Inspector Green Mysteries 9-Book Bundle (12 page)

Halton stood and began to pace. “Joe Difalco has been with me since his undergraduate years. He’s my most senior doctoral student, and he has spent years piecing together a theory of word processing deficits using EEG data. When we know where the deficits are—what part of that ‘cat’ chain doesn’t work right, for example—then we can begin to study how to fix them. Joe is a bright boy, and he has a wonderful intuitive intelligence. He makes creative leaps and as a result he’s always been a useful addition to my group. He can critique others’ work as well, and it helps to advance our thinking.” Halton paused at the window, tracing a drop of rain down the glass. “I’ve kept Joe on for another reason too. This may sound crass,
and it’s not my favourite aspect of university life, but Joe is my salesman. He can be smooth, charming and persuasive, unlike Dave, who stands head and shoulders above him intellectually but can’t sell himself to save his soul.”

“Does Difalco know he’s mainly window dressing?”

Halton hesitated but did not contradict his appraisal. “The two of them are both working on word processing, but their theories are different, and Dave’s means of analyzing the brain waves is much more complex than Joe’s.”

“So suddenly the golden boy is dethroned.”

Halton nodded grimly. “I don’t tolerate rivalry in my department, and I will not permit personal animosities to come before the advancement of science. Joe is a bright boy, but he’s lazy and he’s a sloppy researcher. Intuitive people often are; they haven’t the patience to plod through all the steps. I’ve always had to watch him to make sure no corners had been cut. I thought I had done that, but between teaching responsibilities and travelling to present papers, trying to get my book together, negotiating this new joint project with Yale and arguing with granting agencies…” He sighed as if the mere thought of his obligations exhausted him. “I may have lost track of things a bit right here in the lab. I have twenty students working for me here at one level or another. I’ve been running things on my own this year; I have an associate, but he’s on sabbatical, and I’ve been trying to take on another associate as well, but with the budget cuts to the university…well, my students have been left to fend for themselves more than they should. Joe Difalco was working hard on his research, he was wrapping up the final data analysis on the last phase of his dissertation, and the results looked impressive. It was an almost complete confirmation of his approach. Then Dave Miller came to me and told me he
thought Joe’s data were fudged. He said he had run part of Joe’s research through a computer simulation, and it was impossible for Joe to have gotten the results he did. So Dave went further. All the analyses and the original raw data—the EEG tracings themselves—are stored on our main computer in the central lab. Dave went into Joe’s computer database and looked at his raw data, and he said they weren’t anything like those Joe had reported.”

Green looked up from his notes. “What did you do?”

“I hauled Joe in. I will not tolerate anyone interfering with science. I didn’t tell him what Dave had claimed. I merely asked to look over his raw data. To double-check, I said. I told him I had questions about the algorithm he’d used to transform the data for statistical purposes…” Seeing Green’s eyes glaze, he waved a hand in dismissal. “Never mind. Just number crunching. Anyway, Joe came back and said someone had wiped out his data banks. The raw data was lost. He went further. He accused Dave of doing it to prevent him from proving the validity of his model over Dave’s.”

Halton stared out the window at the gold-lit city. Outrage battled sorrow on his face. “Who was I to believe? Dave had admitted he went into Joe’s databank. Both men knew the outcome of their studies was important to their futures. Yale wants one of my researchers to work at their end of things, and there is nothing more unwanted in science than negative results, no greater blow to your stature than to be wrong. Although, of course, negative results are essential to the progress of knowledge. If Joe’s model was right, then Dave’s was wrong. But if Joe, after years of work, found out he was wrong, well…Joe hates to lose, to come in second. I could see him erasing the raw data so I’d never know. A perfect whodunit, actually, Detective. You probably
run into this quite often. Two suspects, two perfect motives, two perfect explanations. Who’s lying?” Halton turned from the window to face Green. “Tell me, detective. What would you do?”

“I’d look for independent corroboration, first of all. Did anyone else see the data? If not, I’d see if I could get some new data, to see which way it leans.”

Halton’s eyes lit up. “And that’s exactly what I did.” Suddenly the pieces fell into place. Green’s pulse leaped. “You asked Jonathan Blair to check into the research.”

