The Deadhouse (38 page)

"Not illegal. Not anything that would be a crime for me to remove. I
would never, never have participated in any such thing. But to avoid a
scandal—"

"What kind of scandal?"

"We had several going already, Ms. Cooper. I didn't know what he was
referring to at the time. He just told Elena—that's my wife—Grenier
told her that he'd explain it all to me when he got back to New York.
That I was just to take the envelope and slip it under
his
door."

"And that's what you did?"

"That's what I tried to do." He shook his head from side to side. "I
stayed up half the night worrying about it, then got here at the crack
of dawn. Actually, and perhaps this just goes to my own
naiveté—or, well, ignorance—it never occurred to me that the
police would have any need to come to see Lola's office. I, uh, I've
never had anything to do with a murder investigation. When I got that
call from Elena, we all assumed that Ivan had killed Lola, and the
school would have no reason to be involved."

Recantati was talking so quickly I thought he was going to run out
of breath.

"I must have been in there for an hour. I started looking over her
desk, neatly and calmly. When I couldn't find the envelope that Thomas
had referred to, I practically panicked. I went through everything I
could think of until I began to hear voices and footsteps in the
corridor. I slipped out and went back up to my office."

Recantati rocked back and forth in his swiveling desk chair. "This
will be the end of me with Sylvia Foote. She's so nauseatingly
sanctimonious. And I was just doing what Thomas Grenier suggested to
hold on to my job. It seemed perfectly harmless at the time. Besides
that, I never found the damn thing."

"What kind of envelope was it?"

"A small one, very small. It had something to do with the project
they were working on. The word 'Blackwells' was written on the front of
it."

With the help of Mike's good instincts and a valid search warrant, I
hoped that little envelope would be on my desk by the time I got there
in the morning. When Recantati and Grenier were arguing before I
arrived, it must have been about this.

"Did you and Grenier speak again during the week?"

"No, no. Not until today. He never called back, and I had no idea
where in California he was staying. Since I 'failed' at his mission,"
Recantati said sarcastically, "I thought I'd just wait and tell him
about it when I saw him. After I met you people last Friday, I knew I
wasn't going back into Lola's office for a second try."

"I assume you were talking to Professor Grenier before I came in
just now." I wanted to hear what the biologist had told Recantati
before I interviewed him myself. "Did he explain to you why he wanted
you to get the envelope, and what was in it that might possibly cause
trouble for the school?"

"That's just it, Ms. Cooper. I'm afraid I snapped at Thomas, rather
than talking with him. You see, he denies knowing anything about an
envelope or a problem involving the Blackwells project. Thomas Grenier
claims that he never made that telephone call to my wife."

26

"Shall I wait while you talk to Professor Grenier?"

"I'd prefer to speak with him alone, as we've done with each of you.
Perhaps he and I can go down to his office, so I don't inconvenience
you any longer. Will you be here at the college during this week?"

"The next two days. In fact, Sylvia and I were discussing the idea
of rounding up some of the faculty tomorrow afternoon and having our
own meeting about these events."

"I can't tell you how to run your institution, sir, but I hope you
don't intend to conduct a private roundtable discussion about Lola
Dakota's murder. If that's your plan, the detective and I would like to
be present."

Recantati seemed hesitant to challenge any of Sylvia Foote's
suggestions. "I, uh, I'll have to check with Sylvia. We were thinking
more of housekeeping matters. Making sure that everyone knows we want
them to assist you in any way they can." He bowed his head. "I'm so
ashamed of the fact that I might have done something to make your job
harder. I probably ought to tell them all what I did."

"Please don't, Professor. For the moment, I take it only Grenier is
aware of this. Am I right, or have you told anyone else?" "He's the
only one."

Grenier and the person who had actually made the telephone call, if
there was such a person. "Let's leave it that way. I'd appreciate it if
you let me know if you do decide to get a group of the faculty together.

"One other thing. What have you done with the books that were in
Professor Dakota's office? Where are they now?"

"Her sister sent someone to pick up most of her personal effects—her
papers and photographs, the knickknacks on her desk and the frames on
her wall. But she didn't seem interested in Lola's books. Most of those
have been packed away in boxes until we get word from the police that
they're not needed for the investigation. Those things related to the
Blackwells project will be distributed to other members of the faculty
who are part of the team, and some of her research volumes will go to
the library, of course." "May I look through those cartons while I'm
here?" "Is that—? Well. . ." "Is it legal? Yes, it's fine. I'll make a
formal record of anything

I take."

"I'll explain to Grenier where we've stored them, and he can take
you there when you and he are finished. It's just down the hall

from his room."

Recantati stepped out to the anteroom to give Grenier a few words of
instruction, and then I followed the biologist to his office one flight
above.

In contrast to the stark decor of Recantati's temporary space, this
was garnished with awards and diplomas, a series of lithographs of
Edward Jenner vaccinating his experimental population of village folk
in England, and a collection of cobalt-blue antique apothecary jars.
They were lined up in alphabetical order, with the one labeled
"Arsenic" closest to my chair. A large model of the double helix, with
its ladderlike strands of DNA in bright primary colors, sat before me
on the desk. Grenier expanded and closed it like an accordion while I
described my position and the nature of our investigation. I had used
the same exhibit in many of my training lectures on the subject of
genetic fingerprinting.

"Whatever Lola wants, eh? Lola gets." The biology professor smiled
as he spoke the words of the song.

"I don't think she wanted dead, Professor."

"No," he said slowly, stretching out the single syllable. "But how
she would have delighted in being the cause of all this intrigue. I
think what she would have liked best is the air of suspicion that's
been created here and the pointing of fingers at those of us who
crossed her. If every one of us whom she disliked could be suspects for
even a nanosecond, I think Lola would have left us behind without a
second thought."

