A Spartan Murder Page 8

  “Are you interested in gossip, or only in hard facts?”

  “At the moment, I’ll take gossip, rumor, or hearsay, as long as it’s labeled as such.”

  “Well, this Professor Richardson, he was on a short list for promotion last year, but there were rumors of plagiarism. Now there’s another position open, so he might be worried about the rumors again. He’s in the History Department.”

  Another suspect, then. “Anything else?”

  Constable Winters picked up the list again, then seemed to remember who I was and put it back down. “Miss Pengear, I’m not sure Inspector Crawley would approve.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t, but the sooner the case is solved, the sooner you can get rid of Inspector Burrows, and the sooner he can get his station back.”

  Constable Winters sighed and pulled the paper closer again. “Can I keep this for a couple of hours? I’ll check the files and see if there’s anything useful. I shouldn’t have to go back more than a few years if they’re mostly students. Is there anything in particular I’m looking for?”

  “Something they could be hiding.”

  “I thought you’d found the blackmail materials?”

  I tried to remember how much I had told him. If he was helping, it seemed best to stay with the truth. “There wasn’t a lot of detail in most of the materials, and what there was seemed innocent enough. I’m hoping to find something that would be worth killing over.”

  “I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise much, certainly not if Inspector Crawley notices.”

  “Anything is more than what I have. Thank you.”

  I left the list with Constable Winters and left the station. It hadn’t been as helpful as I’d hoped, but at least there were some areas to consider.

  Tommy Higgins's shoplifting seemed to be the easiest to check into. The plagiarism charges would need to be checked with the publishers, and I doubted the bookshop would tell me about the numbered titles. It also seemed odd that he would suddenly find the money to pay for what he'd taken. The owner might know what really happened.

  Chapter 8

  I found the address of the shop by asking at the post office. It was located on a street just off of the high street, the sort of place that sold a bit of this and that which students might need, mainly stationary and toiletries mimicking more expensive Parisian brands. I went in and glanced around, trying not to look like I was doing anything more than shopping. Clearly, I wasn’t doing as good of a job as I’d hoped since the young man behind the counter slipped into the back room as soon as I turned down one of the aisles and was replaced by a middle-aged man in dark suit with an apron tossed quickly over it. I realized I was looking at a selection of aftershave preparations, and I could feel him watching me, so I decided I had better abandon being subtle. I crossed the shop and went to the counter.

  He addressed me as soon as I was close enough to hear him speak. “Were you looking for something in particular?”

  At least I had his attention. “I came down with the inspector from Scotland Yard.”

  It didn’t relax him. “I’m afraid I don’t see how that has anything to do with me.”

  “I was trying to eliminate some suspects.” I thought he’d be more responsive if he thought helping me would move the investigation away from his shop.

  “I still don’t see what that has to do with me.”

  “There was a student at Serringford College, Tommy Higgins. You had filed theft charges against him and then dropped them. I wanted to know why.”

  He leaned against the counter. “And then I’ll have to repeat all of this to the inspector, I suppose.”

  This sounded interesting. “Only if it ends up being related to the murder. If I can rule him out, you won’t be bothered.”

  He stared at me. “All right. I withdrew the charges because I was paid.”

  That wasn’t as dramatic as I’d expected from his reaction. “For the value of the goods stolen?”

  “And then some.”

  That sounded more like something he’d want to hide. “More than the value of the goods? You were paid to withdraw the charges?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “How much?”

  “Is that really necessary?”

  If I told him it was, I was certain he would stop talking. “Not really, but if you could give me a rough idea, then there would be less chance of Inspector Burrows needing more information. More than the value of the goods? Less? Double? Triple?”

  “More, but not more than double their value.”

  So not a princely sum, but something rather nice. “And who paid you?”

  “The young man himself.”

  “So he had the money to pay you for the goods he’d stolen and a bit extra, yet he stole the items to begin with? Why would he do that?”

  “I’m afraid I have no idea. Accepting the offer of payment meant less trouble for me, and I was compensated for the trouble I’d already gone through.”

  “So it didn’t seem odd at the time?”

  “Most of these boys come from money. If I thought about it, I assumed his allowance came through and he wanted to make it go away. Was there anything else?”

  If there was, I doubted he'd answer it, “Not at the moment. Thank you.”

  As I doubted the Kingsly Booksellers would tell me about their numbered volumes, I seemed to be at a loss. I decided the best course of action was to return to the beginning and see if I could find any other patterns or anomalies or anything, really, to investigate. Maybe someone who visited him on a regular basis, perhaps to take care of whatever their payment was? It was worth trying.

  At the college, I stopped by Miss Fenchurch’s desk. She glanced at me over the top of her glasses but didn’t ask me to leave. I waited until she seemed to have reached a stopping point in her work, then asked, “Do you have time for tea?”

  “Just ask for the information I’m not supposed to give you so I can say no and get back to work.”