The professor nodded. “In strictest confidence. I asked him to examine the rest of Joe’s computer files to see if he could glean any useful information. If he had to, he was to run a few subjects for us to see whether they supported Joe’s conclusions.”

“Did Miller and Difalco know he was doing this?”

Halton met his questioning gaze levelly. “That, of course, is the question. That is why I’ve been soul-searching today. Is it possible they knew, and if so, did one of them kill him? I didn’t tell them, that’s for sure. I indicated to them only that I would be investigating the matter. I suppose I should have—” He broke off, his jaw working. He was a big man, barrel-chested and ramrod-straight, and he was obviously used to being in command. Self-doubt and regret probably did not come easily, and he struggled a moment to resume control.

Green trod carefully. “How might Miller and Difalco have found out? Who else knew?”

“No one. At least, I told no one.”

“Not even your secretary?”

“Not even her. It was a completely private matter. Jonathan was given access to Joe’s files, but he was very careful.”

“Could Difalco tell from his computer records—by dates or something—that someone had been in his files?”

“The computer only registers something if there has been a change in the file. Jonathan never changed any data, he merely looked at them or printed them out.”

“What about Jonathan himself? Would he have told anyone else?”

Halton shook his head. “Oh no. Jonathan was very private, very honest. It’s the reason I chose him, besides his intelligence and his knowledge.”

“If he did tell anyone, who would it probably be?”

Only the faint hum of the building’s air conditioning punctuated the silence as Halton pondered the question. Finally he shrugged. “Perhaps his girlfriend, Vanessa Weeks, one of my Masters students. But she works under Dave, so I doubt he’d tell her.”

“What about Raquel Haddad?”

“Raquel!” The professor looked astonished. “Certainly not her! That would be tantamount to shouting it from the rooftops. Besides, Raquel was Joe’s special number, if I recall.”

“She didn’t go out with Jonathan?”

“Oh, she may have tried, but Jonathan was not that great a fool.”

Green grinned. “‘
Ven der putz shteit, hob der seicle in dreird’
, my father used to say. Yiddish, which roughly translated is ‘When the penis stands, the brain goes in the ground.’”

Halton laughed, a little too heartily, Green thought. “You’ve got a point. But even if Jonathan did bed her, he wouldn’t confide in her.”

“What was Raquel’s role around here?”

“Flirt, basically,” Halton replied without hesitation. “She’s an undergrad taking some psych courses. I think it started when she took the physiological psychology course Joe teaches. He has an eye for an attractive woman, and Raquel
certainly is that. They were involved for some time, and he brought her around to help him. Dazzle her with all the technology is more likely. She became friendly with the other students on the floor.”

“So she helped Joe with his research. When was this?”

“Oh, within the past…maybe six months. She turned it into her Honours thesis.”

“Would Joe have confided in her?”

“He might have told her all sorts of things in order to impress her, but probably not the truth. I wouldn’t regard her as a credible witness, Detective.”

“Did Raquel also help Jonathan with his research?” Halton frowned. “Not that I’m aware of. I hope not. But your father’s old saying has got me thinking. I did see her with him, just recently. They looked…definitely friendly. And he did take her into his office for quite some time.” He sucked in his breath, his eyes narrowing intently behind the bristly brows. “But he wouldn’t have told her anything about the investigation. No.” His voice grew more certain. “No, not Jonathan. Too level-headed. Joe, now. Joe is a hothead. Joe might have complained to her about Dave’s accusation, but she wouldn’t know about Jonathan.”

“Could either of them, Raquel or Joe, find out by searching Jonathan’s office?”

He looked alarmed. “I insist that all my students keep their offices and cabinets locked. With all the expensive equipment and the irreplaceable nature of some of the files...”

“Did they have keys to each other’s offices?”

Halton shook his head. “Certainly not to the filing cabinets and desk drawers. And Jonathan would not be so stupid as to leave his files out.”

“Even if he planned to return? Just going for supper, say?”

Halton’s voice wavered. “I don’t know. I tell them not to, but they can be pretty casual about these things.”

Green stood up abruptly. “I want you to come down to Jonathan’s office with me. I need to know if anything’s been tampered with.”

