Formula for Murder (12 page)

Madeline finished off her last bite with relish and agreed. “OK, do we take the high road back or just call it a lost battle against the calories and take the shortcut?”

“It’s the shortcut. I’m heading home to soak my toes.”

Chapter 11

A normal rightward slant can indicate sympathetic and unselfish tendencies.

“Elements of Graphology” by Barry Branston

The next day Kat walked down the revered corridors of McAfee Hall, one of the oldest buildings on campus, knowing that the portraits on the walls portrayed the great men and women who helped establish the university—all dedicated yet friendly people. Still, an eerie sense prevailed. A combination of the subdued lighting, lack of windows, and thick carpeting? Her heart heaved double time in her chest.

The classrooms and offices were located on the opposite wing, so Kat didn’t come here often. It had never frightened her like it did today. Was she spooking too easily?

She speculated as she stared at one of the few female presidents. Kat peered into her eyes looking for an answer to her own unease. Maybe it was the murder, or the numerous phone calls she’d received at home and work this week where silence prevailed.

Peering deeply, Kat noticed the woman’s eyes were bloodshot. Onion eyes, her mother called them. Maybe just a fluke of light caused by the shadows.

Rounding the corner to Dr. Kornish’s office she bumped into Carlos Alvarez, Maria’s husband. She was always fond of his voice. His words were spoken in English with the musical cadence of Spanish. Others more often noted his shock of black hair and expressive dark eyes. He was always reserved and private.

“Oh, excuse me. I didn’t hear you,” she said.

“It’s this sacred carpeting.”

Kat looked confused.

“You know, like the red runner down the center aisle of church? The carpet muffles most sound. You feel like whispering if you need to speak at all.”

Carlos looked so ominous at first Kat had been frightened instantly, but his joking about the hallowed corridor set her at ease.

“How are you? I just heard about Maria recently. I thought she’d been on a leave of absence. Off to one of her islands during more research. I’m so sorry. Is she doing better now?”

His body twitched and he looked away evasively. When he turned back his eyes had become dark and forbidding. “She’s OK,” he mumbled.

“What’s the prognosis?”

“We’re not sure.”

He shifted his hands in and out of his pockets. Shuffled his feet a little. He seemed inclined to stay, despite his unease with the topic, which puzzled Kat. She glanced up at the nearest painting, the one of the founding father near the end of the corridor. Was the chill she felt coming off the ancient paintings encased in the dark gold-leafed frames? Or was it coming from Carlos’s suddenly malicious expression?

She switched topics. “I hear you were awarded a terrific grant from the Newburg Foundation. Great job!”

Carlos rallied some and his expression cleared. His reluctance to answer disappeared. His response was almost congenial. “Yes, that was a coup of sorts. The foundation cut its grant money almost in half this year but I received the amount requested.

“Anything in particular clinch it for us?”

“Actually I think it was the way we plan so many interactive courses,” he explained. “The curriculum committee made a conscious effort to blend math and science, and even sciences and arts. The foundation people liked that.”

Two faculty members, heads together over a book as they walked, rounded the corner and out the door.

Before Kat could excuse herself, Carlos made an oblique reference to Charlie’s murder and Kat’s continual questioning around campus. “You should be more careful with your interrogations. The killer may take offense. He may think you know who he is. You don’t do you?”

Kat’s eyes veered to the left looking down the hall, searching for any signs of faculty or students. Carlos was frightening her but she didn’t know why. No one was around. She looked back at him.

“No, Carlos. I don’t know who it is.”

“Well, asking all those questions could be dangerous!”

Carlos turned and left abruptly.

Kat swallowed her insincere farewell and walked slowly, a chill following her down the hall to Dr. Kornich’s office. She turned to see Carlos standing squarely at the end of the corridor, hands again in his pockets, staring after her. His gloomy look had reappeared.

The lone woman hurried
down the deserted corridor of McAfee Hall. Before heading outdoors she halted momentarily to wrap the paisley scarf around her head and throat, partially covering her wavy blond hair. It was a feeble attempt to ward off the chill brought on by the misty evening. She was grateful for the warmth of the gray wool coat she’d donned that morning despite the sunshine.

It had been an exhausting day. Her part in organizing the American Red Cross blood drive on campus drained her more than the twenty-minute pipeline depleting her blood reserves. As an organizer she felt it essential to contribute blood herself. The rows and rows of folding donor tables had been full most of the day. The huge room full of people generated only a low hush, like a hospital emergency room, and the blood flowed, drop after drop, into one bag after another throughout the day. Students and faculty had turned out in force, more than making her efforts worthwhile.

Eager to head home for the night, she lowered her head to peer into her pocketbook and fumbled around searching for her keys as she raced down the stairs. Her heels echoed hollowly on the concrete as she rounded the corner of the building, working her way toward the parking lot.

The thought of helping all those people in need of blood buoyed her spirits, but her body was weak. Each year the process was time-consuming and the day hectic, but she would never quit. Each year she also met new people, saw new heights of sharing. The students often had so little, but were willing to give their lifeblood for another. This year, for the third time, she watched the pixie-haired female guide the tall blind student through the maze of bookbags and sign-in tables so that he could give blood. She pondered the wide range of volunteers, and realized it was the one place that gifts of the poor and the rich were equal in weight.

Yes, it was definitely worth it. But now it was time to change into her baggy sweats, kick back and relax. Besides, she needed to imbibe about 32 ounces of water to replenish her fluids before tackling her classes the next day.

