamed blonde woman who was less frequently at the parties. You were right; I did miss that."

DeVries took over at that point.

"As I mentioned before, we can't talk about an ongoing investigation, but as a kind of low-key alert, we can tell you that if the person in question is who we think he is, a certain Chester McKay, Dr. Wilson was keeping dangerous company. I'm surprised an academic would even know this man. Basically, he is a mercenary and was once charged with carrying a concealed weapon. We want you to see his picture not just to check if you've seen him before, but to show you what he looks like in order for you to avoid him if he shows up at your department. Have you any idea of how Dr. Wilson might have come to know this man?"

"I have no idea."

After the detectives left Charlie and Kate went back to their dinner. As Kate nuked their plates, she expressed surprise Bolster and DeVries had been there less than ten minutes.

"Do you think Dalton was the connection? If he was in the army, he may have met this McKay and introduced him to Barrett."

After they finished dinner Charlie looked in the telephone directory and found there were only two Richard Daltons listed. He tried the one with an address closest to the university first, but it was the wrong one. He got Dalton at the second number.

"Richard, this is Dr. Douglas. Sorry to bother you at home, but after our conversation I thought you would appreciate knowing what I've just learned."

Dalton sounded as forlorn as he had when they'd spoken, but though he said it without enthusiasm, he told Charlie to go ahead.

"The two detectives investigating Barrett's death were just here. They've identified one of Barrett's friends as Chester McKay. You and others who attended the parties are going to be shown his picture to confirm his identity. I thought you'd like to know."

"Sure; I know Chet. Why are they interested in him? Did they say?"

"You know they only ask questions; they don't supply answers.

"Dr. Douglas, I really appreciate the heads up. I think it would have caught me off-guard. I don't know Chet very well; I only saw him at Barrett's, but it would have been strange to have the cops ask me about him."

"So, you didn't know McKay from before? Bolster or DeVries said he was in the military. I know you were, too, so I assumed you knew him and introduced him to Barrett."

"No; I met him at Barrett's."

"Well, I'll let you go. Try and get a good night's rest."

"I'll certainly try; thanks again for letting me know."

Charlie turned to Kate and told her Dalton had first met McKay at Barrett's.

"Do you think anyone's in danger?"

"Just because McKay's a mercenary, and just because so far he's the likeliest to own a Glock, doesn't mean he killed Barrett. He may be mourning him as hard as Dalton is. Maybe he and Barrett were lovers, too. Of course, that would make it more likely he did kill Barrett. Maybe Dalton was the other man? This is getting out of hand."

"What do you think a mercenary is doing in Kingsford?"

"Getting an advanced degree in Classics? How would I know?"

"Well, I suggest you give up your sleuthing. Look at the hassles I'd have selling the house and getting rid of your stuff if you went and got yourself killed."

"I hope that's just the wine talking."

After stashing the dishes in the washer and tidying up, Kate curled up with a crossword and Charlie sat with a book open on his lap but unread. For some reason the visit from the detectives had him expecting another, unlikely though that was. He had just begun to read when the phone rang.

"Dr. Douglas, Charlie; sorry; I keep forgetting. I apologize profusely for bothering you again, but we just received the fax we thought we wouldn't get until tomorrow. I'm just on my way home, and I thought if you were still up I could just zip by and show you the picture so you wouldn't have to bother about it tomorrow. Would that be okay? I promise I won't even go in; just a quick look."

"Actually, I've learned something since you were here, so, yes, come on by."

It was a little before ten when DeVries arrived. Charlie commiserated with her long hours and offered her a glass of wine. She declined and showed Charlie the picture. It was of a man in his late thirties or early forties who reminded Charlie of Steve McQueen, a long-dead movie star who usually played a tough guy.

"No; I've not seen him."

"Kate, how about you?"

"No, I've never seen him either."

"What I learned is that Richard Dalton, who enrolled in the program after being in the army, didn't know McKay prior to meeting him at Barrett's."

DeVries thanked Charlie for this nugget of information, apologized again for disturbing them, and left. Charlie spent an hour and a half reading then went to bed. His last waking thought was about how Bolster and DeVries' attitude seemed to have changed when they identified McKay. He hoped they weren't jumping to conclusions.

# Chapter Nine

## The Second Thursday

The way to do it was as straightforwardly as possible. At nine-fifty, when he knew either Phoebe or Jodie would be off to the cafeteria to bring back coffee and pastries for their ten o'clock break, Charlie went to the main office. Sure enough, Phoebe wasn't at her desk. He casually asked Jodie for the master key, saying he'd stupidly locked himself out when he went to the washroom and that his keys were on his desk. The gods smiled because the phone rang just then and Jodie handed over her key with a smile and picked up the phone. Charlie went to Barrett's office and opened the door, leaving it slightly ajar but still locked. He went to his own office, got his keys which he'd deliberately left on his desk, and went back to the main office. He returned the key to Jodie, who was still on the phone, giving her a smile and mouthing thanks.

On his way back down the hall he looked around, saw no one, and slipped into Barrett's office, carefully closing the door. The custodians made their rounds in the afternoon, so he had a bit of time. He scoured the office for anything relevant to the book list and the spurious Philos. 110. He found nothing. Charlie was surprised at how quick he'd been, spending just over ten minutes in Barrett's office. He went back to his own office still didn't see anyone in the hall.

Back in his office, Charlie read through the list again. What had Barrett been up to? He was going to have to do what he didn't want to do, which was speak again with Dalton. The place to start was by accessing the department course offerings to see what course listed Dalton as the teaching assistant.

It didn't take long for Charlie to learn Dalton was the teaching assistant. for the second term of Jack Shwayder's logic and linguistics course. The course had two lectures and one discussion period; the lectures were on Monday and Wednesday, and the class was then broken up into two groups, one of which met on Thursday afternoon, the other which met Friday morning. Dalton should be taking the first discussion group that afternoon at two-thirty. That meant he'd probably be in the teaching-assistant office till about two-fifteen and likely for a time after the class, allowing time for him to get to and return from the building in which the class was held. Charlie planned to be in the vicinity of the T.A. office at three-thirty in order to conveniently run into Dalton.

Lunchtime came and Charlie walked to the Club. On Thursdays and Fridays there was a buffet, and the Club tended to be more crowded than earlier in the week and by the time he got there the Club table was nearly full. He would like to have talked about Barrett's murder, but as he'd noticed before, after an initial flurry of interest the topic had been put aside. Today the conversation was mainly about a student street-party planned for that weekend. A previous one had been a disaster, with an overturned car, several fights, and hundreds of broken beer-bottles littering the two blocks where the party had taken place. Everyone at the table voiced an idea of how to better manage these affairs, most of which involved quite impossible corporeal punishment for the rowdiest of the students. The buffet, though, compensated for the inanities being voiced and Charlie ate more than he should have before making his way back to his office.

About two-thirty Charlie decided to call it a day and went online to see what the market was doing. He was so caught up in trading a couple of his tech stocks that it was well after three when he realized he had to be ready to run into Dalton. He packed his laptop and left the office hurriedly. He arrived at the T.A. office just before three-forty and wondered how best to set things up. He positioned himself in front of a washroom roughly halfway between the elevator and the T.A. office. His plan was to look as if he'd just come out of the washroom, but he got lucky. Jennifer Pullen came out of the T.A. office and walked toward him. Jennifer smiled at him; he smiled back and asked if Dalton was in the office.

"Rich? No, he's got a class that's over at three-thirty. He'll be coming in soon. He usually comes back to pick up his stuff."

"Does he often bring students with him to discuss the class?"

"No, none of them ever come this far after a class. They might trail after him out of Howell Hall, but they won't walk all the way over here."

Charlie was trying desperately to think of something to say to prolong the conversation, appreciating that if Dalton found him talking to Jennifer, his presence there would look more natural. He was just about to make some inane remark when Jennifer spoke.

"Oh, here's Rich now. Bye, Dr. Douglas; I have to get going."

Charlie doubted that Dalton would have heard this exchange, as he was still some twenty feet away, but he'd seen the two of them together so things had worked out just fine.

"Dr. Douglas, hello. Not often we see you down here."

"Just talking to Jennifer. And if you don't mind my saying so, you're looking much better than the last time I saw you."

"I'm feeling a bit better; I guess work is therapeutic, as they say."

"Did the detectives show you the picture of McKay?"

"Oh, yeah. The guy was here this morning showing it to everyone in the office. Only a couple of people who'd been to the parties recognized Chet."

"So, it was McKay?"

"Yes. What I wasn't sure about was why the detectives were so interested."

"Well, my understanding is that McKay was or is a mercenary, and that got their attention. They're still looking for the gun, and I guess mercenaries and guns go together."

"I guess so, though I'm pretty sure Chet is out of that game now. He never talked about his work. All he and Barrett talked about were books. I remember them coming close to a real argument about Hugh Thomas' _The Spanish Civil War_. Chet thought the book was great, but Barrett claimed it wasn't fair to Franco. I think Barrett was more right-wing than Chet."

"That's interesting because I'd wanted to ask you if Barrett had an interest in books outside his own discipline."

"Definitely. As I said, Barrett's conversations with Chet were mainly about books, and certainly not logic books. They mostly talked about rare books, you know, first editions and the like."

Barrett and McKay were interested in books, especially rare ones. That put the list in a new light. Charlie thanked Dalton and left.

When he got home, Kate was waiting just inside the door with her coat on. He knew well enough what that meant, shopping and an early dinner out. He put his laptop down on the nearest surface and went back out to the car. After Kate wandered through four shops and bought nothing, they decided to go somewhere a little different and Charlie suggested the grandiosely named Taj Mahal, the best of Kingsford's Indian restaurants. Over their curry Charlie filled her in on what he'd been up to that day.

"Dalton's revealed a lot, more or less inadvertently."

"Dalton saying Barrett and McKay talked and argued about books makes it look to me like the list of titles may be very important."

"Let's run through what you've got. First the facts: Barrett got killed; Barrett gave dubious parties; Barrett knew a guy who was or may still be a mercenary; Barrett provided students with pot and coke at his parties; Barrett knew McKay before Dalton met him; Barrett moved from his apartment to a house. Okay? Now the conjecture: Barrett was having a sexual affair with Dalton. That conjecture doesn't take us very far but it does explain why Barrett moved and broke up with his girlfriend. Did I miss anything?"

"No, but laid out like that it's not a lot."

Charlie and Kate finished dinner and went home. On the way they talked, not about Barrett's death, but about getting a serious estimate of what they could get for the townhouse. Charlie knew from the newspaper that the housing market had softened in recent months, but perhaps prices were perking up. Their townhouse, or what Kate insisted on more plainly calling a row-house, was small, but it certainly had location going for it. If a realtor thought they could get a lot for it, perhaps that would make up their minds about selling. When they got in Charlie checked his email while Kate changed. The phone rang.

"Charlie, it's me. I'm in a huge rush; I'm on my cell in the car. I'm just reminding you about my little affair tomorrow night. Come early, about seven-thirty, and you and Kate can have dessert with us before everyone comes for drinks. Okay; gotta go."

Other than his initial "hello," Charlie hadn't said a word; not unusual with phone calls from Marcela. He'd totally forgotten her invitation, having been distracted by the Barrett affair. Apparently, Barrett's death just the previous week hadn't stopped Marcela from going ahead with her plans. Of course, most of her guests would be from the medical side and wouldn't have known Barrett. She'd probably invited Theresa because she liked her, and Don Grahame would be there because Jean would be. He reminded Kate about the party and told her about going early. She said she hadn't forgotten.

After settling in with his latest mystery, Charlie's mind wandered back to Kate's summation of the little they knew and what they thought about Barrett. But none of it pointed toward a suspect. Then there was the nagging matter of that list of titles. The only connection so far was that Barrett and McKay talked about rare books, and the list certainly was one of rare books. A sexual connection was a credible motive for murder, but Dalton shooting Barrett? Why was that hard to take seriously? For one thing, Charlie couldn't believe that Dalton had only pretended to be upset by Barrett's death, and he'd been so forthcoming that Dalton apparently had nothing to hide.

"You're doing some virtual sleuthing, aren't you? You're sitting there staring at your book rather than reading it. You haven't turned a page in longer that it takes to read five or six. Come on, Charlie, give it a rest."

"I know, I know. I was actually thinking about how you summed things up. I just wish I had somewhere to go with what I know or think I know. I guess the main problem is that McKay and Dalton look like the only probable suspects. What about Janet Milford? Maybe she was pissed off by being dumped for a guy."

"You don't know she was dumped. Maybe she got fed up with him and initiated the breakup and that's why Barrett hit on his student. It doesn't have to be that the affair with Dalton came first."

"You know, one of the reasons I'm intrigued by Barrett's murder is that I'm thinking about writing it up, as a mystery story. Remember my efforts to write a novel? I think they failed because it was all spun out of thin air. Barrett's murder offers solid material."

Kate looked at him for a long time, and where he'd expected to see irritation in her eyes, he saw something else. He thought it was a combination of understanding and envy, though he was probably being fanciful. What she said next, though, told him he was more right than wrong.

"I wish I could say that. I thoroughly enjoy reading, but wouldn't it be something to write! I've never envied you your academic books because they're just out of my reach, but a mystery! That would be great."

Somehow the moment had a certain completeness, and Charlie didn't say anything. He stood, kissed Kate, and went to open a bottle of wine.

"This deserves a celebratory glass, don't you think? Maybe we could do a mystery together."

"You know, Charlie, one thing I wonder about is if Barrett did drugs himself. It's hard to imagine he just provided them along with drinks, don't you think?"

"I thought Bolster and DeVries had some evidence, and that was why they asked us about drugs, but DeVries brushed it off, saying that drugs are something they always factor in. Even if Barrett did use drugs, which I find hard to credit, what real difference would that make?"

"Charlie; think a minute. It'd have to do with how he got them. If he got more than a little for his parties, maybe he owed a bunch of money. Maybe he switched from one supplier to another and angered the first."

"Those are real possibilities, but I don't buy it that Barrett used drugs. And if he did, I find it even harder to believe that he used enough to owe a lot. I really think the drug thing is a non-issue. It was just Barrett trying to be cool."

"You're probably right; the drug thing may loom large because there's nothing else we know or can think of to explain why Barrett got himself shot. How about jealousy? What if Barrett did dump Milford for Dalton and she shot him?"

"That's a possibility, Kate, but it seems, I don't know, a little archaic: jealousy of that order. I'm not dismissing it, but it doesn't feel credible."

"Well, that's some progress."

"It is?"

"Sure, Charlie. The motive question is narrowed down in a way that makes it look like no one among the people closest to Barrett, at least those we know of, had a good enough motive to put a bullet in him. That would also explain why it happened at his office rather than at home; you know, that he was killed by someone he arranged to meet there and especially during the break."

"It does seem unlikely that Dalton or Milford would arrange to meet Barrett in his office in order to shoot him, or McKay, for that matter. I think Barrett met someone that he didn't want to be seen with or that didn't want to be seen with him. What better and more private place than his office in an empty department?"

"You know, that feels right. I think you should go with that until something else comes up, and focus on whom Barrett met and why that person wanted him dead."

Charlie and Kate read for a while and then he decided to check his email and have a look at his favorite finance site to see what they were saying about the next day's market. He'd bought a small oil-sands company on spec and was alert to the price of crude oil and related news. However, his in-box was empty and there was nothing of note about oil. He shut down his laptop and sat staring at the wall. He felt good about his conversation with Kate, but he realized that he'd done very little of a productive nature in the past week. He was finishing the proofs, yes, but that was a backward-looking task; it had to do with what he'd already written. What about this mystery idea? Should he just start in? He could write up what had happened so far, changing names, of course, and then see how things went. On the other hand, he could think seriously about another academic project. More on Foucault? He'd done a lot of that. Maybe the place to start was to email the editor who was waiting for his proofs and ask if she had any suggestions about a new topic he might work on. With that he went to brush his teeth.

Waiting for sleep Charlie tried to think some more about approaching his editor, but his mind kept slipping back to Barrett's murder. He wondered if there was any chance of meeting Chet McKay. Charlie would like to know how Barrett had met and apparently befriended someone with McKay's background. The fact that McKay had been or still was a mercenary made him an unlikely friend for Barrett. If McKay were a used-car salesman or a broker, it might still be odd, but being a mercenary wasn't just a career choice. It was first and foremost being a certain kind of person, one who would fight and kill for money. How had they first connected?

Sleep still didn't come. Charlie realized that by now it was almost certain that Bolster and DeVries had interviewed McKay. What did McKay have to do with that list of books? Another thing was that the list had been rather cunningly hidden in plain sight. It struck Charlie that if he'd wanted to hide a list like that, he'd have done what Barrett did: put it in a folder with a spurious and uninteresting sounding label like Philos. 110. And if Barrett had hidden the list, it was important. It could be the reason or part of the reason Barrett was killed. The list had to be important. As he dropped off to sleep, the question in Charlie's mind was whether to tell DeVries about the list or wait a bit to see how things developed.

# Chapter Ten

## The Second Friday

The first people Charlie saw on arriving at the department that morning were Bolster and DeVries. They both wore the deadpan faces they usually did, but he noticed a slight smile on DeVries' part when he got out of the elevator.

"Why are you two here? More trouble?"

"No. We were just letting Dr. Rankin know that, officially, Dr. Wilson's office is no longer considered a crime-scene. In any case, it looked to me as if people have been in and out of the office. The wastebasket's been emptied, shelves tidied, that sort of thing. Well, we have to get going."

Bolster hadn't said anything and now he merely gave Charlie a nod as he followed DeVries into the elevator. For a moment Charlie was tempted to stop them and tell them about the book list, but he refrained, feeling he needed to better sort things out before saying anything. As Charlie walked to his office, he noticed that the door to Barrett's office was open and that there was a tarp covering the desk. It looked like the custodial staff were going to repaint Barrett's office.

When he took a break from his proofs to go for some coffee Charlie saw one of the custodians in Barrett's office packing up his books. They would probably be stored in the basement until someone got around to disposing of them. That thought made Charlie realize that it had now been ten days since Barrett's corpse had been found and Charlie hadn't heard anything about Amanda's planned memorial service.

Returning from the cafeteria, Charlie stopped in Amanda's doorway, the door being again open when she was in.

"Amanda, I was just wondering about Barrett's memorial service."

Amanda may have been surprised that it was Charlie asking, but she gave no sign.

"Well, Barrett seems to have had no family. Someone thought he had a brother somewhere, but neither I nor the police have been able to track him down. Barrett's file is remarkably free of information about him other than his academic credentials. He wrote N.A. in the next-of-kin blank. I took not applicable to mean there's no one, but detective Bolster said people who've fallen out with relatives sometimes do that. After all, writing Not Applicable isn't the same as writing None. Anyway, we've not traced anyone. The body was officially released but no one's claimed it. It might fall on the university to bury him, sell his house, and deal with other details. He left no will, either, so I've no idea of what the university lawyers will do with the proceeds, though I'm sure they'll find some way to hang on to some or all of the money. Because of all that I've been slow about the service. I'm worried it'll be embarrassing if only a few from the department attend."

"What about Janet Milford?"

"Ah, yes. She didn't call, so I called her. She said she was not interested and pretty much hung up on me."

By lunch time Charlie was certain that he'd finish the proofs that afternoon. If he did so before five, he could get them couriered out today rather than Monday. He debated getting a sandwich and not taking the time to go to the Club but was sure he could finish in another couple of hours.

The Club table was crowded, as it always was on a Friday, but Charlie found a seat. After listening to a couple of jokes someone asked about Barrett's murder. The _Times-Standard_ coverage had pretty much run its course in two or three days for the simple reason that nothing of note had emerged since then. Charlie was quite sure that the police hadn't released word about McKay's profession and he wasn't about to blab. So he ducked the question and left the Club for his office earlier than he usually did.

"Hey, Charlie, cutting your two-hour lunch short?"

"I've got proofs to finish, J. D., but before I get back to them, I did want to ask something. Did those detectives show you the picture of that guy who was at Barrett's parties?"

"Sure, me and everybody else."

"They showed it to me, too, but did they say anything about the man, who he was or why they were interested in him?"

"No; they just showed the picture saying they needed to identify everyone who'd had anything to do with Wilson. They told me to call them if I saw the guy. I had the impression they were a little concerned about him, as if they knew something but weren't telling. Did they tell you anything more?"

Charlie was careful to stick reasonably close to the truth.

"They showed me the picture; I said I didn't know him. I think, though, that you're right about them being concerned about him. Well, I've got to finish those proofs."

Charlie went to his office thinking that Bolster and DeVries had made an exception in his case by telling him about McKay having been or maybe still being a mercenary. But if they'd told him to alert him, as they'd said, why hadn't they told others? He began to think they'd initially overreacted to the information.

At four Charlie finished the proofs, packaged them, and took the parcel to the main office. Jodie gave him the form for the courier service, scribbled in the department's account code, and initialed the form. Charlie would be charged later, but at least he got the university rate rather than having to pay the standard fare. Because the last departmental pick-up was at three and he'd missed it, Charlie walked over to the next building where the courier service had a kiosk in which packages could be left for the last campus pick-up at five. After feeding his package into the secure slot, Charlie returned to his office to lock up.

When he got home, Charlie found Kate in the predictable exercise of scouring her closet for something to wear to Marcela's get-together. She couldn't remember what she'd worn the last time she'd seen Marcela and was trying to figure out what she would most likely have chosen, in order to choose something else. She had four outfits laid out on the bed and Charlie decided to not intrude.

As he was getting dressed Kate proceeded with what he thought of as Phase Two of getting ready.

"Charlie, truthfully now, do I look too old for this dress?"

"I don't think so, I mean I really don't think so; I'm not just saying that."

"Oh, you are, but thank you. At least I still have good skin, though. Okay, I'll wear this or does my butt look too big in it?"

"You look good; all over. Really."

Happily, Kate didn't pursue it and Charlie finished changing without having to run another gauntlet. They were soon in the car and not much later arrived at Marcela Reilly's house. The house was a sprawling one and looked as comfortable as it was. They'd arrived early, as Marcela had suggested, and after putting their coats away sat at the dinner table to have the promised dessert. Marcela, whose metabolism seemed to run at twice the normal speed, kept three conversations going: one with Charlie about Barrett's murder, one with Kate about the wisdom of trading their townhouse for a condo, and a running battle with George, her husband, about a new roof.

"Charlie, I have to warn you; I've invited a couple of students who've TA'd for me. Oh, and Don and Jean are coming. Now, my specialty and some great Kona coffee that I acquired by devious means."

What Marcela put in front of Kate, Charlie, and George were plates with lemon squares sitting in the middle of beautifully done swirls of raspberry sauce and topped with impossibly thin intertwined tendrils of spun sugar. Charlie was afraid to touch his lest it dissolve. Kate began by picking the spun sugar tendrils with her fingers. George, apparently unimpressed, cut the lemon square in two with his fork and put half in his mouth. What impressed Charlie was that Marcela would have prepared the dishes in minutes while thinking of something else. The dessert wasn't her specialty, of course; she said that about everything she served. To top it off, she wasn't having any. The dessert disappeared in moments and the coffee was excellent. When they finished Marcela raced off to change. Had Charlie not known better, he would have expected George to go off to change, too, as he was wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and a sweatshirt bearing a logo Charlie didn't recognize. That was George's perennial costume, an outfit Charlie had once described as upscale homeless, a description that had earned him a little lecture from a woman at the Club table who thought it insensitive and offensive.

A few minutes later Marcela's guests began to arrive. As Charlie had anticipated, there were far more of them than she'd suggested and the living room and dining room were soon full. Drinks were passed around and Marcela started bringing out trays of tempting hors d'oeuvres. As he was loading his plate Don and Jean Grahame came up to him.

"Skip dinner, Charlie?"

"I gambled she'd have food tonight and won. These little sausage-rolls are delicious. And the salmon puffs. I can't believe she does all this. I'm certain a caterer delivers an hour before we get here."

After a little more chit-chat Charlie moved a little closer to Don and dropped his voice.

"Don, I was asking some people in the department if the detectives had shown them that picture of a guy who was at Barrett's parties. Did they show it to you?"

"Sure; I think they showed it to everyone."

"What I wanted to know is whether they said anything to you about the man."

"No, just asked if I recognized him. I said I didn't, they thanked me, and that was that. Why?"

"Well, when they showed me the picture they seemed, oh, a little alarmed."

Charlie debated telling Don what Bolster and DeVries had said but decided not to. In any case, Don was answering.

"I didn't get that impression. They just said they were trying to put a name to the face. I heard later that a couple or three of the students told them the guy's name is Chet."

Charlie decided not to pursue the matter and changed the subject to Don's plans to talk Jean into an expensive condo, a topic Don was more than ready to discuss. As he listened to the pros and cons he'd heard before and had considered himself, part of his mind reflected on what now seemed certain: Bolster and DeVries had told only Kate and him about McKay being a mercenary. Had they learned more about McKay that eased their initial concern or had they, as he thought, just initially overreacted?

"Don, I've been told a condo has all the disadvantages of a house and all the disadvantages of an apartment. Plus, you have to get yourself on the board or take whatever the board dishes out. Kate and I have been thinking about a condo ourselves, but I don't like the idea of being out a big chunk of money and still having to pay a maintenance fee plus a steep property tax."

"Yeah, we keep coming back to the cost, the taxes, and the monthly fee. It really is like paying rent, and ownership doesn't guarantee much. The board can make all kinds of decisions you'd have to go along with."

"Dr. Douglas?"

Charlie almost dropped his drink when he turned and saw who had just addressed him. The only difference between McKay in the flesh and his picture was that the slit of a mouth was now slightly curved in what passed for a smile. Don Grahame must also have recognized McKay from his picture because he stopped talking and lost the animated look he'd had on his face. McKay introduced himself and offered his hand.

"Dr. Douglas, I'm not staying long and I wonder if I could have a minute of your time?"

Don quickly turned and muttered something to Charlie about seeing him later. McKay and Charlie moved a little away from the table and as they did so Charlie caught a glimpse of Kate looking in his direction with a raised eyebrow.

"I came with Rich Dalton; I don't even know Dr. Reilly. My reason for crashing was that Rich thought you'd be here. I'm interested in doing some work in philosophy. I was going to do a course with Barrett, with Dr. Wilson, but of course I can't do that now. What I'd like to know is if you'd be willing to talk to me about a reading-course I might do with you."

"Are you going to register for the graduate program?"

"I did; the M.A. I did a little philosophy a long time ago, as part of my B.A. in history. "

"If you discussed doing a course with Barrett, you'll find that my approach is very different. I address philosophical issues from a different perspective than Barrett did. In epistemology, for example, Barrett would have had you read a contemporary like Dancy whereas I'd have you read an anti-epistemologist like Rorty."

"I expected that; Rich told me a little about what you do and I've just started one of your Foucault books, the introductory one. It's a side of philosophy I didn't know anything about. Would you at least discuss doing a course with me? I can come to your office whenever it's convenient."

"Okay, let's say Monday around ten or in the afternoon after my seminar, whichever you'd prefer."

They agreed to meet at ten and McKay left after saying something to Dalton. Charlie walked toward Kate who was already on her way to him.

