The Quotient of Murder (Professor Sophie Knowles) (24 page)

“To the belfry,” I squeaked out.

Barker motioned for me to climb the indoor spiral stairway.

“All of these attacks and killings, and you’re innocent?” I asked, intent on filling my last minutes with information.

“I didn’t say that. I racked up my share of felonies over the years. But it was Einstein who knocked off Ponytail. Not that I blamed him. Ponytail was impatient, bringing attention where it was not desirable, if you know what I mean. Einstein is like me. He takes his time, plants himself in the basement of that building to stake out the girl.”

“And me.”

“Yeah, you. You have kind of a reputation, you know.”

I didn’t want to hear that I was the subject of conversation among thieves and killers.

“Where’s Einstein now?” I asked.

“They’ll never find him. He knows how to disappear and show up again when and where he wants to. He took off after he broke into your house. Believe me, when he figures out I have the money, he’ll find me.”

“You’re pals, huh?”

Barker’s hoarse smoker’s laugh came from behind me as we made our way up the stairway single file. If I had any confidence in my physical fitness, I would have back-kicked him, knocked him down the stairs, jumped over the railing—and all before he had the presence of mind to simply shoot me.

“Pals. You could say that. Me and Einstein make it work.”

We climbed and climbed smooth stairs, interspersed with landings that I assumed led to the music library, the practice rooms, and Randy Stephens’s studio. I no longer had to pretend that I was winded and tired; the stressful climb took its toll on me. Barker showed no signs of wear, however, and uttered the occasional gruff, “Move.”

When we arrived at the floor that housed the carillon, I felt it was almost worth the trip. The magnificent instrument was enclosed in a transparent shield, its batons highly polished, its system of wires and levers shining, even in the dim light coming down from the belfry. Maybe I’d already been shot and had arrived in heaven. In my mind I heard again the beautiful music from Andrew’s laptop. My own private concert. I hated that I had to witness the majesty of the carillon tower under the threat of death.

In any case, the inspiring vision didn’t last long.

“Move it,” Barker said. “If you behave, you might live to hear the thing.”

Right above us now was the belfry, with its fifty-three bells. And its bag of money. Or so I supposed. I hadn’t given any thought to what would happen to me if I was wrong. I couldn’t imagine Barker would simply take off and leave me with a great story to tell.

We stood looking up at the large metal framework that held the bells in place, some of them stationary, others able to swing. The network of wires, loops, and rods that connected the bells to the carillon keyboard looked like a giant three-dimensional puzzle, like the ones that spilled from my purse in the first moments of my meeting with Wendy Carlson.

We were at the point where the belfry windows began, where Kirsten Packard had fallen, or been pushed to her death. I looked across the multilevel roof of Admin, over to the Paul Revere dorm, and past the campus to nearby buildings. Lights twinkled, cars sped by, and, though I couldn’t see them, people were living normal Monday evening lives.

Barker pushed me in front of him. He laughed. “Now I get it,” he said. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” I turned slightly as he hit the side of his head with his gun hand, as if to berate himself for being so dull. For a hopeful moment I thought he’d lost focus, but he recovered quickly. “The money’s up there, inside a bell, or taped to the outside. Brilliant. I’ll bet the kid moved it after she found it, so no one else would see it.” He clucked and chuckled in a way that sounded like admiration of a young woman’s cunning. “Then she could use the money, a little at a time, until they had the final inspection before they opened the tower.”

Barker wasn’t asking for my confirmation, so I didn’t give it.

“I think I can take it from here,” he continued, his smile broader than ever in the short time I’d known him.

He shoved me ahead of him and adjusted his arm accordingly, ready to fire. So much for his hints of leniency. I was now expendable.

I seemed physically unable to turn my body around completely and look down the barrel of the gun. Maybe he wouldn’t shoot a lady in the back and I’d gain a few more minutes.

But I had to make a move. I had nothing to lose by trying.

In the dwindling light, I could just make out the bells’ frame. The giant puzzle wasn’t completed yet and I could see that I’d be able to reach into the clapper of the nearest one.
Here I go
. I dashed swiftly toward a bell, startling Barker. I grabbed the giant clapper, pulled on it with all my might, then let it go.

