Long Knives (36 page)

CHAPTER 80

Week 3—Wednesday

I
t was almost 9:00
A.M.,
and I was still in bed when the ringing of my landline woke me from a ragged sleep. Oscar had kept me up late the night before planning strategy for Thursday and talking about who
our
witnesses were going to be—if any—when Broontz finished with hers.

To my disappointment, Oscar wasn’t impressed with my Tommy-did-it theory. He pointed out that Greta, who, he noted, was also on my suspect list, could simply have followed me and seen me go into the salon. I argued that she had no reason to follow me and no reason to ask if I’d had a hot wax treatment. I finally dropped it after Oscar said he would let the police know my theory.

We also talked about the fact that if they dared to call Julie as a witness, we were going to have to find a way to immolate her. I hadn’t slept well at all. And I had pushed the dresser back in front of the door, because if the police were focusing on me again as their prime suspect in Primo’s death, it meant the real killer was still out there, unconcerned and free to act.

The phone was still in its cradle and continuing to ring. I punched the speakerphone button so I wouldn’t have to hold the thing up to my ear. It was Aldous.

“Hey,” he said, “I’m back from Buffalo. Sorry I was gone so much longer than I expected.”

“Welcome back.”

“That didn’t sound all that friendly.”

“No, no. It’s just that you kind of woke me up. I’ve had a sleepless night. Greta Broontz has brought charges against me, contending that my alleged murder of Primo has disrupted the teaching environment on campus, and we’re in the middle of a hearing about it.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. Three days ago I thought this was all over, and that I was no longer a focus of the police investigation. Now I’m again apparently at least a serious suspect, and I’m also the focus of an investigation by the Charges Committee.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why didn’t you call me and tell me what was going on?”

“Well, why didn’t you call
me
, Aldous, and ask how things were going back here?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been in meetings and meals from dawn to dusk. Well past dusk, actually. Anyway, these charges against you are ridiculous.”

“Yes, they are. I’ve also gone back to thinking that maybe someone was trying to poison me, and that the library thing wasn’t just an accident.”

“What library thing?”

“While you were gone, a shelf of books fell on me. I’ll tell you about it when I see you.”

“What about the civil suit for stealing the map, Jenna?”

“Allegedly stealing the map.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“Who knows? I’ll have to deal with that later. How was Buffalo?”

“It was great. It’s going to be just what I’ve always wanted. A school that combines a great legal education and a great business education for each and every student.”

Aldous began to describe his whole trip to me in glorious detail. While I listened, or tried to, I climbed out of bed, snatched the portable phone from its cradle so that the speakerphone clicked off and transferred the sound to the handset. I pulled the dresser away from the door and went into the bathroom. My mouth tasted foul. I continued listening—now Aldous was talking about the great facilities they were renting, and how they were going to build their own building within three years—while trying to brush my teeth, but quietly, so he couldn’t hear. I should have put the mute on, but I forgot.

“Jenna, are you brushing your teeth?”

“Uh, yeah. My mouth tasted horrible. I was afraid you’d be able to detect my bad breath even over the phone.”

“Very funny. But listen, I won’t keep you.”

“Hey, Aldous, I’m sorry, don’t be that way. It’s like being stuck in a long tunnel when I thought I’d already come out of it.”

“All right. I understand. How about lunch today, Jenna?”

“Sure.”

“It’s a really beautiful day, and I think you need to do something to cheer yourself up. I propose a picnic in the sculpture garden.”

“Sounds great. What time?”

“I’ll meet you there at noon.”

“Okay. Shall I bring something?”

“No, I’ll put it all together.”

“Good. See you there.”

I spent the rest of the morning drafting end-of-semester exams. Normally by this time in the semester I would already have written near-final drafts of both exams.

At about eleven the doorbell rang, which was an almost unheard of event. Usually, if I was expecting visitors, the front desk called and asked me if it was okay for them to come up. And, in any case, I wasn’t expecting anyone. I walked to the front door and peered out through the little glass peephole. It was Tommy.

I didn’t open the door. Instead, I just raised my voice and yelled through it, “How did you get up here, Tommy?”

“The usual way. I took the elevator. They know me at the front desk, and I guess you didn’t tell them I’ve moved out.”

