Murder is an Art (24 page)

She asked Troy about it. He knew, of course.

“He killed her with a hammer. The police have it, and there's no doubt it's the murder weapon. Thompson had been hanging piñatas in the back of the store when she came in and told him that she'd reported Val for sexual harassment.”

“He didn't like that,” Sally said, glad that she and Jack hadn't found the hammer themselves.

“No, he didn't like it. It's pretty complicated, but it seems that Thompson knew his wife was fooling around with Val and had worked out a little blackmail scheme.”

Sally said she'd known about the blackmail.

Troy was hurt. “You didn't tell me.”

“It wasn't something I thought should get out.”

“Well, I suppose I won't hold it against you. What about the fooling around?”

“I didn't know about that.”

“I didn't either. I'm amazed, frankly, but it seems that Val had quite a reputation. How could he have been doing those things without my knowing?”

Sally admitted that it was unlikely.

“All those women kept his secrets for him,” Troy said. “But I finally found out.” He paused. “Anyway, Thompson's wife didn't know about the blackmail scheme. She got scared that she was going to get in trouble for messing around with an instructor, so she decided to say that Val had acted improperly with her.”

“He had,” Sally said.

“Yes, but Tammi didn't tell the real story. She said he'd touched her when he was working on that painting.”

“The painting that was supposed to be for her husband.”

“It wasn't for her husband, you know.”

“Yes, I did know.”

Troy looked disappointed. “Well, it wasn't. According to Thompson, that was just the cover story. It was for Val.”

“And that's why Thompson is supposed to have killed Val,” Sally said. “He went into a rage when he found out Tammi had ruined his extortion scheme. I heard that he had a terrible temper, and she'd spoiled everything. He was probably sure that he'd be arrested for what he'd done. I can believe that. It pretty much matches up with what some people thought all along.”

As she thought about things, however, she still couldn't believe the theory that Thompson had killed Val because of some question of honor. That part still seemed ridiculous to her. She said as much to Beauchamp.

“Ah,” Troy said. “You're getting ahead of things. I haven't told you the good part of the story.”

“So tell me.”

“It's like this,” Troy said. “Thompson admits that he killed his wife, and he says he's very sorry about it. He's ‘expressing remorse for his crime,' as the newscasters like to say. But he says he didn't kill Val Hurley, and he's not going to say that he did.”

“What do the police think?” Sally asked. “Or do you know?”

“Now, what do you think?”

“I think you know. So tell me.”

“The police think he's telling the truth. Remember how Val was killed?”

Sally remembered. “He was hit with
Winged Victory.
”

Troy smiled. “Right, and there are fingerprints on the statue. But they aren't Ralph Thompson's.”

“Whose are they?”

“Ah,” Troy said. “That's what the police would like to know.”

40

As Troy explained it, all the instructors at the college had been ruled out as suspects because the college had everyone's fingerprints on file.

Sally knew why. Everyone who taught at the prison had to be fingerprinted, and everyone who taught at HCC was required to teach at the prison, or at least to be willing to teach there. So everyone's fingerprints were taken once every two years, and at the same interval, everyone had to endure an “in-service” program about prison security procedures, given by someone from the Texas Department of Criminal Justice.

Sally said, “So that means…”

“That means,” Troy said, “that you and I aren't guilty.”

And neither are A. B. D. Johnson, Coy, Jorge, Ellen, or Vera,
Sally thought.
So who is left?

“I don't know,” Troy said when she asked. “And I'll bet they never find out.”

“Why?”

“Because who's going to admit it? I don't know of any clues, so unless someone confesses, whoever killed Val will get off scot-free.”

Troy talked for a while longer, but he didn't have any more scoops. When he left, Sally was left to wonder about Val's killer.

It didn't take her long to come up with the answer.

Tammi Thompson.

Sally was sure that was it. She couldn't think of a motive, but that didn't matter. She knew she was right. She picked up her phone and called Chief Desmond.

“You're wrong,” Desmond said when she explained the reason for her call. “Do you think the police in Hughes are idiots? The medical examiner took Tammi Thompson's prints at the morgue, and they don't match the ones on the statue.”

“Oh,” Sally said.

She hung up the phone, and it rang immediately. She picked it up and said, “Sally Good.”

Eva Dillon said, “Please hold for Dr. Fieldstone.”

Sally didn't say a word. She just waited for Fieldstone, who, naturally, asked her to come over to his office. But this time, he told her why.

“It's about that purchase order to Thompson's Crafts,” he said.

“What about it?” Sally asked.

“That's what I want to discuss with you,” Fieldstone said.

Sally said that she'd be right over. She knew what was going to happen. Now that the furor about Val's death had died down, someone was going to have to take the fall for the purchase order, and Sally knew who that would be.

It wouldn't be her, but that didn't make her feel any better. Amy Willis was the one who would be fired, though Naylor had as much as said she wouldn't be. That, however, had been when Sally had the upper hand and was protecting Amy. Now, Fieldstone was going to try again.

On her way to see Fieldstone, Sally stopped by Amy Willis's office. Amy was cleaning out her desk, tossing things into a box that had recently held paper for the photocopier. She didn't seem to care whether the things fit in the box neatly. She didn't even seem to care whether the things went in it at all. A framed photo of her son hit the edge of the box and bounced onto the desk. Amy didn't bother to pick it up.

