A Function of Murder (31 page)

Acutely aware of Kira at my side, I was ready to intervene if she acted out in any
way. But she seemed to evolve before my eyes, sitting up straighter and straighter
through the eulogies, frowning in concentration as if trying to put everything in
perspective (this might simply have been my projected wish for her), and respectfully
bowing her head at the appropriate times.

As I predicted, the reception line in the assembly hall was about as long as the famous
rope around the earth in the problem I gave my middle school classes every year. To
my relief, Kira questioned the wisdom of standing for an hour simply to shake the
hands of Nora and Cody and be summarily rushed away.

“If you don’t mind, Dr. Knowles, I think I’m ready to leave,” she said. “I contributed
to the flowers the kids at campaign headquarters sent and I signed the card. That’s
probably enough.”

I heartily approved of her choices and was proud of my student. I took Kira’s behavior
as a sign that she’d come to terms with the fact of Nora Graves as Edward’s legitimate
wife and herself as a useful sounding board for him. I hoped today ushered in a return
to reality for Kira.

And for me, too, as I had a moment of truth that I should be following her example.
Here Bruce would have sung a line from a musical, something like, “If you’re a teacher,
by your students you’ll be taught.” My own condolences were represented by the hefty
wreath sent by the college, and that was the only appropriate response for me. I was
embarrassed that I’d ever considered trying to insert myself personally into Nora
Graves’s life for the purpose of interrogating her or her son, and relieved that I
hadn’t had a chance to follow through.

It wasn’t lost on me that this was far from the end of it for Nora and Cody. There
would be a funeral, of course, and an undetermined amount of time before the mayor’s
case was resolved. As far as their returning to a normal life, I guessed it was too
far off to contemplate.

“It was a nice service,” I said, testing my theory that Kira had crossed a threshold.

She nodded. “I’m glad we did this. Thanks for coming with me, Dr. Knowles.”

“No problem. Too bad we couldn’t get through the line.”

“I’m not disappointed. I’m glad I was part of the mayor’s life. I learned a lot, but
that’s over now. In fact, I have a lot to do. I’m going to start packing up today.”
Kira gave me a big smile. “It’s time I got off campus, don’t you think?” A sheepish
look took shape on her face. “I didn’t want to tell you, but my place at MIT has been
ready for a couple of weeks.”

I held back on the yelps of joy, but gave my star student a big hug.

We parted ways when Kira went left toward the Clara Barton dorm and beyond and I went
right toward the side gate to Ben Franklin Hall.

Things were looking up. I was good with Elysse Hutchins and thrilled that Kira Gilmore
was on her way to adulthood.

Thanks to Kira’s epiphany and our abbreviated time at city hall, I had nearly an hour
before my lunch date with Principal Richardson. I figured I should practice calling
him
Doug
, just in case he reverted to the form he’d used on the phone, like the deceased
Ed
before him.

On the way to my office I was aware of every vehicle rolling up and down Main Street,
on a meaningless search for a silver SUV, possibly with a pile of red bricks on the
passenger seat. I was frustrated that I couldn’t focus on the beautiful, sunny weather,
or the new spring blossoms on the colorful median strip. I couldn’t seem to shake
off the feeling that I was being stalked.

It was too early to call Ariana in San Diego—besides, I hadn’t heard from her in a
couple of days and took that as a sign that her social life had picked up. I knew
I’d have a full report soon enough. I hesitated to call Bruce, who’d gotten off work
at nine this morning. Chances were good
that he’d still be napping. A text message would be unintrusive, however. I gave it
a try.

“U up?” I texted as I walked. In the swing of things, since the street was crowded
with others from the memorial service, nearly all of them with buds or phones at their
ears or thumbs working rhythmically.

A minute later, my cell rang, Bruce calling me back. As great as it was to hear his
voice, he was no help in distracting me from the brick-throwing incident.

“There are more silver SUVs than you’d think in Henley,” Bruce said, sounding despondent.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I got a few winks in. It’s especially hard to trace a car not knowing the make and
model. But Virgil has guys working on it.”

“How?” I asked, giving in to Bruce’s choice of topic. I imagined young Officers Nolan
and Coyne traipsing around the city knocking on the doors of all silver SUV owners.
I hoped they didn’t mention Professor Sophie Knowles as the cause of the inconvenience.

“They’ll generate a list and then see if any of them has been linked to a crime, or
maybe try to match it with campus people. I don’t know exactly, but I’m sure they’ve
done this before.”

“The people in that car might not even have been the ones to throw the brick, Bruce.
The SUV might not even have been silver. As I understand it, Bill Lawrence saw the
vehicle briefly as he was flying out the door himself. The car could have been pale
blue or gray or who knows what color.”

“I think they allow for that in their search. I told Virge about the note Elysse got
under her door, too, and they’re trying to put it all together. It can’t hurt, Sophie.
I’m surprised Virge hasn’t called you about it, but I guess he’s busy bringing in
the big education gun.”

“What gun?”

“Oh, I figured you knew.”

I wanted to scream,
I don’t know anything until it’s practically all over
. “What gun, Bruce?”

“Collins. The superintendent? They picked him up early this morning on a tip from
someone. Anonymous, of course.”

