Murder Misread (18 page)

“
You didn’t see either of
them leave?” Hines asked. His voice was strong, and his hard eyes
warned Walensky. The campus policeman gave the smallest of grudging
nods, acknowledging that the interview was Hines’s
again.

Charlie felt like the rope
stretched in a tug-of-war. “No, we didn’t see them. We were looking
at coding sheets in my office.”

Maggie shifted her
briefcase to her other hand. “I heard that Professor Reinalter was
having lunch at the faculty club.”

“
Mm,” said Hines without
changing expression.

“
At a quarter after. So if
he was gone that early—”

“
Mm,” said Hines
again.

“
And Cindy was gone too,”
said Maggie.

Hines looked at Walensky.
“Cindy Phelps says she left a few minutes after Professor Reinalter
and walked toward the main quad for a brown bag lunch. Did you see
her, Professor Fielding?”

“
No,” said Charlie.
Walensky seemed very interested in Hines’s question too. “But we
were headed the other direction. No reason we’d see
her.”

Maggie was frowning. “Did
she meet someone there?”

Hines looked at her
sharply. Despite his preoccupation with Walensky, he wasn’t missing
anything. “We’re checking into it.”

“
Cindy does like to have
lunch alone sometimes,” Charlie pointed out. “She says with the
kids at home and people in and out of the office all day, it’s a
luxury to have a minute for herself.”

Hines flipped to a fresh
page. “Okay. One last question. Do you know anything about guns,
Professor Fielding?”

“
God, no! Except for what
I see in the movies.”

“
You weren’t in the armed
forces?”

“
No. I had a student
deferment for most of the sixties.”

Hines nodded and wrote it
down. “How about others in the department?”

“
In the armed forces? We
don’t talk much about—wait, I do remember Bart Bickford said once
that he’d been in Korea.”

“
Korea.” Hines noted it
down, then looked at Walensky, eyebrows arched.

Walensky said defensively,
“Ancient history. Most guys have been in the service.”

“
Anyone else, Professor
Fielding?” Hines’s voice was steely.

“
Well, Bernie Reinalter
too, now that I think about it. He and Bart were talking about it
once. At a party. Years ago, before… well—” He broke off at the
black look that clouded Walensky’s face.

Hines said smoothly,
“Before Professor Bickford decided that Professor Reinalter was
trying to pressure him out of the department.”

“
Uh… yes.” Did Hines
already know everything about this department? Charlie glanced at
Walensky and was suddenly depressed.

Hines’s pen was poised
again. “Now, does Professor Reinalter own a gun? Or anyone else in
the department?”

“
Well, Bernie goes quail
hunting sometimes, he must have a rifle or something. Oh, and Nora!
Nora Peterson has a gun. Little pistol, for
self-defense.”

“
Fine. Anyone else?” Hines
stood stolidly, unmoving except for the brown hand holding the pen,
but the glance that flashed briefly at Walensky seemed to speak
triumph.

“
No. No, that’s all I know
about,” Charlie said uncomfortably. “But Captain Walensky is right,
a lot of professors served in the armed forces. They wouldn’t
necessarily discuss it around here.”

“
Of course. Well, thank
you, Professor Fielding, I may be talking to you again
later.”

“
Sure. Okay.”

Walensky’s mouth had a
sour cast. “Is Bart Bickford still downstairs?”

“
Yes, he just finished
with one of his subjects,” Maggie told him.

“
Well, thank you. I’ll be
in touch. Let’s go, Captain Walensky.” Hines started down the
stairs, then paused. “Be sure to let me know if you think of anyone
who might want to cause trouble for you, Professor
Fielding.”

“
Okay.”

Relieved that it was over
for a time, Charlie followed Maggie through the door to the ground
floor hall. His graduate assistant Gary Kramer, plump and curly
haired, popped out of the office next to Charlie’s. “Hi!” he
exclaimed.

“
Hi, Gary,” said
Maggie.

“
How’re you doing?”
Charlie pulled out his keys.