"What was that all about? That was McKay, wasn't it?"

"It certainly was. That was quite a surprise. He came with Dalton. He wants to do a reading-course with me."

Kate looked skeptical.

"DeVries and Bolster warned us about McKay, didn't they?"

"I've been thinking about that. They don't seem to have warned anyone else; they just showed McKay's picture. I'm not sure why they told just us about McKay in that warning way, unless it was an initial overreaction."

Charlie's attention was then drawn by the front door opening and he saw Dalton leaving. When Marcela turned from closing the door Charlie was standing next to her.

"You losing guests this early? Didn't they like the food?"

"Don't think they got any with you all over it. You know Rich Dalton, don't you? He was my T.A. for a term. I think he just came as a courtesy; said something about having a lot of work to do. He brought someone I'd not met; Chet something. Said he came to see you. What about?"

"Chet McKay; he talked to me about a reading-course. He was going to do one with Barrett. First time I've spoken to him."

"Are you going to do it?"

"If things work out when we talk. Did you speak with him?"

"Oh, just hello and goodbye. I also reassured him that you were here, somewhere among the sausage rolls."

Charlie spent a pleasant hour talking to various people before he started looking to see if Kate was ready to go. When he caught Kate's eye, she gave him a slight nod and he found George and Marcela to say goodbye. He'd been careful to nurse just two glasses of wine and to intersperse them with coffee and some mineral water, so wasn't concerned about driving home. When they got back to the house Kate gave him just time enough to take off his coat and hang it up before demanding an in-depth account of his conversation with McKay. He repeated the gist of it, adding bits he recalled verbatim.

"And you're seeing him Monday morning?"

"Yes; at ten. I'm already disposed to do the course."

"Do you think it's safe? He could have killed Barrett; have you forgotten that?"

"No, not at all. In fact, I'm going to call DeVries and sort of clear it with her. I won't try to get her over the weekend, but I'll call her before I meet McKay. And don't worry; I'll be very careful with him, regardless of whether I do the course or not. He's a likely suspect, so I'm not about to tick him off. I'll also make sure that Jodie or Phoebe or both know about my meeting with him. Now, I was very abstemious at Marcela's; how about a glass of pinot noir?"

"No; I wasn't abstemious, and I ate too much; I'm going to have some chamomile."

Charlie poured himself a glass of wine and settled in with his book. Enough about Barrett. He was meeting McKay; he'd try to learn something while at it. Later, as was becoming standard, Charlie marshaled his thoughts before sleep.

Dalton had taken McKay to Marcela's party uninvited, so might know McKay better than he'd made out in describing Barrett's parties. Or maybe Barrett's death had brought them closer together. Still, for even a doctoral student to take an uninvited guest to a professor's party seemed a bit much. As for McKay's interest in philosophy, perhaps his connection to Barrett might have an innocent explanation. Just as Dalton had gone into philosophy after the military, McKay might be doing the same. Perhaps getting into the M.A. program had been the key to McKay's befriending Barrett. As he started to drop off Charlie wondered that if Barrett had had a sexual relationship with Dalton, he might also have had one with McKay. He recalled from Foucault's biographies that while monogamy is common among lesbians, it's not at all among gay men. Foucault had a long-standing partner but had delighted in anonymous sex in California's so-called leather bars. A three-way relationship would explain Barrett, Dalton, and McKay largely keeping to themselves at Barrett's parties. It certainly would explain Milford's departure.

# Chapter Eleven

## The Second Weekend

Kate surprised Charlie Saturday morning. After a leisurely breakfast and a short discussion of what they had to do and where they'd have lunch, she plopped herself opposite him in the living-room where he was working on the _New York Times_ Saturday puzzle, traditionally the toughest of the week. He was glad for the interruption because he wasn't doing well, but was almost shocked when Kate asked him where he was in his sleuthing. He didn't think she was baiting him; she seemed genuinely interested.

"Let me start with a small point. I still don't understand why Bolster and DeVries came that night and warned us about McKay being a mercenary and then seem to have dropped the subject when dealing with others in the department. As I've said, one answer is that they'd just learned what he was and overreacted. "

"I think you're right about the overreaction. I don't think there's more to it."

"Okay, you're probably right. Now we come to the heart of my thinking about the whole thing. Two points: first, that list of books; second, McKay wasn't just another guest at Barrett's parties. He seems to have had some sort of special relation with Barrett. Either they knew one another from before or were brought together by something. Okay so far?"

"Yes. It could be that book list was what brought them together."

"So, you agree the list is important?"

"I think I do. I don't think Bolster and DeVries would see it that way, but I'm pretty sure you're right and it's important. But in connection with the list, you are going to tell DeVries about speaking McKay about a course, right?"

"Yes. I'm going to call her after I meet with him."

"Since you think Barrett and Dalton were involved, do you think McKay might have made it a threesome or maybe was himself involved with Barrett?"

"I wondered about that. A gay student I supervised a few years ago told me there's something called gaydar. He said one gay always recognizes another, but it doesn't seem to work for straights. When I talked to McKay at Marcela's I couldn't tell if he's gay."

"Oh, Charlie, it's worse than that. You flirted like crazy with that friend of Jean's, I think her name was Amber, and Jean told me Amber was the best example she'd ever seen of how being lesbian might be genetic. I never told you this, but she came on to me, and I know she came on to Jean when they first met. I guess it's easier to tell with men. I wish I'd talked to McKay myself."

"Oh? Now you're an expert while I bumble around hitting on lesbians?"

"Well, I just think I could do better than you, that's all."

"Okay, let's say for the moment that Barrett and Dalton were involved but not McKay." We still don't know how they met. That's important. If rare books were a common interest, then the whole thing makes better sense. There are people who are buddies because they collect swizzle-sticks. "

"Well, on the threesome theory, McKay may have killed Barrett because something went wrong. On the just-friends theory, McKay may have killed Barrett because of a problem with their common interest. You might find out something on Monday that would let us drop at least one theory."

"Us? You didn't want me sleuthing. Now were both sleuthing?"

"Well, I'm just intrigued, okay?"

"McKay's interest in philosophy may be genuine. That would make his connection to Barrett look more innocent. I can't imagine McKay shooting Barrett over an argument about the law of excluded middle. But if I learn that his interest is slight or feigned, and that he's trying to learn something from me, that would make him a likelier suspect."

"Are you going to try all of this out on DeVries?"

"I don't think so; I'll just tell her about the meeting. Is there another theory we need to consider?"

"We can't ignore the it-was-some-other-dude theory. What about talking with Milford?"

"That'd be great, but I haven't a clue how I'd do it."

"She lives in Coulton, right?"

Kate got up and went upstairs. Charlie assumed she'd gone to the bathroom so returned to his puzzle. After a few minutes he heard Kate's voice upstairs, and in another minute she was back down.

"We'll see her at two, then we'll get a very late lunch."

"See who, Milford? What've you done now?"

"I got her number online and called her. I asked if she could talk to us and invited her to lunch, but she said she'd rather we went to her house. We've got time to get ready and get to Coulton if we start now."

With that Kate went upstairs and Charlie heard the shower. He was a little dazed but realized he was looking forward to meeting and talking with Janet Milford.

The drive to Coulton took nearly thirty minutes due to an accident about half-way. Charlie fumed as the long line of cars ahead not only fought to get into the clear lane but slowed to gawk as they passed the accident scene. Eventually they found Milford's house.

The woman who opened the door would have been stunning if she'd taken a little care. This was someone Barrett would want to be seen with, regardless of his orientation, but Milford seemed to be trying hard for frumpy. She was wearing shapeless and too-large men's sweatshirt and sweatpants, but it wasn't just her clothing or the smears of brown paint that distracted from her lovely facial structure and cheekbones. Her posture was a disaster. She wasn't tall, but stood as if ashamed of her height, shoulders slumped forward, back bent, and head bowed forward. She smiled pleasantly enough, though.

"You must be Kate and Charlie. Come in. I apologize for the mess but I'm still working on the house. I got it cheap and now I know why. Come in."

She'd obviously done the living room first because it looked refinished and freshly painted. The furnishing was sparse but there was nothing missing. Kate and Charlie sat on a long sofa along the wall and Milford took an easy chair at an angle to them. She offered coffee, which they declined. Instead of making small talk, Milford just looked at them expectantly and Kate sailed right into a story she'd clearly prepared on the ride down.

"Janet, we're both sorry to impose on you, but it has to do with Barrett's death. The two detectives heading the investigation thought that maybe Charlie had something to do with it because he and Barrett didn't get on. They searched our house. We're concerned that the police may still have suspicions about Charlie, so we need to know more."

"How does learning about Barrett help resolve doubts the police might have?"

"The thing is, Charlie helped them identify a man named Chet McKay, but wasn't able to tell them anything more. If Charlie could fill out the picture a little, especially about how Barrett knew McKay, that would help a lot."

Charlie wasn't sure Milford bought Kate's story, but he had to give Kate credit for coming up with it. It was clear from what Milford said next, though, that she wanted to talk.

"Right, good old Chet. Barrett Wilson treated me very badly and I don't mind telling you what I can. Detectives Bolster and DeVries showed up here with the sheriff. I found Bolster pushy and offensive, so I pretty much clammed up. What I'll tell you is that I found out Barrett was sleeping with someone else, a man. He didn't deny it and even seemed rather relieved I'd found out. I knew there was no future with him anyway, but you know how it is, once we were living together, I worked at it."

Kate and Charlie wisely kept quiet and Milford continued, evidently needing no prompting.

"I'd saved some money while living with Barrett and decided I wanted my own place instead of another apartment. Houses here are a lot less than in Kingsford and I found this one right away. It was vacant, so no waiting; I only spent a few days in a motel."

"Was the other man McKay?"

"Chet? No, he's definitely not gay or AC-DC. It was worse than that. Barrett was sleeping with one of his students, Richard Dalton. What bothered me about Chet is that he's a real user."

"How'd he and Barrett meet? We heard McKay was a mercenary and it seems unlikely he'd become buddies with an academic."

"They went back a way. I got most of this just from hearing them talk. Chet's interested in military history and in philosophy. He met Barrett years ago when he sat in on a Summer course Barrett gave at some community college. That was before Barrett got the job here. Chet obviously schmoozed in with Barrett. When Chet turned up here, he was always around the apartment and went to all of Barrett's damn parties. All I ever did at those parties was lay out snacks and drinks and then go into the bedroom to read."

Charlie couldn't help speaking up because he was afraid Kate might not think to ask.

"Were McKay and Dalton close friends?"

"Not really, at least not on Chet's part, but Rich had done military service and was very impressed with Chet. He hung on every word out of that user's mouth."

"How did McKay use Barrett?"

"Well, it wasn't money, as you might think. Chet has plenty of money. He used Barrett, I don't know how to put it, for legitimacy? It was like he went around with Barrett the way I now realize Barrett went around with me. Chet wore Barrett like a badge that marked him as an intellectual, just like Barrett wore me like a badge that marked him as hetero.

"So, you think Barrett was interested in men all along?"

"I didn't think so before but I do now. Frankly, he was a lousy lover."

"Regardless of what McKay felt, do you think Barrett was interested in him?"

"No; I really don't think so. It seemed to me that aside from their stupid book discussions, which at least were genuine; everything else with them was pretend. Chet's voice and manner actually changed when he was around Barrett. He spoke more slowly, as if everything he said had been thought through very carefully. I thought it was so phony, but Barrett didn't see it. Actually, I think Barrett got off on having this hard case as a friend. Maybe they were using each other. Look, I don't know if I've helped, but I don't want to talk about them any more. Unless you'd like some coffee now, I'd really like to get back to my painting. I want to finish the stairs today."

Charlie and Kate thanked Milford and promptly left. Both were silent in the car until they were on the main road back to Kingsford.

"What'd you think?"

"I'm not sure, except it looks like the threesome theory is a nonstarter. What did you think of Milford?"

Kate pondered for a moment.

"I thought she wanted to get a lot off her chest. I was surprised at how she looked. She's beautiful, but it's as if she's trying to cover it up. I didn't expect her to dress up for our visit, but the sweats were a bit much and she slouched around like she was our age."

"Hey, speak for yourself. I thought she wanted to talk, too. What she said made it clear she doesn't like McKay and is bitter about how Barrett treated her. That puts her back in the suspect group as far as I'm concerned."

"There has to be more. She and Barrett lived together a good while and I thought what she said about working at the relationship was genuine. She obviously resented McKay and I understood what she was saying about him using Barrett and Barrett using her. I sympathize with her. It must be harder to lose a man to another man than to another woman."

"You don't think she'd have had doubts early on? I mean, they obviously slept together when living in that apartment. Wouldn't she be able to tell Barrett had, ah, other interests?"

"Maybe; no, probably not. She'd just have written him off as she said, a lousy lover. Few men are good lovers, you know, regardless of how hetero they may be."

"Okay, okay, let's not pursue that one."

"Maybe Dalton was Barrett's first homosexual adventure. If she said she was working at it, their relationship mightn't have been too good and driven Barrett to admit something he'd been denying or just to experiment. Do you think Bolster and DeVries would have dug up previous relationships Barrett had with other men?"

"Maybe, but I doubt they'd tell us."

"Probably wouldn't, but I just thought of something else. If Milford's right about McKay being a user, has it occurred to you that he might see you as a replacement for Barrett?"

"No, but you're right."

Their late lunch was pleasant and they had the restaurant to themselves. They tacitly agreed not to talk about Barrett or McKay or Milford, and Kate was magnanimous in not bringing up the condo. Instead they talked about a trip to New York for a theater binge. That night Charlie thought that when he called DeVries on Monday after meeting with McKay he'd have to tell her about Milford.

Charlie spent Sunday morning reading and preparing for the next day's class. Preparing was made difficult by thinking about seeing McKay the next day. He was willing to work with McKay, if he thought his interest was genuine. But if McKay's interest seemed feigned, he could well be looking for a Barrett replacement or be up to something more sinister.

Kate decided she didn't want to go out for lunch so Charlie cooked up an omelet stuffed with just about everything he found in the refrigerator. After lunch Charlie was feeling more relaxed about both the class and McKay and got into his new mystery. That night he alternated between thinking about the next day's class and his meeting with McKay. When he finally fell asleep Charlie dreamed he was listening to McKay lecture his class on Foucault.

# Chapter Twelve

## The Second Monday

Charlie was at the department by nine. He set up his laptop and then went to get coffee and a Danish. He was back by quarter after. He checked his email, deleting spam and answering messages. McKay was precisely on time. Charlie invited him to sit down.

"We should start with some basics. You want to do a reading course, in what area?"

"I want to start with epistemology."

"Have you done any reading in epistemology before now?"

"Not really. I got interested in it when I read a book on the sociology of knowledge. I'm intrigued by the idea that our assessments of situations are determined by historical factors, that there's no objective truth to be learned. I read military history and have puzzled how different authors can present the same campaigns as successes and failures."

"So, you moved into philosophy because of questions about historical veracity."

"Pretty much. Barrett thought I was going down some slippery slope into postmodern relativism. Frankly, I'd come to have reservations about doing epistemology with him because he seemed unwilling to even consider that perspective is all-important in doing history. We had a lot of arguments about that. I was always defending authors who tried to give a fresh look at a particular campaign or war, and he was always defending authors he thought got it right."

Charlie was impressed with what McKay said, and thought it interesting that his concern with epistemology was basically the same as Foucault's. It must be interesting, if disturbing, for someone who's taken part in a successful or failed campaign, even as a mercenary, to find it represented differently by the media or some scholar. McKay's interest seemed a legitimate spur to doing some philosophy. He didn't think McKay would find the answers he sought, but he was sure he could help McKay to a better understanding of how perceptions and assessments are shaped by influences that are usually invisible to those they affect.

"That makes me wonder why you approached Barrett about the course."

"First of all, I knew him before either of us came to Kingsford, and it wasn't just me going to him. After one argument he said I argued like a philosopher and that I should think about enrolling for graduate work. He knew I had time and wasn't hurting for money. I didn't take it too seriously at the time but thought more about it later. I went to the administration people in the graduate school and found out what I needed to do. I told Barrett and he helped me with my application."

"I think this might work. I'll draw up a reading list. You come back Friday at this same time. Feel free to bring a list of books that interest you. Then we'll put something together. The way I do reading-courses is that I give you some titles to read and we meet once a week for an hour or so and discuss the readings. When you finish the assigned readings, you do a term paper. I'll give you a mark based on the term paper. If that sounds okay to you, I'll see you Friday."

Since that was all they had to talk about, Charlie thought he'd take a small chance.

"Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?"

"There is just one thing I suppose I should mention. I know you had your differences with Barrett, but I hope that my friendship with him isn't going to be a problem. As far as philosophy goes, I don't know enough for him to have influenced me much at all. As for the personal side, we were friends, but I don't think there's anything about that side of things that will get in the way of my working with you."

"Chet, if I may call you Chet, nothing to do between Barrett and me will get in our way in the academic context. What you've said so far has impressed me regarding your motivation and interest, and Barrett just doesn't figure in any of that. If you ever feel there's a problem, please be frank with me."

McKay thanked Charlie and got up to go, saying he'd be back on Friday. After he left, Charlie pondered for a few minutes and decided that not only was McKay's interest genuine, but there was more to the man than he'd thought. Charlie was surprised to see it was after eleven and thought he'd just have time to check his email before lunch but on impulse, Charlie called DeVries.

"My meeting with Chet McKay went well and I'm going to do the course with him. He impressed me, and I confirmed that he and Barrett met before either came to Kingsford. The only thing a bit out of the ordinary, though to be expected, was that he said he hoped his friendship with Barrett wouldn't be a problem between us. Of course, I reassured him it wouldn't."

"Well, maybe you'll learn something later."

"Right, but if you've got a minute, I'd like to quickly review what I've put together: Barrett and McKay met when McKay sat in on a course Barrett gave at a community college. Barrett then came to Meredith and rented that apartment on the water. Somewhere along the line Barrett got involved with Milford and she moved in with him. Then McKay turned up in Kingsford. Milford, from what she said, resented McKay. Barrett had parties for some students and McKay seems to have been a permanent fixture at the parties. From what I know about his status in the department, Dalton comes into the picture some time after Milford and McKay. Things go along for some months, then things change radically, and I think this is the right order: Barrett comes out of the closet or gets converted or is seduced or whatever and gets sexually involved with Dalton. I don't know what McKay thought about that, but Milford isn't having any of it. She moves out and buys a house in Coulton. Barrett, perhaps worrying about being too visible in his downtown apartment, also moves out and buys a house, but he can afford one in Kingsford. Then the holiday break comes along, Barrett meets someone in his office, and gets himself shot. Okay so far?"

"Yes; Dan or I could have given you the same summary. You've learned some details we didn't have, and we know a number of things you don't, but we're on the same page."

"Well, if we are, then you and Bolster have the same problem I have, which is that there are four possibilities: Milford shot Barrett for betraying her; Dalton shot Barrett because of some tiff; McKay shot Barrett for some reason; or someone we don't know about shot Barrett. Milford's motive looks the most straightforward. Dalton's is not only less clear, I for one don't see him as a killer. McKay's motive remains a mystery, as does that of the possible someone else."

"Top marks, Charlie, but let me ask you this: is there anyone in the department, faculty or student, you think might be the killer? The reason I ask has to do with access to Dr. Wilson's office when the building was locked. Otherwise, it looks as if Dr. Wilson had to let his killer into the building."

"Yes; what also strongly suggests Barrett let someone in is that it's very unlikely he'd go to his office during the break for any other reason than to meet someone. McKay would need to be let in, unless Barrett gave him a key to the building. You might ask if Barrett got an extra key; we're all given only one."

"We did ask; he didn't get an extra key. But he could have had one made. Some locksmiths aren't fussy about Do Not Copy keys."

"As far as the department goes, I can't think of anyone, faculty or student, who'd shoot Barrett. I might consider someone getting into a fight with him and inadvertently killing him, you know, he hits his head on a desk or something, but I really can't see anyone cold-bloodedly shooting him. What about Milford?"

"We did consider Ms. Milford, but we don't think she could have done it. I shouldn't be giving you specifics, but the medical examiner believes Dr. Wilson was killed some forty-eight hours before you noticed the smell on Tuesday. That means he was killed on Sunday, the thirty-first, probably in mid or late afternoon. Ms. Milford's neighbors vouch for her having been hard at work in her house during the critical time. She would have had to drive up from Coulton and then drive back, and we accept what the neighbors say because she apparently made a nuisance of herself on New Year's Eve borrowing a ladder and various other tools from them. "

"So, it's McKay, Dalton, or A. N. Other. Does McKay have an alibi for that afternoon?"

"No. He says on Sunday he slept in and had a late lunch in his apartment. He didn't see anyone until he went out in the evening to a New Year's Eve party. Mr. McKay lives in a studio apartment and the apartment is next to one that's empty, so his nearest neighbor is a well down the hall. No one on his floor saw him that day."

"What about the mercenary angle?"

"He was in campaigns mostly in Africa. He also several times worked as a weapons or tactics instructor. He's now been in Kingsford nearly a year, though, apparently not doing much at all."

"How did he get started as a mercenary?"

"Mr. McKay went to Africa with a buddy not six weeks after getting his B.A. He was trained by a legendary old Cuban who made a reputation for himself in Angola. He's thirty-eight, so has been a gun for hire for a good while. His work for his B.A. focused on military history and one of his old professors expected him to go for a commission in the armed forces. Instead he went right to whatever hot-spot there was at the time."

Later, in his class, Charlie wasn't sure but he thought that there were more students in the room than there had been the previous Monday. His initial reaction was to feel pleased at their interest, but then he thought of the work involved. The department fielded seven or eight courses graduate courses each year; the M.A.s had to do six half-courses and a short thesis for their degree, and the Ph.D students four half-courses and a substantial dissertation. The group of students Charlie was facing was out of line with usual enrollments. He'd expected that given the topic, he'd probably draw five or six but and had been somewhat concerned he wouldn't draw any. Now he was looking at reading and marking more than fifteen papers and meeting with several students each week to follow up on discussions.

"All right, it seems that everyone's come back after last week's meeting and perhaps a couple are here for the first time. I'd like a show of hands of how many are just sitting in."

No one raised a hand.

"Okay, let's have a show of hands of those here for the first time."

Two hands went up.

"How many of you have actually registered for the course?"

Charlie counted fifteen hands.

"I see. Well, here's the acid test. How many of you have bought the text for the course?"

The same fifteen hands went up.

"I'm rather surprised. Given the analytic tradition of this department, I'd really like to hear from one or more of you why you've chosen to do a course on Foucault."

Several students put up their hands and Charlie nodded at a woman he thought had been first.

"I've studied Quine and Strawson, Davidson and Kripke, Dennett and Searle, but I know nothing about Continental philosophy. When I tell friends from other departments that I'm doing philosophy they ask me what I think of Foucault or Gadamer or Derrida and I have to admit I've not read them. The closest I got was a critical article Searle did on Derrida."

Charlie noted the nods of agreement from others. He called on another student who'd raised his hand.

"Everybody I talk to outside this department asks me about Foucault and Rorty when I say I'm in philosophy, and I've never yet been assigned anything by either of them."

There were more nods.

"Okay, I get the picture, so here's how we'll proceed. You can all stay, but we'll go with just a term-paper. I won't be marking weekly discussion notes. For your part, you come to class prepared: you read the assignment and prepare comments for discussion. Everybody understand? Any questions?"

There were no questions and the mood seemed right to just start in.

"Perhaps the place to start is with what I mentioned last week: Foucault's question about the point of intellectual activity and his belief that it must be to learn how to think differently. That captures something essential to his thought. We have to start with the idea that his objective was to push the limits of human reflection as far as he could, to bring novelty to philosophy and other intellectual pursuits."

Before he realized it, Charlie had spoken for some forty minutes. He caught himself and explained that since they'd not done any reading, there was little point in attempting a productive discussion. He assigned the reading for the next meeting and let them go.

Charlie and Kate went to Sandoval's. When they got to the restaurant Derek wasn't there and they were served by Jackie, a pleasant woman, but one who didn't know Charlie's various preferences the way Derek did. She brought him butter with the bread-basket and he had to ask for olive oil and Kate had to remind him to tell Jackie that he wanted his fish cooked through. Then Jackie was slow in bringing an ice-bucket for the New Zealand sauvignon-blanc Charlie had ordered, explaining she'd assumed they wouldn't want it too cold. Charlie liked his whites well-chilled and didn't like being second-guessed.

Kate listened avidly while Charlie related everything McKay and DeVries had said. He also told her a little about the class. Kate focused on DeVries remarks.

"What it comes to is that they don't have a suspect."

"They don't. McKay was obviously of interest initially, but I don't think they've found a motive or reason to focus on him, other than his being a mercenary. Milford had the likeliest motive, but Bolster and DeVries think her alibi is good. One scenario is a tryst between McKay and Milford, her establishing an alibi and he shooting Barrett, but I've seen no reason to tie McKay and Milford together like that."

"I just don't know. I've had second thoughts about her. It's a little odd that she was so ready to talk to us. I called her on the spur of the moment. Maybe she did just want to talk and we provided an opportunity."

When Charlie and Kate got home both headed for their respective current books. As Charlie read his, he began thinking that real sleuthing wasn't as much fun as in the mysteries he read. Somehow, Rendell's Wexford and James' Dalgliesh had the sort of conversation he'd had with DeVries but came away from them with new ideas; Parker's Spenser and Sandford's Davenport didn't have a lot of conversations but got results from rattling cages. All he'd gotten from talking to DeVries was the feeling that she and Bolster didn't have a clue, literally, as to who'd shot Barrett. Maybe, like in so many mystery books, somebody else would get killed and connections would emerge.

"Charlie, you're just staring at that book."

"Oh, I know; I was just thinking that trying to make some headway on Barrett's murder isn't at all like the cases I read about. Bolster and DeVries seem to be at a dead-end and I can't think of anything that might help. And you know, Barrett's death is sort of receding; it's more like an academic problem now than a practical one. It's sad that his being gone doesn't seem to matter much. So far Dalton's the only one I've spoken to who is grieving for Barrett. Shwayder was nasty about his death, but I don't think it was because of feeling a great loss. I expected McKay to express some regret, but his only references to Barrett were about the course and how he hoped their friendship wouldn't mess things up with me. And of course, Milford is probably glad he's dead. Unless something else happens that's clearly connected to his murder, the whole thing might just fade away."

"What else do you think could happen?"

"I'm not serious, but it occurred to me someone else might get killed and then Bolster and DeVries would find a connection between the two murders and come up with a suspect."

"That's awful!"

"I know; it's just that in all my mysteries there never seems to be just one murder."

"Well, let's hope this isn't like your mysteries. Anyway, I'm going to bed."

"I'll be up shortly; I want to watch the late news."

