Formula for Murder (23 page)

“Maybe Burrows will have better luck,” she said, motioning to the man as he quietly entered, trying not to make a scene for the students in the next room, despite his eagerness to see the note. He closed the door and they repeated all the information they had while he slipped it into an evidence bag.

Nick mentioned seeing Carlos Alvarez enter her office earlier while Kat was out. “I wasn’t paying much attention. It seemed like he only stayed a second and left. The student workers are in and out all day, too.”

“I’ll check it out,” Burrows said, looking around the office once more, as if he hoped to find a culprit amidst the books on the shelves.

There wasn’t much more he could do, though he managed to fit in quite a bit of scowling at Kat. Finally his anger won out and he jabbed his finger at her from across the room. “Katharine, you’ve gotten into a fine mess now. Why can’t you stay out of things? Do you even know what periphery means?”

“That’s not fair, Richard. You don’t even know this is referring to the murder.”

“You’re right, Katharine. You probably have your nose in so many things it could mean anything. But for now we’ll treat it as if it
is
referring to the murder.”

He settled down in the chair again and pressed her for more details. Why do you think it was intercampus mail? Couldn’t someone have wandered in and placed it on the desk?”

He coaxed Katharine into details of any possible related activities and Nick returned shortly.

“Carla, meet Richard Burrows, the detective investigating Dr. Abbott’s murder. Richard, Carla is the student who sorted the mail today.”

When questioned, Carla couldn’t remember seeing the envelope earlier but explained that she’d sorted quickly. “It’s difficult to remember each piece. The department received a lot of mail today.” He fingerprinted her as well as Kat, then walked her to the door, “OK, Carla. Thanks for coming in. Let’s keep this incident confidential for now.”

When the detective motioned for Nick to step forward next, Nick shook his head. “I didn’t touch it.”

Kat meticulously cleaned the ink off her fingers with a tissue and raised an eyebrow. “If I have to, you have to. If they don’t find your prints at least I’ll know you didn’t send me the note to contain me.”

Nick carefully placed his fingers in the ink while eyeing her sideways. “How could you even think for a minute I’d do something like that? It’s too underhanded. If I’d known how much you interfered in this investigation I’d handcuff you to my desk for the duration maybe, but I don’t go in for scare tactics.”

“How dare you accuse me of interfering! You went on those interviews with me. And there’s nothing intrusive about sending invitations to a campus event. My personal notes only reiterated how welcome they were. I didn’t exactly accuse anyone of murder.”

Burrows carefully stored the fingerprints, admonished the children for fighting and promised to inform them of the results.

Chapter 21

Comparative size of the signature is relative to the body of the writing. The smaller-sized signature where the content is larger suggests penalizing oneself.

“Handwriting: A Key to Personality” by Klara Roman

Nick coaxed, “Come on. My furniture came yesterday. Let’s take a break and go look at my apartment.”

She smiled as she reached for her purse and jacket. “Is that the new version of ‘Come see my etchings?’”

He stepped close and whispered in her ear as he flicked off the lights. “You’re always welcome to come see my etchings, but tonight I thought I’d treat you to a home-cooked dinner.”

She rolled her eyes in feigned ecstasy and then thought to ask, “When have you had time to grocery shop? I’m out of food myself and never make it to the store.”

“Well, I don’t exactly have any food. I just had this dinner idea. Hadn’t advanced any further.” They stopped for chicken, scallops and shrimp, onions, peppers, garlic, peas and brown rice. Added white wine and saffron.

He had been surprised when she’d only bagged a scant teaspoon of the saffron until he spied the price. A whistle escaped before he could control himself. “What is that stuff again? You sure it’s not cocaine?”

“It’s the most expensive spice in the world but you can’t make great paella without it.”

She moved her basket to the front counter and started to unload. As she finished she told her friend behind the counter what they were making and they discussed the details of the dish that carried so many names. Connie grabbed her notebook from under a pile of recipe books. As they toppled over, Kat had a flash of another pile of books lying just like that, but Connie pointed to the recipe in her notebook and Kat lost the picture. She thanked Connie for reminding her about the tarragon needed. “I’ll run and get it.”

Nick motioned for Connie to ring up the groceries and was putting his wallet away as Kat returned. As they drove away Nick glanced at Kat. “I haven’t a clue how to make paella.”

“So we fix it together. That way you’ll know how to make it the next time you want it.”

“You seem to know and use herbs more than most people. What’s the interest?”

“Hippocrates said, ‘Let your food be your medicine and let your medicine be your food.’ Makes sense to me.”

As they entered the room he flipped the switch to the stereo in sync with the light switch. Chet Baker warmed his way into “Once Upon a Summertime” as Nick dropped the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. Kat stole a moment to study the high-end Technics system, and glanced at the overall décor of the living room before she joined him in the kitchen. The antique white rattan chairs with their cottage plaid cushions and matching throw rug converted the once too-dark porch into a delightful aerie. This third-floor apartment, with so many windows and the delightful view of the valley, made her feel like she was standing in the tree-tops.

Despite his lack of proper kitchen utensils they laughingly tossed together a respectable paella and lingered over a little classic Chardonnay. They briefly discussed the murder investigation and when Katharine let slip some of her fears from the other night in the stairwell, Nick was immediately attentive. He could see the fear lingering in her eyes when she thought of those incidents.

