Sounds of Murder (18 page)

Adjusting the volume knob to the lowest
possible level, she placed her cursor at the beginning of the sound
wave and pressed play. The ghastly sound of choking floated from
her built-in speakers, accompanied by the various bumps, knocks,
and clicks. The sounds continued as the cursor flew over the visual
output, built to what she would describe as a sort of crescendo,
then abruptly ended.

Pamela speculated that Charlotte (or the
killer) had inadvertently bumped the “record” toggle switch during
their struggle and then bumped it off again as the struggle
continued. With this scenario in mind, and placing the cursor back
at the beginning of the sound wave, she played it again.

This time, she listened more carefully,
stopping the cursor from time to time to replay various segments.
She tried to observe the wave visually as she heard each sound
auditorially--connecting sound with wave. Some sounds she
recognized as human and some as non-human noises—both by the actual
audio produced and the shape of the waves, just as she’d explained
to her students in her acoustics seminar the night of the murder.
Could it be possible, she wondered, that the killer was making
sounds on this tape too, in addition to Charlotte? She moved her
cursor back to the beginning of the wave.

Joan Bentley appeared in her doorway.

"Hard at work?" she asked. "Oh, I didn't mean
to disturb you. I just wanted to check to see if we’re still on for
Who-Who's
tonight? Did you double check with Arliss?"

"God, no!" moaned Pamela, instinctively
clicking out of the acoustic program, "I forgot. I got home late,
and Rocky and I had a fight."

"Do tell," said Joan, sympathetically.

"I will," said Pamela, "at
Who-Who's
.
Let me call Arliss and ask." She called Arliss' extension. Arliss
picked up almost immediately. She was obviously talking to some of
her creatures.

"Arliss, can you break away from Fluffy and
Tuffy," chortled Pamela, "for a few hours tonight to join Joan and
me at
Who-Who’s
?"

"I was counting on it," replied Arliss,
sounding harried, "Stop it, you rascal! Not you, Pam! What
time?"

"I tell you what," suggested Pamela, "I'll
come down there and get you around five." She looked at Joan, who
nodded affirmatively.

"Great!" said Arliss, "You can meet the new
rats."

"Meet the rats! Wonderful!" said Pamela,
smiling somewhat facetiously for Joan's sake. "See you then."

"I forgot she doesn't have a car," noted
Joan. "If you like, since you're bringing her, I'll take her home.
Who-Who's
is so close to where you live, it makes more sense
for me to drive her home."

"That would be fine," said Pamela. "I guess
that means Arliss never has to be the designated driver."

"I don’t mind," said Joan, tapping her
forehead, "I can hold my alcohol." She smiled sweetly, waved, and
turned to go off down the hall, but turned back.

"I thought you’d be interested to know--and I
have this on excellent authority--Rex and Phineas are feuding over
first author rights."

"Really?" Pamela looked up, intrigued. "I
thought Phineas pretty much did whatever Rex told him."

"Maybe," said Joan, savoring the image, "the
little squirrel has found his nuts." She strutted off down the
hall.

Pamela thought about
Who-Who’s
.
There's one interruption I don't mind, she said to herself. If ever
I could use a night out with the girls, it's tonight. She took a
deep breath and clicked the acoustic program back on, along with
turning up the volume control switch. Where was I?, she
wondered.

Again, she played the sound wave through from
the moment it first appeared until the moment it suddenly
disappeared from the screen. Yes, it did seem that someone must
have inadvertently bumped the toggle—both in turning it on and in
turning it off. The sound appeared to start and end abruptly--as if
it began in the middle of a choking that was already taking place
and ended in the middle of a choking that was not quite complete.
Obviously, thought Pamela, if the choking were complete, Charlotte
would be dead and in no condition to either make sound or turn off
the toggle switch.