As usual, the news was doctored more to entertain than to inform. Charlie stood it until the first commercial and then turned it off. Not yet ready for bed, he sat down and wrote up notes on what he'd learned so far about Barrett's death. He kept things brief and was struck by how little it came to. No wonder Bolster and DeVries weren't getting anywhere; he doubted they had much more. One thing that struck Charlie was that Barrett's life before his appointment to the department at Meredith remained vague. Charlie booted up his laptop and Googled Barrett. Aside from his relatively few publications and previous jobs, there were few hits and nothing noteworthy. Likely Barrett had been careful about personal information, just as Charlie was and most people he knew were.

Shutting down the laptop Charlie let his mind wander, hoping something might come to him. After a while he found that the only thing that kept coming up was that list of books. It then struck Charlie that there was one thing the titles had in common: with the exception of von Clausewitz' book, they were all very old and would be valuable. As for the _Principles of War_ , a signed copy could be worth a lot. Maybe that's what linked Barrett and McKay; maybe they had some collectible and no doubt costly books.

Thinking he should have done so before, Charlie booted the laptop again and searched for one of the titles he remembered from the list, Thomas Aquinas' _Summa Theologica_. Most of the entries he found had to do with the book's contents and importance, but he came across one that listed an edition to be auctioned by Christie's. The estimated range for a successful bid, converted from pounds sterling, ran from $114,940 to $164,200 dollars. That convinced Charlie he was onto something. He had to check the other titles.

Barrett and McKay had talked a lot about books. Charlie initially thought that had to do with their respective interests, but now it looked as if they'd had a common interest: valuable editions. Therefore, Barrett's meeting with someone over the break and his murder probably had to do with the books on the list rather than something about Barrett himself. Barrett's getting shot, then, meant that McKay too was in danger, unless he was himself the killer.

It now seemed fairly likely that neither Dalton nor any other student were involved with Barrett's death. The killer was someone who'd been dealing with Barrett or with Barrett and McKay. Tomorrow Charlie would call DeVries and tell her about the list. He had little doubt he now had a handle on what had happened. And it most likely wasn't over.

The adrenaline-surge caused by the realization about the list suddenly wore off and Charlie decided to go to bed. He'd search the internet for the rest of the books tomorrow. As he was dropping off to sleep, Charlie thought that the most probable scenario was that whoever had killed Barrett would be on to McKay next. Bolster and DeVries needed to keep a close eye on McKay. He'd call DeVries first thing in the morning. That was more important than looking up the value of the other books.

# Chapter Thirteen

## The Third Tuesday

Charlie awoke still with the urgency he'd felt last night, but it was just seven in the morning. Too early to call DeVries. He got up, showered and shaved and, as more often than not, decided he'd have breakfast at the department. He got there at eight-thirty. Jodie and Phoebe were just arriving. He went for coffee and a Danish and back in his office he called DeVries. She wasn't in, but he was assured she'd call back as soon as she could.

Charlie started going through the list of books and looking them up on the internet. Many of the entries had to do with everything but price, given that these were books rarely available other than in contemporary editions. Christie's website, though, had six original editions of the eight books listed for auction in the next few months. He decided for consistency to use only Christie's prices and worry about the Sun-tzu and von Clausewitz volumes later. All of the amounts were given in pounds sterling and in dollars. The _Summa_ , as he'd seen the night before, was estimated to go for $114,940 to $164, 200, in dollars. Cicero's _Oratore_ , Dante's _Comedy_ , Erasmus' _Adagiorum Chiliades_ , and Seneca's _Opera_ were estimated at very similar amounts. Dioscorides' _De Materia_ was the most impressive, estimated at eighty to a hundred-and-twenty thousand pounds or $131,360 to $197,040. What it came to was that ignoring the Sun-tzu and von Clausewitz titles for the moment, sale of the other six books could fetch from four-hundred-thirty thousand to six-hundred-twenty thousand pounds, or from $706,060 to $1,018,040 dollars. Sun-tzu's _The Art of War_ and von Clausewitz' _Principles of War_ could add another $200,000 or more to those totals.

Charlie had no idea of how many of the titles listed Barrett and McKay might actually have had, but the figures for even one would justify a couple of murders to some individuals. It occurred to Charlie that eight books wouldn't make up too burdensome a package and wouldn't be hard to hide.

It was not until eleven-forty-five that DeVries returned his call.

"Charlie. Sorry to be so late getting back to you but something's happened and Dan and I have been very busy. Even now I'm just taking a minute to call in case you have some information we can use. I'm afraid we're at Mr. McKay's apartment. He was killed last night. His weekly cleaner found him this morning and called us."

Charlie was speechless for a moment then pulled himself together. As succinctly as he could, he told DeVries that he'd anticipated McKay's being in danger. He then gave her his reason for thinking so by telling her about what he'd learned that morning about the books' value. When he finished there was a long silence, then DeVries spoke:

"I wish we'd put all of this together earlier. Mr. McKay was shot in his apartment. No one saw or heard anything, but it's obvious he let someone in last evening. There were two half-filled glasses of wine on the table and other indications of a visitor. The apartment was ransacked, but whoever did it was careful not to make much noise. Prior to a post-mortem the medical examiner is being cagey, as usual, but his best guess is that Mr. McKay was killed between eleven last night and one this morning. What you've told me clarifies things regarding motive, for both Mr. McKay's and Dr. Wilson's murders, but it means there's another player we know nothing about. We're pretty clearly not looking for an irate student as the killer. This is something more complicated."

With that DeVries rang off. Charlie didn't know what to think or do and stared at the wall. Eventually he realized there was nothing he could do and decided to go off for what was now a late lunch. Perhaps talking to people would make him feel better.

Rod Weber, an English professor whose opinions Charlie valued, was at the Club table at lunch. Rod was a very big man and took the chair at one end of the table whenever he could. That's where he was now. Charlie took a seat to his right and laid out his idea about the books.

"That's interesting. It makes more sense than the alternatives I've heard. I didn't know Wilson; I've heard from others he was a pain in the ass, but a lot of academics are like that and no one shoots them. Collectible books could certainly provide a motive, and if he and this McKay had some, we'd be talking about serious money. It wouldn't just be the age of the editions. Some might be signed or annotated and be worth more than the figures you mentioned. Now, what does a fish say when it swims into a wall?"

"Okay, what?"

"Dam!"

Charlie groaned and they slipped into telling jokes. At four-thirty Charlie went home. Feeling a little guilty for not having called her earlier, he told Kate what had happened to McKay and about his internet search.

"It looks like Barrett wasn't killed for personal reasons, but now it's anybody's guess who the murderer might be. The cops have been trying to find someone who had reason to kill Barrett; now they'll have to admit there's no tie between Barrett and the killer other than what Barrett and McKay had. That explains why McKay's apartment was ransacked. Barrett's office was no doubt also searched, but carefully. A box of books would have been pretty evident; in that office. "

"But Charlie, how would Barrett get hold of a hoard of valuable books?"

"From McKay. I think they were trying to sell them, though McKay was almost certainly the one that acquired them. He seems to have known Barrett well enough to go to him for help in disposing of the books. That makes the best sense of Barrett's involvement. I can't imagine Barrett himself stealing the books."

"I think you're right, but let's go get some dinner. We can talk then."

Charlie and Kate would be late to dinner. Just as he was opening the front door Bolster and DeVries pulled up in front of the house.

"Charlie, Ms. Douglas, we're sorry to intrude but we need to review a couple of things with you. Ms. Douglas, I assume Charlie's told you that Mr. McKay has been killed?"

"Yes; but do sit down. Would you like some coffee?"

"No, thanks; we won't be that long."

Bolster and DeVries sat down and Charlie and Kate followed suit. Bolster spoke first.

"What we wanted to ask was whether when you both spoke with Janet Milford did you get a look at the inside of her house?"

"We went into the living room; that's it. She said she was working on the house, but she clearly finished the living room first. The little entry-hall was fine, too, except empty."

Kate added a point:

"As we were leaving, I caught a glimpse down the hallway; there were boxes piled against one wall, but that's all I noticed."

DeVries took over.

"Did you get any feeling that she was reluctant to let you into the house?"

"No; not at all. She invited us right in."

"One last thing. I take it neither of you have been in Dr. Wilson's house?"

"No; I've never been in either his house or apartment. I told you I'd never seen Barrett socially."

"No; I was never in the house or the apartment either."

"Barrett's house was searched, wasn't it?"

"Yes, we searched it but it'd been searched very thoroughly before. Whoever did it even smashed into two walls that looked as if they might have had some space behind them."

Charlie blurted out:

"The killer was looking for the books! And now you think Milford might have them."

"It is a possibility."

"If you don't mind, I have two suggestions. This is something I might be able to do on the internet, given time and luck, but you no doubt can do it much faster and are privy to information I wouldn't get: find out if there's been a major theft of rare books from somewhere, or perhaps a couple or three such thefts or mysterious disappearances. If Barrett and McKay had rare books that prompted their murder, the books had to come from somewhere. I'll email you the list first thing. The second thing, which I can't do, is contact Christie's and similar houses to see if Barrett's and McKay's names turn up."

"Those are excellent suggestions, Dr. Douglas. Thank you. Now, we've taken enough of your time. Thank you, and Charlie, don't hesitate to call if something else occurs to you."

All four went out together to their respective cars. Bolster and DeVries were parked right in front of the house, but Charlie and Kate had a long block to walk.

"Did you notice they didn't ask where you were in the wee hours of this morning?"

"Actually, I did. I was expecting them to ask and I'm glad they didn't. I doubt it's confidence in me, though. Likelier it's that neither thinks I could take on McKay and win."

"Sounds like he had a glass of wine with his killer."

"I'm not so sure. Consider this: McKay is in league with Barrett about the books. Barrett gets shot. McKay knows he's at risk and he surely had some idea of from whom. It's not likely that he'd that person into his apartment and offer a glass of wine. Also, he'd have been ready and I doubt he'd be easy to take down if he was prepared."

"What do you think happened?"

"Okay, here are two scenarios: in one, McKay has a visitor, they have wine, and the visitor leaves, then the killer shows up. In another, someone McKay doesn't suspect visits him, they have a glass of wine, and the visitor surprises and shoots McKay."

"I see what you mean, Charlie. I like the second scenario. Could it have been Milford?"

"She might have dropped in on some pretext and then shot him, though I don't think she's up to that. Maybe the first scenario is the better one. One thing that occurs to me is that it was a risky time to shoot McKay. Most of the people in the apartment house would be home and someone would hear the shot or shots."

"Suppose he used one of those suppressor things?"

"A silencer? The scary part about that is that if the killer used a silencer, then we're talking about a professional. But we probably are anyway. Don't forget it had to be someone who could feel confident about taking on McKay. Suppose it was another mercenary. Suppose McKay had help getting the books before he approached Barrett. Then his partner might have grown impatient with Barrett, shot him, didn't find the books, and went to see McKay. If they were partners, that would explain the glasses of wine."

"Wouldn't McKay have been leery after Barrett was killed?"

"Sure, but maybe not leery enough. If he was close to his partner, he might just have been pissed off but not really worried, especially if he was the one who had the books. Yeah, I like that. McKay's angry at his partner's precipitous action but still trusts him and knows the partner has to trust him because he, McKay, has the books."

"What went wrong?"

"Any number of things. The partner's in a hurry or they argued about the split."

Charlie ordered espresso and dessert while Kate nursed her wine. Both were mulling over what they'd just discussed. There probably was a partner, not some stranger, and the partner had rushed things. When McKay didn't cooperate, the partner shot him, probably thinking the books had to be in McKay's apartment since they hadn't been in Barrett's house.

Charlie and Kate had barely gotten in the door on their return home when the phone rang.

"Dr. Douglas? Dr. Charles Douglas? This is Harriet Belford at the _Times Standard_ ; we understand that one of your students, one Chet McKay, was killed and that the police have spoken to you about it. Would you care to comment?"

Charlie didn't like this at all but thought it'd be a mistake to brush her off. He had to be careful, though, not to give her anything she could twist.

"Dr. Douglas?"

"Yes; I'm just surprised at your call. First of all, you've been misinformed. McKay was not one of my students. He only spoke to me about doing a reading-course. As for the police, they informed me that McKay had been killed. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you."

"What was your connection to McKay?"

"There was no connection. He approached me about a reading-course. That was it." "Why you and not someone else?"

"He was interested in what I teach. Now, I've said all I'm going to say. Good night."

Charlie hung up and hoped she was inured to abrupt disconnects. Kate had gone upstairs and he went to tell her about the call.

"Oh, Charlie, that doesn't sound good. How did she know?"

"How do reporters ever know; they're told a little, guess a lot, and make up the rest. I'm surprised in retrospect that one of them didn't get on to me about Barrett's death."

"I suppose all this Belford woman would have to do would be spring for a couple of coffees in the cafeteria and some student would blab all he or she knew. Maybe one even went to her. Who knew about you seeing McKay?"

"Well, Dalton knew and might have told someone. McKay may have spoken to the secretaries when he came to see me, just to get my office number, and said who he was and why he was there. One of them might have told someone."

Later Charlie tossed and turned for almost an hour. He didn't like the idea of being discussed in the local rag, and who knew what that reporter would write. He also thought about McKay. Why hadn't McKay anticipated the danger more effectively, especially with his background? The killer had to be a partner; had to be someone that McKay would at least be willing to meet and might not have considered dangerous. But what if the killer wasn't a partner but a buyer who wanted to purchase the books?" Maybe that's why McKay met with the killer: to consummate the deal. McKay might have decided that since he didn't have to share with Barrett, a lower but quicker pay-off was the best bet. Charlie's last waking thought was that if the killer was a buyer, he or she was almost certainly acting for someone else. Collectors with that kind of money didn't do their own killing.

# Chapter Fourteen

## The Third Wednesday

The _Times-Standard_ story wasn't as bad as Charlie had feared. Perhaps he'd struck the right note with Belford. Aside from the bare facts, repetition, and speculation, the story said only that a man, identified as Chester McKay, had been shot in an apartment at 215 Wellington Street. Reference to Charlie was limited to McKay having approached him about a program of study in philosophy at Meredith University. No doubt Belford had checked her facts after Charlie's denial and been careful in what she claimed. Barrett was mentioned, but only to the effect that McKay's was the second murder in three weeks in Kingsford, which hadn't seen a homicide for over two years.

Charlie got to the department at eight-forty-five to find DeVries waiting for him.

"Charlie, I wonder if I could buy you breakfast? The secretary told me you usually go for coffee and pastry as soon as you get in. Okay with you?"

Seated at the cafeteria DeVries began with a question Charlie had anticipated.

"Did you see the _Times-Standard_?"

"Yes. A reporter called last night but I gave her as little as I could without getting her mad. The story this morning suggests she didn't have much to go on."

"Well, neither have we. The information you've supplied has been helpful, so I'm going to take a chance and tell you more than I should to see if it prompts anything useful. But please keep this to yourself. I'm taking the chance because the circumstances are rather special and Dan and I think you can be trusted. We've learned that Mr. McKay's source of income was regular transfers of funds from a bank in the Bahamas. He had an account there with a balance still in the mid six-figures despite regular monthly withdrawals for the past couple of years. He lived modestly, but he bought that Corvette for a fair bit about eighteen months ago. He opened the account with just under eight-hundred-thousand dollars. After a little research we've learned that while it's just possible for him to have saved that amount working as a mercenary, it isn't likely unless he lived like a monk. He would have had to stash more than fifty-thousand a year over the time he worked to end up with the eight-hundred-thousand. He no doubt made considerably more per year, but we've been told that while food and lodging usually are supplied, mercenaries buy their own weaponry. And I doubt liquor was supplied. The point is that a lot of that money may have been acquired through dubious means."

"That's all very interesting. I did wonder about McKay's source of income; it just didn't seem as important as other things. But can you tell me anything about Barrett's financial situation?"

"Not much to tell. There was his university salary and a smallish savings account, roughly half a year's salary. His rent was on the high side, but within his means. As for the purchase of the house, he came up with the down-payment and took over the existing mortgage. As you know, the local banks will give Meredith faculty and staff pretty much anything they want, so he had no trouble assuming the mortgage, but he didn't borrow the down-payment. The mortgage payments were less than the rent he'd been paying. We've not been able to track down any off-shore accounts or anything of that sort. Now, this is the part you especially have to keep to yourself. Both Dr. Wilson and Mr. McKay were careful about deleting emails and other files from their computers, but Dr. Wilson wasn't as thorough as Mr. McKay and our techies were able to recover a few items from his computer. Most were of no use, but there was one email from Dr. Wilson to McKay that interests us a lot. As you know, most email programs retain copies and also include the previous message in a reply. The email we found was in answer to one from Mr. McKay. The techies were able to recover very little, but what they did get is intriguing. Mr. McKay's message to Dr. Wilson included two full sentences; one read 'I'll be glad when it's done,' and the other read 'I've waited long enough and I'm fed up.' Dr. Wilson's message included the full sentence: 'Don't worry; we'll be rid of them soon,' and a fragment that read '...when we meet....' You can see they were definitely engaged in something together, and I think you're right that it had to do with those books."

"It looks like Barrett was meeting someone about the books, unless the fragment referred to his meeting with McKay. But that seems less likely."

"I agree, Charlie, and I believe it was Mr. McKay who acquired the books and Dr. Wilson who was selling them. Given their respective backgrounds and likely contacts, that seems most probable. What we need to do now is find out who Dr. Wilson arranged to meet."

"This information doesn't trigger any new ideas, but it dovetails with what I was thinking through last night. Did you get anywhere with book-thefts and the auction houses?"

"No. We looked for thefts of rare books generally and of the ones on the list in particular but got nothing. As for Christie's and Sotheby's and a couple of other well-known houses, they claim never to have heard of Dr. Wilson or Mr. McKay. That doesn't mean much, though, because we were told buyers and sellers are almost always represented by agents and themselves remain anonymous. We've started on the agents whose names we were able to collect, but we've already had several of them refuse to identify their clients."

"I take it you've searched Barrett's house and McKay's apartment thoroughly?"

"Thoroughly; no books, at least not the ones on the list. That was no surprise, given both were clearly searched before we arrived. We also checked for safe-deposit boxes and came up empty. Dan thinks the books are in a commercial storage locker, but that will take time to check out. We found no likely keys in either place or on the bodies."

"Last question: were Barrett and McKay killed with the same gun?"

"That has to be confirmed by ballistics, but yes. I might add that Mr. McKay took two bullets in his chest and one in the head. Whoever shot him wasn't taking any chances. Dr. Wilson didn't pose a threat, but McKay did. And no, we didn't find the gun."

Charlie mused a bit, then said:

"You know, one thing Kate and I didn't ask Milford when we spoke to her was the identity of the blonde woman at Barrett's parties. She was also referred to by one or two of the students I talked to and by Theresa Bartolini. Did you get a name?"

"Milford wasn't forthcoming, as you know, and when we talked with her, we didn't know about this woman. You might find out who she is more easily than Dan or I."

"I'll give it a shot, but now let me tell you my thinking."

Charlie proceeded to fill in DeVries on his idea that Barrett and McKay were killed by an individual seeking to buy the books. He added that the individual probably was not a partner with McKay and Barrett but an agent acting for a well-heeled buyer. He also mentioned that McKay may have met with the individual after Barrett's death because he was willing to take less money rather than wait longer."

Charlie and DeVries finished their coffee and DeVries left. Charlie went back to his office. The first thing he did was dial the TA office, but Dalton wasn't there. He then tried Dalton's home number.

"Yes?"

"Richard? Dr. Douglas. I'm sorry to bother you, but the police are asking about a blonde woman who attended some of Barrett's parties. She wasn't a student. Do you know who she is?"

"You must mean Laurel. She went to Barrett's parties a few times. I don't know her last name. I know she and Chet and Barrett went out to dinner or drinks occasionally."

"Did she talk about books with them?"

"Not really. In fact, she didn't have much to say. She'd just nurse a glass of wine and listen to them. I never got into a conversation with her, only when we all went through the usual chit-chat about the news or the weather or whatever."

"Did she know Janet Milford?"

"No, I don't think so. Janet never took part in our conversations at those parties. She'd serve drinks and put out plates of snacks and then disappear. I don't think she liked Chet very much. I can't recall Laurel and Janet ever talking. Anyway, Laurel didn't start going to the parties until a little before Janet moved out."

"Thank you, Richard. I'll pass all of this on so Bolster and DeVries won't bother you."

But who was this Laurel, and did she have a role in the book affair? At least so far there weren't glaring inconsistencies in what Charlie had learned from Dalton, Milford, Theresa, and the other students. Barrett gave parties for students he proceeded to ignore. At the parties he spent his time talking with McKay, Dalton, and sometimes this Laurel. What was her involvement? Feeling it a duty, Charlie left a message for DeVries that the blonde's name was Laurel but he had no last name. Then Charlie went to lunch.

Conversation at the Club table centered on McKay's murder and Charlie's being mentioned in the news story. He was bombarded with questions and it was clear several didn't believe him when he gave his brief story about McKay and the reading-course. Pretty soon they tired of trying to get more out of him and the jokes started.

Back in the department Charlie asked Jodie if she knew anyone Barrett had known in another department. It had occurred to him Barrett might have talked to someone about the books. She replied that John Arnold, in history, was the only one she knew of and that she'd once or twice booked a lunch-time table for them. Thanking Jodie, Charlie went down to Arnold's office on the second floor, hoping he'd be in. He was.

"Dr. Arnold, I wonder if you can spare a couple of minutes."

"Sure. You're Charlie Douglas from philosophy. Come in, come in; have a seat. Charlie looked around and noticed that Arnold's office had some nicely framed prints. One that surprised him a little was Guernica; few people liked to have that up on their wall. Then he noticed Thomas' _The Spanish Civil War_ on a shelf just below the print.

"Sorry to bother you, but it's about Barrett. As you may know, we didn't get on, and I've been feeling a little guilty. I realize now that I knew nothing about him outside of the department. I've learned a little, and it's clear there was another side to him. The secretary mentioned that you and he had lunch sometimes. Did you know him well?"

"Oh, not well at all. To be honest, I didn't particularly like him. He took me to lunch a couple of times and came in to talk once or twice. We discussed the Spanish civil war. Barrett was pretty right wing and seemed to think Franco was the good guy. He positively sneered at that, my print of Guernica. It pissed me off a bit. But we talked mostly about books. He had all kinds of questions."

"Books?"

"When he first came to see me, he said he'd seen in my file, the one circulated when I applied for the job, that I'd done research at the British Museum and in the Vatican library. He wanted to know all about that and what sort of access I'd had to rare books. My area of expertise often involves working with original works, to check out different wordings, translations, annotations, and so on. Well, he paid for lunch, so I didn't mind."

Charlie got good vibes from Arnold and decided to reveal a little to see what he might get back.

"Let me tell you a bit about what I've learned and figured out. I think Barrett was selling some rare books and was killed because of it. What I think happened is that the would-be buyer argued with Barrett and shot him. Barrett's house was thoroughly searched."

"What do the cops think?"

"Well, the two detectives working the case seem to agree with me."

"But how would Barrett get such books? He did mention some titles. I remember a few: the _Summa Theologica_ , _The Art of War_ , _The Divine Comedy_ , and von Clausewitz' classic. He asked what they might be worth, but I don't know about that, just that such books are often taken when museums and other institutions are sacked during wars."

Charlie was suddenly thinking furiously and barely noticed when Arnold got up and said he'd just realized he was running late to pick up his wife. They hurriedly agreed to talk some more and Charlie went back to his office. Charlie's head was full of images of McKay on one of his campaigns. He envisaged McKay and others looting museums and rich people's houses, the others grabbing jewelry, silverware, and electronic equipment while McKay recognized the value of rare books. If they were rare enough, only few stuffed in a knapsack would provide a better return than silverware, computers, and even jewelry.

"It's a fend-for-yourself night."

Kate's announcement was what met Charlie at the door. It meant he had to prepare his own dinner. She either was making do with coffee and cookies, as she sometimes did, or had prepared some cheesy dish for herself which she knew he wouldn't like. He checked out what was available and decided that they'd have some wine first and then he'd settle for a sandwich. Over the wine he filled her in on the day's developments and on his idea of how McKay had probably acquired the books.

"That's brilliant, Charlie. It sounds like you're outdoing Bolster and DeVries. If McKay got the books in some raid or something, he'd approach Barrett who had access to people like John Arnold and no doubt other contacts. Who better than an academic to help you flog rare books? And by cutting Barrett in, he ensured his silence."

Charlie was about to pour more wine when the phone rang. It was DeVries. She'd gotten his message about Laurel. Charlie gave her a short version of what he'd told Kate. DeVries liked the idea of McKay getting the books in some campaign and smuggling them back. That would explain the lack of stories about thefts. She thanked Charlie and said the students who'd attended Barrett's parties were being re-interviewed about the Laurel woman and that Milford and Theresa would also be spoken to.

Charlie had his sandwich after he and Kate had finished their wine. As he'd expected, she made coffee and sat with it and a plate of cookies to read her book. Charlie picked up his own book and for a while he forgot about Barrett and McKay.

Later that night, in bed, Charlie thought that his talk with Arnold had been productive but that there likely wasn't much more to be learned from him. The question now was how to track down this blonde Laurel without even having her last name. He wondered whether Laurel could possibly have been the potential buyer of the books. He remembered Theresa had commented on the quality of her clothes in what had been an envious tone. That suggested she might be well off; perhaps not well off enough to buy the books for herself, but to be a knowledgeable choice as an agent for someone with big bucks. It also occurred to Charlie that McKay might have been enough of a chauvinist to have thought Laurel incapable of taking a shot at him and been proven fatally wrong. Charlie slipped into sleep and had a dream about a blonde woman moving into Barrett's house with a truckload of books.

# Chapter Fifteen

## The Third Thursday

Charlie turned up at the department just past eight-thirty. The phone rang as he was going to the cafeteria for coffee and pastry. It was DeVries.

"We've had no luck tracking down the elusive Laurel. We're going to see if Richard Dalton and Ms. Milford can work with a police-artist to come up with a likeness. The trouble is that it's expensive. Our Lieutenant wants us to do just two sketches. I think we should ask Richard Dalton. What do you think about Ms. Milford? Or should we ask Ms. Bartolini?"

"Dalton for sure, and I'd go for Theresa Bartolini. She's savvy and observant and in this case quite impartial. Theresa is the one who told me about seeing Barrett, McKay, and this Laurel at the Black Dog. She's also the one that commented on Laurel's clothes."

"Thank you, again, Charlie. We'll get Richard Dalton and Ms. Bartolini."

Charlie was dealing with his email when a student from his course knocked on his door. For an hour they talked, though less about the course than the state of philosophy.

"I just don't know if I may not be wasting my time."

"You won't be doing that; not if you think through your reading and involve yourself in class discussion. A great deal of what philosophy offers doesn't have to do with the subject matter; it has to do with thinking your way through the problems. A head of Film Studies some years ago told me that film studies is a discipline with too much subject matter and no methodology, while philosophy is a discipline with too much methodology and no subject matter. What he meant was that philosophy doesn't have specific content the way physics or history do. Anything can raise philosophical questions because philosophy is about reasoning and understanding. If you complete your M.A. you'll learn to think better. Your undergrad major was philosophy. Didn't it help you think better?"