He was right, of course. “Well, what do you want?”

“I left a set of walking sticks in the closet of my room. I need them for a hike I’m taking tomorrow.”

“I might get them for you, Tommy, but before I do, did you tell Greta Broontz that I had my hands waxed the day my student died?”

“Who is Greta Broontz?”

“One of my colleagues at the law school.”

“I’ve never heard of her.”

“You didn’t tell her about the hot wax?”

“No. Why would I? And how could I if I don’t know her?”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Can I have my poles now?”

“Wait there, please.”

I walked back to his bedroom and, sure enough, there was a pair of walking sticks leaning against the back corner of his closet. I hadn’t noticed them when I checked his room after he moved out. I picked them up, went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, then returned to the front door with the poles in one hand and the knife in the other.

“Tommy,” I yelled, “move down the hallway to the very end, where I can see you, and I’ll toss them out.”

He actually rolled his eyes, or at least I think that’s what he did, since his face looked weird in the distorted visual field of the peephole. As requested, he moved far down the hallway, so that he was just a speck in the eyepiece. I opened the door a crack, heaved the poles out and slammed the door.

I watched Tommy return and pick up the poles. When he turned around, he gave me the finger, then walked off down the hallway. I watched until he turned the corner.

Oscar was right: I was losing it.

CHAPTER 81

A
fter Tommy left I went back to working on my exams, although I had trouble focusing on them. About 11:30 I put them aside, grabbed my bike from the study and headed for the front door. Right before I reached it, I thought about calling Aldous and canceling. I rejected that and instead went back to the kitchen, grabbed a six-inch knife and put it in my saddlebag. If someone came after me with a gun, it would be useless, of course. But so far it had been poison and library books, so maybe it would be helpful in a nongun situation.

I left the building and rode my bike up to the sculpture garden, which is at the north end of the campus. It’s named for the UCLA chancellor, Franklin D. Murphy, who founded it. Its five acres of grass, planted with flowers and trees, spreads over gentle hillocks crisscrossed by winding walkways. Amid all of it are dozens of exquisite sculptures from the world’s most famous sculptors, from Rodin to Calder. It’s the most calming place on campus. On any day you can see young couples watching their small children run, students studying and people picnicking. It’s a place where the grass seems to say
Please walk on me
.

I spotted Aldous right away. He was sitting toward the bottom of one of the small hillocks and had already spread out a green blanket and a checkered tablecloth. On top of the tablecloth was one of those classic, rounded wicker picnic baskets with a split wooden top and polished double wooden handles.

He got up as I approached and we hugged. He was still hugging when I broke it off and sat down.

“Hi, Aldous, it’s good to have you back.” I knew as soon as I said it that it wasn’t the kind of thing someone would say on her lover’s return, and that it meant our relationship was, if not over, very close to over. I felt a wave of sadness wash over me. The relationship had seemed to have such promise when it started.

I think Aldous sensed the end coming, too, because all he said in response was, “Good to be back.”

Neither one of us said anything more as he pulled back the basket’s wooden handles and flipped open the wooden tops. He took out bright red plastic plates, two red plastic cups and what looked like coleslaw packed in a plastic container he’d picked up at one of the campus eateries. I could also see sandwiches inside the basket, which he’d clearly made himself and carefully wrapped in Saran Wrap. And, finally, there was a white thermos that I knew must hold coffee, plus a couple of soft drinks.

“What are the sandwiches?” I asked.

“Ham and cheese, salami and your favorite, peanut butter and jelly.”

“On white, I hope.”

“Yep, on WASP white. Guaranteed stale in one day.”

He knew I loved peanut butter and jelly. I’d eaten it all through my childhood and had seen no reason to stop just because I passed the age of eighteen and eventually became a law professor. On the salvage boat that past summer, the sailors aboard, who preferred heartier fare, had derisively dubbed me the PB&J girl. By the end of the summer, though, I’d converted two of them and even drawn them into the ultimate PB&J discussion topic—which peanut butter was best and whether you should eat smooth or chunky.