Finally, she decided to reveal some of her concerns, explaining that she had no proof of anything, just eerie feelings. She leaned forward as she talked, providing the details, resting arms on thighs, the intensity of what she was saying magnified by that frontal thrust.

Nick encouraged her to remember details, his voice exuding seriousness. It was the fact that he seemed to put credence in those feelings that prompted her to attempt clarification. “I was walking up the large stairwell in the science building the other day to visit Gerald. It was evening. There had been no one around. I figured classes were over.

“All of a sudden there seemed to be an echo of my footsteps. When I stopped, the others stopped. And then my imagination took over. The stairwell’s deep corners became pools eddying with black fear and hiding lurking muggers ready to pounce. It was the same stairwell as always, but there was something there. Something that I really felt was more than my imagination.”

Kat absently fiddled with the wineglass, lost in thought. Nick waited patiently for her to find the next words. “When I got to the third floor there was a student with Gerald in his office so I stood outside the door. No one followed me onto the floor. But I didn’t hear any footsteps going back down either.”

She added, “Later, as Gerald and I were leaving the building,  I stopped and asked the student if he’d seen anyone on the stairs. He said no one but Dr. Prosnerian. Could it have been him? What could he have wanted? Or was he really just leaving his lab?”

Nick had already received a report from G. L. about Kat’s visit to Maria, and Carlos Alvarez’s venomous looks as she left. He knew that Detective Burrows would be investigating the man because he’d been seen near Kat’s office at the time the threatening note was left. This was just one more suspicion to check out.

“Thanks for the reprieve, Nick. And for listening. I really did need a break.”

As they passed his bookcase with the books temporarily piled helter-skelter, Kat had a flash of memory once again of a tumbled pile of books. Her mind locked onto it this time though and she turned an astonished look on Nick, one of remembrance mixed with horror at what she’d done.

He immediately pulled her to a chair. “What gives?”

“I think I know where the journal is.”

“Great. And that gave you an anxiety attack because…?”

“Because, the night of the murder, while we were in the lab, Stephanie—uhh, I think her last name is Luntz—one of the students, came by and motioned that she’d left her books on the counter by the door. I just kind of scooped them up and handed them to her when the guard wasn’t looking.”

Kat stared down at her shoes, wishing she’d change to her pink sneakers. They weren’t becoming, but they could run faster than her designer heels. Something that may prove important soon.

She bravely continued, “I wondered at the time if it would be considered tampering with evidence, but I know how these investigations can drag on forever and I made a quick judgment call that the books by the door weren’t involved.”

Nick’s frown increased exponentially but he pressed his lips tightly and managed to not say a word as she added.

“What if the journal was one of them? There was a green notebook, but now that I picture it, it was different than the normal three-subject notebook. When Connie grabbed her notebook from under her herb books at the store, I had this vision of the books, in the chemistry lab. It wasn’t until now, when looking at yours, that I placed where I saw them.”

“So why hasn’t the student come forward?”

“Good question. They might have been her books after all, but before I return to my writing maybe I should track Stephanie down and see.”

“Let’s go. Remember. You’re going nowhere alone these days.”

She raised an inquiring eyebrow at the implications of that but he’d locked the door behind her and tore down the stairs to start the car. She followed meekly, knowing that if she was right about the notebook, she really had interfered with this investigation.

A quick stop in the office netted Stephanie’s address from the student directory. “Thank God you recalled her name,” Nick said, after biting his tongue most the way there. He’d wanted to mentally shake Kat but from her expression realized she was doing an adequate job herself. Often she seemed to take things too seriously, even penalizing herself when it wasn’t her fault. He’d have to ask what handwriting clue signaled that.

Stephanie was in her room when they arrived. Startled at first, she then recognized Kat. “What’s up?”

Kat leapt right to the point. “Do you remember me slipping your books out the door of the lab when the cops were there?”

“Of course,” she said, shuddering. “I was horrified at what happened, though they weren’t saying much, but I was also terrified I’d never get my books back.”

Stephanie motioned them in as she talked but there was no free spot to sit. The bed and chair were covered with clothes. Nick managed to keep his mouth from hanging open as he eyed the orange-spiked hair and six earrings in her left ear.

Stephanie kept talking, unaware of her affect. “I was so relieved you passed them out to me. I’d left them there after lab, knowing it was usually open till after nine. I figured they’d be safe and I wouldn’t have to lug them over to Psych 301. When I got back and saw what had happened I was sure they’d lock up with my books inside.”

She prowled the corners of the room, entangled in her story like it was the tale of doomsday. “My 20-page essay was in there, and the disk. So thanks. Is something wrong?”

“We were hoping that there was a notebook there that wasn’t yours. Something I scooped up by mistake.”

Nick stayed in the background, watching Stephanie for any signs of unease or deception but saw nothing out of place, unless you looked around the room. Nothing had a place. Stephanie walked unerringly to a jumble of jeans and T-shirts on the floor and pulled a pile of books from beneath.

Then she swung her hips into a dive and rustled through a pile of clothes. “My class wasn’t with Dr. Abbott. It was with that new professor, Malardi. Boy, what a bummer. What planet did he come from? Anyway, I was afraid I’d fail. My grade point would have dropped below my dad’s boiling point. So I quit.”