Ada Madison - The Square Root of Murder

“That’s his distinguished alumnus clock from Harvard,” I said, swallowing a gulp. “He was extremely proud of that.”

Virgil nodded and appeared to appreciate the information. “A photograph-”

“Keith with Senator Kennedy, right? He loved that picture. The only one in his office. It was taken at a special fund-raiser only weeks before the senator died.”

“Thanks again,” Virgil said.

I nodded. “Uh-huh.”

Why were my nerves so rattled? I felt like clamping my hand across my mouth. I looked around the den to find something calming. I settled on a poster, rolled up in the corner, waiting for me to take it to a shop for mounting. I imagined it unfurled, revealing the sweet, smiling countenance of Emmy Noether, said to be the most important woman in the history of mathematics. Even a huge Sophie Germain fan like me would have to agree.

Virgil cleared his throat. “There was some other stuff. On the desk is a clear bottle of white powder, a crystally substance, the officer called it, labeled potassium chloride. The uniforms ask the janitor to come in and ID the bottle. Did he ever see it before, to his knowledge did it belong in this office, et cetera, et cetera. This is where I arrive with my partner, Archie-you’ve met him a couple of times, I think. We send the uniforms out…” Another pause to flip through pages. “The janitor says the bottle looks like it belongs down the hall in a chemistry laboratory, in a cabinet that’s always locked.”

“I know the cabinet you’re talking about. A lot of people have a key,” I said. Including Rachel.

“Your friend has a key,” Virgil said, echoing my thought.

“But she’s not the only one. Every chem and bio faculty member has a key, plus a couple of interns. You’d have to have a lot more than that before-”

My voice had risen again. Virgil put his hand out to stop me before I made a complete fool of myself. Perspiration that had formed on his forehead made its way down his face. Here was this very tired, very busy detective in my home, to accommodate me, as a courtesy to his best friend. He had no obligation whatsoever to be here or to share information.

“There is more,” he said, mopping his brow.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice back in control.

Virgil waved away the second apology I’d made in less than ten minutes. “An eyewitness saw Ms. Wheeler outside the door to Professor Appleton’s office in the afternoon between one thirty and one forty-five, which looks to be close to the time of death, though we don’t know that for sure yet. That was just a quickie guess by the ME. Could have been any time from about noon till the gentleman found him at four.”

An eyewitness saw her? Probably Woody. I could take care of that little nothing of a clue. “Rachel went upstairs to take Keith some food from a party we were having on the first floor.” I felt and heard a triumphant ring to my response. “We were celebrating Hal Bartholomew’s doctorate. He teaches physics.” That should clear things up.

Virgil scratched his head. “What kind of food was that?”

I described the paper plate with cake that Rachel had assembled. “White frosting, blue icing. And a can of soda. I don’t know which kind,” I added.

Virgil flipped through his notebook. “I don’t see a mention of food or a drink here anywhere in the office.”

“There has to be food there. I saw her leave the lounge with it. It was a very nice gesture on her part. While everyone else was ragging on him, I might add.”

“I’ll check the photos when I get back.”

“Wait. I remember Rachel said Keith didn’t answer her knock. I’ll bet she just left the plate outside his door. Would the photos show that?”

“If there was anything outside the door, yes, it would have been photographed.”

Virgil shot me a sad, tired look. I was amazed he showed no anger or frustration, which, given my performance, I’d have completely understood.

“I’m really grateful to you for coming, Virgil,” I said. “I’m getting concerned that you’ll get no sleep at all tonight if you don’t leave soon. I guess I lost track of the fact that you’re doing me this big favor.” I took a big breath. “I’m just worried about my friend.”

“I understand, Sophie. I didn’t come here for a party.” He held up his nearly empty beer bottle and smiled, barely. “This was a good start, though.”

“Can I get you another one? Or some coffee?” About time I showed my classy side.

“I’m good.”

“I just want you to know I’d like to help Rachel Wheeler. She seems to think you’re zeroing in on her. Maybe she’s wrong?” I checked Virgil’s face for signs of “Bingo, you’re right; she’s wrong.” Nothing. “Or if she is at the top of your list because of something I don’t know yet, maybe you could tell me and I could explain it for you.”

I was out of breath as often happened when I rambled.

Virgil drained his beer then sucked his lips in tight. “We’re withholding one thing. I’m going out on a limb here telling you. But what the heck, I don’t think this is what’s going to be the gotcha.” I moved forward on my seat. “There were papers scattered over and around the victim’s body and throughout the office. Pages and pages of yellow computer paper, eight and a half by eleven sheets, some with typed text, some with diagrams and pictures. They were crinkled up as if someone had thrown them around in anger.”

I thought immediately of Rachel’s thesis. The campus store sold reams of very inexpensive yellow paper that most students used for drafts of their reports that no teacher would see. Once they edited their papers and were ready to submit, they printed on a good white bond paper. I knew Rachel’s thesis was still in the yellow paper stage, though she’d had a series of oral presentations on her data.

“Don’t tell me,” I whispered. I leaned over, put my face in my hands and partly over my ears, and pressed my body farther into the couch, but I could still hear Virgil as plain as day.

“The name at the tops of the pages was R. Wheeler and the pages were bleeding with red pencil corrections and nasty comments.” Virgil shook his head slightly. “It doesn’t look good for your friend.”

I rubbed my eyes and breathed out loudly.

“Can I ask one more question, Virgil? If it’s out of line, just tell me, but doesn’t it look as though Rachel is being framed, that someone wants you to think Rachel killed her teacher? Everyone knows he’s given her a hard time for years, and especially right now, about her thesis.”

Virgil nodded. “I know what you’re thinking. And you have a point. Who leaves the murder weapon and evidence of anger at the scene, practically shouting out ‘me, me.’ But, with the janitor seeing her there, she’s the best we have right now. And sometimes a smart guy will frame himself, so the police will say what you’re saying. We’re looking at all of this, believe me, Sophie.”

He fell just short of saying, “We’re not that dumb,” and I admired his restraint.

I was out of ideas.

“Thanks again for coming by, Virgil. If there’s anything I can do. I mean, I can vouch for Rachel.” The offer sounded silly even to me but Virgil nodded politely.

“The best thing you can do is just sit back and let us do our job.”

“Easy for you to say.”

I was glad we could end with both of us smiling.

Almost.

“Archie will be in tomorrow,” he said, gathering up his jacket and tie. He handed me Archibald McConnell’s card. “Why don’t you give him a call and you guys pick a good time.”

I raised my eyebrows in a huge question mark.

“He needs to interview you. It wouldn’t look good on the report if I did it.”