The rhododendrons and junipers at the side of the building, graceful by day, sinister by dusk, hid the attacker until he lunged from the shadows. Suzanne Mishkin saw him too late, barely managing to turn her head before the blow struck. Searing pain blurred all awareness; oblivion cushioned her fall. As her left arm flung up to cover her face, she fell. She was unconscious before the second blow cracked her forearm. She didn’t see the attacker pull the scarf away from her face, shudder, and stumble away.

Vice-president Timothy Kahn
locked his office door religiously every night. Tonight he did so automatically, with lack of assurance. He was bone-weary. Almost dizzy. He gave blood once a year because he encouraged the students to do so. But as usual, today he’d almost fainted. The normally jovial, perennially optimistic man felt embarrassment every time. He knew his virility wasn’t threatened, but as he lay on the donor table too dizzy to arise, the faces peering down at him in a foggy blur brought him to another level—one he
didn’t like.

He left McAfee Hall as swiftly as he could, considering his weakness. The damp chill sliced through him swiftly, belying the day’s mild beginnings. He glanced up just in time to avoid stepping on the mound on the sidewalk. His breath left him altogether when he realized it was a woman. Sharp and competent when it came to finances, his usual organized demeanor fled in the path of human adversity. His weak voice shouted out in dismay, the sight of the unconscious woman rattling him. He finally knelt beside her and attempted to find a pulse—something he’d never done in his life. Hoping what he was feeling was indeed a pulse, he eased upright, shouting more loudly. “HELP, we need help over here!” He waved wildly in accompaniment. Two students, walking from the parking lot, cut across the grass and met him on the path.

A brief glance had the boy whispering, “Oh, God, it’s Dr. Mishkin. Melanie, use your cell phone. We need an ambulance.”

As she pulled it from her purse she begged him, “Jake, see if there’s anything we can do?”

When Jake saw that Mr. Kahn seemed incapable of looking after Dr. Mishkin, he bent his lean frame over and tried to examine the professor without moving her. The damage to the left side of her head and the pool of blood worried him.

“She’s taken a blow to the head and her arm’s broken. I don’t want to move her to check further.” He removed his coat and carefully laid it over her twisted body. Timothy Kahn mumbled his thanks in hushed tones as he stood wringing his hands in anxiety, the situation too sinister for his normally myopic world. They turned to him with questions, but he had no answers.

A small crowd gathered. Most of the faculty and administrators departed earlier. The majority of students congregated near the dining hall in the evening. Stragglers leaving for the day wound their way toward the group standing helplessly on the sidewalk. The siren’s approaching whine drew others.

Prior to their arrival Mr. Kahn had regained his composure and called campus security. The arrival of Mark Raub and several of his men as the ambulance approached swelled the gathering. Efficient and skilled technicians quickly examined Dr. Mishkin’s head and arm, checking other extremities for wounds. The security chief effectively maneuvered and organized the waiting students, calming their fears, while quietly trying to contain the crime scene. Raub studied the circumstances and the head wound without touching the body and was immediately suspicious.

Raub considered the crime scene with despair. Too many people had muddied the ground to hope for anything useful. However, he and his men asked everyone to move carefully out of the way. He observed what he could before the paramedics gently lifted her to the stretcher and drove away. The chief of campus security hid his dismay, but he knew that Dr. Mishkin hadn’t fallen and injured herself. He quickly determined who was first on the scene and singled out the vice president and the two students. He asked the other security officer to question the others and acquire their names before ushering them away.

The witnesses cooperated but proved unhelpful. He acquired the necessary information and asked if they would wait for the city detective to arrive. An automatic call had gone out as soon as he’d seen the circumstances. Mark had called Nick, too, knowing the public relations nightmare this would engender. He motioned for one of the officers to take them just inside the building, where they could wait away from the misty air. Vice President Kahn looked decidedly shaky.

God forbid this was tied to Dr. Abbott’s murder. A crazed killer of science professors? As he signaled his men to start searching the area for a weapon, his thoughts fought the possibility. His sleepy little campus was heading out of control. Unfortunately, two many students had seen the commotion. He hoped Nick got here soon. When students were unhappy, parents weren’t far behind.

Kat’s meeting had dragged
interminably. She wearily walked from the office, wriggling her toes in her Spanish leather pumps, seeking comfort only slippers could provide. She passed the portraits, head averted, fearful of what she might see this time. As she looked up, campus security officers approached, checking each room along the way. All were empty except for Dr. Kornich’s.

Puzzled, she waited. Before she could learn much, Detective Burrows arrived. Upon seeing her, he threw up his hands and erroneously assumed she was involved. A half-hour later Kat was able to leave, finally having convinced him of her innocence. She fled with Nick back to the office, where they attempted damage control.

It helped that Detective Burrows had agreed to give a statement to the media if asked, claiming the attack appeared to have no connection to the previous murder. He felt the situations and methods were entirely different, and this victim had been left alive. It appeared the attacker could have killed her if he’d wished, since she was lying in a deserted area unconscious for a while before anyone came along.

Kat and Nick stopped at the hospital on the way home, partially as representatives of the university, and partially out of curiosity. Neither was convinced the attack had nothing to do with Professor Abbott. Both were hoping Suzanne had recovered enough to talk. Burrows had a man waiting in the hospital to get a statement, but they felt an urgency to know as soon as possible themselves.