The Letter Killeth (16 page)

“And was turned down. I told him thousands of applicants are turned down every year by Notre Dame. Tens of thousands. I suggested the route through Holy Cross College.”

“Was he bitter or what?”

“All his life he had dreamt of going to Notre Dame.”

“Well, he ended up there.”

Bat shook his head and said again, “What a waste.”

*   *   *

Professor Wack looked at the photograph Jimmy gave him. “Is he the man who was with Larry Douglas the night you surprised them in Izquierdo's office?”

“I didn't see him. I told you that. But I know this fellow. He and Izquierdo were thick as thieves.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was up here a lot. I think Izquierdo was trying to tutor him. Raul wasn't all bad, you know.”

Lucy Goessen also remembered seeing Henry when he came to see Izquierdo. “Raul said he was smarter than most of his students.”

6

Kimberley was reluctant to show him around the morgue, but Henry kept after her. What was a girl like that doing working in a place like this? Feeley, the coroner, was another surprise.

“How did you end up here?” Henry asked.

“It's a long story.”

“I'm listening.”

It seemed almost noble that Feeley had abandoned all his dreams in order to keep his father on the local political payroll. It made them seem kindred spirits, in a way. “Did you ever read ‘Winter Dreams' by Fitzgerald?”

Feeley just looked at him. But Kimberley knew the story.

Stealing Kimberley away from Larry Douglas had not been much of a triumph. Henry soon tired of her sentimental response to what she read.

“You should read Nietzsche.”

“Maybe I will.”

She tried
Zarathustra
but didn't like it. So he told her what Jeeves had said to Bertie Wooster. “You would not like Nietzsche, sir. He is fundamentally unsound.” Kimberley began to remind Henry of one of Bertie's girlfriends.

“I think Wodehouse is silly.”

“Of course he is.”

“So why read him?”

“For the silliness.”

“Now you're being silly.”

“That's because you think I think what I say is true.”

But there was no point in trying out Izquierdo's nihilism on her. A limited mind. Pretty as a picture, of course, there was no doubt of that. Henry's trouble was that the future had ceased to interest him. Once his whole life had been aimed at becoming a student at Notre Dame. That would have put him on the one track he wanted. Meeting with Izquierdo was a poor substitute, but then it led nowhere, so that became its attraction. If he had been a real student, getting a high grade would have entered into it, but all he got from Izquierdo was the endorsement of his sense of superiority, and that only added to the bitterness of his disappointment. Putting the torch to Izquierdo's Corvette was an instance of what Izquierdo called an
acte gratuite.
Motiveless. Done in order to do it. And to get a rise out of Izquierdo. Raul's reaction was a disappointment. So one night he went to Decio and put the plastic bag with the cuttings and scissors and glue he had used in fashioning those threatening letters in a drawer in Izquierdo's desk.

When he heard someone outside the door, he quickly turned off the office light and sat as still as he could in Izquierdo's chair. A key in the lock. He prepared himself to greet Izquierdo, searching desperately for an explanation he might give of being here, and then he was looking into the terrified face of Larry Douglas.

For days now he had been mystified by Larry's silence about that night when they took him in for questioning. Henry had thought of going downtown and asking to see Larry, he had thought of quizzing Laura about it, but he didn't do the first, and Laura was suspended along with Larry.

Henry tried various explanations. Larry had told them that he had found Henry already in Izquierdo's office and they were keeping it quiet. Maybe he was under surveillance. The best response to that was to put Detective Stewart under surveillance. He called in sick, asking for Crenshaw.

“I've got the flu.”

“Everybody's got the flu.”

“I can't come to work.”

“You better not. I don't want to catch it.”

So Henry followed Stewart around. He watched him enter Whistler's and knew the reason. But who would remember buying a scarf from a table of discounted items? When Henry had seen the duplicate of Izquierdo's scarf—actually there were two on the table—he asked his mom to buy it for him. She did, but she thought it was ridiculous.

Nothing happened after Stewart's trip to the mall. Henry feared that his mother would be questioned about the scarf, but nothing happened. Henry breathed a little easier. When Stewart spent an evening at the Knights' apartment, Henry decided that the time had come for him to get a new faculty mentor. He found out where Roger Knight's class was held and asked if he could sit in. Knight just assumed he was a student.

“So what did you think?” Roger Knight asked him afterward. He had been surrounded by students after the class, but Henry had waited for him by his golf cart.

“F. Marion Crawford?”

“Have you ever read him?”

“On my list, he comes right after Winston Churchill. The other one.”

*   *   *

Roger's popularity was a mystery to Henry. He could understand that women students would feel motherly toward a man that helpless, shaped like a balloon, getting around a real effort. But his mind was too elusive for Henry, and allusive. He realized that Izquierdo had flattered him even while being condescending. Roger with his big blue-eyed baby stare could have talked rings around Izquierdo. What hadn't the guy read? But it was the simplicity of his religious faith that marked him. After Izquierdo, this was a real switch. Then Roger surprised him by saying he had heard Henry was a protégé of the campus atheist.

“Protégé?”

“I'm told you often visited his office.”

“Only in daytime hours,” Henry said, then wished he hadn't. For the matter of that, he wished he hadn't looked up Roger Knight. Of course Roger would know everything his brother knew and his brother everything that Stewart did. Henry felt a sudden impulse to talk to Roger, to ask his help, but he fought it.

Someone was playing him for a fool, and he just couldn't believe it was Larry Douglas. Why was he keeping quiet? The discovery of that scarf in Larry's loft should have turned him into a babbling cooperative witness, but even then, nothing.

It had to do with Kimberley, that must be it. He was too proud to point a finger at the guy who had walked off with his girl.

