The Letter Killeth (15 page)

The interview went on for twenty minutes, and Laura was more and more confused by the kind of questions she was being asked. Then the outside door opened and three men pushed through the revolving door. First, Jimmy Stewart, then Larry, and third, Philip Knight. Laura jumped to her feet.

“Larry!”

He stared at her and began to bawl like a baby. She took him in her arms. Stewart and Philip Knight shuffled and looked uncomfortable. Then Stewart asked what she was doing there.

“I brought Mrs. Izquierdo! No one had told her what happened.”

“Ye gods.”

“Laura,” Larry said, burbling against her bosom. “They think I did it.”

Stewart told Fatso to take Larry to a holding room so he could speak with Mrs. Izquierdo.

“Should I stay with him?”

“This officer will do that.” He meant Laura.

When they were alone she coddled Larry as she often had, and he stopped whimpering. Honest to God, from a hysterical woman to a crying man. But this was Larry. He began to talk.

They had taken him to Decio. He thought they wanted his assistance. He looked at Laura and his mouth trembled. There, there. Then that creep in the office next to Izquierdo's recognized him from that night he had paid a visit to Izquierdo's office. Oscar Wack told them the whole story, which he seemed to think turned on planting a pogo stick in his office. He was sure Izquierdo had put them up to it, so he could be accused of God knows what.

“What did you tell them?”

“Nothing.”

“You'll need a lawyer.”

“Oh my God.”

“Larry, what you did is not what they're after.”

“They wanted to know why Wack spoke in the plural when he told the story. Of course he meant Henry.”

“Did you tell them?”

“No! And don't you either.”

“I think Henry should fess up.”

“What good would that do?”

“Maybe you're right.”

The door opened and the man in the corduroy coat came in and took a seat at the table. Larry stared at him. “Who are you?”

“Just tell it all in your own words. Have they charged you yet?”

They? “Who are you?”

The door opened again and Jimmy Stewart came in.

“What the hell are you doing here, Grafton?”

The corduroy jacket rose. “The public has a right to know, Stewart.”

“Get out of here.”

He got out of there. “Who is he?” Laura asked.

“Scoop Grafton. He calls himself a reporter. You can leave now. I want to talk to Larry.”

“I'm part of it.”

“What do you mean.”

“I gave the master key for Decio to him.”

Stewart slumped into a chair. “What did you tell Grafton?” He erased the question with an angry wave of his hand. “What the hell were you doing in Izquierdo's office?”

5

The local paper was full of Scoop Grafton's story; there were lengthy interviews with Laura and Larry, accompanied by what must have been the photographs taken when they joined Notre Dame security. Crenshaw said that both of them were on indefinite leave, pending a decision on their future employment. The campus papers, both those subsidized by student fees and the unsubsidized and independent, were full of the story. The campus was being described as a war zone in which cars were firebombed and dissidents murdered at their desks. Grateful students of Professor Izquierdo gave testimonials to his fearless attacks on Christianity. A girl who was writing her senior thesis on Feuerbach under Izquierdo's direction said that his course alone was reason enough for her having come to Notre Dame. As a rule, faculty dodged reporters. Those inclined to go on the record would doubtless submit op-ed essays. Hector, the departmental secretary, basked in the attention given him.

“He was one of the kindest men I ever knew.” His eyes flashed as he said this, lest the reporter dare to contradict hm.

“What did his colleagues think of him?”

“What do you mean?”

“He was a maverick, wasn't he?”

“We are all mavericks here.”

He was shut up after that. Wack had lodged a protest that the departmental secretary should presume to act as spokesman for them all.

“Would you like to?” McCerb, the chair, asked.

“Ha ha.”

“Of course, there would be a conflict of interest in your case.”

What did that mean? What had that catty Hector said? He consulted Lucy Goessen about it.

“I suppose they mean you'll be called as a witness. I imagine I will be, too.”