I took out one of the PB&Js, unwrapped it, poured myself some coffee and began to eat. Aldous picked up a ham and cheese and pulled a can of Coke out of the basket. After we’d both munched for a while, I said, “I gather from the call this morning that you’re definitely going to Buffalo.”

“Yes. It looks like a perfect opportunity.”

“It probably fits. You’ve always been as much a businessman as a lawyer.”

“True. I’m hoping to persuade you to come, too, Jenna. The founder told me that, to get you, he’d be willing to build you a world-class center for admiralty law. There’d be three faculty positions to fill, and the funding for some scholarships and an academic journal.”

“You think they’d want a suspected murderer?”

“That’s going to go away, I’m sure.”

“Aldous, I appreciate your saying that, but may I speak bluntly?”

He laughed. “Have you ever done otherwise?”

“That’s not fair. I can be subtle.”

He just looked at me.

“Okay, not very often, but I can.” I paused. “Anyway, I would die in Buffalo. I’m sure it’s a very nice place, but it would remind me too much of Cleveland. I need a much bigger city.”

“I figured you would say something like that.”

“Also, and here’s the blunt part, if I thought our relationship was going somewhere, I might consider it, despite Buffalo. But even with our many attempts to work things out—and I kept thinking we would work it out—our relationship still seems mostly to be about the great sex. I know we have fun together, too, and we travel well together, and we have a lot of things in common. Maybe it’s mostly my fault, but it’s just not enough, at least for me. So—there’s no easy way to say it—we need this to be over.”

He took a bite out of his sandwich, as if to give himself some time to think, a gesture that sort of summed up what was wrong in our relationship. After a while he said, “I don’t feel that way, Jenna, but it takes two, and if I’ve learned anything about you, it’s that once you make a final decision about something, you rarely change your mind. And your decision sounds final.”

“It is.”

“I can’t say I’m not hurt, because I am. But I know you don’t mean it to hurt.”

“I don’t.”

“Will we still be friends, Jenna?”

“Of course we will.” I scooted my butt over on the blanket and gave him a big hug, much warmer than the one with which I’d greeted him.

“Good,” he said after we broke the hug. “Because I wouldn’t like to lose our friendship. Maybe I can even persuade you to visit me in Buffalo at some point.”

“Visiting is certainly doable. In late spring.”

He laughed. “By the way, I have a present for you.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. It’s in an envelope in the picnic basket. Check it out.”

I leaned over and looked into the basket. There was a white business-size envelope on the bottom of the basket. I picked it up. “Is it the offer for the admiralty professorship?”

“Nope. Open it.”

I tore it open and pulled out several folded pieces of paper stapled together. I unfolded them and saw that it was a long multipage list of Internet addresses. “What is it?”

“Do you remember that you were pissed off at me when I refused to break the confidentiality agreement I had when I investigated Primo and Quinto’s treasure salvage deal?”

“Yes. Are you about to break it now?”

“No. But I wanted to make that up to you, so I hacked Julie’s notebook computer and looked at her Internet search history.”

“What?”

“Don’t act so shocked. You know I have those skills.”

“Yes, but you have strange ethics. You won’t break the confidentiality agreement, but you’ll break various federal and state laws to hack someone’s computer.”

“Sometime I’ll explain to you why I think they’re different.”

“I don’t expect to be persuaded. But since you’ve already done it, I guess I need to ask what you found.”

“I found out that about two weeks before Primo died, Julie went online and Googled the topic
poisons soluble in coffee
. It’s the sixth item on the list I just handed you.”

“Are you able to tell what she did with that?”

“Yes. She linked from the results for that search to several newspaper articles about an incident that took place at Harvard a number of years ago. Somehow sodium azide got into a coffeepot in a research lab there, and six people were poisoned, although none of them died.”

“Who did it?”

“The articles say Harvard did an investigation but never figured out how the poison got into the coffeepot.”

“Oh my God. That means Julie did this.”

“I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion quite so quickly.”

“Why not?”

“Because Julie was living with Primo and Quinto, and if you look at all the searches, it’s pretty clear from the topics searched that some of them were done by Primo or Quinto. They’re searches of multiple Italian websites. So we can’t know for sure if Julie did the poison search or if one of them did it using her computer.”

“Why would Primo have done it?”

“To kill himself?”