Murder Misread (24 page)

“
Yes! Let’s check them
over,” Charlie agreed. Maybe they’d take his mind off Hines’s
attack.

Maggie pulled out the
folds of computer paper and flipped them open. “Good news and bad
news,” she said. “Your main variable of contextual meaning comes
through in all three studies. But looking across the studies, the
effect of word shape is even stronger. So it looks like you and Tal
were both right.”

“
Well, we both knew that.”
Yet he was disappointed. He’d hoped his context effect would be
more powerful than the word-shape effect. “What about the
eye-movement information?” he asked.

She unfolded the printout
next to the big box on his desk. “Here we go,” she announced, and
for the next half hour they pored over the details of the
statistics. Not great, but not bad either. A lot of it would be
publishable, although people in Tal’s word-shape camp would jump on
some of the results and parade them around as proofs of their own
point of view. Well, that’s what science was, an ongoing argument
among scientists with nature acting as referee—whenever you could
get nature to say anything about the problems. Here, unfortunately,
nature was saying word shape was pretty damn important.

“
Any chance the remaining
studies will change the numbers?” he asked Maggie.

“
Probably not a lot. But
you never know.”

“
Well, this gives me a lot
to work with. Thanks, Maggie.”

“
Sure. I’ll keep the
printout over the weekend and copy it by Monday, if that’s okay.
Then you can start writing and let me know what other information
you need.”

“
Sounds good.”

Maggie slid the printout
back into her briefcase, stood and stretched. “Well. See you
Monday.”

“
Okay. Have a good
weekend.”

She left in a flutter of
red shirttails.

Charlie stood up and
pushed the box aside. He and Gary would have to move it downstairs
Monday. Strange, he thought he’d received that box a couple of
weeks ago. Thought it was downstairs already.

He riffled through the
long-neglected mail. Mostly announcements of lectures or
conferences, a request for a letter of recommendation, two
journals. No, one. The other manila envelope had an unfamiliar
return address in New York City. He opened it and stared without
comprehension at the tabloid inside. Then he saw the circled
classified ad and suddenly his legs felt wavery, like legs
reflected in water. He sat down abruptly.

He was looking at a copy
of
Screw
.

And the ugly ad listed a
post office box in Laconia.

What the hell was going
on? Who was advertising in
Screw
? Where had this come
from?

What should he do about
it?

Not tell Hines, he decided
instantly. He couldn’t face that cold, intelligent questioning
again now. But this needed investigation, soon. He picked up his
phone and dialed.

“
Captain Walensky, please.
About the Chandler murder.”

“
Yes, sir, just a
minute.”

After a few seconds
Charlie heard, “Walensky.”

“
Hi, Charlie Fielding
here. Listen, I just got something in the mail. I don’t know if
it’s connected to what happened to Tal, but it’s very
strange.”

“
Yeah? What is
it?”

Charlie lowered his voice
even though there was no one in the hall. “It’s, um, a copy
of
Screw
.”

“
Of what?”

“
Screw
. The sex tabloid. And they’ve
circled an ad with a Laconia address.”

“
Christ. Who sent it to
you?”

“
I don’t know. The return
address is New York City.”

“
I’ll be right over. Does
anyone else know about this?”

“
I just opened it
myself.”

“
Well, I don’t have to
tell you to keep this quiet until we figure out what’s going on.”
Charlie could hear the worry in Walensky’s voice. “If it’s
connected to the murder it’ll come out, of course. If not, we’ll do
what we can to keep your department out of it. No need to damage
your reputations.”

“
My
reputation?” Charlie squawked.
“I’ve got nothing to do with this ad!”

“
I’m sure you don’t. But
you understand that if the press hears about it they’ll hound you
anyway because you received it. So far we’ve deflected most of them
to the dean’s office, but we couldn’t stop them if they heard about
this. You understand?”

“
Yes. I
understand.” Charlie could see visions of flash bulbs and shouted
questions,
La Dolce
Vita
. “God, why can’t someone figure out
who killed Tal? Get things back to normal!”

“
We’re
doing our damnedest,” said Walensky wearily. “As it is, the dean
calls me every couple of hours. Nothing to do but keep the lid on
if I can and get on with the investigation. Look, I’ll stop by in a
few minutes and pick up that
Screw
. Save the envelope
too.”

“
Okay.” Charlie replaced
the receiver slowly.

What a day.

Saturday

June 4, 1977

14

Anne pulled the sheets
from the dryer, still warm. Seemed like Christmas, why was that?
This was June. Oh, the sheets, the blue and yellow sheets she only
used when Paul and Rocky visited. Holiday sheets. She trudged up
the stairs with the laundry basket. The sheets hadn’t been dirty,
in fact. But they’d been sitting in the closet since January, so
she’d popped them in the laundry to freshen them up. Paul and Rocky
probably wouldn’t even notice. Or maybe they would, subliminally.
Tal said that most mental work was unconscious, not just the
elaborate salacious stuff Freud talked about, but also the everyday
chores of keeping your balance when you walked, keeping your finger
muscles at the right tension when you held a pencil, moving your
eyes when you read. Consciously you were thinking about the clever
ideas Molière or Rostand was spreading before you, but another part
of your mind was quietly piloting your eyes, skipping them across
the pages in order to pull out those ideas. She’d helped Tal
proofread some of his articles, and it had been strange to read
about reading, reflecting on an activity the very instant she
performed it.

Back to Tal. That was some
submerged part of her mind too, leading her from any thought back
to him. But she hadn’t wanted to think about him. How had she got
here? Oh, the sheets. Paul and Rocky maybe noticing unconsciously
that they were fresh. Smell was usually unconscious, hardly
registering except to tinge the background emotionally. Maybe Paul
and Rocky would smell the fresh-washed sheets and be soothed, not
knowing why.

