Sounds of Murder

Patricia Rockwell

Published by Cozy Cat Press at Smashwords

Copyright © 2010 Patricia Rockwell

LCCN: 2010922640

ISBN: 978-1-4524-4089-7

Cover design by Scott Saunders of
Design 7
Studio
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Chapter 1

It was getting dark and the wind was picking
up when Pamela Barnes roared into the small parking lot on the side
of Blake Hall on the campus at Grace University. Barely missing
nicking the tail light on Dr. Swinton’s old Buick, she found one
remaining spot at the far end just minutes before her graduate
seminar was scheduled to start at 6 p.m. She was just locking her
Civic, when her graduate assistant, Kent Drummond, appeared.

"Hi, Dr. B," he greeted her, his ear stud
gleaming in the last rays of sunlight. "Got the last space, I
see."

"Yes," she smiled. "Lucky me." She tightened
her jacket around her body. The wind snapped her fine blonde hair
briskly in front of her face. Kent stepped beside her and the two
of them strode purposefully towards the side entrance of the
building.

"Those were some hard articles you assigned
for tonight, Dr. B," he noted, holding the door open for her as
Pamela zipped inside before another gust of wind whipped up her
skirt.

"It’s graduate school," explained Pamela,
laughing. "You don't expect it to be easy, do you?" Kent chuckled
weakly in response.

"Come on, Dr. B," he moaned, "Those articles
were overkill." Pamela registered his word choice with amusement.
Kent’s all black outfit with a blood-spattered machete design on
the front of his t-shirt would never scream “conscientious graduate
student” to the rest of the world, but she knew his “look” was all
bravado. He was one of her best students.

"That’s material you’re going to have to
know," responded Pamela.

“If you say so. Oh, Dr. B, I ran that second
group of subjects through the protocol. You want me to enter the
data tonight?” he asked, his sneakers squishing as he walked.

“You mean they all showed?”

Their footsteps echoed in the high-ceilinged
main hallway of the ancient old building.

“Sure thing, Dr. B. That’s what extra credit
in a hard course like Dr. Clark’s will do for your turn-out,” he
chirped. How true, she thought. Charlotte Clark was famous and with
fame came popularity. Students across campus wanted to take her
courses on addiction, whether they were Psych majors or not. And
Charlotte always made her students participate in research. Too bad
she didn’t allow them to participate in animal psych research too.
Then her friend Arliss, who taught animal psychology, could benefit
from Charlotte’s largess. However, Pamela was not going to look a
gift horse in the mouth. She would use her participants however she
got them.

She turned to the young man beside her,
saying, "You can hold off on data entry until tomorrow. Then,
changing the subject, she added, “Kent, are you sure you locked the
lab up properly when you left this afternoon?"

"Sure, Dr. B," he answered, "I'm always very
careful with the lab."

"That's good," she replied, sounding a note
of caution. "We can't be too careful, really. That lab has some of
the most expensive equipment on campus or even in the state. I'm
sure there are plenty of people who’d like to get their hands on
it." She hated playing campus cop like this, but her Chair had been
pounding the faculty lately about lab security.

"Like I said, Dr. B," he repeated, "You can
count on me. I always lock it when I leave and I double check to
make sure all the equipment is put away and safe too. Don’t worry."
Kent waved good-bye and trekked across the hall towards the seminar
room on the right.

Pamela noticed her colleague Phineas
Ottenback coming out of the departmental office across the hallway
on the left. He locked the door behind himself.

"Oh, Dr. Barnes," he said turning, eyes
popping open as he saw Pamela, "Did you need to get into the
office? I'm sorry I just locked it." A shock of wispy, red hair
flopped down over his forehead.

"That’s all right, Phineas," she responded.
She thought it amusing that Phineas was always so formal, even when
there were no students around. "I'm on my way to my seminar. I
assume you’re on your way to class too."

"Oh, yes, upstairs." he said, in that quaint,
nasal voice that Pamela found just slightly irritating. As he
started towards the large central staircase further down the
hallway, he suddenly turned back to her.

"Oh, Dr. Barnes, " he confided, "You're on
the Tenure Committee, aren't you?"

"Yes, Phineas," she sputtered, "but…but I
can't, in good conscience, discuss anything about the committee or
its procedures with you, seeing as how you’re a candidate."

"Yes, Dr. Barnes," he said, hesitating, "but,
I was just wondering if I…about the possibility of …what you would
think if someone removed their name from consideration for
tenure?"

"Phineas," she responded, "You surely
wouldn't want to do that. I mean, I can't say anything officially,
but I believe your chances of getting tenure are as good as the
other two candidates. I really can't and shouldn't even say that."
She now felt horrible for even having this conversation with the
man. Tenure was a serious and private matter. It was a make or
break moment for young faculty members such as Phineas. Get tenure
and you had a job for life. Be denied tenure and you were
essentially fired.

“It's just a thought, you know," Phineas
said, "I was only wondering what would happen—hypothetically--if
someone were to drop out of the running, so to speak..." He pulled
himself from deep thought with a strange jerky motion and suddenly
changed the topic. "Anyway, thank you very much, Dr. Barnes, for
your honesty. I would appreciate it if you wouldn't mention this
conversation to anyone."

"Of course not, Phineas," she answered,
befuddled. He took her hand gingerly and shook it very formally,
then quickly headed up the central staircase without another
word.

