Burns straightened a little.
"You first.
What makes you want to know?"
"Because it's murder now," Napier said.
"We're sure of it."
Burns wasn't really surprised.
That hadn't been a shadow he'd seen.
Or if it had been, someone had made it.
"What makes you so certain?" he asked.
"There are a number of things that usually indicate suicide," Elaine said.
"R. M. was telling me before we started talking about baseball.
And this case doesn't fit the usual pattern."
I'll just bet R. M. was telling you
, Burns thought.
"Really?" he said.
"That's very interesting.
What's so different about it?"
It was Napier who answered.
"In the first place, there's no note.
If you kill yourself, you want everyone to know why you did it.
Maybe you even want somebody to feel guilty.
But we've searched Anderson's office—"
"Henderson," Burns said.
"—Henderson's office, and there's no sign of a note.
That's point number one."
"What's number two?"
"Let me ask you a question," Napier said.
"If you were going to kill yourself, wouldn't you open the window?"
"Those windows are pretty hard to open," Burns pointed out.
Napier agreed.
"We can talk about the fire code later.
But you'd find a way to open one if you wanted to jump.
I've never heard of a suicide where someone jumped through a closed window."
Burns thought that was a good point.
"Could it have been an accident, then?"
"I don't see how," Napier said.
"Even if he fell against the window, it wouldn't break out like it did.
We tested the one over his desk.
You'd have to hit it pretty hard to break it."
"So what does that tell you?" Burns asked.
Elaine joined in the conversation.
"Don't you see?
The window ledges are low, about the level of a person's knees.
Someone must have hit Tom with enough force to drive him backward and through the window."
"Is that right?" Burns asked Napier.
Napier nodded.
"Do you have any proof?"
Napier admitted that he didn't.
"The autopsy showed that Henderson had bruises on his face that occurred before death.
And not very long before.
Of course his head hitting the sidewalk is what killed him.
But someone probably knocked him through the window."
Burns thought about the way the back of Henderson's head had sounded when it hit.
It wasn't any more pleasant thinking about it now than it had been when Tomlin mentioned it earlier.
"Is there anything else?" he asked.
"Sure," Napier said.
"If you were going to kill yourself, would you jump from the second floor?
Why not go up to the third?
Why not go up on the roof, for that matter?
I know the second floor's pretty high, but if he hadn't hit the sidewalk with the back of his head like that he'd probably still be alive."
"Unless whoever hit him had already killed him," Burns said.
"Yeah," Napier agreed.
"There's that."
"Who have you talked to so far?" Burns asked.
"Just Elaine—Miss Tanner," Napier said.
He had the grace to look sheepish.
"I just got here, so I thought I'd get her feelings on the murder."
Burns knew very well why Napier had talked to Elaine first, and it had nothing to do with getting her feelings on the murder.
He thought Napier was guilty of very unprofessional behavior.
Maybe there was some kind of police board that Burns could report him to.
"Who were you
planning
to talk to?" Burns asked.
"You," Napier said.
"I know by now that you've nosed around and gotten mixed up in things like you always do."
He tried a smile, not a pretty sight.
"You can't help yourself, can you?
I guess I don't blame you.
It's just your character."
Without admitting anything, Burns said, "I might have heard a few things."
"I knew it.
All right, Burns.
Give."
"All I've heard is rumors," Burns said.
He wasn't going to put Walt
Melling
in Napier's hands just on the basis of what had happened in Fox's office.
As far as Burns knew,
Melling
had never gone to Henderson's office.
"I'll listen to rumors," Napier said.
"Sometimes I get my best information from rumors."
"Later, maybe.
What you should do is talk to Dean Partridge.
She's responsible for the faculty members here."
Napier got to his feet.
"Good idea.
I was hoping you'd say that.
For some reason she wasn't able to meet with me last night.
I'm supposed to see her in her office."
He looked at his watch.
"In about two minutes.
Want to come along?"
It was an offer Burns couldn't refuse.
D
ean Partridge's office was on the second floor of the library.
The outer office was manned, or
personed
, Burns thought, trying to be politically correct, by Norma
Tunnage
, the dean's secretary.
"Hello, Dr. Burns," Norma said.
"Did you want to see the dean?"
Burns said that he did, and Norma announced him on the intercom.
She made no mention of Napier, who wasn't, after all, college personnel.
Burns opened the door to the inner office.
Dean Partridge's desk was directly opposite the door, and there was a tall bookshelf behind it filled with old textbooks and spiral-bound notebooks.
The desk was oak, and the dean's chair was red leather.