"I guess I haven't thought of it that way. I've just been reflecting that I'm piling up expertise in books and issues no one cares about outside of the department. I see what you mean, though. The best indication of it is how irritated I get when I hear or take part in arguments and debates outside this department. I hear some dumb things; I often feel like yelling: Non sequitur! I think this talk really helped. Thank you, Dr. Douglas."

At lunch the conversation was about yet another gaffe on the part of the president. She had given one of her corporate-speak answers to the wrong reporter and been embarrassed by pointed questions about just what she was saying.

On the way back to the department Charlie wondered if DeVries was getting anywhere. His thoughts were a premonition because his phone was ringing as he entered his office.

"Charlie? What the hell have you gotten me into?"

"Theresa; calm down. It's about the sketch, right?"

"You're damn right it is! I saw that woman a couple of times; how am I supposed to describe her to a police artist?"

"I've been told it's amazing what a competent artist will get from you. It's largely computerized now: you'll be asked to pick among a number of different shots of eyes and mouths and so on and the police artist will then put things together into a portrait."

"Well, they're in a big rush and since I have a free afternoon, I'm on my way there now. Trouble is, I paid more attention to her clothes than I did to her."

"Don't fret. I'm sure you'll be surprised how well you'll do."

Somewhat mollified, Theresa promised to let Charlie know how things went and rang off.

Prompted by the call, Charlie started musing about who the blonde woman might be. Was she McKay's girl-friend? If not, what was her connection to Barrett? Then Charlie remembered bits of his dream. Barrett had bought a house! Charlie quickly booted his laptop and started tracking down Kingsford realtors. He went through only four websites before he found himself staring at a carefully posed picture of an agent named Laurel Hamilton. She had blonde hair, was very well dressed, and was very likely Barrett's mysterious guest. He dialed DeVries' number.

DeVries was out of her office but he was patched through to her without having to ask. She'd obviously left instructions, which made Charlie feel good.

"DeVries."

"Hello; it's Charlie. You won't have to spend money for those sketches. I'm fairly certain the blonde's name is Laurel Hamilton and she's an agent at New Vistas Realty."

"Are you looking for a job? That's great! You'll have to tell me how you figured it out. I'm going to go ahead with the sketches, though. If they are a good likeness to this Ms. Hamilton, we'll have some evidence of her presence at Dr. Wilson's home and with him and Mr. McKay at a public restaurant. I'll get back to you. And thank you, again."

If Hamilton was a realtor that probably ruled her out as being involved with the books. She was attractive enough that Barrett, the user, no doubt had made a point of inviting her out and to his parties. Charlie went back on line and Googled Laurel Hamilton but learned nothing new. He got a large number of irrelevant links; the only ones that related to Hamilton were houses she was selling. Charlie looked up Hamilton's name on Twitter. The names that came up were not her, so Hamilton wasn't a member. Charlie thought about trying Facebook but decided not to bother.

Neither Charlie nor Kate felt like one of their favorite restaurants that night, so they decided just to have a bottle of wine at a lounge they sometimes went to and eat later at home. They arrived at five-thirty to find Joanna's fairly busy with the after-work crowd. The lounge was laid out with groups of four wing-back chairs set around small tables, a long bar along one wall, and a large fireplace at the far end. The fire was real, not the usual electric fake, and logs occasionally popped as they burned. Most of the people in the lounge were near the fire or at the bar, so they found a comfortable corner and waited for Marge to notice them. Marge had been at Joanna's as long as Kate and Charlie had been going there and they often traded jokes. She was Greek and plugged into anything that had to do with eating or drinking in Kingsford. In a few minutes she came to the table with an ice-bucket and a bottle of Spanish champagne Charlie and Kate liked.

"Usual?"

This was asked as a kind of ceremony, because Marge was already opening the bottle.

"Uh, no; I'd like a pink lady and Kate wants a beer with a rye chaser."

"Sure. Now, the serious stuff. What's the word on the murders?"

"There were two."

"Thank you. Charlie; I've really been wondering about that. Only thing I heard was from a guy that delivers pizza to the cop shop. He thinks they think the same guy did both. I asked around and a sub-sub-editor at the _Times-Standard_ who comes in to see how long he can nurse a beer told me his boss thinks so, too, but the lawyers told him to hold off till he had something solid. Anyway, enjoy; I've got a kitchen pick-up."

"Do you want to change your mind and have a burger or a club-sandwich?"

"How about we split a club sandwich and just have a snack later?"

While they waited for Marge Charlie told Kate about his stroke of genius in getting Laurel Hamilton's name.

"Nibblies?"

"We're going to split a club-sandwich, Marge, just to keep you busy."

Marge went off with their order.

"Charlie; that's really great. I'll bet DeVries was impressed. Now they won't have to bother with the sketches."

"I think she was impressed, but they're going ahead with the sketches. If they work, they'll be good evidence of Hamilton's connection to Barrett because it'll mean that there are two people, Theresa and Dalton, who are witnesses to the connection."

"Are they going to talk to Milford?"

"Apparently it's expensive to do those sketches and they've been limited to two. In any case, Milford's probably busy with some guy. She's gorgeous and wouldn't be alone for long."

"Charlie, you don't get it. She can't see herself like that now, at least not for a while. How can she feel beautiful and desirable if the man she lived with for three years dumped her for some guy? How would you feel if I dumped you for a woman?"

"Wouldn't she just write Barrett off as a fool?"

"Short answer? No. Long answer? No."

"Okay; I'm missing something. I thought these days she wouldn't be as rattled by Barrett's behavior as she might have been some years ago."

"Get serious. He chose Dalton over her, for whatever reason and however long it took. She'll be feeling very unsure of herself for a time, regardless of her attractiveness."

"Do you think it'd help if I went down there and...?"

"Do you want to sleep in your own bed tonight, or are you hankering to see what the Holiday Inn has to offer?"

"What bothers me is that I don't know what to think about her role in the book thing. She might be innocent of the whole thing, but maybe not."

"How would she be involved?"

"Well, maybe she was interested in McKay and she bad-mouthed him to cover that up. He might have let her in on what he and Barrett were up to."

"That doesn't feel right, but I agree with you that she's not just outside the whole affair. She'd have learned something listening to them talk. Maybe while they were still together Barrett promised her all kinds of stuff when he and McKay sold the books."

"That could be right. Anyway, Milford takes second place to Laurel Hamilton right now."

"Why?"

"Well, even if Hamilton did find the house for Barrett, why would she go to some of the parties and go to the Black Dog with him and McKay?"

"Oh, Charlie; don't complicate everything. Maybe they just got on; maybe she was trying to sell McKay a house. Realtors do a lot of social schmoozing."

"I suppose so; I guess I'm a little desperate. Anyway, it was great to find her."

"You found her on the realtor's site; show me when we get home; I'm curious."

When Charlie and Kate got home, he booted up his laptop and navigated to the New Vistas site, quickly bringing up Hamilton's picture.

"Oh my! That's the blonde."

"Yes; that's the mysterious blonde."

"No, you dummy. We've seen her before; don't you remember? Of course, her hair wasn't in a French twist; it was all loose and long and sort of covered one side of her face."

"What are you going on about? I don't recognize the woman at all."

"You don't? She was Shwayder's date that night at Grimaldi's. Don't you remember?"

"No; I guess I was paying more attention to Shwayder. You say it's the same woman?"

"Yes; definitely. Actually, I think she looks better in the French twist, but I guess it's sexier with her hair loose, especially when it's that long."

"What was she doing with Shwayder?"

"Selling him a house? Selling his house? Is Shwayder married or has a partner?"

"I don't know. The few times I've seen him at department affairs I never noticed if he was with anyone."

"Who could tell you?"

"Jodie will know. I'll find out tomorrow. Do you think it's worth telling DeVries? I can imagine Hamilton having some involvement with the book thing, but Shwayder?"

"You've said he was Barrett's good buddy."

"Yeah, but that was in the department; I don't know if they had much to do with one another outside of the department. No one's mentioned Shwayder being at any of Barrett's parties. Dalton surely would have mentioned him if he'd been there."

"I think you should tell DeVries. If she's going to question Hamilton, she can ask about Shwayder. It is another connection to Barrett, even if a bit round-about."

"You're right; I will tell her, but I'll talk to Jodie first. For all we know Shwayder's been teamed up with Hamilton for years. Maybe it was Shwayder who put Barrett on to Hamilton when Barrett decided to buy a house?"

"That works."

Charlie poured each of them a glass of merlot and got into his book. Kate took her wine upstairs to watch television in the bedroom. After reading for an hour Charlie's mind wandered back to the revelation that the blonde at Barrett's parties was now connected to Shwayder. Probably Shwayder had hooked up Barrett and Hamilton, but that didn't explain why Hamilton had joined Barrett's small social circle rather than just doing her job. Kate was right, though; part of Hamilton's job was schmoozing. Odd that Dalton hadn't seemed to know much about Hamilton. And why was McKay included in the Black Dog sessions and meetings in other bars or restaurants? Well, Hamilton was a realtor; and Charlie and Kate had been thinking about a condo and selling their house. Perhaps a phone-call or visit was in order? Charlie went upstairs to ask Kate.

"What would you say to talking to a realtor; maybe have her come look at the house?"

"You're going to call Hamilton, aren't you."

"Well, she is in the business, and Barrett could have mentioned her name. We can say we saw her with Shwayder and one of us recognized her from an ad."

"That might get by. Maybe it's a good idea; she might say something useful."

Charlie brushed his teeth and went to bed. Tomorrow he had to ask Jodie about Shwayder; he probably should call DeVries; and he couldn't wait to call Hamilton.

# Chapter Sixteen

## The Third Friday

Charlie deposited his laptop in his office and went for coffee and a Danish but stopped in the main office on his way.

"Jodie, put on your gossip cap. Kate and I were at Grimaldi's and saw Shwayder with an attractive woman named Laurel Hamilton. Are they an item? I assumed he was married."

"Dr. Douglas, you've got to keep up! Dr. Shwayder isn't married. But I don't know anything about this Ms. Hamilton. I thought he dated a woman in the Business School; she's the dean's secretary. I only know her first name: Camille. Maybe that's over."

Charlie didn't want to push it so he just thanked Jodie and went to get breakfast. When he got back and finished his coffee and pastry Charlie rang DeVries. For a change she was in her office and he was put through.

"Good morning. I don't know if this is of any interest to you, but Kate and I stumbled on an odd connection. Jack Shwayder and Laurel Hamilton have been out at least once; we saw them at Grimaldi's. Perhaps Shwayder recommended her to Barrett as a realtor."

"Thanks, Charlie. It's always good to round out the picture. I'll keep this in mind."

Charlie didn't think DeVries had been very interested in the connection and regretted having called. He looked up the number of New Vistas and asked to speak to Hamilton.

"Ms. Hamilton, this is Charlie Douglas. I'm calling about a condo. We've not met, though we did have a little run-in at Grimaldi's when Jack Shwayder and I traded verbal jabs."

"Um, yes, Mr. Douglas, or is it Dr. Douglas? I do remember. I guess I'm surprised you called me, though I'd certainly be happy to show you some condominiums."

"What happened was I was looking at some realtors' sites on the net and I recognized your picture. I don't know any realtors nor have had any recommended, and when I saw your picture calling you seemed better than picking a name out of a hat."

To Charlie's delight Hamilton laughed and sounded more relaxed when she spoke again.

"I see; yes; I might have done the same thing. What sort of condo are you looking for?"

"Well, two bedrooms and at least one-and-a-half bathrooms, but it has to be in the same neighborhood as our present townhouse. We're at 57 Lower Slater Street."

"That's a very nice area. There are condos available, but I have to warn you they're pricey. How big is your townhouse?"

"Small. It's one of the townhouses on Slater that my wife insists on calling row-houses."

"Those are very attractive, but you'll realize a significant amount less for the house than a condo in the area will cost. It's got nothing to do with value and all to do with demand."

"We'd like to look at one or two condos, and of course get a rough estimate of what we might get for the house. I have to tell you, though, we're by no means settled on this. You may well be wasting your time."

"Not to worry; that's all part of the realty business. Can we set up an appointment?"

"Do you actually have something in the area right now?"

"I have a potential I can show, really a likely sale, within a couple of blocks of your townhouse. The only one I have that is now for sale is about ten or eleven blocks away from the lake. There are a few condos we have that are cross-listed with other realtors. Why don't we start with the likely sale and go from there?"

"Sounds good. Any day next week is fine, except Monday."

"What about this weekend?"

"That'd be fine, except for Saturday afternoon. We have something on then."

Charlie wasn't about to explain he wouldn't give up his Saturday lunch for a condo walk-through or a bit of sleuthing.

"If you give me your home phone or cell I'll give you a call tomorrow evening. The condo will be free on Sunday and we can look at it in late morning or early afternoon."

Charlie gave her his cell number, thanked Hamilton, and rang off. He was going to call Kate and tell her about his talk with Hamilton but decided he really had to get some work done. Charlie opened his notes for the Monday class and started reviewing the assigned text. The morning slipped away and he was soon on his way to lunch.

Mort Hanson, a member of the law faculty, was at the Club table and Charlie asked him whether he knew anything about the Barrett case.

"Charlie, I'm not even here, today. My wife will swear we had lunch together at home. You're hallucinating all this. Now, buy me a glass of wine to compensate me for my expert opinion."

"Mort, did you go to law school or is it genetic?"

"I'll have some shiraz, Charlie, and thanks. Now, what was the question?"

Charlie ordered two glasses of shiraz.

"I just wondered whether you privileged lot know any more about the Barrett case than I've been able to learn."

"We haven't had any hot tips from the cops, but I can tell you the university has a problem. They haven't been able to track down Wilson's only next-of-kin, a brother, I think. That means they're going to have to tidy things up themselves or let the authorities do it. Trouble is, Wilson had a savings account, owned some stock, and a good chunk of the house he bought recently, but Wilson died intestate. The university doesn't want to let any of that get away. Technically, the brother inherits the estate, and if they can't find him the whole thing could drag on for years. In the meantime, Meredith is out for the burial."

"Hmm. But you don't know anything about the investigation?"

"Just that the two detectives handling the case aren't getting anywhere. And as you know, there's been another murder; some guy who was a friend of Wilson's. Apparently there's been no progress on that either. They aren't even sure the killings are connected."

Charlie certainly didn't think he'd gotten a glass of wine's worth of information, but he forgot all about that when Jodie stopped him in the hall on his way back to his office.

"Dr. Douglas, we just heard that Richard Dalton's been admitted to emergency. He was unconscious and I think he still is. He seems to have overdosed on something."

"Is he at the General or the Borden?"

"The Borden."

Kingsford's Borden hospital had started as a clinic incorporated into the then-new medical school. It was now much larger than when it began and served more than the university community. Borden was located at the edge of campus and Charlie got there in a few minutes. When he arrived, he found Amanda in the waiting-room.

"Nothing new, Charlie; he's still unconscious. The doctor came out a little while ago. They're trying to determine what he took."

Charlie sat down and he and Amanda waited.

It was over an hour later that the doctor finally came into the waiting room.

"Professor Rankin. I'm afraid your student didn't make it. He suffered cardiac arrest about forty minutes ago. We revived him once, then it occurred again and we once more got his heart beating. Unfortunately, it happened a third time not five minutes later and then he didn't respond. We did everything we could. I am sorry."

Charlie didn't notice Amanda's reaction to the news because his own shock surprised him. He stood and followed the doctor out of the waiting room and spoke to her in the hall.

"Doctor, do you think it was a deliberate overdose? I'm Professor Charlie Douglas, by the way. I knew Richard."

"I see. Well, I don't suppose there's any reason not to tell you, though I ask you to be discreet. I won't commit to what Mr. Dalton took, but it was a massive dose and possibly of more than one drug. Only an autopsy will determine what he took."

Charlie thanked the doctor and went back to the waiting room. Amanda looked dazed.

"Charlie, what's happening? First Barrett, now Dalton, and there was that McKay person who was a friend of Barrett's."

"Amanda; you mustn't jump to conclusions. Barrett and McKay were shot. It's almost certain Dalton did this to himself, perhaps even deliberately."

Back in his office Charlie called DeVries yet again. She wasn't in so he left a message, saying in case she missed it, Richard Dalton had died of an overdose an hour earlier.

Could Dalton have been so devastated by Barrett's death that he'd take his own life? Charlie didn't see Dalton as a regular drug user, especially one who might be careless about how much he took. Plus, the doctor had said he might have taken more than one drug. That made it sound deliberate. Charlie had understood Dalton was upset and grieved for Barrett, but he hadn't thought Dalton might be suicidal. Could someone have drugged Dalton? Perhaps slipped something in his drink and then injected him with something else when Dalton didn't know what was happening and couldn't resist?

Charlie did some half-hearted work on his notes, answered some emails, and kept an eye on the clock. On Fridays the Club had TGIF, which consisted of a mini-buffet of tapas and lower prices on the house wine and beer. He walked to the Club at a little before five.

Kate was waiting for Charlie at the Club. While he got them wine, though not the house stuff, she cruised the tapas table. Like Charlie, she was going to let the snacks do for dinner. When he got back to where she was sitting, he put down their glasses of wine and went to get a plate for himself. Seated, he told Kate about Dalton.

"That's either a very strange coincidence or he did it deliberately because of Barrett."

"He was pretty broken up, but enough to kill himself? Let's say Barrett's and McKay's killer wanted him out of the way. An overdose would be one way to do it and not have it look like a murder epidemic. And what more likely than a student overdosing? Even if he had no history of drug use, many would think he misjudged on his first try. The thing is, the doctor said more than one drug killed him. Someone might have spiked his drink with one drug and then injected him with a lethal dose of another. Or maybe it was all taken orally; that would make it less likely someone else did it."

The main floor lounge of the faculty Club was laid out very much as was the main dining room upstairs, except that instead of tables for four there were groupings of four and six wing-back chairs around small tables. There were only two or three sets of two chairs with a small table between them. People tended to gather in groups of four or six. Charlie and Kate had taken one of the pairs of chairs by a window and were interrupted by a man on his way back from the bar to a group sitting in a corner of the room.

"Hello, Charlie, and you must be Kate. All by yourselves? Or are you celebrating an anniversary or something?"

Kate gave him one of her cooler looks.

"No, just old lovers having a drink."

Charlie smiled and let that be answer enough and after an awkward moment the man continued across the room to his friends.

"Who was that intrusive jerk?"

"That's Stephen Mason; he's in math, well, statistics, really. He's cursed by being humorless and insensitive. He sometimes lunched with Barrett."

"He was a friend of Barrett's?"

"Not really. He supported Barrett's crusades, but I don't think they were friends. He's into some position or view called presentism; something he apparently got from Barrett. It's a view that holds that only judgments about the present can be true or false, not judgments about the past or future. I asked him once just what the present is, and he gave me a complicated story about physics supporting the view that there are temporal quanta, so the present is a single quantum, what he called a chronon. I pointed out that no human mind could conceivably make a judgment in a single chronon, so there couldn't be true or false judgments about the present either. Then I asked him if it could be that the present is the experienced present, what William James called the specious present and which he claimed had a duration of about twelve seconds. Mason just said I didn't understand. Anyway, never mind him. What's your gut-feel about Dalton?"

"I think someone killed him; probably because he knew too much, whether or not he knew what he knew, if you see what I mean."

"I think it's likely you're right. Want to hit the tapas table again?"

"No, not really. I think I'd rather go home."

When they got to the house Charlie checked the phone and there was a voice-message from DeVries. She had left a number he could call until ten. Charlie quickly dialed.

"Hello, this is Charlie; I'm returning your call."

"I'm glad you got in early. I wanted to ask you, what's your take on Dalton and drugs?"

"A surprise. I wouldn't have thought he used them at all or maybe just a joint at a party."

"Everyone else I've spoken to agrees with your impression. Now, what's your best guess as to what Richard Dalton might have known that someone didn't want revealed?"

"I don't think it was so much a matter of Dalton knowing something in particular. I think it was more a matter of him being able to connect people and perhaps having been privy to a discussion someone would prefer not be recounted. If Dalton was killed, it was because of something he knew or could put together but likely didn't know he knew."

"I am again impressed, Charlie. That's pretty much what Dan and I concluded. Trouble is, we still don't know what killed him, and depending on what it was its administration by someone else may be plausible or implausible. The autopsy is being rushed, but it still won't be done till Tuesday or Wednesday. I will let you know whatever I am able to tell you. One last thing: Richard Dalton's closet held not only his clothes but also some women's clothing. The medicine cabinet held mascara and lipsticks and one drawer was stuffed with women's underwear. So either he was a cross-dresser or a woman was staying with him some of the time. We're watching the apartment, but no one has gone in. Do you know if he was involved with anyone before his involvement with Dr. Wilson?"

"Sorry; I've no idea, but I can ask around, though not till Monday."

After hanging up Charlie told Kate about the conversation.

"They're suspicious, too. This is getting curiouser and curiouser, don't you think?"

"Well, as you said, it's either a hell of a coincidence that Dalton should o.d. just now or likely another murder. Of course, it could well have been deliberate."

They both settled in with their books after Kate made decaf. Later, Charlie mused again before sleep. Barrett and Dalton had been lovers for a while. Could Dalton have been killed because someone feared that Barrett told him too much about the book deal? Or was it likelier that Dalton was heartbroken enough to do himself in"

# Chapter Seventeen

## The Third Weekend

Charlie slept in on Saturday. He and Kate didn't have plans other than a late lunch somewhere. He went down for coffee and just a sliver of the almond torte Kate had bought the day before. The sliver turned to pieces.

As Charlie sipped his third cup of coffee, he recalled what he'd thought before dropping off. Dalton had had a major role in the whole book affair only as Barrett's lover. His death probably was a deliberate overdose. It was possible that Barrett had been Dalton's first homosexual encounter and he'd come to regret it.

"Don't tell me you finished the torte."

"You should have a healthy breakfast: cereal, toast, milk, perhaps an egg."

"You did, didn't you."

"Would I do that? There's a bit left in the cupboard. And fresh coffee."

Kate muttered to herself while she took the last slice of the torte. Charlie poured her coffee and was just sitting down when the phone rang. It was DeVries.

"Charlie. Some news and a question. Dan and I are at Richard Dalton's apartment. We finally found time to give it a good once-over. We found two different empty bottles of over-the-counter sleeping-pills in the trash and an empty bottle of vodka. Dan's convinced this was a suicide. I want to wait to hear the autopsy results, but I tend to agree. If all of these pills and the interaction with the alcohol are what killed him, I find it hard to believe that someone forced him to take them. Now, the question we have is whether when you spoke with Dalton you had any indication that he might take his own life."

"No. I was thinking about it last night. I didn't think he was that broken up, but either I got it wrong or Barrett's death might have caught up with him. I also can't come up with a reason why whoever killed Barrett and McKay would want to kill Dalton. Have you found out anything about Dalton that connects him to the book business?"

"So far, nothing. We may learn more next week."

Charlie gave Kate the gist of his conversation with DeVries and decided he'd risk another cup of coffee if Kate left any torte on her plate. She didn't, so he went to shower.

Charlie and Kate decided to try new restaurant that had opened only a couple of weeks earlier. The menu offered what Charlie thought to be too many options for any one to be very good. Probably the owners were trying to gauge what would sell best. Kate decided to try a penne and truffles special. Charlie went for Cajun blackened chicken on a Caesar-salad base. The wine list wasn't available for lunch, so Charlie ordered two glasses of the house red, keeping his fingers crossed. The restaurant was pleasant enough; the background music wasn't too loud and it wasn't scat or rap. But when the food arrived Charlie knew they wouldn't be back. Kate's pasta had sauce on it but bore only traces of truffles. His Caesar dressing was out of a bottle and the chicken looked more burned than blackened. Charlie had been told that when new restaurants opened, they ordered the best quality food they could afford and then started cutting back till they received complaints. This place hadn't started anywhere near the top. As for the wine, it was at best undistinguished. Both passed on dessert.

"It's just after one. We haven't got our hour in."

"We did, but just barely, thanks to the wait rather than the food and ambiance."

Neither Charlie nor Kate thought a lunch or dinner out was gracious if it lasted less than an hour. At Sandoval's two hours was their standard, but Sandoval's had great ambiance and excellent food. As for this place, when Charlie got the check all was explained. Though it wasn't advertised as such, the restaurant was part of a chain.

Charlie and Kate got home at two and found a message on voice-mail from Janet Milford asking them to call.

"You call her."

"Why me?"

"You seemed to get on okay when we were down there. Besides, you're more patient."

"Charlie, you've uttered a great truth, and for that I'll call."

Kate wasn't on the phone more than two minutes.

"Get your coat; we're going to Coulton."

Traffic wasn't a problem at that time and they got to Milford's house in less than twenty minutes. A sheriff's car was parked in her driveway and the front door was open. Charlie and Kate parked and walked to the front door. Milford could be seen sitting in the living room. She saw them and came to the door.

"Thank you for coming. As I said on the phone, I remembered your interest in what happened to Barrett and you may be able to help. Come in. Just look around."

Milford's house, or at least the living room and what Charlie could see down the hall, was a mess. The living room he recalled as nicely finished was a disaster of overturned furniture, drawers pulled out and dumped, and a hole chopped into the far wall.

Milford led them through the rest of the house. Much of it was still being worked on, but every room had been trashed. A sheriff's deputy was taking pictures of the various rooms and the damage. Charlie noted another hole in a wall of the second bedroom. It didn't take much to see that whoever had been through the house had made sure that there were no hidden spaces behind walls that looked as if they might have room for that. Whoever had searched Barrett's house and McKay's apartment had paid Milford a visit.

After they'd righted some chairs in the living room and sat down Milford offered them coffee. Both declined, having seen the kitchen.

"What did the sheriff say?"

"Just empty assurances that they'd do all they can to find out who did this."

"Did he connect it to Barrett's and McKay's murders and their places being searched?"

"No. When I asked him about that he said we shouldn't be precipitous and that this might just be a break-in and robbery. That's why I called you. I thought you might support me about a connection to the murders. But the sheriff left before you got here."

"Was anything taken?"

"That's just it. I haven't checked every single thing, but I don't see anything missing. What's usually taken, the TV, the stereo, is all here. It has to be connected."

"When did this happen?"

"I don't know, but it had to be between yesterday morning and a couple of hours ago. I went to work yesterday, then last evening I went to a friend's for dinner. We had a good time and it got late plus I'd had a fair bit to drink, so she invited me to spend the night. I did and this morning we did some shopping and I took her to lunch. I arrived a couple of hours ago and found this. I know how they got in; the front door was locked, as I left it, but the back door may have been unlocked because it is now. I called the sheriff's office immediately. Anyway, you agree this is connected to Barrett's and Chet's deaths?"

"If the house had just been searched, that'd be one thing, but those punched-in walls make this more than a break-in."

Just then the deputy entered the living room and explained he was done and was leaving. He cautioned Milford to lock her doors.

Charlie asked Milford if she had somewhere to stay, at least for the night, and she said she was going to stay with her friend a second night. Charlie thought that a good idea. He and Kate waited while Milford stuffed a few things in a bag and carefully locked both doors. She got in her car and Charlie and Kate followed her to Kingsford.