A peal rang out, stinging my ears. I pulled it again, and again, and then rushed to the back wall of the belfry. I’d at least made a call for help, sounded an alert. If nothing else, someone would investigate and Barker might be caught as he exited the tower.

Barker was on the move, readjusting his aim, while I dashed in and out among the pieces of the frame around the bells, my ears still ringing on their own.

“You can’t get away,” Barker said, stepping back to the top of stairs where we’d entered.

I knew he was right. All he had to do was wait. Around me were the open windows of the belfry, and it was a long way down. One hundred and seventy-six feet, give or take, according to the brochure.

“First Kirsten, now me,” I said. “You can’t get away with it again.”

Surely someone had heard and was already on his way up. If I kept him talking another minute, help would be here.

“I told you, I don’t know how Kirsten died,” Barker yelled. “Maybe she jumped like they said. I didn’t kill her.”

“I did,” said another voice.

What?
I peered between the rods and levers and saw the source of the new voice.

Wendy Carlson, with a large wooden slat that she sent crashing down on Barker’s head. He fell to the floor, his gun flying out of his hand. Wendy bent to pick it up and aimed it at him, though he showed no signs of moving.

Wendy Carlson, from out of nowhere, dressed all in black, had saved me. “I did,” she’d said. Did what?

Then I saw it clearly: a young, straitlaced physics major, Wendy Carlson, sick and tired of Kirsten’s offbeat, losing lifestyle, fed up with covering for her roommate, not wanting to be dragged into questionable, if not criminal, activities with Einstein, Ponytail, and Big Dog. I saw Wendy in the tower that morning, twenty-five years ago, arguing with Kirsten, trying to talk sense into her. Things get out of control and the next thing she knows Kirsten is on the ground below and she’s frantic, hysterical. And calls her mentor, Ted Morrell.

Now Wendy was in the tower again. She was still holding Barker’s gun by her side. I crawled partway out of the labyrinth of beams, not completely sure I was safe.

“You didn’t mean it,” I said, and I knew she got that I was referring to her struggle with Kirsten Packard and not to her current defensive attack on Big Dog.

“No, I didn’t mean it. I loved Kirsten.”

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know that, too. And I’m so grateful that you’re here now. But why did you come? I know it’s not for the money.”

She winced, as if the idea of touching money from the past was disgusting. “I hated that they were so hung up on money that wasn’t theirs. Kirsten certainly didn’t need it.”

I looked at the fraught librarian, her hair a mess. Her eyes had wandered to the opening in the belfry. I realized I was safe from her hand, but she herself wasn’t. I had to distract her.

“Why did you come up here, Wendy?” I asked again. “Did you know I was in danger?”

“I came up to use the practice room one last time. This was my happiest place. I could be myself with no one watching, no one trying to change me.” She smiled, a strange, sweet sight over her deathly black turtleneck sweater. “One very hot day in August, during summer school after my junior year, I came up here and played ‘Let It Snow.’ I knew everyone below was laughing. I loved entertaining people without having to see them, you know?”

“I get it,” I said.

“I was playing today, practice style. Pieces I wrote in music class a long time ago. Then I heard you and Big Dog and I hid, until I realized he was going to hurt you.” She let out a long sigh. “And now I’ve done something good. I’ve saved you.”

The look in Wendy’s eyes was too serene, her posture as perfect as when we first met, her walk slow but determined. She took steps toward the tower opening.

“No!” I said, struggling to extricate myself the rest of the way out of the metal frame that secured the carillon bells. I cut my arm on a broken rod but went forward.

Wendy didn’t stop her slow walk to the window in the belfry.

I made it out of the frame and threw myself at a woman larger than me and taller by a head. I landed on the back of her knees, bringing her down within inches of the tower opening.

“Police!” Cops announcing themselves as they ran up the stairs.

I stayed spread out on Wendy’s back until one of the officers picked me off and another tended to Wendy.

A wave of dizziness came over me when I realized the blood on Wendy was mine. My arm was in worse shape than I thought. I collapsed onto a stretcher that had made its way up the stairs on the backs of EMTs.