Charlotte must have bumped the toggle on and
off during her struggling. It was possible, Pamela mused, that the
killer might have bumped it, but she thought not. She thought that
since Charlotte was seated, working at the computer, and the killer
probably came up behind her, and that that was the position
Charlotte was found in, that any bumping of the toggle switch on
the computer desk would no doubt have been done by Charlotte. It
was probably likely that the killer didn't even realize that the
toggle switch was turned on and off during the course of the
struggle. If the killer had thought that such a thing might have
happened…. She didn’t want to even contemplate the
ramifications.

Pamela knew that faculty members and students
were aware that recordings made in the first row of computers were
backed up, but--and it was an important but--did the killer, if the
killer was a faculty member or a student, even think of the
possibility that a recording might have been made? In the heat of
strangling someone, does a killer think of the possibility that the
victim might somehow accidentally record the actual murder?

And if so, so what? Here again, Pamela
reminded herself that it was not definite that the killer was
someone in the department--either student or faculty. It could be,
as they had originally thought, some stranger, who entered the lab
intending to steal something and Charlotte just got in the way. If
that were the case, a stranger wouldn’t even be aware of what the
lab computers could do.

But Pamela knew one thing; she had a
recording of what she was sure was the actual murder, and so far,
after dozens of careful listenings, she didn't have a clue as to
the identity of the killer.

Chapter 17

Pamela's reverie was interrupted by the ring
of the telephone. It was Jane Marie, speaking in an anxious
whisper.

"Dr. Barnes," she squeaked. "Are you
alone?"

"Yes," replied Pamela, suddenly intent on her
receiver. "What's up?"

"I didn't know if I should call you, but I'm
worried about Dr. Marks. He's been in his office for almost an hour
with the door shut."

"Jane Marie," said Pamela, thinking that Jane
Marie's concern was probably misplaced, "that doesn't sound like
anything to worry about."

"Yes," she said, "but not after what just
happened." Pamela was puzzled. It was not like Jane Marie to cry
wolf.

"What just happened?"

"That woman was here," she announced, in her
whispered voice.

"What woman?"

"That Evelyn Carrier. You know, the one in
the photograph. She showed up several hours ago and asked to see
Dr. Marks. When he saw her, he looked startled. He invited her back
into his office and I didn’t hear a peep out of them for a good
hour. I almost called you then, but I was afraid to. Then she left
and he went back in his office and closed the door. I'll have to
hang up if he comes out."

Pamela was intrigued. The mystery woman had
made an appearance.

"When did she leave? Did she say anything?"
she quizzed Jane Marie, "What did he say to you? Anything?"

"No, and Dr. Barnes, when she left, I could
swear she was crying. Her face was red; her eyes were tear-stained.
You know, it looked like she’d been crying. Dr. Marks just sort of
said a quick good-bye and then excused himself and shut his door
and I haven't heard anything from him since. I tell you, I’m
worried. What if this is connected to Dr. Clark's death? I mean,
what if--what if--this woman killed Dr. Clark? Do you think she
could have threatened Dr. Marks?"

"Jane Marie," said Pamela, in her most
reassuring voice, "I think it's highly unlikely that any of this is
connected to Dr. Clark’s death. If this woman—this Evelyn Carrier
were at all involved, I'm sure Dr. Marks would have contacted the
police. But, just so you know, I did mention her—and the photo and
the big fight--to Detective Shoop yesterday, just in case."

“What did he say?” asked Jane Marie.

“Not surprisingly--nothing,” she answered, “I
guess that’s the detective’s motto: ask questions—don’t give
answers. But, Jane Marie, don’t worry about Mitchell. He can take
care of himself.” Pamela said this, but she herself wasn't totally
convinced. She wished she could have seen this Evelyn Carrier or
been a fly on the wall during her meeting with Mitchell Marks.

"I've got to go, Dr. Barnes," said Jane
Marie, "He may come out any time and I don't want him to catch me
gossiping on the phone. I'll see you at the memorial on Sunday,
okay?"

“Sure," Pamela answered, but the departmental
secretary had already hung up.