"Do you believe her?"

"I'm not sure. If she is involved, it's a great way to make it look as if she's not. You?"

"I'm not sure either. It seems a little odd that she'd call us, but then we did come down and question her. One thing I did notice was that she forgot to walk and stand stooped over. Maybe she was too distracted to put on a show."

"Interesting. I didn't notice that."

"Charlie, I wonder about you; it was so obvious."

"Think I should call DeVries?"

"Give her a break and the sheriff a chance; call her on Monday, and not too early."

Sunday was a clear but cold day. After breakfast Charlie settled in with the _New York Times_ acrostic. When he finished the puzzle, Charlie thought about Milford's break-in and the other two searches. It was then that he articulated something that had been at the back of his head: the bashed-in walls. If someone had taken the time to chop their way into walls that might have some space behind them, that presupposed some rather specialized knowledge: that some walls are thicker than they might be for aesthetic or practical reasons, such as containing heating ducts or water pipes. A realtor would not only know that, but also think of it in doing a search.

When Kate came downstairs Charlie told her what he'd been thinking. Before she could comment, the phone rang.

"Dr. Douglas, this is Laurel Hamilton. If you're free, the condo will be open at one."

"We can make that. Should we meet you there?"

"I think it would be simpler if I just pick you up. "

"Okay. We'll be waiting at quarter to one."

"Perfect. I'll see you then. If you like, I'll have a look at your house when we get back."

"That'll be fine."

"Okay, get yourself put together while I shower. Hamilton is picking us up at quarter to one to see the condo. She'll have a look at the house after."

Kate was a bit nonplussed but agreed, since she did want to see the condo. At quarter to one they were both standing on the sidewalk in front of the house when Hamilton pulled up in an expensive-looking Escalade. Charlie and Kate clambered into the SUV, Charlie silently cursing the height and size of the vehicle. Introductions were made and Hamilton drove to the nearby building. She parked just a couple of doors down the street and led them into the building and to the condo.

"As you can see, it has a spacious living-room. The two bedrooms are a touch smaller than you might expect, but I suspect they're larger than those in your townhouse."

The bedrooms were larger than their own, but Charlie didn't think Kate was impressed.

"And how much does this place run?"

"The asking price is $489,000 and the monthly maintenance fee is $725. It is raised annually, though the Board has a limit of three percent unless there's a two-thirds majority vote to raise it higher. The taxes for this year were $4,100."

Neither Charlie nor Kate commented and they were soon back in Hamilton's Escalade. When they got back to the house, Hamilton let them out and went down the block to park. They waited at the door and she was soon there. Charlie opened the door and Kate led Hamilton into the house. Hamilton had a look at the downstairs and upstairs.

"And your taxes here?"

"$3,600, so we'd be looking at another five hundred in additional taxes, and, of course, the addition of a $725 maintenance fee."

"Yes, but you gain about 200 square-feet floor-space and a view."

"I'm still not clear on why condos are going for more than the houses around here."

"It's demand, Dr. Douglas; pure and simple. The number of individual houses in this area is decreasing as properties are bought up to construct condo buildings."

"Well, what do you think we could ask and what might we actually get?"

"You understand any estimate I offer assumes no problems with ownership or fundamentals like foundation or exterior-wall problems. Given that, I'd say you could ask

$350,000 and could expect to get $320-325,000. Assuming the condo could be had for, say, $460,000, that would leave a shortfall of about $110,000."

Kate offered Hamilton coffee or a glass of wine but she said she had another appointment in a half-hour and had best be going. She gave Charlie her card, with her cell number on the back, and left. Charlie and Kate put their coats back on and went to a late lunch at the Casa.

"So?"

"What do you mean, so? Are you seriously thinking about that condo?"

"Kate, my love, as I recall it's been you pushing for this all along."

"Well, forget it. That condo was just an apartment; it had no character. We don't need the extra space; I don't like the idea of a Board managing things; and the cost is outrageous."

"Is that it? You don't want to look at some others?"

"You know very well that anything in our neighborhood is going to be in the same price-range, and our townhouse isn't going to gain in value any time soon. You'll just have to deal with the garbage and whatever. Now, pour me some more of that lovely baco noir."

"Right, but the cost of more baco is you have to tell me what you thought of Hamilton."

"She seemed pleasant enough. Did you want to ask her about Barrett or Shwayder?"

"No. I thought that would be clumsy. I wanted to see if she made any reference to either, even if indirectly. She may well have just been helping Barrett with the house and he invited her to a couple of parties and the Dog. She is attractive."

"Why don't you do this: call her and invite her to lunch at the Club. She no doubt sees us as potential buyers and she'll probably like going to the Club. Then you explain we're not interested, that you're thanking her for her time, and sneak in a reference to Barrett."

"That might work very well. At least it'll be interesting to see how she reacts."

When Charlie was lying in bed later, he thought again about calling Hamilton and decided he'd do so early, in case she was free for lunch. No sense waiting. As he drifted off, he wondered if Milford had had the books and if they were now gone.

# Chapter Eighteen

## The Third Monday

Charlie awoke thinking he had a class today, so not much time to dwell on the murders. He got up, showered, prepared coffee for Kate, and went to the department. He went for coffee and a Danish and thought he'd call Hamilton a little after nine. Today's class was the first full-fledged seminar. Definitely no wine at lunch; he had to be in top form.

"Ms. Hamilton? Charlie Douglas. I was wondering if you could meet me for lunch at the faculty Club. I realize it's short notice, but it'd be great if you can make it."

"I'd be delighted. The only thing is I'll have to leave no later than quarter after one; I have a showing at one-thirty."

"No problem. Why don't we meet there at noon sharp? I'll be there a little early in case you are."

Charlie was reviewing his notes when Jennifer Pullen knocked on his door.

"Dr. Douglas; I'm sorry to bother you, but if you've got a minute, I'd like to talk to you."

Charlie invited her in and noted that she closed the door before sitting down.

"When you asked me about Wilson, I felt you were very understanding. I just need to get a few things sorted out about Rich Dalton. I didn't realize how much I'd miss him."

"Certainly, Jennifer. What's worrying you?"

"There are some nasty stories going around about Rich. The trouble is that thanks to some of the questions the police asked about who might have been staying with him, it got out that he had women's clothing in his apartment."

"I did know about the clothing, but assumed he was seeing someone who stayed over."

"No; that's just it. He wasn't seeing anyone. I knew from before that he wasn't going with anybody. At first, I thought that was odd because he was a good-looking guy. Then I realized he just wasn't interested, if you know what I mean. We started talking when he got together with Wilson; I think it was all new to him. It was like he'd learned about sex for the first time. I think he felt comfortable with me. Initially, he was evasive, only wondering what people would say if they learned he was in a relationship with a man, but it soon emerged the man was Wilson. That really put me off, but for his sake I didn't let it show. Later he told me he wanted to try cross-dressing, to see if there was something he was missing about himself. I felt so sorry for him but didn't let on. Anyway, we went to a mall and I bought stuff for him. I felt very strange doing so, but then I kind of got into it. Then later I felt strange again, but I helped him. I told the salespeople I was buying for my sister, who was two sizes bigger than me. Shoes were tough because he couldn't try them on. I made a good guess and picked out low-heel pairs that fit pretty well. The wig was easy; we pretended to joke around and I tried a couple on him. That was the only time we did anything like that."

"Did he go out dressed as a woman?"

"Yes, but he didn't go to gay bars or anything like that. He'd go to the mall and walk around or at most to a coffee-shop. He did it just to do it, you know, not to meet up with someone. I'm sorry to lay all of this on you, but I needed to get it off my chest and it's important the police don't waste time looking for a non-existent girlfriend. I just can't tell them myself, so I thought you could tell them for me?"

"Don't worry about it, Jennifer. I'll make sure the detectives get this information."

"Wilson's death shook Rich badly; it made him feel left alone. I couldn't see him going to gay bars, you know, trying to pair up with someone. The thing with Wilson was a real turn in his life and he didn't know how to go on by himself. Am I making sense? I don't see what he'd do after Wilson's death; he never struck me as interested in sex for its own sake; he was more like a woman that way. It's sad, but the police shouldn't make more of his death than it was: a man who glimpsed a more desirable way of life and had it taken away."

"I think you're being very perceptive, Jennifer, and I agree with you. I'll talk to the detectives. As for the talk about Dalton, ignore it. It'll be done soon and it can't hurt him now."

Pullen thanked Charlie and left and he dialed DeVries' number. She wasn't in and he left a message, saying he'd be leaving his office at eleven-forty-five and wouldn't be back but would be home at five or a little after. At a quarter to twelve Charlie went to the Club.

"Ms. Hamilton; glad you could make it."

"Please, Dr. Douglas, call me Laurel."

"Okay, Laurel, and I'm Charlie."

Charlie had reserved a table earlier and when seated he offered Hamilton a glass of wine; she declined because of her showing and they ordered the day's special entree.

"Your wife didn't like the condo."

"Hey, don't we have to talk about the weather for a few minutes first? But no, she didn't. She found it unappealing and was put off by how much we'd have to come up with and how much more we'd be out per month. I've been undecided about the whole condo thing and I have to say I wasn't won over either."

"So, you don't want to look at any more?"

"Well, I wanted to bring you to lunch to thank you for your time and to ease into it, but that's right; I don't think we do."

"I don't blame you at all. You have an attractive and comfortable townhouse that suits you both and it's in a great area. I don't see that you'd be ahead moving into a condo. It'd be different if I could get you $325,000 for your townhouse and you bought a condo for $200,000. That, though, would mean moving to the west or south side of Kingsford. When I saw your townhouse, I didn't think it was going to work, so lunch is icing on the cake."

"We haven't eaten yet and we're already out of conversation?"

"Oh, I don't think so; I think you're curious about me and Barrett Wilson."

"You're scary!"

"No, it's just that if I were in your place I would be, too. I don't know if you and Barrett were close, but I'll be frank: I didn't like him. I found the house for him, and it wasn't easy because he had several requirements. I made a good commission, though. He invited me to two or three of these little parties he had for students, or rather to those dual gatherings he had. He'd invite some students and park them all in the living room, then he and Chet McKay and I and a student named Rich would have our own little gathering in his study. Mostly he and Chet talked. I first went because he asked me and we'd not settled the house business yet, and I also had someone looking for an apartment like his. Later I went because Chet would be there. Finally, Chet asked me out for lunch and wouldn't you know it, Barrett came, too. We did that a couple of times, then I gave up."

"You liked Chet McKay?"

"He was the sexiest man I'd met for some time. I thought the attraction was mutual, but he only half-worked at it. I expected he'd take me out, without Barrett, but he never did. I'm not even sure if Barrett came along of his own accord or Chet asked him to.

"What were Barrett's requirements?"

"He wanted a house in a quiet neighborhood; one with mostly older people and few or no kids. And it had to be two-story; no bungalows. It also had to be secure, as he put it. Touch of paranoia, no doubt. Anyway, it took a while; I think I showed him six or seven houses. It was a relief when he finally settled on the one he bought. Of course, the price was right, too; the owner had died and it was an estate sale."

"Did you get to know Janet Milford at all?"

"No. At first she would stay around and talk a bit; then she would just pass out drinks and snacks to everybody and disappear. I never saw her again after Barrett took up with Rich and she moved out. That surprised me, by the way. I even thought maybe Barrett had eyes for Chet, got nowhere, and settled for Rich. But now I'm being mean, especially since they're both dead, for Heaven's sake! But tell me, why so curious about Barrett?"

"We didn't get on, but I'm really intrigued as to why he was killed. Oh, and McKay, too. I have this idea that they were involved in some scheme."

"Wouldn't doubt it. I think Chet wasn't above a little dicey wheeling and dealing. He didn't have much to say, except when he was arguing with Barrett. My interest in him was pure lust."

"Well, don't be afraid to say what's on your mind."

Hamilton laughed and looked at her watch.

"Charlie, I have to go. I enjoyed lunch and talking with you. You've got my card. If I can be of service, do call me."

Charlie assured her he would and walked her to her car. As he headed back to his office to collect his books and notes he reflected that two factors now seemed dealt with: Dalton's death didn't seem to have anything to do with Barrett's or McKay's, and Hamilton didn't seem to have a major role in the whole affair. Thinking back on his two encounters with McKay, Charlie wondered if other women found McKay as attractive as Hamilton obviously had. He had to ask Theresa; she'd be honest about it.

Back in his office Charlie gathered his stuff but couldn't resist picking up the phone.

"Theresa? Listen, I've only got about thirty seconds but have a quick question. When you saw Chet McKay with Barrett, would you describe him as attractive to women?"

"Still sleuthing, Charlie? I'd say some women would have found him attractive. He was okay looking and seemed like one tough dude. Some women would like that a lot."

Charlie thanked Theresa and went to his class.

"Before we turn to the comment sheets, I want to say a little about how Foucault has influenced thinking well beyond philosophy and intellectual history and how his ideas have been incorporated into contemporary thinking. The heart of his contribution to the political realm isn't entirely his own, but he was perhaps the one who best articulated the fundamental idea. Foucault argued that power shouldn't be thought of only in top-down terms, as is traditional. It is best rethought as not only emanating from elevated authorities, like the state or kings or parliaments or despots, but as beginning in the commonplace actions and interactions of ordinary people. That's something you have to keep in mind when you read his work. You need to appreciate how power is an environment of actions that influence everyone's actions. Otherwise you won't understand how power works, and you won't understand how attempts to govern and to manage people have unexpected and often undesired results. Now, who wants to lead off?"

As usual, there were no volunteers but Charlie followed his practice of waiting them out. That worked most of the time and had the added advantage of prompting the better students to identify themselves by kicking things off. After a minute or two it became obvious to the students that Charlie wasn't going to call on anyone and a woman seated at the front said she'd go first. Her comment sheet struck Charlie as perceptive, and it was productive in that it prompted two others to ask her questions and then to read their own sheets. The discussion went well. Several others read their comment sheets and more questions were raised. The time went quickly and soon Charlie found himself assigning the reading for the next class.

"Dr. Douglas, did you do your dissertation on Foucault?"

The woman asking was the last student to leave the room and Charlie didn't think she'd spoken during the seminar.

"Oh, no; I did it on D. M. Armstrong."

"Armstrong? You were into central-state materialism? That is amazing, not that you did it, but that you could change so radically."

"When I got interested in Foucault, most of my colleagues wrote me off. After my first book on Foucault, I got called a 'pomo'; that's a Post-modern. For anyone doing analytic philosophy, if you think truth and reason itself are historical products, you're crazy. Armstrong once said it was a violation of mental hygiene to read Foucault."

"Think you'll ever swing back?"

"It's not like that; I'm not a disciple. I just think Foucault has to be taken seriously, not that he's right on everything. Too many in philosophy become disciples, followers. They lock themselves into a mode of thought and read only certain authors."

"You know, I'm glad I'm taking this course. Thank you, Dr. Douglas."

When he got home, he told Kate what he'd found out about Dalton and Hamilton and asked if DeVries had called. She hadn't.

Charlie and Kate had just decided to eat in when the phone rang. It was DeVries.

"Charlie, do you have some news?"

"The women's clothes were Dalton's. According to Jennifer Pullen, after he took up with Barrett, he did a little experimenting. She helped him buy the clothes. She also thinks the overdose was deliberate because Dalton felt lost after Barrett was killed. She was convincing about that. The other thing is I had lunch with Laurel Hamilton. I got her to show us a condo yesterday, and at lunch today I told her we weren't interested. I intended to pump her about Barrett but she beat me to it, guessing what I was up to. The gist is she helped Barrett buy the house and hung around because she found McKay attractive. Unless she's an awfully good liar, I think that her role was just what she said it was."

"It's good to know about the clothing. As for Ms. Hamilton, I'm going to do a little more digging, but so far she's come up clean. On another matter, one reason I didn't call before is that Dan and I were in Coulton. Ms. Milford and the sheriff let us examine her house. We had a good look and we're sending a couple of techies down tomorrow, but I'd bet whoever searched it was the same person who searched Dr. Wilson's. I think he or she used a crowbar to smash in the walls. There were some streaks that Dan thought looked just like some in Dr. Wilson's house. We didn't find a crowbar at either place, which suggests it was taken to the houses and taken away, which tends to support the view that it was the same person."

Over dinner Kate and Charlie talked about what he'd learned and DeVries' call, but it was clear to him that she didn't feel like pursuing the matter. Later, in bed, he reviewed what he'd learned and came to the conclusion that while he now understood the connection between Barrett and McKay better, and that poor Dalton's death wasn't another murder, it was still a mystery who had shot Barrett and McKay. Charlie had no doubt that what they'd been up to was selling the books. As for why they'd been shot, and clearly before the person who killed them had the books, that likely had to do with disagreement on terms. The bottom line was there wasn't a clue as to who the killer was.

With that thought in mind Charlie stared into the darkness for longer than it usually took him to go to sleep. Something was niggling at him. He was just about to turn over and make an effort to sleep when it hit him and he quickly sat up.

"Charlie? What's the matter?"

"Sorry I woke you. I just realized something. I couldn't get to sleep and it came to me why Hamilton was so forthcoming about Barrett and McKay: she was preempting questions about Shwayder! By telling me about Barrett and McKay she distracted me from asking about Shwayder. She wasn't being candid; it was a ploy and it worked. I even told DeVries I didn't think she was involved beyond selling Barrett the house."

"Charlie; for heaven's sake. This can wait till tomorrow."

Kate turned on her side and went back to sleep but Charlie thought about things for a while. If he was right, why would Hamilton be concerned to avoid talking about Shwayder" She'd apparently gone to some lengths to avoid doing so. In retrospect Charlie found her professed interest in McKay less credible. Hamilton was decidedly back in the picture, though Charlie didn't see how. It wasn't as if Shwayder had a role in Barrett's and McKay's deaths. But then, maybe Hamilton's ploy didn't have anything to do with Shwayder. Maybe it just had to do with controlling the conversation, with limiting what Charlie raised about Barrett and McKay. Yes; that made far more sense.

# Chapter Nineteen

## The Fourth Tuesday

Charlie slept in on Tuesday. He'd not quite had nightmares but did have dreams disturbing enough to bring him half awake several times. He'd gotten up twice, to go to the bathroom and to drink some water. He didn't really remember the dreams, but they were about Barrett and McKay. They all seemed to take place in an old house. He was obviously thinking about Barrett's house. In most of the dreams he was in the house, needing desperately to get out and finding himself either unable to move or blundering into the wrong rooms. He made the coffee stronger than usual and was on his second cup when Kate came into the kitchen. He knew better than to talk to her till she'd had some coffee, so he went to the front door to see if the paper was still there. Someone in the neighborhood regularly stole it if it wasn't picked up promptly. Charlie had never caught whoever it was, but a woman across the street had complained of the same problem, so it wasn't just him. He kept meaning to buy a large mail slot for the door so the paper wouldn't be left on the step. Happily, the paper was there and kept him busy while Kate completed her slow wake-up cycle.

It was ten before Charlie made it to his office. He worked on a paper he'd been writing on-and-off, comparing two philosophers each of whom would not have recognized the other as doing philosophy at all. Charlie had found an interesting point of contact between them, but so far he'd not been able to formulate a satisfactory conclusion. He was staring at the screen of his laptop, not thinking about the paper but about Shwayder and Hamilton. Making a decision, he saved his file and opened the browser, navigating again to the New Vistas Realty site. There he selected Hamilton's picture and printed it. Next he went to the department's page and selected Shwayder's picture and printed it. He trimmed both so they were about the same size and put them in an envelope that went into his coat pocket. Then Charlie walked to the Club for lunch.

At a quarter to two Charlie went to the TA office looking for Jennifer Pullen. She had her back to him and was just packing her laptop into its case and he waited till she was ready to leave before speaking.

"Jennifer; looks like you're heading home. Could I give you a lift or do you have your car?"

"Dr. Douglas. I appreciate the offer; I don't have the car. Gas costs too much. But I'm not going home. I'm going downtown to meet a friend."

"That's even better, since I have a little shopping to do."

They walked to Charlie's car and as they were putting their seatbelts on Pullen asked:

"Was there something else about Wilson you wanted to ask?"

"Didn't think I'd fool you, but actually it's not about Barrett. Here, before we get going, have a look at this picture."

"Oh; that's the blonde woman that was at Wilson's parties."

"Her name's Laurel Hamilton. The question I have for you is whether you've ever seen her with Jack Shwayder."

"With Dr. Shwayder? No, I don't think so. In fact, I can't remember seeing him with anyone other than students on campus. I have seen him at Grimaldi's a couple of times, but he came in by himself. I don't think he noticed me. I go there sometimes with this guy I see whenever he can come to Kingsford. He has a job in Toronto. Of course, Dr. Shwayder could have been meeting someone who arrived after we left."

Pullen gave Charlie back the picture and they drove downtown. She got out in front of a bistro popular with students and Charlie drove off. He really had no shopping to do so he went home.

"Grimaldi's tonight, but we have to go early so I can talk to Flavia."

"Charlie, if your sleuthing includes a good dinner and a decent wine, you won't get complaints from me. What's up?"

Charlie filled Kate in on what Pullen had said and then went upstairs to take a quick shower.

Grimaldi's had no free tables even at six o'clock, so Charlie and Kate ended up waiting at the bar as they usually did. Flavia was busy serving drinks and food but Charlie got a chance to talk to her when she took them to a vacated table.

"Flavia, just a quick question. You'll no doubt remember this guy, but does he come in here often with this woman?"

Charlie held out the pictures of Shwayder and Hamilton and Flavia took a look.

"Oh, yes. They eat here since last Fall. Used to come once a week. He come late and wait for her. She tell me once she show houses to people who can only see them after work. The night he make big fuss about wine was first time he buy full bottle, not just glass. That only night they come early. They no come back."

With that Flavia gave them menus and went to another table.

"So. Recent regulars. Interesting."

"Charlie, do you really think Shwayder is involved in this? Do you imagine he might have killed both Barrett and McKay? Otherwise, what would his role be? Maybe he's just involved with Hamilton."

"I guess what I find most difficult is picturing Shwayder shooting McKay. The more I think about it, the more sure I am that Shwayder is a red-herring. I must admit I'm more suspicious of Hamilton. I think her ploy was intended to limit what I asked about Barrett and McKay.

Just then Flavia brought their appetizers and the sleuthing was put aside. When Flavia picked up their empty plates Charlie complimented her on the appetizer but complained to himself about the so-so glass of wine.

"You know, Hamilton may have been genuinely candid. It must have been pretty obvious to her that you had some interest in her connection to Barrett and she didn't think of Shwayder. Maybe she leveled with you, and if she did, her involvement with Barrett probably was just regarding purchase of the house, even if she did have eyes for McKay."

"Do you believe that?"

"I don't know. Let's drop it."

Charlie and Kate finished dinner with an espresso for him and a Spanish coffee for her. The phone was ringing when they entered the house, but stopped before Charlie picked it up. There was no voice-mail message. Charlie changed and sat down with his book, deciding not to have any more wine. Kate was doing something upstairs and shouted down no when he asked if she wanted a glass.

Charlie read for a good hour before the phone rang again. He was quite surprised when it turned out to be Hamilton.

"Dr. Douglas; Charlie. I hope I'm not disturbing you. I know it's late but there's something I need to ask you. Jack Shwayder and I talked earlier tonight and I mentioned I'd had lunch with you yesterday. He got very huffy and was sure I'd been talking to you about him. Why would he think I was talking about him to you?"

"I almost never talk to Shwayder. I was a bit curious how you knew him, but if you recall he never came up at our lunch. The only reason I can think that he thought we were talking about him is that he may have learned that I've been asking some people about Barrett and McKay."

"Hmm. Well, I met Jack quite independently of Barrett. He came into our office and said he was thinking about a condo. I showed him two or three condos but decided he wasn't serious. He asked me to dinner and I went, but he didn't raise the matter of a condo again. I think he was a little surprised at the cost, or at least what one gets for the money. We talked mostly about music and news stories, and we both like good food. Then he gets snarky on me tonight."

"I'm afraid I can't help. What puzzles me is what he thought you might tell me."

"I don't know. I do know Jack gave my name to Barrett when Barrett started looking for a house, but Jack never brought it up; he never asked if I'd found a house for Barrett, never thanked me for helping him out. Maybe Jack doesn't even remember giving Barrett my name. Okay, look, this isn't going anywhere and I won't take up more of your time. I called because I thought you might know something or even that Jack had talked to you. Thank you for listening, and if you ever do change your mind about a condo or just your house, give me a call."

Charlie said goodbye and called Kate down. While she was finishing whatever she'd been doing he opened a bottle of shiraz. So much for passing on it. When Kate sat down, he gave her a glass and proceeded to tell her about Hamilton's call.

"What did you think?"

"She made a mistake. She should have left it alone. Her ploy worked at lunch, but she was probably worried I'd figure it out, hence this call. But all she did was convince me that it was a ploy. Her alleged reason for calling was rubbish."

"I suspect you'd be delighted to find Shwayder's involved."

"Well, yes; I suppose so. But I can't buy it: Jack coolly shooting McKay and catching him off-guard? I could see him shooting Barrett, but McKay's an entirely different proposition. You know, the more I think about it, the more I consider McKay's experience, the more I think it was probably a woman who shot him. He wouldn't have expected it of a woman he'd gotten close to, and he probably had a superior attitude toward women anyway, whether or not he knew it. That brings me back to Milford. She and Hamilton are the only women in all this, aside from some of the students."

"You don't suspect a student, like that Pullen woman?"

"No, not really. Consider this scenario. What if Barrett and McKay or just McKay did hide the books in Milford's house? Now here's the twist: what if Milford trashed her own house to get the books and to make it look like she was victimized? If the books were hidden in Milford's house, she was in on the deal. That would explain why she fooled McKay and how she would know who the buyer was, and I'm sure there was one."

"That's a really good idea, but what about Barrett? She has an alibi for when he was killed."

"Well, the idea I had was that Milford shot Barrett. She was angry enough at him and it was a way of cutting him out of the split. That's what she'd tell McKay."

"I think you May be on to something, Charlie, and especially if they already had a buyer. If they did, Barrett would have become redundant as far as the book deal was concerned. Then, if Milford got greedy, and especially if she really didn't like McKay, she would have seen him as redundant, too. And McKay probably wouldn't suspect her. No; that's the hitch. McKay was no doubt too sharp for that. Maybe there was something going on between them and she deliberately misled us about not liking him."

"That works, but two things bother me: is Milford competent with a gun? And why would Barrett meet her in his office? She might have insisted on meeting in the office, say on the pretext of neutral territory. And she certainly wouldn't have him come to her house. It might have been simpler, too. She no doubt had never been to his new house and his office was more convenient. As for her handling a gun, it's especially important when she went up against McKay, even with the element of surprise. There's another thing. I wonder if Barrett knew where the books were. Here's what I mean: I'm sure it was McKay who acquired the books, then went to Barrett for help in selling them. If McKay got the books, he needn't have told Barrett where they were and hiding them at Milford's would make sense because I doubt Barrett would go along with stashing the books in his angry ex-lover's house. And McKay and Milford needn't have been sexually involved with one another; maybe they were just partners in the book deal."