“But I don't know anything!”

“I wouldn't make it that sweeping.” But she smiled and patted his arm when she said it. Oscar purred. He was again certain that he and Lucy could become good friends. Not colleagues, friends.

*   *   *

Larry Douglas's status was unclear. He was still being held for questioning, and his lawyer, a furtive fellow named Furlong, made a lengthy harangue about civil liberties, a phrase or two of which appeared in the newspaper accounts. On television, he was allowed to talk, but muted, while a voice-over explained what Furlong apparently wished to say. And then the scarf was found in Larry's loft.

It must have been five feet long, gaudy, striped. It was immediately recognized as Izquierdo's. It seemed twisted. It was rushed to the lab; results were collated with the coroner's report. It seemed that the murder weapon had been found.

*   *   *

“What did Larry say when you told him?” Roger asked. Jimmy Stewart and Phil were discussing this latest event in the Knight apartment. Father Carmody had been invited, but the continuing arctic weather had prevented it.

“The kid is almost catatonic.”

Fauxhall, an assistant prosecutor, was trying to get Jimmy to sign on to a scenario. It is known that Larry was able to enter Izquierdo's office at will, thanks to the master key filched from campus security. Having established this, he bides his time. One night, while Izquierdo is still in his office, Larry enters. Imagine how surprised the professor must have been. But Larry would have been wearing his uniform. Some specious excuse must have been given. The scarf, with the professor's other wraps, is hung on a stand in the corner behind the desk. Did Larry marvel at the scarf of many colors, want to examine it more closely? Now he is behind the desk, he has the scarf, he loops it over the head of the still unsuspecting professor and begins to twist. There are signs of the struggle Izquierdo put up, kicking like crazy against the dying of the light. The desk itself is moved in the struggle. And then resistance ends. Larry removes the scarf, pushes the desk back approximately to where it had been, and leaves.

“Conveniently keeping the scarf in his loft so it could be found.”

“I needn't tell you of the inconsistency of the criminal mind.” Fauxhall might have already been addressing a jury. “Well, what do you think?”

“Even Furlong could make mincemeat out of that.”

But it was Mrs. Izquierdo who did. She telephoned Jimmy.

“That is not Raul's scarf.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it's here, hanging in the hall closet.”

Jimmy went out to the house and looked at the scarf, identical to the one that had been found in Larry's loft.

“It's been here all along?”

“Of course it has.”

“Where did he buy it?”

“I bought it for him.”

From Whistler's, a men's store in the mall. The salesman took Jimmy to Whistler's office. When he learned the purpose of the visit, he wasn't sure he wanted his establishment mixed up in this.

“It already is.”

“I am not responsible for what happens to items I sell.”

“Of course you're not. Let's talk about this scarf.” Jimmy had with him the scarf Pauline Izquierdo had given him. Whistler reached for it, then withdrew his hand.

“How many of these do you suppose you've sold?”

“I'm surprised I sold any.”

“I see what you mean.”

Whistler kept records, of course, and he found proof of Mrs. Izquierdo's purchase, but of no other. There had been three such scarves in his inventory. The scarf found in Larry's loft had Whistler's tag in it. The explanation seemed to be that it had been on a discount table with dozens of other items that had not sold well. No record would have been kept of such a purchase, only a generic “special sale” designation.

“So who is trying to frame Larry Douglas?”

“When we know that, we will know who strangled Izquierdo.”

Roger sat humming and shaking his head. “If I killed someone, I would want to get rid of the murder instrument rather than plant it somewhere.”

“I needn't tell you of the inconsistency of the criminal mind.” Jimmy crossed his fingers when he said it.

“And what of the plastic bag containing pages of
Via Media,
scissors, glue?”

Jimmy shrugged. No prints, but the pages had been compared with uncut pages of the paper, and it seemed pretty certain that the contents of the bag explained the threatening letters that had caused such interest some weeks before.