I could have sworn I heard the bells ringing out a joyful tune.

A messed-up arm from a gouge by a metal rod seemed a small price to pay for satisfaction on a large scale—having a quarter of a century’s worth of puzzles solved. I was glad it was the HPD’s job and not mine to take care of the disposition of all the parties. Who went with what crime and what punishment should be meted out would take a while to sort out.

We thought we had it straight, but the next morning Bruce and I reviewed the order of things one more time as we sat in my den with mugs of coffee (Bruce) and hot chocolate (me).

Bruce started.

“Wendy catches Kirsten hiding a large bag of money behind a loose stone near the top of the stairs to the belfry,” he said, summarizing Virgil’s report to us after interviewing Wendy.

“Wendy and Kirsten fight over the path Kirsten is traveling, and Wendy accidentally pushes her roommate to her death,” I said. It hadn’t been easy for me to adjust to this scenario after all the others I’d concocted to describe Kirsten’s last moments.

“She calls her teacher and mentor, Ted, and together they decide it’s better for everyone if they let the police think Kirsten jumped.”

“I still can’t get over that,” I said.

“Because you’re honest, because you’re not running for office, because you have no image to protect, and, I guess, because you don’t read those sections of the newspapers where you’d learn that this stuff happens a lot. You’re too busy with more noble pursuits.”

“Let’s move on,” I said.

“Okay, so then the tower is walled off,” Bruce said. “Until a bunch of money nudges it open again.”

“Enter Jenn Marshall, twenty-five years later. She finds the money during a practice session, and decides to hide it in a different place. She splits it up and tapes the packages to the outside of the larger bells.”

“In other words, she knew what she was doing,” Bruce said. “Taking precautions in case the owners came back for it.”

“Pretty daring.”

“And calculating.”

“It looks that way, doesn’t it?” I admitted.

“When the three Nicknames from the diner can’t find the money, they patrol the tower, essentially, trying to figure out what might have happened to it.”

“They probably make several unsuccessful searches of the obvious places,” I said.

“Then Ponytail, the loose cannon in the group, sees Jenn and suspects something. Maybe she goes up empty-handed and comes down with a bundle? Something like that.”

“And he attacks her, grabs her backpack.”

“And bells go off,” Bruce said, demanding a point for his punny humor.

“Einstein can’t deal with Ponytail’s erratic behavior, maybe for decades, and kills him.”

“But he realizes Ponytail didn’t even get any money out of the attack. The backpack is nearly free of cash. So Einstein breaks into your house. Thinking Jenn might have brought you in on her job? He couldn’t have known how unlikely that was.”

“Then I leave Big Dog a message, basically alerting him that I might know where the money’s hidden.” I shook my head in shame.

“You couldn’t have known,” Bruce said.

The review made me tired and I wrapped it up quickly. “Finally, Wendy, who’s been hotel-hopping between Boston and Henley, comes back to atone for her sin and ends up saving me.”

Bruce hugged me and I knew how glad he was of that.

• • •

Ted came to my home later in the morning. It was the first time I saw him since I learned that he’d been my cyberstalker all along.

I’d anticipated this moment and run through many possible responses. “How could you?” “I trusted you.” “I’ll never share a hot plate with you again.”

But at the sight of him, more despondent than I’d imagined, on nearly bended knees, I buckled and accepted a first-time-ever embrace from the chairman of the Physics Department.

Bruce refilled my coffee mug, poured one for Ted, and disappeared.

“I tried my best to keep you distracted and busy without hurting you,” Ted said. “I couldn’t risk having you unearth the past.” He threw up his hands. “What a terrible choice.”

“Then or now?” I asked.

“Both.” He shook his head. “We were all under so much pressure at the time. Kirsten’s losing her way, her father’s campaign, Wendy’s vulnerability.”

“It’s going to take me a while,” I said.

“I understand. Just don’t cut me out of your life. That’s all I ask.”

As aggravated as I was with him, his desperateness twenty-five years ago and his genuine contrition now softened me. It was up to the HPD to make any further judgments.

I pointed to the clock on my kitchen wall. “It’s almost time for the Franklin Hall party,” I said.