“
Okay.” Gary gestured with
the plastic videotape container in his hand. “This is the last one
with the lower-case paragraphs. I’m ready to start on the all-cap
paragraphs now.”

“
Great!” Charlie unlocked
the door, turning to Maggie. “That means you can start on those
data sheets too as soon as you’re ready.”

“
Good. So we’ve got three
of the studies ready to go, right? I’ll take them down to the
computers right away. Unless the cops need something
again.”

Cops. Damn. Charlie’s
anger reawakened even as his rational side protested that it was
pointless, that they had their job to do. Hines and Walensky seemed
a constant presence now, popping in and out of Charlie’s life with
questions, interrupting his thoughts even when physically they were
away. And Walensky, who should be helping, or at least running
interference to make sure the department wasn’t disrupted, was
doing neither. Charlie wanted him to catch the killer quickly, but
he was still kowtowing to the administrators, keeping NYSU’s
reputation clean; that’s all he gave a damn about. Charlie
remembered Tal’s anger two years ago when little Jonathan Hammond
was hit by a car. Walensky had spent the precious first few moments
after the accident getting in touch with university administrators
rather than notifying police and state troopers. Well, he’d called
the ambulance, even tried first aid himself. The newspapers
couldn’t fault that, not even Tal could fault that. The kid had
been badly hurt. But the driver, of course, had never been caught.
Damn Walensky anyway. And Hines. And the killer, who
might—

“
Damn it, Gary, not that
one!” Charlie heard himself scream. Gary, at the bookcase, dropped
the tape and recoiled as though he’d been slapped.

“
Sorry, damn it. Didn’t
mean to shout. This goddamn thing with Tal….” Charlie took off his
glasses, rubbed his eyes, put the glasses back on. His voice was
under control again. “The study you want is on the third shelf. See
them? Brown circles?”

“
Got it,” said Gary. He
pulled the tape, said, “See you later,” and eased out of the
room.

“
God, this thing has me
yelling at the students.” Charlie slammed his fist into his
hand.

“
Hey, take it easy.”
Maggie gave him a pat on the back. “We all feel snappish. It’s a
damn frustrating situation.”

“
Yeah. Damn, I wish I
could think of who… or why….”

“
Best thing to do is get
some work done,” said Maggie, brisk as Aunt Babs. “Sometimes
answers come when we’re thinking about something else.”

“
They sure as hell aren’t
coming when I think about the shooting,” Charlie
admitted.

“
I’ll be in the computer
room. See you later.” Maggie breezed out in a flourish of red
shirttails. She seemed so strong, so much in control. Charlie
dragged himself to his desk.

He needed Deanna. That
would help. Deanna was restorative, could make him feel strong and
in control with a glance, a touch. Charlie took off his glasses and
rubbed his eyes.

He’d met her in February.
He didn’t play hockey anymore, but still enjoyed skating, the
muscular memories of the sport he’d once enjoyed. That slushy
Saturday he’d had to drive to Syracuse to pick up a carton of
two-inch videotape, and on a whim he’d tossed his skates into the
car, deciding to try the huge municipal rink. It was crowded, being
Saturday, with beginners stumbling around the edges, boisterous
packs of small boys shouting and shoving each other for the benefit
of clumsy giggling schoolgirls, more serious skaters like himself
trying to avoid them. A few figure skaters worked the center. He’d
almost decided to give up and return to Laconia’s modest but less
crowded rink when a slender form in figure skates sped past him on
the left. She was in white tights and a short neatly darned red
skating skirt. Bright brown hair was caught in a white barrette at
the nape of her neck. As he watched she executed a beautiful
turning leap and arabesque, landing on her right skate to skim
backward, facing him now, left leg and arms extended elegantly,
cheeks flushed in triumph.

Charlie slowed a fraction
to match her speed and clapped his hands in
appreciation.

Her eyes met his. She
smiled shyly.