The room's other furniture consisted of a leather couch, a low coffee table, and a leather chair.
Dean Partridge looked much as always, or maybe a little more severe than usual because her long hair was pulled straight back and coiled into a bun on the back of her head.
She got up from behind her desk when they walked into the room.
"Good morning, Dr. Burns," she said.
"What can I do for you this morning?"
"It's not me you can do something for," Burns said.
"This is Bo—Chief Napier of the Pecan City Police.
He's here to talk to you about Tom Henderson."
Partridge walked around her desk and shook hands briskly with Napier.
"Of course.
Poor Tom.
His death was quite a shock to all of us.
He was an asset to the college.
Why don't you two have a seat so we can talk.
I'll have Norma bring in some coffee."
Burns didn't like coffee after seven in the morning, but he didn't protest.
If the dean wanted coffee, he'd drink it.
He and Napier sat on the couch, and Partridge sat behind her desk to call Norma.
The coffee arrived, and Norma served everyone.
Burns wondered if it would have been politically correct for a male dean to ask Norma for coffee.
Maybe it didn't matter.
Burns sipped his coffee slowly and carefully.
It was too hot to drink.
After a few seconds of awkward silence, Napier broached the subject of Tom Henderson's death, explaining that it wasn't a suicide and going through much the same explanation that he had just gone over with Burns and Elaine.
Dean Partridge set her coffee cup down on the saucer with a clink.
"Murder," she said after a few seconds.
"Do you have any suspects, Chief Napier?"
Napier shook his head.
"Not a one.
We're just beginning our investigation.
I hope we'll have your full cooperation."
"Of course you will.
Just exactly how do you think I can help?"
"Well, you can start by telling me if you know of anyone on the faculty who might want Henderson out of the way."
"Oh, no.
Of course not.
I've been here only a few months, but I can say that the mutual respect the members of this faculty have for one another is unparalleled in my experience."
Napier looked puzzled.
"That means no one here has any enemies," Burns said.
Napier wasn't impressed.
"I know what she means, Burns.
But I also know what goes on around this place, what with that dean getting knocked off not so long ago, and then that writer who used to teach here.
I just don't believe all that 'respect' stuff."
Dean Partridge sat up rigidly.
"Are you implying that I might not be telling the truth about this faculty?"
Napier shrugged.
"It's your faculty.
You can think what you want to.
I'm just talking about past history, and like you say, you haven't been here that long."
"Dr. Henderson's death has nothing to do with the past," Dean Partridge said, a little too quickly, Burns thought.
"How do you know?" Napier asked.
Partridge seemed slightly flustered, which surprised Burns.
He wouldn't have thought anything could bother her.
"Well," she said, "it just couldn't."
Napier didn't press her.
"You never know about murder.
But what you're telling me is that you never had any problems with Henderson, and you don't know of anyone who did.
Is that about right?"
Dean Partridge pushed at her bun with her right hand.
"That is correct."
Burns wondered if the dean was telling the truth and decided that she was.
Earl Fox must not have convinced Walt
Melling
to see the dean about his complaint.
Whether
Melling
had gone on to see Henderson was another question.
"That's what Miller told me about Henderson last night," Napier said.
"He was a wonderful professor, Miller said.
Loved by one and all."
That sounded like Miller, all right, Burns thought, and
Melling
certainly wouldn't have gone to the president about his troubles.
Miller didn't like people who did anything to upset the smooth operation of the college, and everyone knew it.
Napier talked to the dean for several more minutes, but Burns found his attention wandering.
It was clear that the police chief wasn't going to get anything out of her.
Either she didn't know anything or she was adept at lying.
After they had left the office and were walking down the stairs to the first floor, Napier said, "She knows something."
Burns stopped on the landing.
"How can you tell?"
"You saw the way she looked when I said something about what's happened here in the past.
There might be a connection."
"But
she
wasn't here in the past," Burns said.
"I know that.
But it bothered her anyway.
That's something you can check into."
"Me?" Burns was incredulous.
"
Me
?"
Napier looked around the dimly lit landing.
"I don't see anybody else standing here.
Do you?"
"But you told me to stay out of things.
You said—"
Napier put up a hand.
"I know what I said, and so do you.
I was a little upset at first, but after that I said you were going to get mixed up in this no matter whether I wanted you to or not.
I said it was in your nature, that you just couldn't help it.
Don't tell me you can't remember that."
"All right," Burns said.
"I remember."
"And I practically told Elaine that you'd been a big help in the past.
You remember that, too, don't you?"