At home he went up to his room, telling his mom he would be right down for supper, but he had to check something first. He opened his dresser drawer, pushed aside the neat pile of Hanes shorts, and pulled out the many-colored scarf. It was still here. It had always been here. So who had tossed an identical scarf into Larry's loft? How many of them were there?

7

When young Father Conway was asked to speak to the widow of Professor Izquierdo, he welcomed this opportunity for pastoral work. He hadn't endured all those years of study in order to occupy an office in the Main Building. Not that he thought this would be easy.

First, he made sure he had all the information about the late professor, and of course he was briefed by the university lawyer. That was when it dawned on Tim Conway that, for some, the main concern was that the widow would sue the university. So in some ways, he was engaged in making a preemptive strike. In his own mind, he was calling on her in his capacity as a priest. His lips moved in prayer as he drove. Please grant me the grace to say the right, the healing thing.

“Pauline,” she said when he had addressed her twice as Mrs. Izquierdo.

“Tim.”

“Oh, I couldn't call you Tim, Father.”

“That's perfectly all right.” There were laypeople like that, insistent on the dignity of the priesthood, sticklers for protocol and etiquette.

She said, “My father's name was Tim.”

She was a woman of striking good looks, even a celibate could appreciate that. Dark hair with threads of gray, actually white, providing an intriguing contrast.

“Have arrangements been made?”

“Arrangements? Oh. The body is still at the morgue. There will be a cremation, that's what he would have wanted. You know he was an atheist.”

“We will hold a memorial service in any case.”

She surprised him by smiling. “If you think it will help.”

“The university intends to give you all the help it can.”

She nodded, waiting for him to go on. So he took a folder from his briefcase and outlined what the university felt, in these extraordinary circumstances, it could do to alleviate her sorrow.

“And there is of course the amount that accrued in his retirement fund.”

“Maybe I'll stop working.”

He felt like an insurance agent, not a priest, and she baffled him. From what he had heard of her reaction when she learned of her husband's death, Tim had steeled himself for hysterics, anger, accusations, whatever. Instead she sat on her couch with the flowing, florid housecoat dramatically draped around her and reaching to the floor, the picture of composure. He realized she was barefoot. Until they had sat, her feet were concealed by the garment she wore.

“I know it's difficult to speak of these things.”

She shook her head. “I've had time to think, Father. Ours was what Raul called an open marriage.” A little smile. “Meaning he could cheat on me.”

“Did he?”

“He was a man.”

“Well.” He looked at the picture behind her.
The Temptation of St. Anthony
. “There are no children?”

“By me? No. We were too selfish for that.”

“What about you? Your husband was an atheist…”

“Who every day recited the prayer to his guardian angel.” She lifted her eyes and joined her hands. “‘Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love entrusts me here, ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide.'”

“An atheist who prayed?”

“He was a bundle of contradictions. Maybe we all are.”

“So he was raised Catholic?”

“We were married in the Church. The atheism came later.”

“And you?”

“Have I lost my faith? I don't know. I don't think so.”

“Well, we can talk of that later.”

“Will they find the one who did it?”

He couldn't say. He supposed so. It was unthinkable that a professor could be killed in his office and the murderer go undiscovered. Did she have any suspicions?

“I'm glad I told the police about the scarf. I was certain that young man hadn't done it, and then I found Raul's scarf.” She smiled. “Actually I thought the man they had arrested was someone else.”

“Oh?”

“Someone Raul was tutoring. Also in campus security.”

“You've had to discuss all this with the police?”

“They've been very nice. Very considerate.”

“Good.”

Her eyes drifted away. “Our parents were so happy when Raul was hired by Notre Dame. So were we.” She looked at him and her eyes seemed moist. “Beware of answered prayers. Isn't that what they say?”

“I'll say a Mass for the repose of his soul.”

“He wasn't sure he had one.”

“Of course he did.” It was all he had now.

Again she smiled. She made him feel younger than he was. He repeated for her what the university offered to do for her, and she listened carefully, and again he reminded her that her husband would have accrued a goodly sum in his retirement account.

“And there is insurance.”

“Ah. Our substitute for providence. I'm quoting Raul.”

He supposed it must be some consolation to know that she would be very comfortable, economically. There was also insurance on the car that had been burned.

“I noticed the Hummer in the driveway.”

“That's mine.”

“I've never ridden in one.”

“It gives a sense of power.”

A silence fell, and he didn't know how to break it. A sense of his own inadequacy swept over him. He began to gather together his papers and put them in his briefcase.

“I should have offered you coffee.”

“I've had my cup for the day.”

“Just one.”

He nodded and rose. “Well, I'll keep in touch.”

“Thanks for coming, Tim.”

He thought of that farewell as he slipped and slid down the driveway to his car parked behind a drift beside the suburban street. He had four sisters, but that hadn't helped him figure out Pauline Izquierdo.

*   *   *

When he got back to campus, he stopped by Roger Knight's apartment and was glad to find the Huneker Professor of Catholic Studies in. He wanted to talk about his visit to Mrs. Izquierdo with Roger before returning to the provost's office.

8

Young Father Conway could not believe that Roger had never been to Rome. The enormous professor spoke of the city as if he had spent years there, and he could hold forth on the way Rome was a palimpsest—Tim looked it up later—with the Etruscan past under the republic and empire, over which the medieval and Renaissance had been laid.

“How I envy you, Father, four years there.”

But Roger knew that Tim Conway had not dropped by in order to talk about his student years in the Eternal City, so he stopped praising F. Marion Crawford's two-volume history of Rome and busied himself making hot chocolate.

“I've just come from Mrs. Izquierdo.”

“Can you tell me about it?” Roger had turned and looked eagerly at the young priest.

“I don't see why not.”

“Good, good.”

And so they sat and Father Conway spoke of his chat with the widow of Professor Izquierdo. An atheist who prayed.