Seven

As if by
prearrangement, Halton and Green were just going down the hall when Lou Paquette emerged from Jonathan Blair’s office. He sighed sourly as he peeled his latex gloves off his hands.

“More fingerprints, Green. Hundreds of them. What do you want me to do with them?”

“Fingerprints!” Halton began to splutter. “What the hell is going on!” He tried to push past to see into Blair’s office, but Green blocked his way.

“Someone broke into Blair’s office, Professor. I want to know everyone who’s been in here.” Cutting off Halton’s attempts to protest, he turned to Paquette. “Get the prints of all the people on this floor and run a check.”

“All the people—” Paquette gaped. “There must be fifty!”

“Twenty,” Green replied.

Halton burst in impatiently. “This is absurd! Most of my students had nothing whatsoever to do with Jonathan. Their paths hardly crossed. All the Honours students and the first year post-grads—they’re down on the other wing. They never even saw him. I won’t have you upsetting them.”

Paquette ran a weary hand over the beginnings of stubble on his chin. Like Sullivan, he was a policeman who put in all the overtime a case required, but, unlike Sullivan, his wife had left him because of it years ago. He had little reason to go
home any more and often fell asleep over his microscope. Green took pity on him.

“Okay, just do the people on this wing. They work the most closely with him. Oh, and there’s one other person I’d like you to check, but I’ll have to get you her prints off something in her house. She’s flown the coop.”

Paquette’s bleak face brightened. “Are we getting hot?”

“Definitely,” Green replied. “You find anything else interesting in here? Any signs of forced entry? Tampering?”

Paquette nodded. “Not the office door, but the top drawer to this filing cabinet. Someone picked the lock—not very expertly.” He led the way back inside, stepping over the files which still lay scattered on the floor where Difalco had dropped them. Green and Halton followed him into the room. Halton stopped short, staring at the mess.

“What the hell happened here?”

“Someone was curious about his files, apparently.”

“Who?”

Green shrugged. “I’m not at liberty to say, sir.”

“These people work for me!” Halton cried, his voice rising. “I must know—”

“Rumours, Dr. Halton,” Green snapped. “Remember what you said about rumours? This investigation must be kept strictly confidential, for everyone’s protection, including yours. Now would you please tell me what those files contain?”

Halton glowered at him briefly, then barrelled his way across the office. He scanned the files and his eyebrows shot up.

“They’re computer print-outs of statistical analyses. On the data Jonathan had collected to replicate Difalco’s research.”

Green knew enough about scientific research to grasp the significance of the material. In research, the subjects are tested first, then at the end the scores are subjected to statistical
analysis to determine if there were differences, patterns or trends in the scores which supported or contradicted the original theory.

“Are you saying Blair was at the point of proving or disproving Difalco’s hypothesis?”

“Apparently. These analyses were dated Monday.” Halton had been scanning the pages avidly, but now he raised his eyes in dismay. “The day before he died.”

“What did he find?”

Halton wrestled his emotions back. “I don’t know yet. It will take me some time to study them.”

“How much time?”

“I don’t know. Ah, tomorrow morning. I’ll take them with me tonight.”

Green shook his head. “I can’t allow them to be out of police custody. You can look at them here tonight. I’ll post a police guard in the room with you.”

“But I have a meeting with Marianne Blair—”

“I’m sure she would not want the police investigation slowed down in any way.” Ignoring Halton’s reddening face, Green called dispatch and requested a police guard. Then he nodded to Paquette, who stood fidgeting at the door. “That filing cabinet. Was it open like that when you found it?”

Paquette nodded. “Open and empty. Looks like those files on the floor came from there.”

“Interesting. Thanks, Lou. I should be down at the station in ten minutes.”

“You going to sleep tonight?”

Green grinned. “Only if I run out of things to do.”

That seemed an unlikely prospect as Green returned to the station and made his way to the interview room where Difalco had been detained. The young man had pushed a chair into a corner and was sprawled with his legs outstretched, pretending to be asleep. He jerked upright when Green appeared, accompanied by a constable who settled unobtrusively in the corner with his notebook. Difalco barely gave him a second look.