She’d finished Paul’s bed.
She smoothed down the bedspread and took the other set of sheets to
the sofa bed in her own den. This had been Rocky’s room once. She’d
been shocked when Anne had taken it over. Most young people were
prejudiced, believing that their own childhood was sacrosanct,
worthy of eternal preservation. But after a day of pouting because
her collection of horse magazines was now stored in the basement,
Rocky had accepted that being in graduate school in Chicago really
didn’t leave a lot of days to be home. And yes, she could see that
with two parents sharing the downstairs den, it was crowded,
bursting with books. But Anne could tell that her daughter was
sobered by the realization that she too was subject to inexorable
Time. Chapter One was finished. She was now an adult, no longer a
child playing at being an adult.

Anne hauled the sofa bed
open. Good exercise. Good to find tasks that used muscles instead
of mind. Her mind was untrustworthy just now, inefficient,
meandering, numbed much of the time but subject to occasional
bursts of angry grief. At breakfast she’d automatically poured two
glasses of juice, and then the realization that he wouldn’t drink
his had triggered twenty minutes of helpless sobs.

But she could focus on the
investigation, she found. Hines had called this morning, wanting to
know if anyone in Tal’s department had weapons. Nora’s gun was all
she could think of. He’d also asked about Tal’s term as chairman.
Apparently Bernie Reinalter had told him about the problems of
heading a department, and Hines had decided to check conflicts
involving Tal back then. Anne had told him about the early
financial problems but had hesitated to say anything about Bernie’s
past. Bernie should tell him about that. No need for her to ruin a
reputation. So she’d told Hines that she’d get back to him when
she’d had a chance to think.

She was still tucking
sheets around the unwieldy sofa bed mattress when the doorbell
sounded. Must be Maggie. She’d called last night, saying she had
some news and wanted to come over this morning to talk to her
again. Anne gave the half-made bed a slap. Hell, if she didn’t get
back to it, Rocky could damn well make it herself.

Maggie was in faded jeans
and a crinkly navy shirt today, one of those lightweight no-iron
Indian cottons. Looked comfortable. “Lots of news,” said Maggie.
“And lots of questions.”

“
No husband and kids
today?”

“
Nick’s doing some
background work. And Liz has the kids, bless her. They’re getting
along well.”

“
Good.” Anne waved her
toward the kitchen. “Now, did you find anything in Cindy’s
files?”

“
Found some questions.”
Maggie sailed through the dining room, dropped her briefcase on the
kitchen table, and landed in the same chair she’d used night before
last. “Where to start?”

“
Coffee?” Anne had taken
two mugs from the cupboard, hand-painted French mugs with green
leaves and yellow flowers that she and Tal had picked up one
sabbatical year.

“
Right. Coffee’s the best
place to start.”

“
Cream and
sugar?”

“
Everything,
please.”

“
Okay. Now, start
anywhere.” She poured the coffee into the mugs.

“
Okay. The gun. The gun in
Tal’s hand belonged to Nora.”

“
To Nora!” Some of the
half-and-half that Anne was pouring into Maggie’s mug splashed onto
the counter.

“
Yes. The one she’s had in
her desk for months.”

“
She could have taken the
pipe and the memo book, but—”

“
There’s another odd
thing. Remember you told me she got the gun after that scene in her
office last year? Tal and Charlie Fielding interrupted and the
fellow left.”

“
That’s what Tal
said.”

“
That’s what Charlie said
too. But he told me yesterday that the threatening student looked
like that young campus cop. The one who drove us in Walensky’s
car.”

“
A cop? How can he be the
stringy-haired student that Tal described?”

“
Haircut, uniform.” Maggie
shrugged.

“
But why would Walensky
hire him? And why did she say he had a grade problem?”

“
Good questions.” Maggie
put down her mug, half empty. “I’d like to talk to
Nora.”

Anne stared at Maggie and
said, “She could be it, couldn’t she? Nora. Her gun.”

“
Sure. Or it could be
anyone else, if they could get at her gun.”

Anne said bitterly, “Yes,
I know the rest of us aren’t out of it. Hines called again this
morning. I realize now what he was fishing for. Asked me if I knew
of anyone around the department who had a weapon. Naturally I
thought of what Tal had said about Nora. So now he knows I could
have stolen her gun. Played right into his hands, didn’t
I?”

Maggie shrugged. “I
imagine everyone else he asked said the same thing. It was no
secret around the department.”

“
I guess not,” Anne agreed
glumly.

“
The only other thing I
learned about Nora was that she worked her way through college in
Illinois, a lot of it at night.” Maggie leaned back comfortably,
rocking her chair on its hind legs.

“
I thought she’d gone to
Penn.”

“
For her Ph.D. Had a
fellowship. But as an undergraduate she had a tough life. And you
said she helped raise her kid brother.”

“
Yes, she mentioned that
once. Was there anything else in the folder you lifted from Cindy’s
file?” Anne asked.

“
No. That’s all I found
about her. I mean, she’s signed up for the same insurance as
everyone else, has warm letters of recommendation from eminent
scholars, et cetera.” She rocked in her chair again. “There wasn’t
much in Bart’s file either.”

“
But there was
something?”

Maggie nodded. The morning
sun slanted across the windowsill and glinted on her black curls,
glossy as the starlings on the lawn the other evening. “He was in a
hospital in St. Louis about ten years ago. Doesn’t say why, just
says he was there ten months.”

“
A hospital.”

“
St. Charles.”