One Coffee With

out of a workshop course that the Art Department gave to teach predental students dexterity in using small tools in a confined space.

At the moment, however, most of her attention was focused not on the plaster sculptures atop the file cabinets but on the cherubic-faced man who waited for her in front of them. He carried a folder, and past experience told her it must already hold the rough beginnings of timetables, character sketches, floor plans and anything else that had caught his attention.

'I've made a few notes, Lieutenant,' he said anxiously.

Detective Tildon-inevitably rechristened Tillie the Toiler' by his colleagues-found it very difficult to make comparisons,d raw parallels, formulate theories or see beyond the obvious; but to compensate for his lack of imagination, he followed the book to the letter, and he was scrupulous about detail. Tillie's reports were sometimes officialdom's despair, sometimes its salvation. Legend had it that he once used three sheets of paper to describe one ordinary cocktail glass found at the scene of a murder-but the detective in charge wouldn't have thought twice about the triangular-shaped chip of glass embedded in the heel of the murderer's shoe if he hadn't remembered Tillie's sketch of the cocktail glass's missing chip.

Plowing through Detective Tildon's mountains of verbiage could be exasperating; yet, on the whole, Sigrid approved of his thoroughness. Occasionally he was too anxious to please, and his feelings were easily hurt, but Sigrid preferred him to the hotshot macho types who bordered on insubordination when required to take orders from her.

Now Tillie described the situation to her in low undertones. He explained his sketch of the department, filled her in on the people he'd talked to so far and told why he'd detained these particular seven to wait for her questions. He had listed them in order of seniority:

Prof. Oscar Nauman, Chairman, Color and Basic Design.

Assoc. Prof. Albert Simpson, History of Classical Art.

Assoc. Prof. Lemuel Vance, Advanced Printmaking.

Asst. Prof. Piers Leyden, Life Painting.

Asst. Prof. Andrea Ross, History of Medieval Art.

Asst. Prof. Jake Saxer, History of Modern Art/Slide Curator.

Miss Sandy Keppler, Secretary.

No one was better than Detective Tildon in preliminary interviews. Witnesses were so disarmed by his cheerful, bumbling manner that they often said more than they'd intended. And Tillie wrote it all down in a neat, precise script.

Sigrid seated herself at Sandy Keppler's desk and slowly reviewed his notes. She'd seen the raised eyebrows when Tillie called her by her title and decided the witnesses could use the extra time to get used to the idea that a female police officer would be conducting the investigation. Her height and her no-nonsense appearance helped. At five-ten, her dark hair braided into a knot at the nape of her neck and wearing a loose, rather poorly tailored pantsuit, she looked efficient and capable of command.

At last she lifted her head from Tillie's notes and spoke in the quiet voice that always warranted attention.

'My name is Lieutenant Harald, and I'll try not to keep you any longer than necessary. First, is access to the Chemistry Department very convenient from here?'

She sat erect behind the desk, her hands neatly folded, her gray eyes watchful; and all seven-with the possible exception of Oscar Nauman-were suddenly reminded of certain teachers they'd faced in elementary school. Piers Leyden cheekily raised his hand.

'If it's poisons you're looking for, why go all the way over to Chemistry? We've got a decent supply of our own right downstairs.'

'State your choice,' agreed Lemuel Vance. He had exchanged his ink-stained lab coat for a disreputable brown cardigan. 'I've got nitric, acetic, sulfuric and hydrochloric acids, as well as potassiumn dichromate, trisodium phosphate and sodium hydroxide.'

He had meant to be sensational; but Sigrid calmly referred to Tillie's list and said, 'Oh, yes, you must be Professor Vance. Printmaking.'

'Which includes lithography and etching,' said Vance. 'The acid and alkalies are to bite lines into metal plates.'

Tillie had already discovered that no teacher could resist an opportunity to lecture, but he was stunned.

'You let kids mess around with that stuff?'

'Certainly!' Vance said blithely. 'One learns by doing, Officer. An eye here, a hand there and the students get cautious.'

'Stop being cute, Lem,' said Oscar Nauman. 'It's not as dangerous as it sounds, Detective Tildon. Our beginners work under close supervision. All chemicals are locked up except when Professor Vance or a graduate assistant is in the workshop.'

'It's the same for photography,' Sandy volunteered helpfully. 'I guess some of those developer compounds must be poisonous because they're kept locked up, too.'

'Who has the keys?' asked Sigrid.

'I do,' said the girl. 'There in the top right drawer.'

Sigrid fished them out and handed them to Tillie, who signaled to one of the lab personnel and slipped out to check on the chemical supplies.

'Who knew where the keys were kept?' asked Sigrid.

'Why, practically everybody,' Sandy replied. 'Seniors and majors are supposed to work independently when classes aren't in session, so they just reach in and take the room key they need. Of course, they're supposed to sign for them; and as Professor Nauman said, they aren't supposed to use any chemicals without supervision.'

Her tone implied that the rules weren't stringently enforced, and that was confirmed when Sigrid examined the clipboard in the same drawer. It hadn't been signed since the week before.

'I suppose you never lock your desk?'

'Only at night,' Sandy admitted unhappily.

Sigrid pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward her. 'We'll take it from the top, I think.'

There were groans and mutters of fatigue and hunger from her captives-all of whom had missed lunch-but Sigrid ignored them. 'Now then. Miss Keppler, when you went downstairs at ten-twenty-five, who else was around?'

More than ever Sandy Keppler was reminded of a third-grade teacher who had stressed precision and accuracy. 'Professors Simpson and Vance were the only ones I actually saw,' she said carefully.

'Don't be tactful, my child,' said a genial Piers Leyden. 'You knew Saxer and I were floating around somewhere.'

'Okay,' said Sandy, tossing back a lock of golden hair. 'You both were here, too, but so far as I know, that's all. There were a couple of lecturers who finished at ten, and another graduate assistant was supposed to be here; but she went home at ten, too. Do you want their names?'

'Not at the moment,' Sigrid said. She skipped to another name on Tillie's list. 'Professor Nauman was in class then, but what about you, Professor Ross?'

Sigrid recognized that she and Andrea Ross were about the same age, but the professor made more concessions to femininity. She wore a well-cut navy pantsuit and a white ruffled shirt, which softened her thin face. Her short brown hair was slightly waved, and there was a porcelain quality about her complexion.

'Did you come upstairs earlier?' Sigrid asked.

'And help myself to poison in time to get back to the snack bar for breakfast before Sandy so obligingly set her tray down on my table? Sorry, Lieutenant. I arrived here with the coffee, not before.'

Her tone was light, but Sigrid noticed her clenched hands and white knuckles as she toyed with an unopened pack of cigarettes.

'Detective Tildon has given me the gist of Miss Keppler's conversations with Professors Vance and Simpson,' she said 'but not with you.'

'It wasn't anything!' cried Sandy.

Andrea Ross waved off the young secretary's quick protest. 'Never mind, Sandy. I haven't made a secret of my