  So I’d overstayed my welcome, and maybe there was more to the relationship with Mr. Carrington than she'd let on. Maybe she had been being blackmailed. In any case, I said, “It isn’t something secret, I just wanted to know who visited Professor Headly on a regular basis.”

  “Looking for motive?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well there’s nothing secret about the schedules. The students see them all the time so they can arrange for meetings. I’ll get his book.”

  She went to the shelves behind her desk and pulled out a bound datebook from the shelf. She held it out to me. I flipped through, looking for names that repeated frequently. “Do they come out here to check their schedule often?”

  “No, I type up the next day's appointments the afternoon before and send them any updates that occur through the day. Many have private calendars, but I know nothing about those.”

  “Is there any way to know which of these are his current students?”

  “I can’t give you class lists, I’m afraid.”

  But I could always ask a student who else was in his classes. I only needed one student from each group to know the names of all of his students this term. I pulled out my notebook and started making lists.

  There didn't seem to be any names showing up on a regular basis. “Is there anyone not on the list?”

  “There could be if they dropped in during his office hours or spoke to him after a tutorial.”

  So the calendars weren't much help. I thanked her and handed back the book.

  If the calendars weren’t going to be useful, where else could I begin? I stared at the list of suspects. It was quite a diverse bunch. How had he gotten the information he was using to blackmailing them? I knew about Professor Brookwald’s, but what about the others? I doubted most of the students had invited him to meetings at their dormitories, and certainly not to parties. And there was no good reason for most of the other professors to invite him anywhere, not if they weren’t in his departme
nt. So who would know? His victims must have had some idea, and that could lead me to something. I went through the list again, trying to find someone else who would help me. A student would be easier to convince than a professor, I decided. Easier to influence, or intimidate if it came to it. Mayer. I recognized that name. A quick check of the notes in my handbag told me he’d been one of the boys I’d talked to behind the Sanskrit books. He’d been quiet, trying to stay out of the center of attention. He might be willing to help me. It was worth a try. So where would he be? He’d been working on a paper the night it happened, apparently writing it himself, not getting someone else to do it. Maybe he’d be working in the library again.

  I spotted my quarry sitting in a corner of the Classics section with a stack of papers in front of him. Working on a paper, just as I’d suspected. He didn’t look up as I approached his table. He didn’t even pay attention when I sat down across from him. I realized he probably thought I was another student. I gave him a moment to realize there was someone there, then said, “Mr. Mayer?”

  His shoulders bounced up as he heard me. It took him a minute to shift his focus from his notes to me. “Do I... You’re the one who’s with the police, right?”

  I smiled. “Miss Pengear.” It wasn’t too much of a stretch to say I was with the police; not clarifying was not lying exactly, unless you asked Inspector Burrows, I suppose. “I was hoping you could help me by answering some questions.”

  He looked back down at his notes. “I don’t know what I could tell you, but I guess you could try asking.”

  So what could I ask that would get me the answers I needed? I remembered he had seemed nervous when I’d questioned him and finally told me he’d been at the library. Since that had been true, he must have wanted to hide that from the other boys. Someone who wanted to fit it, but seemed to be a little more honest than the crowd he was running with. “I won’t tell the others what you tell me.”

  He didn’t answer, but he did look up at me.

  I decided to go for shock. I leaned in and whispered, “You were being blackmailed by Professor Headly.”

  His head snapped around, checking to make certain no one had overheard. “How do you know?”

  “Not important. What did he ask you for?”

  “Nothing much. Running errands mostly. I was always worried that he was testing me, though, trying to get something more from me.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have much here, but my family is in banking. I thought he might be waiting until I’m back with them to ask for something. Maybe a loan he shouldn’t get or something like that.”

  It was the same thing I had wondered, but I still had no idea what the something could be. “Do you know how he found out about your—little slip?”

  He shook his head. “The only person who knew was Joe Wilson. He was with me when it happened.”

  “And you don’t think Mr. Wilson would tell?”

  “Oh no, everyone tells him stuff, and he keeps it quiet.”

  I mentally ran through the list of blackmail items I’d found. Shoplifting, three novels of the sort I wasn’t supposed to know existed, presumably with Kingsly’s numbering system for titles. “What if Professor Headly had something on him?”

  Mr. Mayer stared at me with a look of complete horror. “You mean Professor Headly had something on him too?”

  I wasn’t going to give anyone’s secrets. “If he did, do you think Mr. Wilson would tell him what he knew?”

  Mr. Mayer sighed. “If it was something bad enough, yeah, he probably would.”

  “And what would be bad enough?”

  “The main part of the family money belongs to his grandmother. There’s no entail. She gets to decide who gets what. If he did something she didn’t approve of, she’d cut him off without a farthing.”

  “And what sorts of things would she disapprove of?”

  “According to him, everything from reading the wrong newspaper on Sunday to taking the wrong classes here to going to the wrong sort of gallery opening in town.”

