Эд Горман - Murder on the Aisle

“Yeah. Guess I am.”

“I really resented all the shit you said about John Hughes a couple weeks ago.”

“Don’t people say ‘Hi’ around here before they attack someone?”

“It really unfair. He’s great. Really. Great. Especially Ferris Bueller’s Day Off .”

He was running on caffeine and fear, and so he was ready to go off. The girl’s snottiness set him off. “He’s just what I said he is. A racist homophobic candy ass.”

He could hear the high killer edge of drinking nights and simple animal rage in his voice. This was how he was when he pulled his motorcycle up five flights of stairs to a party or pushed a dishwasher downstairs.

“Some of the staff were placing bets that you killed Richard and I was saying no but now I’m not so sure.”

The man who spoke was at least six feet five and he wore a blue cardigan sweater and neatly pressed chinos in such a way that he looked like a private-school boy even though his gray hair and stern, arrogant features marked him as middle-aged. He stank of books.

He came out of an office in which a poster of Gloria Swanson as the Hollywood Medusa in Sunset Boulevard was prominently displayed.

“I’m Baines. One of the film instructors here.” He put out a lean hand, which Tobin accepted. Baines had a grasp like a snake bite — quick and stinging. “Sorry Marcie was so belligerent. But I guess you’re not exactly a wonderful guy, are you?”

Tobin was on the defensive now. “I don’t care much for suburban fascists like Hughes.”

Baines smiled. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to change my bet, Mr. Tobin.”

Tobin shrugged. “Then you’d lose. I didn’t kill him.”

“From the Post , I get the impression that isn’t what the police think.”

“You read the Post ?”

Baines laughed. “I even read Dear Abby.”

The girl came up and put out her hand. “My name’s Marcie Pierce. I guess I was kind of rude.”

Tobin shook. “So was I.”

“Man, you really do have a temper. You were really mad.”

“I’m under some strain.”

“No shit,” she said. She looked back at the editing machine and the moviola she’d been working on. A frame of film was frozen there — a ballerina toweling her face after a performance.

“Marcie’s doing a ten-minute film on her roomie, who’s in dance.”

“That’s a nice shot,” Tobin said. And it was.

“Thanks,” Marcie said. “Well, I’m going to go out for some lunch. You want anything, Larry?”

“No, thanks. Already had a bite.”

She grinned. “You think I should say, ‘Nice to meet you’?”

Tobin smiled back. “Sure, why not?”

She shrugged. “Well, then, nice to meet you.”

When she was gone, Baines said, “She’s one of our best students.”

Tobin nodded. “Sorry for my temper.”

“No harm done.” He took a small pipe from his pocket and placed it between his teeth unlit. “Trying to kick cigarettes. This is my teething ring.”

“It’s not easy. I’ve tried several times. And failed.”

Baines took the pipe from his mouth. “So how can I help you?”

“Well, frankly, I wondered if I could see Richard’s office.”

“His office?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mind if I ask why?”

“I’m not sure why.”

Baines seemed to assess him for a long and silent moment during which Tobin became aware of frost on the corners of the windows and boot tracks where snow had melted on the floor. “May I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Does this have anything to do with the script?”

“What script?”

“The one he sold.”

“No. No, it doesn’t.”

“I see.”

Now it was Tobin’s turn to regard the other man at some length. “Why did you ask me that, Dr. Baines?”

“No particular reason.”

“You’re not telling me the truth.”

Baines startled Tobin by smiling and saying “No, Mr. Tobin, I’m not, am I?”

“What’s going on here?”

“There was a break-in last night.”

“Here?”

“Yes. In Richard’s office, as a matter of fact.”

“Was anything taken?”

“No one can be certain. But we do know that something was left.”

“What’s that?”

“This.”

From his pocket Baines took what appeared to be a small pin. He handed it to Tobin, who looked at it closely. “It’s a union pin. Local 2786.”

“Right.”

“And you found it in Richard’s office?”

Baines nodded.

“And nobody has any idea about its significance?”

Baines shook his head. “Afraid not.”

“You called the police, I assume?”

“Yes. Yes, we did.”

“Why don’t they have this?”

“Well, the fact is, we found it only a few hours ago — Marcie found it, as a matter of fact.”

“The police are pretty good at searches. Wonder how they missed this?”

“I consider that curious, too.”

“What time were the police here?”

“Around nine. Last night. I’d come in to work on a film I’m making and I found Richard’s office forced open and papers strewn all over.”

“But Marcie found this pin this morning?”

“Right.”

“Mind if I keep this?”

“Mind if I ask why?”

“What if I said I was working on a murder investigation and this might come in handy?”

“They’re really moving in on you, aren’t they?”

“Yes. That’s why I need to find somebody else who’ll look good to them.”

Baines stroked his face with long fingers. “I suppose I could be a suspect myself.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t like him and I made no secret of it. I used to do the screenwriting course and then they gave it to him. I resented that. A great deal, actually. I have much better credentials.”

“Oh?”

“Sold two screenplays to Roger Corman a few years back, and last year NBC took an option on a mini-series idea of mine. Richard never sold anything except one terrible novel.”

Most Roger Corman scripts aren’t terrible? Tobin wanted to ask. But a virus of civilization came over him. “Until recently. I’d consider six hundred thousand dollars a pretty decent sale.” He felt good about defending Richard. That’s what he should be doing, with Richard dead less than twenty-four hours.

“Yes, I’d have to say that was a lot of money.”

“But other than yourself, you don’t have anybody I could add to my suspect list?” He waved the piece of paper at Baines.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“No run-ins with students or faculty members or irate parents?”

“None. He spent very little time here except when he lectured or when he came to see Sarah Nichols.” He inclined his head to the open door. “Her office is right down the hall.”

“Maybe I’ll stop by when I’m finished looking through Richard’s office.”

Baines smiled again. “I don’t recall saying I was going to let you do that. I’m not sure I can let you do that. The police have a yellow piece of tape across the doorframe that means verboten .”

“So you’re not going to let me go in there?”

“He may, but I won’t.”

He didn’t need to turn around to find out who stood in the doorway behind him.

“Hello, Sarah,” Baines said as she came in the room.

She wore a forest-green sweater that made the auburn highlights of her hair dance in the sunshine. Her discreet brown skirt was meant to be prim but was all the sexier for its good intentions.

She didn’t say hello. Just came in and walked up to Tobin and said, “You’re not going in there. You have no right.”

Her beauty faded a bit close up. She’d obviously spent a sleepless night crying.