“None of those threats were actually carried out, were they?”

Phil suggested that, since they had been a spoof, they could have been sent by Izquierdo. Particularly since one of the addressees was the colleague he loathed.

“Oscar Wack.” What interested Roger was Wack's assumption that Larry had not been alone the night he had surprised him in Izquierdo's office.

“That woman insists she was with him,” Jimmy said.

“But waiting outside.”

“So she says.”

“Wack says he saw three people riding away in a golf cart.”

“The third man.”

Phil began to give an impression of the theme song of that old movie.

“I'd talk with Laura again if I were you,” Roger said.

*   *   *

But first Jimmy talked to Larry. He had been released when Mrs. Izquierdo produced her husband's scarf. It had been assumed that the scarf found in Larry's loft had been the murder weapon, but the lab told the deflated Fauxhall that it could have been the other scarf. The marks made on the throat of Izquierdo pointed to such a scarf, but there was nothing on either scarf to enable them to decide which had been the murder weapon. And what else did they have?

“I'm still on leave,” Larry complained. “Crenshaw let Laura come back to work, but I am still on indefinite leave.”

Furlong, Larry's lawyer, had transferred his energies to combating the injustice with which campus security was treating his client. Furlong was a Democrat and thus despised the present occupant of the White House, but he argued passionately that providing security for a community often required unusual means. Larry was a zealous young man, his actions had been unusual, but his motives were clear. Furlong himself wasn't clear on what those motives were, but no matter. He had been given lengthy coverage in campus newspapers, editors being delighted to criticize the administration through a third party.

“Who was with you the night you entered Izquierdo's office?”

“Laura.”

“Who was the third person?”

“What third person?”

“Professor Wack says he saw three people ride away in the golf cart.”

“I don't know what he's talking about.”

“He must be a great friend of yours.”

“Who?”

“The third man who didn't come forward in your defense.”

Larry just stared at him. Laura was no more help, but again Jimmy felt he was not getting the full story. So he began to keep tabs on the young couple. It turned out that Kimberley who worked in the coroner's office knew Larry. Feeley remembered that his assistant had gone out with the young man. So Jimmy talked with her.

“Oh yes,” she said. “We went out a few times. We shared an interest in poetry.”

“Ah.”

“But that's all it was.”

It turned out that she was now going with someone else in campus security, Henry Grabowski. Not that she volunteered this, but following her around for a few days brought this to the surface. Was Henry the third man?

Crenshaw began to shake his head as soon as Jimmy brought up the subject.

“You know I can't give out information like that.”

“You don't have to, of course. It must be a pain in the neck having someone like Furlong on your case. I'd hate to get a court order and multiply your problems.”

“A court order!”

“We've got a murder on your campus, Crenshaw. An unsolved case. I need to pursue what leads I get. Why are you covering up for Henry Grabowski?”

“Covering up? He works here. You know that, I know that, everybody knows that.”

Finally Crenshaw let Jimmy see Henry's application. Among the letters of recommendation was one from a teacher at St. Joe High School, Masterson, who happened to be Jimmy's brother-in-law. They had more or less avoided one another since Hazel left him, but that was only because they were no longer comfortable together. Jimmy called him up and invited him for a beer at Leaky's near the courthouse.

“Bat, how are you? Take a pew.”

Masterson smiled and slid into the booth across from Jimmy. “You're the only one who calls me that.”

“What do your students call you?”

“Sir.”

“Remember a kid named Henry Grabowski?”

“Of course I do. Why do you ask?”

“He's been taken on by Notre Dame security.”

Bat's beer had come, and he made a face before drinking. “What a waste.”

“How do you mean?”

Bat told him about Henry's record as a student, something Jimmy already knew, thanks to Crenshaw.

“He couldn't afford college?”

“He was a shoo-in for a fellowship, and there are loans. But it was Notre Dame or nothing. He wouldn't listen to me.”

“Did he apply?”