"Your concern for her is touching."

"Anything else would be pure charade, as you've probably heard. I
once made the mistake of singing that song from
Damn Yankees
to
her, the one about whatever Lola wants. I was jabbing at her, mocking
her way of wheedling whatever she wanted out of the administration.
Unfortunately she countered with the end of the refrain—'and little
man, little Lola wants yow.'" He pushed his glasses back against the
bridge of his nose and squinted at me. "I hated being called a little
man. She knew that. And she delighted in teasing me about not being
able to get me. I'm gay, you see. Open, unashamed, perfectly content to
take her humor. It was the 'little' business that used to drive me
crazy.

"But she had a mean streak a mile long. And when she thought I had
tried to deceive Dr. Lavery, she came after me like a man-eating shark."

"Would you tell me what that was all about?" The helix twisted and
turned in his hands. "I'm dead tired, Ms. Cooper. The flight in was
extremely turbulent and I was awake the entire night. May we do this
another time?"

"It would be helpful if I could get started now. The discussion you
were just having with Professor Recantati, about the telephone call
that was made to his home last week-?"

"I didn't make the damn call. I don't know anything about it. And
quite frankly, the idea of that man going through the desk drawers of
any one of us is frightening. Sylvia Foote probably cracked her big
whip and Paolo jumped through the hoop for her. Just like her to want
to know everything that each one of us is up to, and to use the acting
president to do her bidding."

"How would you describe your relationship with Lola Dakota?" The
yawn he feigned to gain a few seconds to think about his answer was in
direct contrast to the lively fidgeting of his bony hands. "Sorry, I'm
so tired I can hardly think. Lola?

"We had gotten along just fine, most of the time. I assume that
you've done your homework and know about the matter we were working on
together?"

"On Roosevelt Island, the Blackwells project? Yes, I've learned a
bit about it."

"We both shared a love for a particular building." "The Smallpox
Hospital?"

"Yes. Quite the most magnificent structure in New York City, in my
view. And for me, of course, this program offered a rather dramatic
study of the history of disease, as well as links to the future, like
the potential of using these eradicated viruses for germ warfare. I'll
have my hands full for years to come." "And Lola's interest?" "It
started, appropriately enough, with her discipline—political science
and the history of urban institutions. But the old island romanced her,
Ms. Cooper."

"Interesting choice of words."

"Well, that ruin is a stunningly romantic building, don't you think?"

"I do, actually. But what do you mean about Lola?"

"For me, it's intellectually valuable to understand how all the
infected populations of a large city were isolated in a single
location. Typhus, cholera, ship fever. And then this glorious hospital,
designed by one of America's greatest architects as though to disguise
the fact that it was dedicated to the deadly smallpox.

"The city still has records of who these patients were, how they
were treated, and how many—I should say how few—were cured and returned
to their homes. I'm interested in documenting that information and
using my students to put it together for the first time."

"What about Lola?"

"A lot of our interests overlapped—same records, same patients. For
her studies of the culture, it was intriguing that the charity
patients—mostly impoverished immigrants—were kept in a ward on the
lower floors. The rich who were infected were banished to the same
facility, but to private rooms on the upper floor. For
my
work,
that's of no importance. But Lola liked that kind of cultural detail.
She constructed entire fantasies about the people who passed through
there."

"And Freeland Jennings's diamonds?"

"Hogwash, as far as I'm concerned. Those stories involved the
penitentiary, not the hospital. Lola walked in both worlds, but my
business was only with the medical aspects of the island."

"And you do have a business interest in the project, then?"

The helix was spinning wildly in Grenier's hands. "You've been
listening to Claude Lavery. What we intend to do with this medical
knowledge is to let society benefit from it. Hardly an evil motive, is
it, Ms. Cooper? There are still places in this world where these
diseases have not been wiped out. There still exist strains of these
plagues that are resistant to current kinds of medication." The tone of
his voice became more strident. "I guess you think I'm just supposed to
let someone else profit from this when it's perfectly legal for me to
do so myself?"

"But surely, Professor Lavery is also entitled—"

"We're into entitlements now, are we, Madame Prosecutor? Look,
everyone's out there on that island digging around for a particular
reason. Are you going to be the one to decide someone is more or less
selfish than I am, more or less altruistic? Let's not be ridiculous.

"Recantati tells me he's going to get us all together tomorrow to
discuss the late lamented Lola Dakota—Lavery, Shreve, Lockhart, Foote.
Join us, Ms. Cooper. Come see the seamier side of academia."

"I'm hoping to be there. Professor Grenier, I wonder if you can tell
me if there's an office, or a room, that's used as a base for the
Blackwells project? Someplace that serves as a central headquarters for
the work you've all been doing?" Someplace that needs a key to enter, I
thought to myself.

"King's College is small enough, and our offices are close together
in this building, so there has not been a need for a dedicated space
over here. And for the moment, until something comes of it, we've just
got a rented room with a secretary as the sole staffer, which is over
on Roosevelt Island, on Main Street. It's just a studio apartment that
we're using until we need something larger to store any objects that we
might find in the dig."

"Who has keys to that room?"

He yawned again. "We all do. Even a number of the students. No
secrets in there, if that's what you're thinking. Just a desk, a phone,
a few filing cabinets. You're welcome to go visit it anytime you like.
What are you looking for?"

I wish I knew. "Something related to Blackwells that one might keep
locked up."

Grenier placed the double helix on the corner of his desk. "One of
Lola's little secrets, no doubt. I'll sleep on it, Ms. Cooper. Maybe
one of my charming colleagues knows the answer." He rose to his feet.
"I understand I'm to show you the packing boxes with her books?"

"That would be helpful." We walked a short distance from his office.
The door was unlocked and he flipped on the light switch. Cardboard
cartons lined the bare walls.