“I think I’ll sit this one out if you don’t mind.”

“Good choice,” I said, giving him a conciliatory smile.

• • •

Tuesday was declared a day off from Intersession classes. The administration had covered itself by announcing that the impromptu holiday was in honor of Benjamin Franklin, whose birthday it was. Good planning on the part of all the criminals and sleuths involved? Or a lucky break for the Henley College PR office?

Day off or not, those who cared sat around the lounge of Ben Franklin Hall, the best place we knew to celebrate. Students, faculty, friends, and colleagues was all it took. Plus a cake in the shape of the carillon tower and carillon music pouring forth from Andrew’s laptop.

Virgil graced us with his presence, and we were all sure that it had nothing to do with the fact that Judy Donohue “lived” here. They both wore significant grins today, but specifics had yet to be revealed.

Virgil satisfied our curiosity about the justice system by letting us know that Pete “Big Dog” Barker, who’d lived through Wendy’s two-by-four attack, had worked out a deal where he’d contact Einstein and draw him out using the money as bait.

“The money was from their biggest score,” Virgil said. “No word on the exact amount yet.”

“I practiced up there all the time. I can’t believe I didn’t know about the money,” Andrew said. It was hard to tell whether he wished he’d taken a bite of it or not. “Where’s all that money now, anyway?” he asked.

“Being added up,” Virgil said. “Safe in police custody. Until all the banks across New England that were robbed in that era trip over themselves claiming it.”

“Nice,” said Willa in her uniquely sarcastic way.

We discreetly avoided talk of Jenn, who’d stolen only what she needed, in my decidedly nonlegal view. The day Ponytail attacked her as she crossed campus, her backpack contained only enough for a couple of textbooks for spring semester. I felt bad for Jenn, who wasn’t out to get rich. But her willingness to do anything to survive had already cost her—and others—dearly.

Wendy was under close observation at a hospital in Boston, both by authorities who would decide her fate, and by doctors and counselors who would help her survive. I knew I owed her my life, and I hoped that would go part of the way to having her value her own life from here on. My first trip once I was off serious pain meds would be to visit her.

With everyone relaxed from the warm, comfortable environment, we enjoyed a few rounds of riddles, all of them old and corny.

Then Andrew had a better idea.

“Hey, we should come up with some cool nicknames,” he said.

“Yeah,” Brent said. “Too bad ‘Big Dog’ is taken.”

“And Ponytail,” Lauren said, tugging at her long locks.

“I’m going with ‘Hack,’” Andrew said.

“Too obvious,” Patty remarked.

We tossed around “Binary Dude” and “Prime Geek” (for Andrew), “Rich Cat” (for Willa), and “Biochick” for Judy. “Hypatia” came up for me, until I reminded everyone of her unhappy end.

In the end, none of the nicknames were as satisfying or as colorful as the three that recently made their appearance on our campus.

We turned again to riddles, this time with an offering from Bruce (“Sky Guy” had come and gone for him).

“I have a math riddle,” Bruce said.

“
You
have a math riddle?” I asked.

“Uh-huh. From one of the MAstar nurses. Actually, from his six-year-old kid.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“What’s the difference between a new penny and an old quarter?” Bruce asked.

We all laughed and shouted a chorus of “Tell us.”

Bruce faked a frown. “Nah, I can tell every one of you math and science geeks already knows the answer.”

“Sorry,” we said, in one form or another.

“That’s okay. I should have known better. You guys have the world’s best teachers.”

The students who knew enough yelled, “Woot, woot,” their voices soaring over the miniature carillon concert that filled the room, and delivered more cake to their teachers. Andrew made sure I got the largest piece.

• • •

On the way home, I leaned back against the passenger seat in Bruce’s car. “I wish I’d been able to pick up the penne and veggies for dinner,” I said.

He smiled. “I did it. And I’ll cook, since your arm is out of commission.”

I rubbed my arm, which was hardly sore at all, thanks to pharmaceuticals. “I don’t know how long it will be before I can do any work,” I whined.

“I’m taking the rest of the week off, so you can have three more days of pampering,” Bruce said, in the nicest tone.

Music to my ears.