I stopped short, nearly getting rear-ended by the family of four walking behind me.
“Superintendent Patrick Collins has been arrested?” The littlest child in the group,
apparently the one with the sharpest ears, gave me a funny look. I attempted a comforting
smile, in case she was worried.

“Yeah. You didn’t know?” Bruce’s rub-it-in routine, which ordinarily I’d enjoy. But
not today.

“What happened to Chris Sizemore? Has she been released?”

It didn’t sit right that I’d received most of my information on the principals in
the case from Kira and Bruce, and now I was begging more information from Bruce when,
after all, I was the one the mayor had reached out to. Good thing I wasn’t the pouty
kind.

“I think Chris is still in custody,” Bruce said.

“They’re both being held? Chris and Collins?”

“Looks that way. Anyway, with all that, I’m glad Virge is willing to give some time
to your brick. It’s not a trivial incident, and it wasn’t random, Sophie, especially
with that note attached.”

“You’re right. And I should be glad the HPD is trying to find out who got in the middle
of Elysse and me. I just want them to find the mayor’s killer and not be distracted
by vandalism or petty—”

I stopped, a new thought bursting into my head. What if my brick incident was related
to the murder? Not that I had a clue how that could be. But I couldn’t let go of the
idea.

Suppose the person who stabbed Mayor Graves thought I was onto him. Never mind why
she or he would, since I certainly had done nothing but think up a list of suspects
and motives. And talked a lot to Virgil. Maybe that was it.
The killer assumed I was working with the police and might be instrumental in his
capture. I tried to picture the same person who viciously stabbed a man now resorting
to tossing a brick through my patio door, then figuring out where Elysse lived and
slipping a note under her door.

It didn’t make a lot of sense, especially if the very large, rather clumsy Superintendent
Collins was the culprit, even if he was on my short list of suspects. But not much
else made sense either.

“Soph?” Bruce asked, as in,
Are you still there?

“I’m here,” I said. “Approaching campus.”

It was too soon to mention this latest brainstorm to Bruce. I needed more information
on why Superintendent Collins was taken into custody, or invited for an interview,
or whatever category he fit in.

I reminded Bruce about my lunch with the Zeeman Academy principal. “We’ll be in broad
daylight at the Inn,” I told him. “No need for a bodyguard.”

“That’s what I like to hear. You busy for dinner?”

“I’m expecting my handsome boyfriend. I’ll even cook his favorite pasta primavera
for him.”

“He’ll be there at six.”

I entered Franklin Hall through the side entrance in time to wave to two other faculty
members who were boarding the elevator to take them to the biology floor. I’d noticed
them at the memorial service and figured they were getting in a bit of work before
lunch as I was.

I was dismayed to realize how relieved I was not to be alone in the building. I should
have been comforted by the fact that the police had detained not one, but two suspects
in the mayor’s murder. It was safer than ever on the mean streets outside the police
station. Still, I hurried down the hall to my office, entered, and quickly shut the
door behind me.

More than ever, I wanted to call Virgil. The list of things to tell him was growing
by the minute. There was Chris’s meeting with the mayor in Admin the night he was
murdered, the Stewart Brothers waste company benefitting from his death through a
lucrative contract, and the newly forming connection in my mind between my brick incident
and the murder.

It should have been easy for me to arrange a sit-down with Virgil and run all these
things by him in a give-and-take. I’d order pizza and share my theories; he’d lay
out for me the current status of the case. I longed for Virgil to explain to me why
he told me he had evidence against Principal Richardson, but had picked up Chris Sizemore
and Superintendent Collins. Had this been a conspiracy of three committing murder?
The idea was unappealing.

Clearly, I was missing a key piece of the puzzle. Together, Virgil and I could solve
the mystery of who stabbed Mayor Graves on the Henley College campus. If only I were
a cop.

I doubted that my dream scenario would work, since I didn’t have a badge, but I decided
to call Virgil anyway. Maybe I could wrangle a few tidbits from him.

I punched in his number and was disappointed that my call went to his voice mail.
I stumbled through a message about having some new information on the mayor’s murder
case, and mentioned that I’d be free this afternoon and could stop by his office.
I thought of inviting Virgil to dinner, but it had been a while since Bruce and I
had some quality alone time together, not since our ill-fated ice cream stroll on
Saturday night.

There was still about a half hour before I’d have to leave for the Inn at Henley and
my tête-à-tête with Principal Richardson—my friend
Doug
. A little research was in order, but not as prep for that meeting. If I was going
to talk about waste management with Virgil, I should know a little more about it than
what day of the week to have my blue
container at the curb for pickup. I booted up my computer and searched online for
the W. Thomas Company.

Kira had it right—there was a lot of money in trash. The W. Thomas website listed
more ways than I could have guessed for a waste management company to make money from
your trash. You could rent a Dumpster, fill it, then pay to have it hauled away. You
could order special pickups for things like spent fluorescent lightbulbs and batteries.
You could order (that is, buy) a kit into which your special waste could be inserted
before you paid to have it hauled away.

You could do all this for your private residence, for your office building, or for
your multinational corporation. W. Thomas was ready to handle your medical syringes
and your pesticides, your outdated heavy industrial equipment and your construction
debris. All at reasonable rates, of course.