Sally did. She said, “I'm sorry, Amy.”

Amy looked around. She was nervous and distracted. Her hands went to her hair, as if she were reaching for the pencil that was usually stuck there. Today, it was gone.

“I knew it was coming,” she said. “I knew they wouldn't let me off so easily. But it wasn't my fault. It was Val's fault.”

“I know that,” Sally said.

And then a number of things clicked into place in Sally's head. She knew how meticulous Amy was, and she remembered what Amy had said in Fieldstone's office, about how she'd known there was a mistake, but she had waited too long to figure it out. Sally wondered now if that was true. And while Amy was naturally the nervous sort, since Val's death she'd been about three times as nervous as usual.

There was something else, too, something that Amy had said—or hadn't said—in Fieldstone's office. Thinking back on it, Sally believed that Amy had been about to say, “That's what I
wanted
to know,” but she'd changed the verb to the present tense. That was something an English teacher should have thought of sooner.

Sally said, “Amy, did you go to Val's office and ask Val about the purchase order?”

Amy stiffened. “Me? Why are you asking me that?”

“Because it seems like the kind of thing you'd do. You wouldn't call me first. Dr. Fieldstone mentioned the other day about how conscientious you are. You'd check that purchase order out. You'd ask Val. You did ask him, didn't you? And the next day, you called me to cover for yourself.”

Amy sat down. She wasn't nervous now. She was hardly moving.

“No,” she said. “I didn't do those things. I should have talked to Val, but I didn't.”

“I think you did,” Sally said. “If you did, someone saw you going over to the Art and Music Building. Douglas Young, maybe. He sees everything. Or maybe Coy Webster. He might have met you as he was leaving that day.”

Amy's eyes dropped at the mention of Coy's name. Sally knew that Coy must have seen her, but not while he was in the building. He'd been leaving it and hadn't thought anything about someone from the Business Office being on the way in. He might not even have remembered it.

“The police have your fingerprints, too,” Sally said. “They were on the statue you hit Val with.”

While the faculty members had to be fingerprinted, the members of the staff did not. They weren't required to go to the prison. So if Amy hadn't committed any other crimes, her fingerprints weren't on file anywhere at all.

Amy started to sniffle. “It was just that Val didn't seem to care. I told him I was probably going to lose my job, and he just shrugged. He told me that he had problems of his own and that my troubles didn't amount to a thing compared to his. I lost my temper then. That little statue was right there, and I grabbed it and hit him with it. I was angry, and I meant to hurt him, but not to kill him. I never meant to do that.”

“I believe you,” Sally said, reaching for the telephone.

*   *   *

Later that day, after a long session of Minesweeper, Jack Neville went by Sally's office.

“The news is all over campus,” he said. “About how you caught the killer, that is. You don't look too happy about it, though.”

“I'm not,” Sally said. “Amy didn't intend to kill anyone. Now she's going to prison, and it's my fault. What's going to happen to her son?”

“First of all,” Jack said, “it's not your fault. You didn't kill anyone. There's plenty of blame in this thing, but none of it's yours. Blame Val if you want to. He's the one who let himself be blackmailed. Blame Ralph Thompson for blackmailing him. Blame Tammi for getting involved with Val. Blame Vera or Ellen for not telling you about Val sooner. But don't blame yourself.”

Sally tried to smile. “You're right,” she said.

“Of course I am. And as far as Amy's son goes, her ex-husband has been trying to get custody for quite a while. He's always been a good father.”

“But what about Amy?”

“She might not go to prison. There are lots of possibilities. She could plead temporary insanity, for one thing. She was pushed over the edge by the faked purchase order and her fear of losing her job and her son. It's the kind of thing that might sway a jury.”

“Maybe,” Sally said, though she didn't really believe it.

“You need something to take your mind off all this,” Jack said. “There's an, ah, oldies concert this weekend, headlined by the Platters. There might even be one or two of the original members left.”

“So?” Sally said.

“So, ah, would you like to go with me?”

Sally thought about it.

Would she like to go with him?

Yes.

Should she?

Probably not. It was against her policy. Besides, dating a member of the department was a lot worse than dating anyone else at the college.

On the other hand, maybe it was time to take a chance.

“I'd love to,” she said.

Also by Bill Crider

The Texas Capitol Murders

Blood Marks

PROFESSOR CARL BURNS MYSTERIES

… A Dangerous Thing

Dying Voices

One Dead Dean

SHERIFF DAN RHODES MYSTERIES

Death by Accident

Winning Can Be Murder

Murder Most Fowl

Booked for a Hanging

Evil at the Root

Death on the Move

Cursed to Death

Shotgun Saturday Night

Too Late to Die

THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS
.

An imprint of St. Martin's Press.

MURDER IS AN ART
. Copyright © 1999 by Bill Crider. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Crider, Bill.

Murder is an art / Bill Crider.

p. cm.

“Thomas Dunne books”—T.p. verso.

ISBN 0-312-19927-9

I. Title.

PS3553.R497M86     1999

813'.54—dc21

98-41786
CIP

First Edition: April 1999

eISBN 9781466847200

First eBook edition: May 2013