hunkering over the wheel, still nodding.
* * * *
Professor Duncan Knowles was wearing a purple butterfly bow tie patterned with little white daisies. He looked as if he might be ready to take off into the wind. Lavender button-down shirt to complement the tie. Tan linen suit. Sitting behind his corner-window desk, mid-morning sunshine setting the campus outside ablaze in golden green.
‘A terrible thing,’ he told the detectives. ‘Terrible. What happened to Christine, of course, but also terrible for the department and for Baldwin itself.’
Knowles was the head of Baldwin University’s English Department. Kling hoped he wasn’t equating Christine Langston’s murder with the school’s reputation. Brown was wondering where he’d bought the big bow tie. He was wondering how he’d look in a similar tie. Wondering if his wife, Caroline, would go for him in a tie like that one.
‘A big-city campus,’ Knowles said, ‘you might expect unfortunate incidents such as this one
Unfortunate incidents, Kling thought.
‘… but security here at Baldwin is unusually good. We’ve never had anything like this happen before. Never in our history. No one has ever wandered in from outside, intent on mischief.’
‘But someone did,’ Brown said. ‘Last night.’
‘Exactly my point,’ Knowles said. ‘This is terrible for the school. Well, look at these,’ he said, and slapped the palm of his hand onto the morning newspapers spread over his desktop. ‘Christine was murdered last night, and already the newspapers are in a feeding frenzy. Look at this headline. “Are Our Campuses Safe?” A single incident…”
Incident, Kling thought.
‘… and they’re making it sound like an epidemic’
‘What we’re trying to do,’ Brown said, ‘is find some link between Christine’s murder and two other cases we’re investi…”
‘Oh, yes, and don’t think the papers aren’t making hay of
‘We don’t think they’re coincidences,’ Brown said.
‘There must be thousands of such weapons in this city…’
‘No, the same gun was used in each of the murders.’
‘Well, that’s beyond me,’ Knowles said, and spread his arms like wings, enforcing the notion that his huge bow tie might indeed be a propeller. Brown still wondered where he’d bought it.
‘We have the other victims’ names,’ Kling said, and reached into his inside jacket pocket for his notebook. ‘It’s unlikely any of them were students of hers at any time…”
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well… their ages, for one thing.’ He had opened the notebook now, and was consulting it. ‘Or did she teach any adult night classes?’
‘No. Well, she taught one class at night, yes. But that was a seminar. And these were young students as well. She taught three day classes a week, you see, two hours for each class. One on Modern Poetry, and two on the Romantic Poets. Those would have been Keats, Shelley, Wordsworth, and Byron. The course was divided into two sections.’
‘So altogether she taught six hours a week.’
‘Well, plus the seminar, of course. That would have been another two hours a week. Eight hours in all.’
‘And she taught this seminar at night?’
‘Yes. Thursday nights, from seven to nine P.M. On “Keats and the Italian Influence.” Either in her classroom or her office. There were only half a dozen students in the class… seven or eight at the most. Certainly no more than that.’
‘But this Would’ve been a
‘Yes.’
‘Why would she have been on campus on a
‘Any number of reasons. She may have been preparing lesson plans, or grading papers… or doing research in the library. The library closes at nine.’
‘What sort of research?’
‘I know she was writing a paper for the PMLA. About the influence Charles Lamb’s sister had on his work.’
PMLA? Kling wondered. Pre-menstrual something or other?
‘She was quite ill, you know, his sister, Mary. In fact, in a fit of temporary insanity, she killed their mother.’
Brown raised his eyebrows.
So did Kling.
‘Oh yes,’ Knowles said. ‘Lamb had to place her in a private mental institution. Well, he was not without his own mental problems, you know. After a disastrous love affair, he himself had a breakdown. Spent a great deal of time in an asylum in Hoxton, yes.’
‘And Professor Langston was writing a paper on this?’
‘Yes, hoping to have it published in one of the Modern Language Association’s journals. On how Lamb’s sister affected his work, yes. She titled it “The Madness of Mary Lamb.” We joked about that a lot.’
‘Joked about it?’ Brown said.
‘Oh yes.’
‘Who did?’
‘Her colleagues in the department. We called it “Mary Had a Little Madness.”
‘So you think she might’ve spent some time in the library the night she was killed,’ Kling said.
‘Possibly, yes. I’m sure you can check that.’
‘But normally, what time would her classes have ended?’
‘Well, except for the seminar…”
‘On Thursdays
‘Yes. Except for that, she taught afternoon classes. Three to five.’
‘All young people.’
‘Yes.’
‘Does the name Alicia Hendricks mean anything to you?’
‘No, I’m sorry.’
‘One of the victims. Fifty-five years old,’ Kling said. ‘How about Max Sobolov, fifty-eight? Blind?’
‘No. Neither of them. And, as you say, they couldn’t have been Christine’s students here at Baldwin. Far too old.’
‘Any other way she might have been connected to them?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘Well,’ Brown said, ‘is it possible they were
‘How would I know that?’
‘Can we check your records?’ Kling asked. ‘Get the names of her students for the past several years? See if we come up with a match for either of them? Hendricks? Sobolov?’
‘She taught here for the past twelve years,’ Knowles said. ‘She was a tenured professor. Surely you don’t expect to go through all the…”
‘Grudges sometimes go back a long time,’ Brown said.
‘Grudges?’
‘A student she failed? A student she embarrassed? The kid might’ve told a parent or a friend, might’ve initiated a grudge that
‘I see,’ Knowles said.
He was thinking.
They both saw him thinking.