"One more thing, Charlie. Someone willing and able to pay a million or more dollars for the books wouldn't want any part of something illegal: especially murder. The buyer may be waiting innocently to hear from the killer."

"That's true. In any case, if the books were hidden in Milford's house, they're gone. She would have handed them over to the buyer and then messed up her house to look as if someone had searched it. That way the books are gone and she's not connected. I wonder if DeVries can check her bank accounts for a big deposit. But then she wouldn't be that dumb. She'd put the money in a new account in a bank in the Bahamas or wherever."

"This is a strange situation. We have to assume there's a buyer for the books, but either it's someone who is an innocent bystander or a killer of two. And the difference seems to be whether Milford was involved and is herself a killer or an innocent bystander."

"That pretty much sums it up. Do you think I should call DeVries again?"

"Well, you could call and tell her your idea about Milford and just see what she has to say. Maybe they've learned something, then again, maybe not."

With that Charlie and Kate packed it in and went to bed. Charlie mused for a bit while waiting for sleep, trying to picture Milford calmly pulling a gun on McKay and shooting him before he could react. It just didn't work. He just couldn't see Milford in that role, and if it didn't work, he had to think about Hamilton again. That worked better. But would Hamilton also have shot Barrett? And if so, would McKay have still trusted her?

# Chapter Twenty

## The Fourth Wednesday

Charlie woke to the kind of quite that came only when traffic was hushed by a lot of snow. One peek out the window confirmed his fear; several inches of snow covered the tiny backyard. He got up, wrapped himself in his terrycloth robe, and looked out a front window. The plow obviously hadn't been by, but then it never got to Slater Street till nearly noon. Okay, he wasn't driving anywhere. Maybe he shouldn't bother going out. Lunch at the Club could be missed, since probably few people would show up. There was no need to go to the department. Instead of showering Charlie went downstairs to make coffee and some breakfast. Kate wouldn't be up for a while, so he had his choice about what to have and decided on huevos rancheros. He was finishing his coffee when the phone rang. DeVries.

"Morning. Odd; I was just thinking of calling you. Is there something new?"

"Yes; it's a slow morning because of the snow, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to let you know our techies didn't find any hidden compartments in Ms. Milford's house, but they did find a spot behind the furnace where something was put and then removed recently. There were fresh and distinct patterns in the dust. They don't think it was a box because of the irregularity of the marks. Likely was a mid-sized satchel or bag. Their best guess is that it was something the right size to hold a number of books and heavy enough to leave distinct marks. We're going to speak to Ms. Milford again. Why were you thinking of calling me?"

Charlie explained his idea about Milford having the books and then faking the house-search to look innocent and unconnected.

"Well, that's more credible now that we've found traces of something being stashed behind the furnace. Do you see Ms. Milford as a double murderer?"

"No; that's the trouble. But she may have been working with someone. By the way, another point: have you checked the hotels for likely visitors to Kingsford at the relevant time?"

"Oh, yes; we checked single registrations for the appropriate time period and are checking out the names, but I'm not optimistic. It'd be different if we'd found somebody who signed in as a rare-book buyer or as working for Christie's or Sotheby's or something like that, but no such luck. We just have a list of names of individuals who we're contacting to see what they were doing in town. Of course, they don't have to tell us, but so far the ones we've contacted have cooperated."

Charlie hung up just as Kate walked into the kitchen.

"Huevos rancheros?"

"Okay; I'll do the pan. Later."

Charlie went up to shower after checking the street again. Still no sign of a plow. After showering he decided that another cup of coffee would go well. He booted up his laptop to check the _New York Times_ and _Globe and Mail_ websites, got his coffee, and was just about to start on the news when Kate came into the room.

"Aren't you going to the department?"

"With all that snow? Why?"

"We need stuff. I assumed you'd be going and would get us something."

"You don't want me underfoot."

Charlie finished his coffee and wrapped himself up in his heaviest coat, pulling up the hood and putting on warm gloves. Driving was difficult but when he arrived at the department, he saw that as usual, Meredith's snow-removal people were well ahead of the city's own. All of the walkways and parking lots were clear, though the lots did have large piles of snow at their corners. There weren't many cars parked; people had thought better of leaving home today. Charlie wondered if there was anyone in the department other than Jodie and Phoebe. When the elevator doors opened on his floor, Marcela got in before he could step out.

"Ride down with me; I've got some juicy stuff!"

"What've you got? Did Jack Shwayder try to hit on you?"

"Ugh. You know what I found out? You know Barrett's ex-girlfriend, Jane?"

"Janet; Janet Milford."

"Whatever, anyway, she's pregnant! I saw her when I was doing rounds. Actually, I didn't recognize her, but she remembered me from some department affair and said hello. I asked her if she was okay and why was she there, and she said she was waiting to see Reg Leonard. That's all she said, but Reg was doing his pre-natal clinic, so if she was waiting to see him, she's pregnant. No doubt. Do you think it's Barrett's? Maybe that's really why they broke up and she got a house. "Don't say anything. Everybody'd know where you got it. I gotta go. Bye."

Charlie rode back up, not quite knowing what to make of Marcela's news. Maybe Barrett was the father and didn't want the child, or didn't know about it, or, more interestingly, wasn't the father. Milford's purchase of a house in Coulton made more sense if she wanted a place of her own to raise the kid. How did Milford's pregnancy fit the scheme of things? Did it renew her suspect status? It seemed she might have had more reason to shoot Barrett than only being dumped for a man. Charlie tried to recall how Milford looked when he and Kate saw her. Was that the point of the too-big sweats she'd been wearing to cover her pregnancy? Kate hadn't said anything, so hadn't noticed; didn't women always know that sort of thing?

Without quite deciding to, Charlie forgot about lunch at the Club and drove to Coulton, wondering what he was doing but in the grip of something he couldn't describe. He thought of calling Kate but almost immediately forgot about doing that, too. He considered stopping for something to eat, but didn't bother.

Charlie pulled up in front of Milford's house. It struck him that it looked better than when he'd last seen it. It wasn't new paint or anything obvious. He decided it was just tidier; she'd clearly gotten the place into shape without doing anything major to the exterior. He parked and rang the bell. She was probably at work but he wasn't thinking about that. In any case, after a minute Milford opened the door. She looked the same as when he'd last seen her, except the color of her sweat-suit was different. This one, like the other, was baggy and shapeless and too large.

Milford looked at Charlie with a mix of surprise and resignation. The resignation was confirmed when she stepped aside so he could enter but said nothing. He walked in and while she closed the door, he looked into the living room. The damage from the real or supposed search had been repaired in that room.

"Let's go in the kitchen. I just finished lunch, but there's pie and I was just going to have a piece."

"Sure. Pie would be good. I haven't had anything to eat. I came down here on impulse. I guess I should apologize."

"Oh, don't bother. I pretty much expected you'd be back."

On a card table in the half-finished kitchen Milford laid out two mugs of coffee and two large pieces of strawberry-rhubarb pie. She sat down and asked Charlie to sit.

"There's a tiny bakery here that has the most fantastic stuff. I really have to watch it or I'll be two-hundred pounds in a few months."

Charlie took a bite of the pie.

"It really is good."

They both sipped coffee and nothing was said for a minute.

"You're digging into Barrett's death, aren't you."

"Yes. This is a real case of armchair detecting, but I have learned a few things."

"Why are you bothering? I understood you and Barrett didn't like one another."

Charlie thought a moment and then surprised himself by what he said.

"I didn't like him, but I've just realized, or at least articulated, the reason. He was a member of my department. I need to know that he was killed for reasons that had nothing to do with that. I've got a couple of theories, but what puzzles me right now, is you. I have two questions, and I think I'll save us both time by just asking them. The first is, did you know about the books?"

"The books? Yes, I did, and if you've gotten that far, you're doing pretty well. Barrett and Chet were very secretive about them. Chet even hid them here for a few days. Regardless of what I said or how I acted, I wasn't surprised my house was searched. It was too late, though, Chet took the books a couple of days before Barrett was killed. He said Barrett was going to show them to someone."

So much for the hot lead DeVries' techies had found.

"What's the other question?"

"This is much more personal, and it's none of my business except if connected to Barrett's murder. Someone I spoke to about the case saw you in Dr. Leonard's waiting room. I assume you're pregnant. Was Barrett the father?"

Milford stared at Charlie, then laughed. She then stared at Charlie for another moment or two. Finally, she spoke.

"It really isn't any of your business, but yes, I'm pregnant. It's why I'm home today; I've taken a leave of absence. I'm just working on the house at my own pace. I'm sorry I laughed, but the reason is that Barrett hadn't touched me for almost a year before he took up with Rich and I moved out. I'd already decided to leave before that, but it was taking time to sort things out. And don't dare think the father was Chet. I've been seeing a guy in the engineering faculty for seven or eight months. I went out with him when it became obvious I couldn't fix whatever was wrong between Barrett and me. I'm sure you'll find it puzzling, but I thought I saw another side to him and really tried to sort out our relationship. But I was wrong, so I left. Have I answered your questions?"

"You have, but I'd like you to speculate a bit. Even if Barrett and McKay were secretive about the books, did you ever get any idea of who was trying to buy them or who Barrett was going to show them to? Oh, and did McKay have someone who'd helped him get the books?"

"I can give you a flat no to the last part. McKay was completely on his own. Over drinks he once went on about how hard it had been for him to get the books into the country and to approach Barrett for help finding a buyer, at least one that would pay close to what the books were worth. As for a buyer, I don't know who Barrett found, but he did find somebody. When he was killed, I pretty much assumed the buyer did it. When Chet got shot, I felt sure I was right."

"Do you have you any idea of how much Barrett and McKay expected to get?"

"I heard them talking money just once. Chet wanted to take whatever they could get and be done with it; Barrett was holding out for more. The figure he threw at Chet was a high one; he said he wouldn't take less than a million-and-a-half dollars."

"That's about what the books would fetch at auction, but I don't see a single buyer paying that for them all, not if she or he wanted to make money on the deal. But then maybe I underestimated the value of the books on Barrett's list."

"I never got a look at the list. How many books were on it?"

"Eight."

"That's sounds right. I took a peek in the duffle-bag Chet hid here. Amazingly enough, he didn't have a little padlock on it. Maybe he didn't want it look like there was anything of value in the bag. Anyway, the only other thing I know is that Chet got the books overseas, from somewhere he'd been fighting. More pie?"

"No, thanks; but if you're going to have more coffee, I wouldn't mind some."

Milford poured them both more coffee and sat down again.

"I really hope you can help the cops. It's not just that someone should pay for killing two people; I'm afraid the killer might think I have the books. Mike, the guy I mentioned, is moving in this weekend. He wasn't going to move in until his present lease is up, but he's worried about me."

"Yes; you definitely shouldn't be out here alone."

"The sheriff said he'd keep an eye on the house, but you can't count on him or a deputy being there when you need help. I'm also having a security system put in, or at least Mike is, but they can't do it till the end of next week."

"Okay, I'm not going to take more of your time. I want to thank you for being candid. I'm going to pass on the gist of what you said to Bolster and DeVries."

On the drive back to Kingsford Charlie felt good about having his impulse pay off and felt he could write Milford off as a suspect. As was becoming his practice, when he got to his office, he called DeVries. He was told she'd call him back. He then answered his email and read a couple of articles he'd been meaning to read. DeVries called at four. Charlie told her about Milford's admitting she'd held the books for McKay for a few days, her pregnancy, and her new partner moving in.

"That's very useful, Charlie, and it does seem to take Ms. Milford off our list of suspects if she admitted to holding the books. It also makes our techies' find redundant, but all the better. The question now is the buyer. We're still trying to connect one of the names from the hotels to Dr. Wilson. I've also got someone running the names through employee lists of several prominent auction-houses, but it will still be several days before we get through all the names. If you learn anything else, let me know."

When Charlie got home that evening, he told Kate about his impulsive trip to see Milford and what he'd learned. He also apologized for not going food shopping.

"Pregnant? I missed that altogether."

"We had other things on our minds, though we might have wondered more about the too-large sweats. The important thing is that it does look as if the killer is the buyer, and DeVries' efforts with the list of individuals visiting Kingsford may pay off. "

"Okay Charlie, that's it; I've had my fill of this for the day. I want some dinner."

After sharing salmon cakes Kate somehow produced a bottle of Oregon pinot noir that went surprisingly well with the cakes, Charlie and Kate retired to their respective chairs with their respective books. The phone rang just as Charlie was most engrossed in the mystery he was reading. Startled, he leapt up and went to the phone before realizing it was his cell that was ringing.

"Dr. Douglas? Dan Bolster. Just wanted to add my thanks to Pam's for the information you've provided and to return the favor. I'm on my way to meet Pam right now, illegally using my cell while driving, by the way. It's a bit late but we're going to talk to a Mr. Tanner, who is staying at the Kingsford Arms. One of our people linked his name to an art and rare-book auction house less than an hour ago. Any chance the name rings a bell?"

"I'm afraid not, but the name sounds British."

"Yes; the auction house is located in London. It's not as well known as Sotheby's or Christie's, but big enough and deals in serious money. Pam will give you a call tomorrow."

Charlie passed on the information to Kate and they went back to their reading. Charlie, though, couldn't concentrate and booted up his laptop. He hadn't gotten the name of the auction house from Bolster, but he searched for Tanner-plus-auction-plus-books and found a very conservative text-only website for an auction house named simply MacLean and Tanner. The site merely gave the names of the partners, an address, a phone-number, a brief description of goods available, and the date of the next auction. At least Charlie now knew Tanner's first name was Gregory. He then searched Tanner's name and found a few links to articles on particularly interesting rare books the house had handled but learned little more.

"You know, for a partner in that auction house to haul himself to Kingsford, Barrett and McKay definitely had something worthwhile. It looks like them expecting a million-and-a-half for themselves might not have been so crazy if the books would fetch significantly more at auction. McKay went to university and apparently read a lot; he'd recognize valuable books. He almost certainly got those books from a museum or some other institution his gang of mercenaries looted. That might be something DeVries can track down."

With that Kate went upstairs and Charlie soon followed. As he was going to sleep he hoped DeVries would report on the interview with Tanner.

# Chapter Twenty-One

## The Fourth Thursday

Charlie woke feeling good; he realized that he'd slept very well. His talk with Milford had settled a number of points in his mind. Now the question was what Bolster and DeVries had learned from Tanner. Should he wait for her to call or call her? No, that would be pushing it. He'd wait.

Charlie got to the department early. Jodie was there but Phoebe had not yet arrived. He went for coffee and pastry and was soon back in his office. He went through his email, dealing with most of it, which were questions from students. Then he tried to do some preparation for the next class, but he grew more distracted as time passed and the phone didn't ring. Finally, at a little after eleven, DeVries called.

"Charlie, just wanted to fill you in but also we need some help."

"I'll do what I can. What happened?"

"Well, we spoke with Mr. Tanner last night. He wasn't too happy about being grilled so late, but he was cooperative. He's traveling with an assistant, but the assistant is very junior; more a bag-carrier and coffee-fetcher than anything else. Anyway, what matters is that Tanner is in Kingsford to discuss the purchase of some rare books, but he never met Dr. Wilson or Mr. McKay and didn't know who they were. It seems he's been dealing with a Mr. John Sawyer. They spoke twice on the phone while Tanner was still in London, once again when Tanner arrived here a few days ago, and then again just the day before yesterday. Sawyer told Tanner that there had been a hitch but he would deliver the books in the next few days. Tanner has given him until next Wednesday, then he's going back to London."

"Their only contact was on the phone?"

"Yes, but one-way; Sawyer always called him. Mr. Tanner recognized the list of books when we showed it to him. He wasn't willing to discuss the amount the books might bring but he said it was quite substantial and that he wouldn't have come himself but for the amount involved. The question we have for you is if you have any idea who this Sawyer might be?"

"I don't know the name; it looks like there is someone else involved. I thought so."

"We're going to continue checking out the names. It's possible that this Sawyer came to Kingsford from somewhere else. What you could do is talk to people who knew Dr. Wilson and see if anyone recognizes Sawyer's name. Dan and I will do that, too, but not yet. We think you might do better because people tend to get defensive when questioned by detectives."

"Okay; I'll do what I can and get back to you."

After hanging up Charlie wondered where to start. He supposed the obvious place was with Jodie and Phoebe. They might have taken calls from Sawyer to Barrett. On his way to lunch Charlie asked Jodie and Phoebe if either had ever met or taken a message for Barrett from a John Sawyer. He drew blanks; neither recognized the name, though Jodie said she was pretty sure Barrett had had a student named Sawyer the previous year because he'd had to do a grade-change. A quick check on the computer showed it to have been a woman name Marjorie Sawyer, so that was that. Charlie stopped in the TA office on his way to the Club and found Pullen there. She had no idea who John Sawyer might be.

On the off-chance, Charlie asked several people at the Club table if they knew John Sawyer. No one did. Charlie walked back to his office and sat brooding for a while. Eventually he called Milford.

"This is Charlie Douglas. Sorry to bother you again, but the police have been asking me about a certain John Sawyer. Do you recognize the name in connection with Barrett or McKay?"

"Sawyer? No, that's a new one. Please understand, though, that aside from the students at the parties I never met anyone Barrett knew other than Chet. As for Chet, he never brought anyone to the apartment."

Somewhat surprisingly, Charlie had a productive afternoon. He was able to finish his preparation for the Monday seminar, worked a bit on a paper, and spent a fruitful forty-five minutes with one of the students who seemed newly fascinated with Foucault. At a quarter to five he packed up and went home.

"Sandoval's."

"Good; suits me just fine. Are we going to walk or take the car?"

"Charlie, what's the point of living where we do if we're going to drive a few blocks to a restaurant? We'll walk. On the other hand, it's cold. We'll drive. Let's leave a bit after six; I've got some stuff to finish."

At the restaurant Derek had their table ready and Charlie ordered a bottle of pinot noir. Over dinner he told Kate about his talk with DeVries.

"Sawyer? I wonder who that is. Do you think Barrett or McKay had an accomplice?"

"I think it's likelier that Barrett had a go-between to deal with Tanner. I don't think he'd want to be identified as involved with the books. "

"But if Barrett didn't want to be connected to the sale of the books, why couldn't McKay take Tanner the books? McKay could be gone the next day. Look, let's work this out. Order us some espresso or a brandy or both."

Charlie signaled to Derek who was at their table in a moment.

"Derek, we'll need a couple of double espressos and two brandies."

"Okay, now consider this: suppose Barrett went to his office that day to meet this Sawyer but didn't have the books, probably not wanting to risk them. But he demands money up front. Sawyer gets pissed off at the demand and the lack of books and shoots Barrett, figuring McKay has the books."

"And if the books had been there, there would have been no need for Sawyer to search McKay's apartment and Barrett's and Milford's houses."

"Right, right. "

"Would Sawyer know about McKay? And what about him getting the drop on McKay? Surely McKay would have been suspicious after Barrett was killed?"

"Both good points."

"Charlie, are you forgetting Milford and Hamilton? Or are they out of the running? One of them could have been working with Sawyer. That'd be one way for him to find out about McKay and where he lived."

"Of the two I'd go for Hamilton. I think Hamilton is the sharper and more decisive of the two and she's better at conning people; part of her job. "

Charlie was surprised to realize that his espresso was finished and his brandy nearly so. Looking over he noticed Kate was keeping pace.

"Refills?"

"No. I've had enough. Let's go home."

When they got home, Kate said she was tired and sat down to read. Charlie couldn't let it go and mused about whether Shwayder might fit into the killings. But maybe his dislike of Shwayder was getting in the way; probably Shwayder didn't fit. All Charlie had was that Shwayder had gone out with Hamilton. That really wasn't enough.

"Charlie! Aren't you coming to bed?"

"Yes; in a bit. I'm just finishing something."

One thing that bothered Charlie was why the mysterious Sawyer had shot both Barrett and McKay before getting the books. The apartment and house searches didn't make sense if the killer had gotten the books. Just then the phone rang. Charlie looked at his watch; it was eleven-forty.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Douglas. It would be beneficial to your health to stop digging into your colleague's death. Stick to your own business."

The dial tone jolted Charlie into realizing that the caller had hung up and that he was standing there holding the receiver. He immediately dialed star-six-nine and was given a number he recognized as a cellphone from the prefix. He wrote it down to give to DeVries and then dialed the number. He let it ring some twenty times but there was no answer.

Charlie's reaction to the menacing call was a mixture of anger and concern. The call had taken less than ten seconds but it had quite an impact. Charlie had never been threatened before; certainly not in this manner, and he immediately thought of Kate. She was obviously also in danger. Then questions started popping up. How had the caller known what he was up to? Who of those with whom he'd spoken had spoken with the caller? And the voice. There'd been something very odd about the voice. He went upstairs to tell Kate.

"Charlie, you have to call DeVries!"

"I will, but not tonight. I understand it's a threat, but there's something else. The voice. It sounded odd; hollow; it didn't sound natural. It's sounding odd made me think that there are voice-disguising gadgets. Whoever called me used one, but suppose he also used one when talking to Tanner?"

"You mean to disguise his voice for Tanner, too?"

"Yes. Don't you see, it makes sense if the caller is a woman pretending to be a man, John Sawyer."

"I guess it'd also be so that neither you nor Tanner could identify the voice again or for you not to recognize her if you've spoken to her before."

"That's dead on. If it was a woman that called Tanner and me, the use of the gadget was both to prevent being recognized as a woman and having her voice recognized. "

"You're thinking of Hamilton!"

"Precisely. This threat could be another and bigger mistake."

Unable to wait, Charlie booted his laptop and Googled voice changers and voice distorters. He found several sites offering both software and hardware to change one's voice. The legality of the hardware gadgets seemed iffy, but they obviously could be had, and for surprisingly little money. The software was more readily available and required only that calls be placed through a computer, which was hardly a problem. He'd call DeVries first thing in the morning.

Wide awake because of the threatening call, Charlie brewed himself a cup of decaf and had a couple of cookies with it. All the while he kept reconsidering Hamilton's role. If it had been her using a voice-changer when talking to Tanner and calling Charlie tonight, there was no need to factor in a mysterious John Sawyer. Sawyer was Hamilton. The question was whether Charlie could see Hamilton killing both Barrett and McKay. One thing in favor of her having done so was that she would have had a much better chance of catching McKay off-guard than a stranger. And if she'd played up to McKay, he might have been able to accept her having shot Barrett. Or it might not even have occurred to him that she'd shot Barrett. McKay might well have thought that Barrett had been killed by someone he'd contacted about the books.

What about Shwayder? Was it just an odd coincidence that he'd gone out with Hamilton? Once he put aside his personal feelings, Charlie really didn't see Shwayder having a gun and using it on Barrett and especially on McKay.

When Charlie finally went to bed, he had some bad moments when he took a more objective look at the threat he'd received. What the call came to was that someone who had killed twice was warning him off. Moreover, Charlie had to assume that Kate was in as much danger as he was. Would he back off? He could simply stop talking to DeVries as well as to anyone else about the case. But would that be enough? He'd obviously done or said something that had alerted the killer. If the killer was indeed Laurel Hamilton, then she'd either waited after he spoke to her, probably not wanting to threaten him too soon, or she'd heard something from someone. What might she have heard? It seemed clear to Charlie that whatever had prompted the threat had to be connected to Bolster and DeVries talking to Tanner and getting the name John Sawyer from him. That had taken things further than before. But Charlie hadn't played a part in the police contacting Tanner. That was the result of Bolster and DeVries tracking down the names of people staying in hotels in Kingsford during the relevant time.

What had been Charlie's last move regarding the case? Yesterday he'd spoken with DeVries about Tanner. That probably wasn't the important factor, unless DeVries had told someone about their conversation and that seemed most unlikely. No; it had to be his asking people about John Sawyer. That would have more easily gotten to and concerned the killer. Who had he asked about Sawyer? He'd asked Jodie and Phoebe; he'd asked people at the Club table, but they likely wouldn't have remembered or bothered to mention it. He'd asked Milford. The likeliest bet was that Milford had unknowingly mentioned it to the killer. That had to be it. His conversation with Milford, which had pretty much taken her off the suspect list, must have prompted the threat. Had Milford spoken with Hamilton? As Charlie drifted off, he thought he had to have another chat with Milford.

# Chapter Twenty-Two

## The Fourth Friday

Charlie got up a little earlier than usual and was at his office by eight-fifteen. He dropped off his laptop and went for coffee and a Danish. Promptly at nine he called DeVries, but being careful he used his cellphone rather than the department phone. Luckily, she was in.

"Good morning. This is Charlie. I got a threatening call last night warning me not to look into the murders for the sake of my health. The call lasted about ten seconds, no doubt so there wouldn't be any hope of tracing it. I dialed star-six-nine and got the number."

Charlie recited the phone number to DeVries.

"Okay; I'll look into it. What, precisely, did the caller say?"

"The voice said: Dr. Douglas. It would be beneficial to your health to stop digging into your colleague's death. Stick to your own business."

"Any chance you recognized the voice?"

"That's where it gets interesting. The voice was hollow-sounding, rather unnatural. I'm willing to bet that voice-changing hardware or software was used. That means it was someone who didn't want their voice recognized, whether or not I'd heard it before, but what I thought most important was that even though it was deep like a man's it could have been a woman's voice disguised. I then thought that it also could have been a woman who called Tanner, using the same apparatus. I think the call to me might have been the killer's first big mistake."

"I think you're right on all counts. Voice-disguising software or hardware can just as easily mask gender as original tone. They even alter cadence to some degree, usually in that they slow things down a bit. Regardless, though, the question is what we can do to protect you. How do you think this person knew of your involvement in the case?"

"I think what prompted the call was my asking about John Sawyer. That gave the game away with respect to what I've learned. Of the people I asked about Sawyer, my money is on Janet Milford. What I was going to do was call Milford and ask if she'd mentioned our conversation to anyone, especially Hamilton."

"No; you leave that to me. I don't want you speaking to anyone about the case. In fact, it'd be good if you could discretely mention to a few people that you're not pursuing it. Could it have been anyone else other than Ms. Milford?"

"I don't think so. I asked the department secretaries and colleagues at the Club table if the name John Sawyer rang any bells. I don't see how either the secretaries or someone at the table would pass on my interest to the killer. I'm betting it was Milford who did, though probably unintentionally."

"Okay; we'll start there. I'll call you as soon as I know anything. In the meantime, do stick to your own business, not just for your sake but for your wife's."

After hanging up Charlie felt frustrated but saw the sense of DeVries" instructions. He wondered idly if it could have been someone in her office that gave the game away but decided that thinking so verged on paranoia. Deliberately putting the matter aside, he got to work reviewing his notes for Monday's class and starting on a book-review he'd been letting slide. The latter caught his attention and before he knew it time for lunch had come around. DeVries hadn't called, but he didn't expect to hear from her for a while.

Charlie was soon seated at the Club table and taking part in a rather desultory discussion of the latest moves by the Board of Trustees. Then the jokes started and things picked up. By one-thirty Charlie was ready to get back to his book-review and he walked back to his office. As luck would have it, he ran into Jennifer Pullen who was also walking toward the department.