Pamela looked at her watch. It was past 4:30
p.m. and if she was going to get Arliss from the animal lab and
drive the two of them to
Who-Who's
by five, she’d probably
better get going. There was just one thing she wanted to check on
her computer before she left. She clicked onto Google Scholar and
typed in “John Pierce Culver,” Nothing. Mr. Culver may have written
a dissertation of interest to Charlotte, she thought, but he
obviously hadn’t produced anything of enough importance to have
been picked up by Google’s academic search engine. This only meant
that Culver never published anything in any reputable journal. So,
what was Charlotte doing reading his dissertation the night she was
murdered? It was probably not related to her death at all. She
closed down her computer and headed out. Joan and Willard had
already left, as had most faculty members. It was, after all, late
on a Friday afternoon.

Pamela zipped down the corner staircase and
onto the main floor. Complete silence. Fridays will do that, she
thought. The old building seemed almost haunted, with each of her
steps making a creaking noise on the wooden floor boards. Then she
saw the lab at the end of the side hallway. Just a brief glance,
she thought to herself. This time, as she walked to the lab, she
paid close attention to the offices in this wing. She tried to
imagine how the killer might have entered the lab, from which
direction he--or she--must have come. Had the killer been hiding in
an office? The men's restroom was on the other side of the graduate
students' office. That's where Willard had said he’d been yesterday
when she bumped into him when she exited the lab. The killer could
have hidden there and waited until the hallway was clear.

Or maybe the killer had entered from the
parking lot? It was a short walk from there to the lab. But if so,
how had the killer even known that Charlotte would be there? If, of
course, the killer was even looking for Charlotte. So many
questions.

She walked quickly towards the lab and
unlocked the door. Hardly anyone had even been inside the lab since
the murder. Maybe it was because they were frightened. Of course,
she--or rather Kent--had cancelled her data collection this week.
Next week, there would be more activity. All the more reason to
check on things now--when there was little traffic.

As she entered, she flipped on the overhead
lights. This time she left the door open. She walked slowly around
the lab, looking at all the rows of computers. Was it possible for
someone to hide in the lab itself, she wondered? She looked
everywhere.

Rocky was right. She was getting herself
involved in things she had no business getting involved in. As she
quickly left the lab, locking the door, she looked around behind
her immediately, almost expecting Willard Swinton to pop up out of
nowhere as he had the other day. No one was in sight. This made the
third time she’d secretly visited the lab since the murder. Was she
tempting fate? Taking too many chances?

As she passed the main office, she noticed
the door was closed--and as she pulled it—discovered it was also
locked. That meant that Jane Marie had left. It was possible that
Mitchell was still here but, officially, the Department of
Psychology was closed for business for the week. She wondered if
Mitchell was still in his office brooding about the appearance of
the mysterious Evelyn Carrier.

Heading further down the hallway into the
opposite wing of the building--where she seldom went--she entered
the animal psychology section of her department. She felt a cold
shiver--as if someone were watching her. It was no doubt her
imagination working over time--or possibly the strangeness of this
wing compared to hers. This part of the building was noticeably
dirtier and there were sounds of creatures in the distance.

She reached the end of the main hallway,
turned left, and continued down the side hallway to the animal lab
at the end. The animal lab was in a mirror position to the computer
lab--on the other side of the building. It seemed unusual to enter
this lab and not see the computers she was so familiar with. As she
opened the lab door, she could see Arliss in a white lab coat, with
her dilapidated trousers and scuffed up shoes, bent down next to a
large cage.

"That's a good fellow, Bailey," Arliss said,
coaxing a large chimpanzee. "Hey, Pam!" she called to her friend.
"Come meet my buddy."

Pamela strode quickly to the back of the lab.
She was not all that taken with animals--her poodle, yes--other
animals--not so much. But she feigned enthusiasm because she really
liked Arliss, and Arliss was a genuine animal lover.

"Ready to go?" she asked "It's almost five
and Joan will probably beat us."

"Yep," nodded Arliss, checking a clipboard
that was hanging from the side of the cage. "Hey, there bud, be a
pal and let me have a night out with my friends." The chimp
whimpered and pulled pitifully on her lab coat.