  So she would definitely disapprove of the books. “Well, it’s a theory. Can I ask how you got out of it?”

  Mr. Mayer lowered his head. “That was the worst part. Wilson loaned me the money to settle up. I thought he was such a nice guy to do it, and I paid him back as soon as I could, but it gave him everything Professor Headly needed to begin the extortion.”

  I wondered if Tommy Higgins would have a similar story involving Mr. Wilson to tell. “Well, it’s over now. And we have your alibi for the murder. Thank you for your help.”

  Mr. Mayer nodded and returned to his books. I glanced back as I turned the corner of the stacks and saw him staring hard at the page. I doubted he was thinking about Socratic logic, though.

  Now I had a good theory about how Professor Headly had gotten his student blackmail materials; the question was how to prove it. Dates, perhaps? I could see if it had been possible for Mr. Wilson to give the information to Professor Headly. And what about the professors? Could he have been in a position to get information on them too?

  As I left the library, Mr. Bailey hurried past, bumping into me in his haste. “Sorry. Sorry. Oh, Miss Pengear. I am sorry.”

  “That’s fine. Did you find your tinkering notes?”

  “Oh, yes. Mr. Redmond had them.”

  I paused. “Did he say how he got them?”

  “He said I must have left them, but I don’t think I’ve ever been in his office.”

  “Well, perhaps he picked them up after practice and forgot.”

  “When? He’s not on the team.”

  “I had the impression he was.”

  “Last year. He dropped it this year to focus on his studies.”

  I considered that. “When is the next practice?”

  “This afternoon at three.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded and left. Apparently that didn’t strike him as an odd question. Maybe he assumed everybody was interested in cricket and couldn’t wait to spend time watching it, even if it was only a practice.

  If Mr. Redmond hadn’t retrieved the tinkering notes, perhaps I would find a clue there to who had. But first I needed to tell Inspector Burrows about my new information.

  When I arrived at the police station, Constable Winters was at the desk again. “Miss Pengear, how nice to see you again. Are you settling in well? No crimes to report, I hope. Inspector Crawley is out, you see, and I'd hate to have to assign something else to Inspector Burrows in his absence.”

  I smiled. “No, this is murder-related information.”

  “Then go on through. I don't expect Inspector Crawley back for at least twenty minutes. He had to take witness statements in an important missing persons case. A cat is considered a person if it has its own chair in the parlor, correct?”

  “I would assume so. I know the way back by now.”

  In Inspector Crawley's absence, Inspector Burrows had spread himself out over both desks and seemed to be trying to sort the blackmail items he'd found in Professor Headly’s office. When he heard me open the door, he swept everything he’d left on Inspector Crawley's desk into a large box, along with a few of Inspector Crawley's reports which he quickly began picking out.

  “He won't appreciate it if you confuse his filing system.”

  Inspector Burrows looked up. “Miss Pengear, rarely have I been so glad it was you, particularly in a police station.” He went back to repairing Inspector Crawley's desk.

  I joined him and helped to separate what was Inspector Crawley's from the evidence. Inspector Burrows wasn't fooled.

  “What are you looking for?”

  I kept my eyes on the box. “I think I know where Professor Headly got at least some of his information. I wanted to check dates.”

  “Where?”

  “One of the students named Joe Wilson. He was with at least one student during their indiscretion, and he would have motive to keep his secret, well, secret. A
nd he has a reputation of being trustworthy, so people would confide in him. I thought if I could see some dates, I could determine if he was the main source or if there were others.”

  Inspector Burrows put the box down on his desk and began taking papers out. “These are the students. I’ll put them in order. Here’s the professors’ lot. I’ll let you deal with those. If you need a placeholder, use the folder there.”

  We went through the papers silently, occasionally putting things Inspector Burrows had missed back on Inspector Crawley’s desk. I slipped the folder in where Professor Brookwald’s letter would have gone, although I only had the date on the letter, not the date when Professor Headly found out about it.

  After about ten minutes of sorting, Inspector Burrows leaned back in his chair. “Wilson’s shoplifting is the first one here. Headly must have seen the opportunity to get information on students and taken it. How are you doing with the professors?”

  I looked at the letter he was holding out. “At least half of these pre-date that, so he started with the professors and moved on to the students.”

  “And it's unlikely a student would have known about the professors' indiscretions, as you say. Maybe one or two if he were working closely with someone, but not all of them. Still, it's likely he had a source within the faculty as well. Do you think Professor Brookwald...”

  I shook my head. “The evidence would be enough, but I can't see him doing that, not when he knows how dangerous it could be for someone.”

  Inspector Burrows glanced at me but didn't say anything. We both knew I didn't want it to be Professor Brookwald. The only reason Inspector Burrows wasn't commenting was that he didn't want it to be him either.

  “Have you seen anything on Professor Graham?”

  Inspector Burrows smiled. “You’d like it to be him, wouldn’t you?”

  I shrugged. “He makes a good suspect.”