"Dr. Douglas; anything new on Wilson's death?"

"I don't know, Jennifer. I realized it's not my concern and I'm leaving it to the police to sort out. Are you on your way to a tutorial?"

"No; I've got to do some stuff for my thesis."

The rest of the way they talked about student attitudes. Despite her youth, Pullen felt too many students saw lectures as the provision of data and didn't work to integrate material. Charlie told her he'd read an interesting article about how people were, in effect, being trained not to remember things by the ease with which the internet provided information.

"All you have to do now is remember where to find stuff; you don't need to remember any of it. That's a major change in how we handle information. Unfortunately, a side-effect is that stuff we should integrate into our thinking gets reclassified as that much more data to be accessed only when needed."

"I think that's true, Dr. Douglas. The students I tutor seem to think all that's necessary is for me to provide sources. That way they never really do philosophy; they just repeat stuff they've read or heard."

At the department Pullen headed for the TA office and Charlie took the elevator to his floor, thinking it'd been good to mention to someone that he wasn't doing anything about the case. He hoped it would get around. In his office Charlie checked his email and voice-mail. Nothing from DeVries, but then given the new circumstances, she might not have risked leaving a message. He was just getting back into the book-review when DeVries called.

"You were right, Charlie. Apparently, Ms. Milford ran into Ms. Hamilton in the Kingsford Shopping Center. They talked a bit and Ms. Milford did mention that you'd spoken to her a couple of times about the killings and that you'd somehow discovered there was someone named Sawyer involved. She did so while telling Ms. Hamilton how much of her work on her house had to be redone because of the search. As for the phone-number, it's a throw-away cell, one of those prepaid ones you buy without opening an account. It's probably in the lake."

"I anticipated that, but speaking of the search, there's something that occurred to me about Hamilton. She's a realtor; she knows something about construction. She'd recognize walls in a house that might have space behind them. It's the sort of thing that likely wouldn't occur to most people. It wasn't until I saw Milford's house that I realized that one of our downstairs walls not only has a closet in it, but also next to the closet there's a space housing the heating duct that services the upstairs. When I first opened the closet door, I noticed that the section of wall is somewhat wider than the closet interior."

"That's a good point; I didn't think of it. Charlie, you're getting better and better at this, but for now you stay well away from it all. What I need to do next is have a closer look at Ms. Hamilton, but neither Dan nor I will approach her directly quite yet. I've also arranged for the patrol car in your area to check on your house periodically. I'll be in touch."

The remarks about the search got Charlie thinking. Nothing came clearly to mind but something was brewing at the back of his head about what he'd do to hide something. After a few minutes he walked to the main office.

"Jodie, what was done with Barrett's books and the other stuff in his office?"

"Everything was boxed up. Dr. Rankin had it stored in case someone claims it."

"You mean down in the basement?"

"No; it all went to the university storage warehouse at the edge of campus."

"Right; that makes more sense. Anyway, I just wondered because I need the key to our storage space downstairs."

Jodie handed over the key and Charlie went to the elevator. When he got to the basement he walked past the area where there were TA and student offices and unlocked a door at the end of the corridor. Inside were a number of sturdy shelves marked as belonging to the various departments in the building. The philosophy section held several dusty boxes. A quick look told Charlie the boxes had not been recently moved or opened; the undisturbed dust on them and the shelf made that clear. But Charlie wasn't really interested in what was on the philosophy shelf. He was trying to put himself in Barrett's mind. After a moment he went to the history section, which was nearly at the other end of the long room. On that shelf boxes had been moved recently. Charlie looked for a box with Arnold's name on it and found it at the back of the shelf. He pulled it off the shelf and put it on the floor. The box was closed with a strip of masking tape but Charlie didn't hesitate to open it. Just inside was a piece of paper with Barrett's name and department printed on it in large letters. Charlie carefully lifted the paper. Below it was a well-worn duffle-bag with part folded over on itself to fit inside the box. Charlie didn't touch the bag and took out his cell but saw there was no signal. He was too far down. Leaving the box where it was and locking the door, he went to the nearest TA office, asked to borrow the phone, and called DeVries.

DeVries, of course wasn't in. He then asked for Bolster, but they were both out. He really would have preferred to hand his discovery over to her personally, but didn't want to take any chances. He explained to the woman on the phone that he'd found a box that was very important to DeVries' and Bolster's current murder case and that he was nervous about it being taken if he left it and it wasn't picked up as soon as possible. She said she understood, asked where he was, and said she'd send a squad-car immediately. Charlie ignored the wide-eyed stares of the TAs in the room and went back to the storage room. He stood by the locked door and waited, keeping an eye on the corridor.

It was only fifteen minutes, but it felt like hours before a cop stepped out of the elevator and looked around.

"Over here; to your right."

"Dr. Douglas?"

"Yes. The box is in here."

"Dr. Douglas, before you open the door; there's a hitch. I can't just go in and get whatever you found. I'm going to have to wait here. My partner's outside waiting for a detective who is getting a warrant. It shouldn't be too long but you'll have to wait with me because someone could ask me to leave and I'd have to go."

"Sure, I can do that. The important thing is that you're here."

A half-hour crawled by before the elevator door opened again, but it wasn't a cop; it was Jodie.

"Dr. Douglas, I thought maybe something had happened, you've been gone so long."

Jodie spoke to Charlie but she was staring at the officer.

"Jodie, there's a problem. I came down here, uh, to make sure I hadn't left any books stashed away, and found something that the police need to see. I would have come and told you, but I didn't want to leave it unguarded. Now we have to wait for another officer to bring a warrant."

"My, maybe I'd better tell Dr. Rankin about this."

"Of course, of course, but before you do that and things get complicated, could I talk you into bringing me and this officer some coffee? I've been down here over an hour and it's damp."

Jodie looked a little dubious but went off for the coffee.

"That was a good move, sir. Maybe by the time she gets back my partner and the detective will get here."

"I hope so; that was the idea. If Rankin gets here first, things will get complicated."

Jodie eventually returned with two cups of coffee and informed Charlie that Amanda wasn't in but was coming down as soon as she could. Jodie clearly had either called her or had Phoebe call her while she got the coffee. Fortunately, when the elevator opened to take Jodie back upstairs two women got out. One was in uniform and no doubt the first cop's partner. The other woman was wearing jeans and a mannish tweed jacket and was most likely the detective. She carried a large envelope. Charlie called to them and the detective walked up to him and introduced herself.

"Dr. Douglas? I'm Detective Ortega. Dan Bolster and Pam DeVries are on their way; I was closer to a judge. I have the warrant; it covers the box you recognized as relevant to the case. You can give the warrant to the department head or whoever is appropriate. What've we got?"

Charlie took the warrant but didn't even glance at it. He unlocked the door, led Ortega into the storage room, and showed her the box. He explained that Barrett knew Arnold in history and that it had occurred to Charlie that he might have stashed something in the history department section rather than the philosophy section to better hide it for the short term.

"Yes; this looks quite interesting, but I think we'll just let it sit till Pam and Dan get here. They won't be long."

Just then Rankin and Jodie came out of the elevator and walked quickly to the storage room.

"Charlie; what's going on?"

"I think I stumbled on something that has to do with Barrett's murder. We're waiting for the detectives in charge of the case. Here's the warrant Detective Ortega brought with her."

Rankin looked very irritated but opened and read the warrant. She then pushed past Charlie to get closer to the box but Ortega blocked her way. As Charlie expected, Rankin seemed to deflate, turned, and walked away without a word, taking the warrant with her. Jodie stood undecided, then followed. Both got into the elevator.

"Is this going to be trouble for you, Dr. Douglas?"

"No; it doesn't matter. The only thing is that I'd appreciate it if we can be a little vague about where the box was. I did do some snooping."

"Not to worry. As soon as Dan and Pam get here, we'll take the box and that'll be that."

Charlie smiled his thanks and was about to offer to go for more coffee when Bolster and DeVries got out of the elevator.

"Charlie; you really are trying to get on our payroll, aren't you."

Bolster and DeVries pulled on latex gloves, took the duffle-bag out of the cardboard box, and opened it. Charlie was close enough to see that the duffle-bag held ancient-looking books individually wrapped in clear plastic.

"Definitely the books, but I only see seven. I thought there were eight?"

"Barrett's list had eight books, yes. Maybe he only managed to get seven. Which one on the list is missing?"

"Ah, let me see. Yes; _De Materia_ isn't here.

"Interesting; that's pretty much the priciest of them all. Maybe Barrett kept it separate or possibly never got it in the first place."

Bolster went back to the elevator and quickly returned with several evidence bags from their car. He and DeVries carefully removed the books from the duffle-bag and put them individually in evidence bags, labeling and numbering each bag and then both initialing each label. Finally, the duffle-bag itself was put in an evidence bag. Bolster, DeVries, and Ortega then each picked up a couple or three of the books each while one of the uniforms took the duffle-bag and the box everything had been in. They then trooped out and Charlie closed and locked the storage-room door. The three detectives took the elevator first and Charlie rode up with the two uniforms. The books and duffle-bag were put in the trunk of Bolster and DeVries' car and the box went in the trunk of Ortega's. The uniforms left immediately, followed by Ortega. DeVries thanked Charlie and then she and Bolster drove off. Charlie went up to the department.

Coming out of the elevator he found Rankin waiting for him.

"Charlie, you should have called me first."

"Amanda, I was in a hurry; I didn't want to risk anything. On top of everything, I received a threatening phone call. I was not about to take chances while you got here."

"A threatening call? Why didn't you tell me that?"

"You weren't here, and Detective DeVries told me not to talk about it to anyone."

Once again Rankin seemed to deflate, muttered that she understood, and went to her office. Charlie called Kate. He was getting ready to go when DeVries called.

"Quite a haul, Charlie. We're going to ask Tanner to have a look at the books. Eventually he may even be able to buy them, depending on what the court decides. More likely they'll be returned to their owner, if we can determine who that is. The trouble is that given the involvement of your department head and secretary, word is bound to get out about your role in this. I'm going to increase the number of checks on your house by the patrol car, but that's all I can do. You have to be very careful. We're still a long way from identifying the killer, much less arresting him or her. And whoever it is will be furious at having killed two people for nothing."

Charlie went home and he and Kate decided it'd be wiser to eat in. Over dinner Charlie recounted the finding of the box and Kate told him she was impressed he'd figured out what Barrett had done. Both then wondered what the killer would do now that the books had been found and were in the hands of the police.

Later, Charlie checked that the doors and windows were locked and put his cell on his night-table. As he was going to sleep, Charlie realized that the killer's threat against him had probably been prompted by concern Charlie might learn where the books were. Now the threat could be prompted by a desire for revenge. Or would the killer leave well enough alone now that he or she couldn't get the books? But there was still the issue of getting caught for the murders, so the threat was, if anything, worse than before.

# Chapter Twenty-Three

## The Last Weekend

Saturday Charlie woke after a restless night. He'd twice jolted awake thinking he'd heard a noise and had once gone downstairs to check that the front and back doors were locked. Happily, the downstairs front windows were protected by wrought iron scroll-work. He got up and went to the kitchen to make coffee. While waiting for it he brooded. He'd really upped the ante now. If the killer had been worried about his meddling before, he or she would be very angry now. Charlie hoped the killer would have the good sense to let things slide and take advantage of the fact that the police seemed no closer to an arrest than they'd been at the beginning.

Kate eventually came down and she and Charlie were having a second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. Charlie went to the door and carefully looked through the peep-hole before undoing the deadbolt. It was DeVries. He let her in and offered coffee, which she accepted.

"Mr. Tanner is going to check the books early this afternoon. His flight leaves at six. It's pointless his staying now that we have the books. He apparently did not hear again from Sawyer. Now, how did you figure it out?"

"As soon as I started thinking hard about the search of Milford's house it sort of fell into place. First of all, John Arnold was one of the few people Barrett talked to in another department. Second, few of us ever use that storage area; it's mostly for departmental out-of-date files. It occurred to me that if I wanted to hide something, at least for a short time, I'd put it down in the storage area, but I wouldn't put it in my own department's section as that would be too obvious. What I'd do is put it in another department's section and label it with the name of someone I knew in that department and do just what Barrett did: leave my name inside the box in case one of the secretaries or someone else opened it."

"Beautiful. But if Dr. Wilson did that, it had to be before he was killed. Could that be why he was in the department that day?"

"That's the tricky part I'm going to leave to you. He would have needed the key to the storage room and that's kept in the secretary's desk, which she locks when not in her office. Barrett either put the books in there before the break or he somehow got the key. I'll bet you that he borrowed the key from Jodie sometime before the break and had it copied."

"She had the key to lend to you, so he most likely did have a copy made. It's no big deal. We'll have to go back over everything we found in his office and house to see if we can find the key to the storage-room. Thanks for the coffee. You two be careful. It would make sense to go out as little as possible for the next several days."

After DeVries left Charlie and Kate decided it was smart to spend the day at home. Charlie volunteered to make lunch. With that decided he went upstairs and took a long shower. He skipped shaving and went downstairs. Charlie booted his laptop and went through the few emails he found, answering a couple and letting the others wait till Monday. He then worked on his review, finishing it a little after noon. He put away the laptop and went to the kitchen to start lunch. He decided he'd do linguine in oil and garlic and a salad. Everything was ready a few minutes after one and he and Kate sat down to lunch and a bottle of chianti. They lingered over their wine and it was twenty to three when Charlie settled down to read his mystery. At four he was debating opening another bottle of wine when the phone rang.

"Charlie? Mr. Tanner just left. He said that the book that's missing, _De Materia_ , is the one he was most interested in. He still very much wants to buy the seven we have, but I told him we'd have to see what the court decides about legal ownership."

"Barrett may have kept _De Materia_ separate to impress the potential buyer. If he didn't meet with Tanner, which we certainly can assume he didn't, he met with whoever was going to be the go-between and that person is the killer, so the killer probably has _De Materia_."

"That sounds right, but just in case the killer met with Tanner, I've arranged for his luggage and that of his assistant to be thoroughly searched when they get to the airport. For security reasons, of course."

After DeVries rang off Charlie thought about the missing book. He very much doubted Tanner had it. If Barrett really hadn't wanted to be personally involved in any exchange, given the books' dubious source, and had someone acting as go-between with Tanner, namely the mysterious Sawyer, then what he'd said to DeVries was likely right and Sawyer was both the killer and had the book. Now, was Sawyer Laura Hamilton on a trick phone? In any case, if Sawyer shot Barrett, it was probably on the assumption that McKay had the other books. Sawyer then meets with McKay and McKay doesn't go along so Sawyer's forced to shoot him even though Sawyer's not yet got the other books. A major consideration is that if Sawyer is Hamilton, she was the likeliest to get the drop on McKay. Sawyer then searched McKay's apartment and later Barrett's house but the books weren't there, so had to put things off with Tanner. Sawyer next searched Milford's house, but still didn't find the books because they were tucked away in the storage space at the university.

Anticipating what would happen next was trickier. Assuming Sawyer is Hamilton, when she learns the police have the other books, she has only one option: to sell just the one she has, which is, after all, the most valuable book in the collection. But she'll have to wait. Tanner wouldn't touch it now, though he might be interested in a year or so when Barrett's and McKay's murders become cold cases. Or she might go ahead and auction it off through an intermediary? What about her threat? If she has the book, following through on the threat would be rash. Of course, if she doesn't have the book, she might follow through for vengeance's sake. Unfortunately, there is nothing that can be brought against Hamilton at this point. She can deny everything and she certainly wouldn't have the book where it might be found by the police. In any case, it would be very hard to get a warrant to search for it, given the lack of evidence or even a demonstrable connection. Hamilton might make another mistake, but with respect to what? Attempted revenge on Charlie? Is that what Bolster and DeVries might be anticipating and perhaps hoping for? No, if Hamilton is as smart as Charlie thinks she is, she no doubt realizes now that the threat was a mistake and that to make a move against Charlie would be a bigger mistake. If Hamilton at least has _De Materia_ , she'll be very careful. Drawing that conclusion Charlie felt safer.

"Charlie, since we're not going out, what about opening a shiraz or maybe a pinot noir to share while we read?"

Charlie thought that an excellent idea and both he and Kate were soon deep into their respective mysteries and their wine. Evening came unnoticed until Kate posed the question of dinner. They settled for sandwiches.

Sunday morning was beautifully clear. Charlie got up and kept things simple with a breakfast of coffee and toast. He let Kate sleep. After a second cup of coffee he booted up his laptop. Happily, there was no email to deal with and he checked out the _New York Times_ site, scanned the headlines, and downloaded the Sunday puzzle. He was well into the puzzle when Kate entered the kitchen. While she served cereal for herself Charlie decided they'd go out for lunch. He felt confident that Hamilton/Sawyer wouldn't pose a danger. Of course, he could be wrong and the elusive Sawyer could be someone else and very much a danger. On the other hand, the argument that worked for Hamilton keeping a low profile for a while worked as well for the real killer if Charlie was wrong about it being Hamilton.

"I was just thinking we should go out for some lunch. I'm tired of staying home."

"Do you think it's safe?"

Charlie explained his thinking to Kate and she agreed they could risk a daytime excursion to a restaurant. She went to shower and Charlie got back to the puzzle.

At a little past one Kate and Charlie walked just four blocks to The Egg and I, a small restaurant that specialized in elaborate breakfasts and offered a Sunday brunch that actually ran till three in the afternoon. Charlie was particularly fond of their creative frittatas and they had a decent selection of whites to accompany their many egg dishes. He and Kate enjoyed a leisurely lunch and walked back to the house. On turning the corner into Slater Street Charlie saw there was a patrol car parked in front of their house.

"Are you Dr. Douglas?"

The cop standing by their door seemed a bit put out.

"Yes. Is there a problem?"

"My partner and I have been waiting for nearly half-an-hour. Detective DeVries called you. When you didn't answer she called us and told us to come here and not to leave till you returned. If you and your wife will go inside now, we'll go. The detective should be here very soon."

With that the cop got into the patrol car, watched Charlie and Kate go into the house, then nodded to his partner at the wheel and they drove off.

"Charlie; something's happened."

Before Charlie could think of what to say he heard a car pull up in front of the house. He looked out the peephole and saw it was Bolster and DeVries.

"Charlie; I take it you were both out. I rather wish you'd stayed home as I suggested."

Charlie led DeVries and Bolster into the living room where Kate was waiting.

"What happened?"

"First tell me why you went out."

"We were feeling house-bound and I thought it unlikely the killer would do anything now. To be truthful, I'm betting it's Hamilton and I didn't think she'd make another dumb mistake."

"I thought that's what you were probably thinking. Well, I'm afraid that Ms. Hamilton has an alibi for the day Dr. Wilson was killed. She went the extra mile for two different clients with tight schedules and showed each of them two houses. The first client was with her from lunch-time to about four and the second from five o'clock to nearly eight that night. She was very forthcoming and provided the names of the clients, both of whom confirmed the times. It appears that Ms. Hamilton is not Dr. Wilson's killer. We haven't determined her whereabouts when Mr. McKay was shot, but will do so. I'm afraid your suspicions were wrong."

"Uh oh; I can see why you worried when we didn't answer the phone. If I may ask, what prompted you to question Hamilton?"

"Well, you nearly convinced me she was the elusive John Sawyer. What we did was tell her that we weren't making progress with the investigation, which we certainly aren't, and that we were re-interviewing everyone who had attended Dr. Wilson's parties. She seemed to accept our story and readily provided the names of her clients and the times she saw them. Admittedly, there was some leeway, about an hour between the two showings, so it's just possible that Ms. Hamilton managed to meet with Dr. Wilson and shot him, but given the locations of the houses she showed, that seems very unlikely. We think there's someone else and that you're still in danger."

Charlie thanked DeVries and Bolster and apologized for having left the house without a good enough reason. Kate added her apologies and the detectives left after cautioning them to stay home and not to open the door to strangers. DeVries reiterated that the patrol car would continue to check the house periodically.

"Charlie, I'm getting scared. If DeVries came all the way over here and had the patrol car wait for us, she's clearly concerned. What should we do?"

"I don't know. I was so sure it was Hamilton and that she wouldn't push things, at least for a while. It seems I was wrong and now I haven't a clue who Sawyer really is."

"Which means you haven't a clue whether he might act on his threat or not."

"Exactly. Okay; we stay home. I'll go to the department tomorrow, but you stay right here and be careful. I'm going to open a bottle of merlot."

Charlie poured the wine and sat down to read. Kate went upstairs and to work on her copy-editing, which she called typo-time.

Good as his book was, Charlie couldn't get into it. He'd been so sure about Hamilton. He still thought she was involved. She could be working with someone and that someone had shot Barrett. Charlie was tempted to think about Shwayder again in that connection but thought that wasn't a good idea. He couldn't be objective about him and Shwayder going out with Hamilton wasn't enough to turn him into someone who'd cold-bloodedly shoot his only close friend in the department. McKay was another matter, though. Charlie still liked Hamilton for that because if Sawyer was a stranger, he, or she, probably wouldn't have gotten close to McKay after Barrett's death.

Kate and Charlie had a light meal and passed on more wine. Charlie checked the doors and they both went to bed. Dropping off, Charlie sincerely hoped DeVries would win this round and catch John Sawyer.

# Chapter Twenty-Four

## The Last Monday

Charlie had little interest in his seminar that Monday. He was thinking about the case and especially his and Kate's situation. That morning, as he was leaving the house, a patrol car had cruised slowly by and the officer in the passenger seat had nodded at Charlie. Not the best way to start the day, given the circumstances.

Over coffee and pastry in his office Charlie ran through everything yet again and there was little room for Foucault in his mind. And as Murphy's Law would have it, he had numerous voice-mail and email messages waiting. He made notes to return the more important calls and worked his way through the emails, ignoring those from students who were asking all the sorts of questions he had several times announced he would not deal with by email. In the end, only one was important: an invitation to do a review of a new book he'd been wanting to read. Charlie quickly answered he'd be pleased to do the review. Now he'd have to read the book without further delay but at least it'd be sent to him for free. Charlie suddenly felt he had to get his head in order and his class put together. After a bit he got into his notes and the morning slipped by.

Lunch wasn't as pleasant as he'd hoped. The special was liver, which he hated, so he had to settle for a beef-dip sandwich that he knew had too much sodium and would put his weight up. The worst part was the presence of an engineer who revealed his total lack of a sense of humor by telling long, tedious jokes the punch-lines of which you could see coming a mile off. Charlie finished his sandwich and left after only one cup of coffee.

By two-thirty he felt he could cope and went to class determined to do his best. But he would cheat a bit to cover his distraction. Charlie walked into the class, put his books down, and told the students that today he'd back off a bit from the reading and before having them read their comment-sheets he'd speak to them in more general terms, justifying this by telling them that the time was right for a broader look at what they were learning.

"A lot of people try to peg Foucault as a social historian or as a philosopher or as a political activist. He was all of those, but above all he was very conscious of himself as an intellectual, and he recognized that as an intellectual he had certain obligations. There are many places where he puts those obligations ahead of strictly disciplinary ones. Some critics see that as a fault; others see it as Foucault being provocative. But I think that's when he's most honest, most himself."

Charlie was struck again at how this sort of lecture caught students' attention. It was like they felt they were being let in on a secret. He noticed that even the couple who would usually be fiddling with their cellphones were actually leaning forward and listening to him.

"In an interview that was published as _Truth, Power, Self_ , Foucault said that the role of the intellectual is 'to change something in the minds of people.' That was his most important goal: to initiate new ways of thinking."

Charlie spoke a little longer and having set the scene, invited someone to read a comment-sheet. The discussion then went better than he had hoped. He strolled back to his office, feeling cheerier than that morning but still apprehensive. He felt guilty for not having called Kate to check on her. He'd been too wrapped up in his own worries and the seminar.

Back in his office Charlie packed up his laptop and went home. He couldn't find a place to park on the block where he usually left the car. The side-street off Slater was bumper-to-bumper on the side that allowed overnight parking. He ended up having to walk three blocks.

"Charlie?"

"I'm home. I meant to call you but got distracted by my seminar."

"That's okay, but I got two phone calls this afternoon. No one spoke when I answered. The first time I thought it was one of those telemarketing things where a computer has to recognize the phone's been answered and I hung up. On the second call I waited longer but still nothing. I'm wondering if it was someone wanting to have you pick up the phone rather than me. Could it be another threat?"

"Did you get the number?"

"No; sorry, I didn't think to."

"All we can do is wait and see if it rings again. Let's sit down and have a glass of wine. I'm frazzled and need to relax."

Charlie opened a bottle of baco noir and the phone rang in perfect synch with their first sips of wine. Charlie got up to answer and he braced himself.

"Hello?"

"Charlie? This is Jack; Jack Shwayder."

Charlie didn't quite drop the phone, but he came close to doing so.

"This is a surprise. Was it you who called earlier?"

"Yes, I suppose it is a surprise, and yes, I did call earlier. Apologize to your wife. Frankly it was difficult to call and I wanted to get you on the line."

"What is it?"

"Ah, I guess I need a favor. I was in today, but didn't talk to you at the department because I wasn't quite ready to approach you. The thing is, I'd like for you to arrange a meeting with the detectives you've been speaking to, and I'd like you to be there whenever I meet with them. I'm not sure of their names and in any case thought that if you're going to be there, it'd be best if you arranged it."

"Will you be free when it's convenient for them?"

"As long as I don't have a class, I'll be there."

"Give me your cell number and I'll get back to you."

Charlie hung up after getting the number and expressed his surprise to Kate.

"Charlie, do you think he wants to confess?"

"No idea, nor why he wants me there. I hate doing anything for that guy, but this goes beyond intriguing so I'll call DeVries."

Charlie checked the time; it was a little past five-thirty. DeVries might still be at work. He called and for a change she answered right away. He explained Shwayder's call and the request.

"Dan and I were just going to call it a day but this could be important. Call him back right now and tell him we'll be at his place as close to six as we can make it. We'll pick you up in ten minutes."

With that DeVries hung up. She hadn't objected to Charlie's participation nor asked if he was willing. He explained to Kate and got out his cell.

"Jack? DeVries is on her way to pick me up. We'll be at your place as close to six as we can make it. She was fairly insistent, so I don't think there's an option."

"That's fine; I'll be here."

Charlie hung up, took a last sip of his wine, and got his coat.

"I know this screws up dinner, but it might mean we can go out without worrying about it, so it's worth my going along. You hang in and be careful."

DeVries was as good as her word and Charlie was soon in the back of their car heading to Shwayder's. He noticed that neither Bolster nor DeVries had needed to ask him for Shwayder's address.

"Why do you think he wants you there?"

"Well, given our history it's not for moral support. I assume it's because something he's going to tell you has to do with me."

It was just past six o'clock when they arrived at Shwayder's apartment. He let them in and asked them to sit. Charlie made the introductions. Shwayder offered nothing by way of coffee or drinks and sat down on a straight-back chair facing the three of them.