How strange. She hadn’t studied the tenure
portfolios for the Psychology Department’s three candidates yet.
She needed to get down to Charlotte’s office—Charlotte was Chair of
the Tenure Committee—and study the files. But from what she knew of
Phineas’ work, he would likely be granted tenure. He and his
research partner, Rex Tyson, churned out several solid articles
each year in top-notch journals, and tenure decisions were
typically based on research productivity. It didn’t make sense for
Phin to even contemplate removing his name from consideration for
tenure.

She stood there, staring after him for a
moment. Then, selecting her key to the department’s main office
from her key ring, she quickly opened the glass-windowed door and
entered the darkened insides. Just a narrow beam of light from the
hallway illuminated the faculty mailboxes on the wall. As she
reached into her cubby hole for her mail, she heard voices coming
from the office of the Department Head, Mitchell Marks, which was
located through a second small office where the departmental
secretary worked.

Pamela stood frozen as the two voices rang
out behind Mitchell’s closed door. It was unusual for Mitchell to
be in his office this late in the day. Pamela couldn’t make out the
gist of what was apparently an argument, but it soon became clear
to her who the combatants were—obviously Mitchell, the Head of
Grace University’s Psychology Department, and, no surprise to
Pamela, Charlotte Clark, the department’s prima donna, star
grant-getter, and world-renown expert on addiction. Pamela cocked
her ear closer to the intervening office door, trying to decipher
the cause of the fight.

"For God's sake, Mitchell," she heard
Charlotte Clark bellow. "I’ve brought this department millions of
dollars in research funding, a beautiful state-of-the-art
experimental computer lab, and hoards of fame. The Dean had damn
well better consider that, and the multi-million dollar grants I’ve
brought and will bring to Grace University."

"Now, Charlotte, calm down," said Marks. It
was a request, not an order.

“Don’t try to calm me down, Mitchell!”
Charlotte yelled. “Remember, I have tenure so I don’t have to do
his bidding. And I’m not some boot licker like the rest of this
gutless faculty,” she said, “not wanting to jeopardize an upcoming
promotion or book deal. I can say what I think. And what I think is
that this entire department is full of cowards. And Mitchell—you’re
the worst of the lot, the biggest coward of them all. You let the
Dean walk all over you. It’s time somebody stood up to him. All you
care about is avoiding conflict. But I don’t care about avoiding
anything and I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”

Pamela could hear Charlotte’s voice getting
louder as she came closer to the door, then, evidently, turning
back to Mitchell as he called out to her.

“Charlotte, for heaven’s sake, don’t do
that!”

“Just try and stop me!” Charlotte screamed
back at him, and her voice suddenly became even louder as she
opened the door between Mitchell’s office and the secretary’s
office. Pamela could see the outline of her body highlighted in the
door frame. Charlotte was a striking, middle-aged woman, with a
beautifully styled head of blonde curls. Her designer suit and
Monolo Blahnik heels looked elegant enough to be featured on the
cover of Vogue. As she turned to leave, she tossed a final comment
over her shoulder:

“And, Mitchell, you can forget that stupid
Chili Cook-Off of yours that you so foolishly think of as a
departmental fundraiser. I won’t be participating this year!”

As Charlotte’s footsteps stormed toward her,
Pamela quickly grabbed her mail and headed out the main office door
and across the hall toward the seminar room. She slipped into the
room just as she heard Charlotte slam the main office door shut and
storm down the hallway. The last thing she wanted was to get in the
way of an angry Charlotte Clark steam-rolling in her direction.

What in the world had caused such a fight
between Charlotte and their Chair? And where was Charlotte going
now in such a huff? To the Dean as she’d threatened? And if so,
what for? She’d love to be able to find out, but Pamela was sure
the gossip mill would supply the answer tomorrow.

Right now, she had to concentrate on
conducting her Tuesday night graduate seminar in acoustics. She
looked around the room. She could smell the old wood paneling and
the faint scent of leather in the worn, but comfortable arm chairs
situated around the long conference table.

Kent had positioned himself in his favorite
location on the side of the table near the windows. Two girls were
already in the room and were talking to Kent. He was cheerfully
responding to their eager questions. Luckily, it appeared the
students had not heard the horrific argument between Mitchell and
Charlotte that had just occurred across the hall.

Pamela went quickly and quietly to the end of
the long table at the front of the room and sat down. Then she
began to review the articles she’d assigned her class—the
impossibly hard ones according to Kent--while she waited for her
class to arrive.

Soon, three more female students and three
male students arrived and Pamela began the class. In no time at all
she had forgotten—well, almost forgotten—Charlotte Clark and her
tirade in Mitchell’s office.

"Okay, class," she announced, rising and
getting their attention, "you read three articles about acoustics
for tonight's class. Who can tell me, in a nutshell, what these
articles had in common, and how they were different from each
other?"

One girl quickly raised her hand.

"Dr. Barnes," she declared, "Those articles
were very technical, more than any other articles you’ve assigned.
Truthfully, I was lost." She looked a bit sheepish, until several
other students chimed in, in agreement.

"Let’s look at it this way," responded
Pamela. "Eventually you’ll need to understand how to use the
acoustic technology described in these articles if you intend to
find careers using sound analysis. You won't necessarily need to
understand how the technology works. Even so, it's a good idea to
start with a discussion of the workings of a piece of equipment
with which you’ll all need to become very familiar—the
spectrograph." She stopped and looked around the room. Everyone
looked a bit terrified.