A great swelling wave
boiled up through Charlie, loins to heart to astonished eyes. Shit,
he thought, shit shit shit. But it was too late. She set the air
tingling and swamped him with hopeless desire.

And then a second later
whimsical fate handed him a crumb of hope after all. One of the
rowdy little boys, shoved by his companions, came skidding across
Charlie’s path and into the backward-coasting leg of the exquisite
skater. She staggered back, arms flailing, and almost caught
herself on her other skate before falling in a flurry of gleaming
skate blades, red skirtlet, and intoxicating white-clad thighs.
Charlie was at her side instantly, hand on her elbow, before her
expression could change from astonishment. “You okay?” he asked
urgently.

“
Yeah.” She frowned at the
boy. “Oh, God, did I hurt him?”

“
I certainly hope so!”
said Charlie. The lad had struggled to his feet, barked a red-faced
“Sorry” at Deanna, and now skated clumsily toward his hooting
buddies. She watched him depart, giggled, and stood up deftly with
only the slightest pressure on Charlie’s yielding hand.

“
Don’t be mean. He’s still
learning,” she said.

“
I’m never mean. But
fair’s fair.” He noticed how her hair sprang back from her temples
in a soft spun-copper glow. He said, “How about a hot chocolate? Or
a Coke?”

The incredible eyes,
fringed with those long, long natural lashes, turned to him again.
In them he saw loneliness and need like his own, and wisdom, and
caution. “No, thank you. I better not,” she said shyly.

“
Hey, of course you need
something after taking a spill like that. Just to get you going
again.” And when she glanced at the side bleachers, still
hesitating, he struck a melodramatic hand-on-heart pose. “C’mon,
you don’t want to hurt my feelings!”

No, she didn’t want to
hurt his feelings. She let him catch her hand and lead her to the
refreshment stand. In fact, she was pleased to get the Coke. Her
coral lips pursed around the straw, and in a haze of delight
Charlie gathered up her little banal comments as though they were
precious rubies. Her name was Deanna, she said. She’d moved only
recently to the Syracuse suburb of Greenwood, didn’t have a lot of
friends yet. Yes, she loved movies,
The
Sting
and
Rocky
more than
Jaws
or
The
Exorcist
. She’d come the rink today with
Betty Giordano—she gestured at a laughing mixed-sex group by the
bleachers. The plump, dark-haired one was her friend. But Betty had
spotted some guys she knew and she’d gone over to talk to them.
She, Deanna, had gone on skating.

“
You’re very good,”
Charlie told her. “You must have had a good teacher.”

“
Yeah. When I was little,
in Pittsburgh, there was a great coach at the Y. Miss Donaldson.
She was going to put me in her Olympic-rules class.”

“
What
happened?”

“
My mom and dad got
divorced. We went to live in the country a while.”

“
No place to
skate?”

“
There was a pond. It only
froze two or three times the whole winter.” An adorable
pout.

“
Well, here you can
practice. As long as those brats don’t keep knocking you
down.”

She smiled. “Have to be
ready to fall if you’re a skater, Miss Donaldson always
said.”

Oh, he’d fallen, all
right, he’d fallen. But he knew he mustn’t rush things. She was too
shy. She finished her Coke and said something about checking in
with Betty. “Sure,” he said with a casual salute. “See you
around.”

But as she tossed her Coke
cup into the trash can, she’d given him a look filled with anxiety
and hunger, and set his heart singing again. He knew. She knew.
They were meant to be together.

Gary tapped at the door.
“Uh… Charlie?”

Charlie replaced his
glasses. “Come in, Gary,” he said warmly. Just thinking about
Deanna mended his tattered soul.

“
I wanted to double check
the coding categories on this new batch of tapes,” Gary
explained.

“
Sure. Have a seat.”
Charlie pulled his master list from his desk drawer.

Tomorrow, he told himself.
He’d see Deanna tomorrow.

11

Bernie Reinalter tented
his fingers and leaned back in his desk chair. “The department will
do everything possible to facilitate the processing,
Anne.”