"I'm going to keep this short. I asked Charlie be here because some of what I have to tell you involves him and I think he should be aware of it. I've been going out with Laurel Hamilton and I've come to have serious doubts about what she's up to. I began wondering, and worrying, when she started asking me all sorts of questions about Charlie, mainly whether I knew what he was up to and what he'd learned about the murders. This was about a week ago. Then, last night she told me something that may or may not be true but that I don't think she should know if it is true. It brought my doubts to a head. I spent a lot of today wondering what to do and finally decided to call you."

"What did Ms. Hamilton tell you?"

"She said Chet McKay shot Barrett Wilson. She bowled me over with that. She also told me about Charlie's finding those books in the storage room. That also bothered me because I don't know how she learned about it. I was told about it by Amanda Rankin and I don't think it's common knowledge, at least not yet. As for McKay, I met him only once, when he was in the department with Barrett. I also heard from one or another student that he was always at the parties Barrett had for students. Laurel told me what she did as part of an angry account of how she'd been questioned by the police. I take it that you two spoke to her yesterday or the day before. She said she'd cooperated but had resented being grilled and that it should be obvious that McKay killed Barrett. That was the second time she said that. She's also very irritated with Charlie's snooping around, though she didn't say why that should bother her."

"Did she say how she knows Mr. McKay shot Dr. Wilson?"

"Only that McKay must have wanted all the proceeds from the books. Then she sort of caught herself, tried to laugh it off, and changed the subject. What most bothers me is that she seems to know far more about what was going on than I would have thought. She always made it sound like her attendance at Barrett's parties and her occasional lunch or evening with him and McKay were more a matter of duty than pleasure. She'd sold Barrett a house and I think she wanted to sell McKay a condo. I know she was miffed when Janet Milford went to another realtor, even though the two of them had barely spoken to one another at Barrett's parties. Look, the bottom line is that I don't want to get sucked into something I'm well out of. I went out with Laurel and thought we'd hit it off. I find her very attractive, but hardly enough to get myself roped into a murder investigation."

"Dr. Shwayder, is there anything else Ms. Hamilton said that you recall, no matter how trivial you may have thought it?"

"No; I've given this a lot of thought. The main thing was her claim about McKay shooting Barrett. I didn't see that coming. After, she made it sound like she was just drawing an obvious conclusion, but the first time she said it she stated it as a fact. What I wanted was to get this on the table, as it were, and to assure you that aside from seeing Laurel for a while now, I have no part in any of this. I would add that her irritation with Charlie's sleuthing really was more than that. I think it was real anger and I thought you and Charlie should know about it."

Bolster and DeVries thanked Shwayder, and headed for the door. Charlie nodded at Shwayder and followed. In the car DeVries spoke first, addressing Charlie.

"What did you think, Charlie?"

"I didn't want to believe him, but I did. I'm not one-hundred-percent convinced it was necessary for me to be there, but I think I was wanted there for two different reasons: first, Hamilton no doubt did talk about me and I think Shwayder did want me to know that. But second, I feel he wanted me to know first-hand that he's not involved."

"Do you think Mr. McKay shot Dr. Wilson?"

"That's the question. I can imagine scenarios where whatever connected them was overridden by practicality or just plain greed. McKay struck me, as he did others, as very tough and he's no stranger to killing. If Barrett posed a problem or even looked like he would pose a problem, I can see McKay opting to remove him. Also, meeting in Barrett's office over the break makes more sense if he and McKay went together to talk to our mysterious John Sawyer or maybe just to put the books in the storage room."

Charlie then asked:

"Did you both believe Shwayder?"

Bolster nodded and DeVries answered.

"On balance, I did. What he said was the sort of thing that would look really important to him but doesn't come to much. If we faced Ms. Hamilton with what he told us, she'd probably say that it seemed obvious to her, as it should to anybody. She'd claim it was just an expression of opinion. "

Charlie was dropped off at the house with yet another warning to stay home and be careful. He went in, locked the door, and filled Kate in on what had gone on.

"Okay, though it sounds to me like it all doesn't come to very much, at least not with respect to the police being able to do anything. They can hardly arrest Hamilton for shooting off her mouth. Now, what about dinner?"

"What about this: we call a cab, take it to Sandoval's, take a cab back here, and be very careful both ways. You game?"

Kate was, so they got ready. Charlie checked the back door and called a cab. When it turned up, he let Kate go ahead while he looked up and down the block, locked the door, and hurried to the car. They got to the restaurant and the cab stopped directly in front of the door. Again Charlie let Kate go ahead and when she was inside he paid the driver and hurried in to the restaurant. Perhaps because of the need for care going home they lingered over their food and had dessert. Kate had a brandy but Charlie, who'd allowed himself only a one glass of wine, settled for a double espresso. They then repeated the routine with the cab, except that at the house Charlie got out first and unlocked the front door while Kate waited in the cab. When she got in the entryway Charlie made her wait again while he checked the house.

"Charlie, I don't like this."

"I hope it's only for a little while."

"I'm going to take a long bath. Please don't answer the door unless it's DeVries or Bolster."

That night Charlie dreamt about Barrett gaping in surprise as McKay pulled a gun on him while Hamilton looked on and laughed.

# Chapter Twenty-Five

## The Last Tuesday

Charlie woke early on Tuesday. He'd slept well enough, but his first thought was that he was getting tired of worrying about that phoned threat as well as of the whole Wilson/McKay affair. He admitted to himself as he showered that he really had no idea of what to do next or who it might be that had threatened him. Regrettably, Bolster and DeVries didn't look to him to be on the verge of solving the case. He still thought he was right about Hamilton's involvement, but that didn't seem to be taking him or the police anywhere. Looking back on the meeting with Shwayder, Charlie decided that Shwayder didn't have it in him to kill one much less two men. His dislike of Shwayder had prompted him to make too much of the connection with Hamilton. Of the two, Charlie was sure that Hamilton was far and away the more potentially dangerous.

After making coffee for Kate, who he heard stirring around upstairs, Charlie went to his office. On arriving he dumped his laptop on his desk and went for his usual coffee and pastry. Jody and Phoebe were getting ready for the day and there seemed to be no one else in the department. Too early.

Over his coffee Charlie thought again about Hamilton. Did he really think her capable of killing McKay? He was sure she was mixed up in the book affair, but perhaps she wasn't a killer. Mr. John-whoever-he-is-Sawyer needed to be identified. Charlie considered that taking what Hamilton had said to Shwayder at face value, that McKay had shot Barrett, what made the most sense was that Sawyer had shot McKay. Charlie recalled his idea that a woman, possibly Hamilton or Milford, had distracted McKay and then let someone else into his apartment. That someone else surely had to have been Sawyer. One tricky thing was that McKay had been killed with the same gun as Barrett. That made it look as if Sawyer had shot both Barrett and McKay, otherwise how would he have taken the gun from McKay?

No; there was another possibility. Hamilton visits McKay and he pours them two glasses of wine. At some point McKay goes to the bathroom. Hamilton opens the door and lets Sawyer in. Sawyer has a gun in his hand and when McKay comes into the room, Sawyer's waiting and has him at gun-point. Sawyer then asks McKay where his gun is and has Hamilton get it. Sawyer next takes McKay's gun and uses it on McKay, likely to confuse things. Sawyer hasn't fired his own gun. Sawyer takes the Glock with him after he and Hamilton search McKay's apartment for the books. That worked. Well, maybe not. Hamilton couldn't count on McKay conveniently going to the bathroom. No. She visits McKay; they have their wine. Sawyer, who has been waiting in the hallway, gets the drop on McKay as Hamilton is leaving. Then they go through the gun exchange bit. That was better.

Well, enough of that. He had to get some work done before heading off for lunch.

At a little before twelve Charlie walked to the Club. At the Club table was an electrical engineer who had a good sense of humor and from whom Charlie had gotten a lot of information about hi-fi and internet radio. They swapped a couple of jokes and Charlie then asked her about voice-disguising gadgets.

"Who are you trying to fool, Charlie?"

"No, no; not me. I got a call that I'm sure was on one. The voice was very hollow and odd-sounding. The main thing is it was a man's voice but I wondered if it could be a woman."

"Oh, sure; that's easy enough. The hollowness, or at least a little, is pretty much inescapable, but the voice shouldn't have sounded odd. Probably the thingy was set too high. Most of the better ones produce quite natural-sounding voices, male or female. The slight hollowness can always be explained as a problem with a cellphone."

The conversation soon turned to the President's most recent gaffe, as it invariably did at some point, then they got back into jokes. Charlie left a little earlier than usual, musing as he walked back to his office that most likely it had been Hamilton on the phone when he got the threat, but he'd pretty much assumed that. Could she also have been the one talking to Tanner? Maybe she'd shot both Barrett and McKay; perhaps there simply was no John Sawyer. Charlie still thought Hamilton was the likeliest to have caught McKay off-guard. But how had she gotten the gun? Charlie doubted she would have had one gun, gotten the other from McKay, and then shot him with his own gun.

Back in his office Charlie pondered the move he wanted to make. He checked the time and worked out the time difference. It'd be five in London; too late? But why not try? He looked up the MacLean and Tanner website, got the phone number, and called. He was delighted when the phone was quickly answered.

"Hello? This is Dr. Charles Douglas; I wonder if I could possibly get Mr. Tanner's home number. It's rather important. Oh, he's still there? Might he give me a moment of his time. It's about his recent trip. Yes, I'll hold."

The voice Charlie heard after a couple of minutes was plummy and irritated.

"Ah, Dr. Douglas? I am here a little late because of a special sale and was just about to leave. Is this important or could it wait until tomorrow?"

"Sorry to intrude, Mr. Tanner, but yes, it's important and it won't take a minute. I've been working with Detective DeVries regarding the books you were offered and I have just one question for you: when you spoke with Mr. Sawyer, did you notice anything odd about his voice?"

"Odd? How do you mean?"

"Did Sawyer's voice sound normal? I don't want to suggest anything, but was there a certain hollowness when he spoke?"

"Well, yes, but he explained the first time he called that his mobile phone tended to sound that way. It was not in any case especially noticeable; certainly, it didn't impede our conversations. Does that help? I cannot imagine why this was important enough for you to call, but I have a long drive and do have to go."

Charlie thanked Tanner and hung up. The important thing was that from what he'd said, it could have been Hamilton with whom Tanner spoke. Sawyer was the name she'd used but Charlie was beginning to think there probably was no Sawyer. He had little doubt that Hamilton could have handled everything on her own. In a way, that made things worse. If there was no John Sawyer to find and apprehend, there was no chance of getting Hamilton with what the police had so far and she'd likely get away with murder. There were only two things still hanging fire: the missing book and her threat. Charlie fervently hoped that Hamilton wouldn't risk doing anything about the threat, but having killed at least McKay and possibly Barrett, too, she had to want that book badly as it was all that was left. Charlie wondered about calling DeVries. From what Tanner had said, it seemed it hadn't occurred to her or to Bolster to ask him about the voice on the phone when he talked to the dubious Sawyer. That looked like a slip and Charlie was pleased he'd thought of it. Yes; he'd better call DeVries.

She wasn't in and Charlie left the usual message. Then he started to deal with his email, which was, again, mostly from students. By four-thirty DeVries hadn't called and Charlie went home. He had to park two blocks away and as he approached the townhouse, he was struck by the fact that the living-room shades were drawn. Neither he nor Kate ever drew them. He started to get a bad feeling and hurried to the door.

"Welcome home, Charlie. Now, close the door and come into the living-room without making a fuss."

Hamilton was standing in the entryway holding a gun.

Charlie noticed it had a suppressor screwed on the barrel. She backed up as Charlie entered and motioned him into the living-room. The first thing Charlie saw was Kate seated on one of the straight-back chairs, her right wrist handcuffed to the armrest.

"Charlie. I'm so sorry. She said not to say anything or she'd shoot you."

"Okay, Charlie, sit down over here and don't move. We need to talk."

Still wearing his coat, Charlie sat near to Kate on another straight-back chair. Hamilton came up behind him and he felt the gun at the back of his skull.

"Don't move."

So saying, Hamilton quickly snapped a handcuff on his wrist and the other to the armrest. Hamilton then moved around in front of him and, standing at a safe distance, spoke again.

"Neither of you can move quickly enough, dragging a chair, to reach me before I shoot you both. Handy that Chet had these cuffs. Now we can talk. Things haven't gone too well, Charlie, in large part because of your meddling. I hadn't figured out where Barrett put the books, but I probably would have if you hadn't found them first. That was a major loss, but I learned that the most valuable book wasn't with the others. Where is it?"

With her last remark Hamilton pointed the gun at Kate.

"For God's sake! I don't have it!"

"Oh? Then who has? I spoke to Tanner. He told me the police were missing a volume from the list. You're the only one who could have it and I want that book. It's all I'm getting out of this fiasco that is forcing me to leave Kingsford and disappear. I don't care at this point. If I have to shoot your wife, I will. I'll start with something painful, like a knee."

"You're John Sawyer."

"Brilliant, but I assumed you'd figured that out."

"I did; I just wasn't certain. At first I thought it was Jack Shwayder."

"That wuss? No chance. Now, the book!"

"I don't have it. I assumed the killer took it. That's what the police think, too. They even checked Tanner wasn't leaving with it in his luggage."

"You're lying! There's no one else who could have it! That book is now worth half-again what it was when McKay took it. I don't want to kill anyone else, but I will if you don't give me that book!"

"You shot Barrett as well as McKay."

"You fell for the idea that Chet had killed Barrett, didn't you? You fool. Chet thought Barrett was moving too slowly, but he wouldn't have shot him. I met with Barrett. He was expecting John Sawyer. When I showed up the idiot at first thought I was there for something else. Can you imagine? At his office on New Year's Eve? I took him completely by surprise, but he didn't have the books. He'd been instructed to have them, but I guess he was playing safe."

"But DeVries said you had an alibi; you were showing houses to two clients."

"Yes; I did, but I had enough time. I exaggerated a little how long I was with each client, counting on them not recalling our exact time together. It was close but I managed. It wasn't as if I was going to spend time chatting with Barrett. I went precisely to take him out of the picture. I wasn't in the building even ten minutes. His door was open for John Sawyer and he'd left one of the front doors open by slipping a piece of cardboard in the latch, as he said on the phone he would do. I went into his office, sat down, took out the gun, and that was that. It took me just a minute or two to see he didn't have the books with him. I was sure Chet had them. Anyway, I met my client just a few minutes late. No problem."

"I thought it was McKay's gun."

"Nope; got that from a guy I dated a couple of years ago. He even showed me how to use it; said I was a natural."

"And you surprised McKay."

"That was tricky. I started out by confessing to him that I'd shot Barrett. I told him it was so he and I could split the proceeds. He didn't quite buy it but by that time I had the gun out and shot him twice. I wasn't careful; just wanted to incapacitate him and it worked better than I thought because both shots hit him in the chest. I then administered the coup de grâce with a head shot to be certain. But he didn't have the books and I didn't find them in Barrett's house, to which I'd kept a key. I even tried Milford's, but no luck. Of course, they were squirreled away in your department basement. But let's get back to the missing book. That's all that's left for me since the cops have the others. Where is it?"

"I don't know. I thought sure you had it. I figured that Barrett had had it to show while he kept the others in the storage room. I wouldn't screw around with Kate's life for a lousy book!"

Charlie thought he saw doubt in Hamilton's eyes.

"You're making this difficult. I can't very well search the house with you two down here."

"Search all you want; I swear neither of us will try anything."

"As if I'd believe that. I think what we're going to do is this. I'm going to take Kate with me. But first I'm going to cuff you to that radiator instead of the chair. There's no phone within reach. Now, very careful. I'm going to unlock the handcuff but I'll keep the gun on Kate. One wrong move and she's dead."

Hamilton walked around behind Charlie's chair and unlocked the handcuffs from the arm-rest. She had Charlie stand and move over to the radiator. He was careful to move slowly. Hamilton was surprisingly quick in snapping the handcuff on one of the radiator pipes. She then ran her free hand over Charlie's pockets, easily finding and taking his cell, which she tossed to the other side of the room. She then went over to Kate's chair, held the gun to her head, and unlocked the handcuffs from the arm-rest. As before, she managed this one-handed, simply slipping in the key while holding the gun to Kate's head. She then snapped the freed cuff on Kate's other wrist and told her to stand. The two of them then went upstairs.

Charlie couldn't think what he could do. He was too far from the phone and his cell was across the room. There was nothing close to where he was that was of any use. He heard Hamilton and Kate blundering around upstairs. It wouldn't take long. He tried desperately to think of something. Then he heard someone at the door. There was a soft knock; the bell wasn't used. By stretching as much as he could he reached for the shade on the front window closest to him. He could just barely reach it; not enough to put up but enough to shake it. The movement must have been noticed because the knocking stopped. Or whoever it was had left.

A minute later Charlie thought he heard something at the front door again, but just then there was a loud noise from upstairs, as if something had fallen. Concerned for Kate, Charlie called her name. There was no answer. A few tense minutes passed before he heard Kate and Hamilton coming down the stairs. When they entered the living room Charlie saw Kate had been crying; she was holding her cuffed hands to the side of her face. Hamilton ignored Charlie and shoved Kate into the kitchen. Charlie heard cupboard doors being opened and slammed closed. There was too much noise for him to hear if someone was still at the front door.

Charlie heard Hamilton ask about a basement and Kate saying there was none. Just then something odd happened. Charlie didn't hear anything, but he suddenly felt a draft. He was sure the front door had been opened. Fortunately, Hamilton was at that moment opening the back door to check out the back yard for any sort of storage space. As she was slamming the door shut a uniformed police officer stood in the living room doorway. He held his finger to his lips warning Charlie to keep quiet. With his free arm Charlie pointed to the kitchen. A second officer, this time a woman, was behind the first. The two were moving toward the kitchen when Kate walked back into the living room with Hamilton behind her. The two cops raised their guns and for an instant all four stood frozen. Then Kate, thinking fast, made the decisive move that saved the day: she dropped to the floor, leaving Hamilton exposed in the doorway. Hamilton, without Kate as a shield, turned and ran back into the kitchen. The cops quickly followed. At that moment Bolster and DeVries entered the living room from the front door, both with guns in their hands. Hamilton was at the back door but before she could open it the cops were all over her. Hamilton was read her rights and Bolster and the two officers took her out to the squad car. DeVries unlocked Charlie's and Kate's handcuffs. Charlie noticed that she did it with her own key, not having gotten Hamilton's. Interesting.

"Are you both okay?"

Kate had a red welt on the side of her face where Hamilton hit her while they were upstairs. Charlie was just shaken up. Both sat down as did DeVries. Bolster re-entered the living room and Charlie heard the squad car leave, its siren starting.

"Ms. Douglas, that was brilliant. If only more people in that situation did the same. If Hamilton had grabbed you, things would have ended very differently."

Charlie smiled at Kate and then addressed DeVries.

"How did you know?"

"The shades. One of the officers in the squad car said she'd never seen your front-room shades down in all the times they'd checked your house. She knocked on the door and saw one of the shades being shaken and decided something was wrong. She went back to the car and called us while her partner went to your door and started trying the skeleton keys most of them carry, useful in cases of domestic abuse. He took a chance regarding the legality of entering your house, but he made the right call, sure that you wouldn't mind if there was something wrong."

"Well, he certainly got that right!"

After Bolster and DeVries left, Kate cried on Charlie's shoulder.

"I was so stupid! I went to the store and when I got back, I opened the door without checking around. Hamilton must have been right behind me. When I turned to close the door she was in the doorway with that gun in her hand. It was my fault, Charlie. She got in because of me. We could've been killed!"

Charlie consoled Kate and eventually they went to bed. Though relieved, Charlie lay awake for a while wondering: where was the missing book?

# Chapter Twenty-Six

## The Last Wednesday

When Charlie woke up that Wednesday, the events of the previous evening felt like a dream. They were made real, though, by his realization that the mystery was over. Hamilton had killed both Barrett and McKay. Charlie had been right about her shooting McKay, though he'd not been sure about Barrett. On reflection, what he'd learned the night before really was the simplest possibility. There was no John Sawyer; Shwayder hadn't played a part; McKay hadn't had a mysterious accomplice. Hamilton had learned about the book deal and gotten greedy.

Charlie got up and showered. He went downstairs and made coffee. He wouldn't leave the house till Kate was up. He wanted to see how her face looked. Perhaps she should see someone about it. As it turned out, he didn't have long to wait. Kate came down a few minutes later. The welt on the side of her face was no longer a bright red and looked ready to be black and blue for a bit. Charlie gently felt it but the bone underneath seemed undamaged.

"Maybe you should have someone look at that."

"I don't think so. She didn't hit me that hard; it was more a warning. She got pissed off when I hesitated to open that drawer where we keep our accounts stuff. I'm going to spend a good part of the day tidying things up. It's a mess upstairs. At least the kitchen is more or less okay. I think by the time we got there she didn't think she was going to find the book. Are you going to your office?"

"Well, I was hoping to see DeVries."

The phone rang and perhaps not so coincidentally it was DeVries.

"Charlie? How about I buy you breakfast at that coffee-shop we've been to, the one near your bank? I'm sure you want to know what we found out and I feel I owe it to you to fill you in after all your help and the scare last night."

"I'll be there in half an hour."

Trying to be thoughtful, Charlie asked Kate if she wanted to go along, but as he'd expected she said no. She wanted a long shower and then to sort things out upstairs. They'd gone to bed in the near-chaos Hamilton had left behind, too tired to care, but now Kate wanted to set things right.

DeVries was sitting in a booth when Charlie got to the coffee-shop.

"Good morning."

"It certainly is; looks like we've solved a case that didn't look like it would get solved. But let me tell you what happened. Of course, Hamilton lawyered up, but it wasn't simple. She had some sort of argument with the first lawyer and he walked out, so we had to get another one. Unfortunately, the second guy is a sleaze-ball with a good record of getting guilty people off or lessened sentences. If anyone can help Hamilton, he can, but he's expensive. I suspect it'll clean her out. Even if he gets her a reduced sentence, she isn't going to walk and she'll be broke."

"What do you actually have on her?"

"More than enough. She had the gun and forensics will show it was the gun used to shoot Dr. Wilson and Mr. McKay. She had no compunctions about using the gun to threaten you and your wife. We'll have your and Kate's evidence regarding what she admitted to you last night, and the prosecutor will argue that by admitting all that to you, it's obvious she intended to kill you both. We'll get onto her clients for more specific time-frames for her showing the houses. We've got the voice-altering software on her computer and we're going to ask Mr. Tanner about the phone calls from John Sawyer. She'll do serious time; the question is how much. On the downside, Dan and I are positive she doesn't have the missing book. She wouldn't have risked doing what she did last night if she had it. She was sure you had it."

"What about the books you've got?"

"One of our guys is nearly certain he's tracked down their source. A super-rich Saudi reported his house, palace, more like it, was raided when there was a so-called police action in the neighborhood. Something to do with breaking up an allegedly treasonous gang that was holed up in a fortified house very near the Saudi's home. Apparently, the police needed help and hired half-a-dozen mercenaries to storm the house. We're sure Mr. McKay was one of those mercenaries and that they went a little further afield than they might have. We're a long way from turning over the books to the Saudi, but they'll eventually end up back with him. I think since Mr. Tanner was so cooperative, I may let him know about that. He may buy them still. Unfortunately, the _De Materia_ is still missing. Dan thinks Mr. Wilson had it hidden somewhere and was going to keep it rather than include it with the others. One book could be hidden any number of places, as Hamilton's unsuccessful efforts to find it proved."

"I could go through the basement storage room again; maybe Barrett hid it on another shelf. Bolster may be right that he was going to hang on to it, or maybe sell it separately. It'll be a job searching for it, though. What about a safe-deposit box? A book would fit."

"If Barrett had a safe-deposit box, it was under another name. We looked. And if Barrett did sell it, he hid the cash or opened an off-shore account somewhere and no doubt under a different name. No, I'm afraid that book, or the money, is just gone. Our lieutenant isn't willing to pay for more on this case. As far as he's concerned, it closed with the arrest."

Charlie and DeVries finished their coffee and doughnuts and left the coffee-shop.

"Charlie, it's been a pleasure. You were a real help. I think you've got a talent for sleuthing. I hope, though, that we won't have to do this again."

After DeVries had gone Charlie walked to his car. He'd have to search the storage room. He couldn't let it go. This time, though, he'd talk to Amanda first. At the department word of Hamilton's arrest was making the rounds, based on the briefest of notices in the _Times-Standard_ , one obviously inserted just prior to the paper going to press. Charlie found Amanda in her office and explained the problem. To preempt her objections, he suggested that they both go and have a look in the storage room. As he'd hoped, Amanda liked the idea and suggested that they get it done right away. A few minutes later, Charlie and Amanda were in the storage room working out how to go about their search. They decided to start with the philosophy and history department shelves and agreed all they would do would be to open boxes for a quick look and set any one aside that had Barrett's name inside or otherwise looked suspicious so they could both look at it. Amanda felt that no one in the other departments could object to this procedure. Charlie was hardly going to argue.

After forty minutes they'd looked through all the philosophy and history boxes and found nothing even slightly curious. They then decided to each start at opposite ends of the room and work towards the middle. There were only four other departments and in a little more than an hour they decided that wherever Barrett had hidden the book, it wasn't in the storage room.

Back in his office Charlie decided not to push things with DeVries and settled for just leaving her a message that he and Amanda Rankin had searched the storage room with no luck.

At lunch Charlie recounted the previous night's events. There was obvious interest in he and Kate having been held hostage by Hamilton, but once the story had been told there was not much more to say and the conversation soon turned to jokes and the president's latest blunder. As he walked back to his office Charlie was a little taken aback that something he'd devoted so much thought and time to could just be over. At least he could get back to his proper work and next Monday's seminar would be the better for it. That evening Charlie and Kate went to Sandoval's to celebrate the case being over and Charlie ordered a pricey bottle of French cabernet.

"You're still bugged by that missing book."

"I am. It's an irritating loose end. In a way, its being missing was a break because it was Hamilton's undoing. But I can't figure out what happened to it and that is annoying. My best guess is that Barrett hid it somewhere. He may have been trying to cheat McKay. I'm betting it's in a safe-deposit box under another name, but without the name, it won't be found until the box has to be paid for and no one ponies up. I imagine DeVries will have routinely notified the banks to let the police know of defaults on safe-deposit box fees. There wouldn't be many."

"That could take years. Barrett may have prepaid for a couple of years or more."

"He might have, especially if what he was doing was cheating McKay and wanted to wait a while before selling the book."

Just as Charlie was tasting the cabernet and pronouncing it more than acceptable, Janet Milford was in her kitchen in Coulton serving two plates for herself and Mike. As she put them on the table, she patted her growing tummy and whispered to it:

"You're going to go to the best college money can buy. In time I'll sell that book."

As Milford sat down, she marveled yet again that neither Barrett nor Chet had bothered to check the duffle-bag after she'd kept it for them. Now the book she'd taken was in her safe-deposit box. She wouldn't have to worry about the book for some years; not till she was ready to sell it and it was safe to do so. The book would probably be worth even more by then. Perhaps that Mr. Tanner would still be interested?

– THE END –
