Chapter 8
She didn't know how it happened but Shoop was again seated in her office, his lanky body draped over the back of her sofa. He had greeted her colleagues officially and then requested some private time for additional questioning "if she didn't mind." Of course not, she thought, I love being grilled about a murdered colleague by the police. I love recalling every ugly moment of finding Charlotte's body in the lab.
She was seated on her desk chair, no longer in her comfortable spot on her sofa. She felt robbed. This big giant of a man was not only invading her privacy, he was invading her space. She steeled herself for the onslaught of questions.
"Now, Dr. Barnes," noted Shoop, as he pulled out his trusty black notebook.
At least he's using my title today, thought Pamela.
"Let's go over your testimony from yesterday." His lack of enthusiasm radiated from his droopy eye lids to his slumped posture.
Testimony, she thought. He makes it sound as if I'm in court. I'm not certain if anything I said yesterday is accurate. I was so distraught, she thought. She put her hand to her head and rested her elbow on her desk.
"I know that it's hard to think back," he started. Out came the handkerchief. Pamela tried to avoid cringing.
"Detective," she interrupted, "To be frank, thinking back is all I can do. I can't get any of it out of my mind. I'd like a break from it for just a brief moment, but no one will let me do that." She contorted her face and rubbed her eyes.
"I'm truly sorry, ma'am," he said, reaching for a tissue from a container at the edge of her desk and handing it to her.
"No, no," she said, brushing it away, thinking of the germs transferring from his large hanky to her tissue. "I'm fine, really. Let's just get on with it. What else do you need to know?"
"Dr. Barnes," he said, "You say that you can think of nothing else. While you're thinking...have you remembered any information that you didn't mention when we spoke yesterday? I mean, you were traumatized. You'd just discovered a colleague, murdered. You undoubtedly were upset and not thinking clearly. Now, after a passage of time, you might remember things that you didn't yesterday."
"Detective," she said simply, "To be frank, I don't remember what I said to you yesterday."
"Let me review the highlights of your testimony," he replied, opening his notebook. At this, he quickly ran through several pages of his notes, very thorough ones, she observed.
"All right, all right," she said, thinking. "One thing I did remember was the computer screen--it was on."
And that was strange to you?" he asked.
"Not strange," she said, "But it did suggest why Charlotte was in the lab. The computers in the first row are equipped with special subscription databases that we don't have available on our office computers. I believe I mentioned that."
"And you think," he completed her thought, "that Dr. Clark was probably in the lab using this subscription service?"
"I would say it was likely," answered Pamela. "Charlotte visited the lab often to check on research studies of hers being conducted there, but there were no subjects or graduate assistants there last night, which I know because my assistant Kent checked the lab sign-up sheet and my experiment was the only one scheduled in the lab this week and there was no one scheduled to be working in the lab last night because he was in class-with me. So, I can only assume Charlotte was there to use the databases."
"All right," he said, jotting this information in his notebook. "Is there any other reason Dr. Clark might have been in the lab late at night at that carrel?"
"It would be unlikely," responded Pamela, "that she'd be recording. Her uses of the lab tend toward survey data collection for her studies on addiction. She's world famous, you know."
"So I keep hearing," he said, reaching again for his hanky and letting loose another blow. He replaced the hanky in his pocket and Pamela breathed in relief. "Would the computer screen be on if Dr. Clark were recording?"
"Not necessarily," said Pamela, "You can record directly by using the toggle switch on the computer desk. However, if you want to keep a copy of what you record, you'd have the screen on and a file selected. I didn't see anything like that, so I doubt she was recording."
Shoop paused and stared at her a bit, then scribbled a few notes in his small pad. Then he asked, "So, would there be anything else she might have been doing there in the lab in that first row of computers?"
"No," said Pamela firmly, "she'd either be using the databases or recording. If she wanted to do anything else, such as general Internet research or writing, there'd be no reason to do it in the lab. She could use her office computer."
"Good," he noted. "Assuming she was using this special database service, what sorts of things might she be doing with that information?"
Pamela rolled her eyes and said, "Detective, I'd have no idea what sort of topic Dr. Clark was investigating--if she was--probably something to do with addiction. If you really must know, you can probably contact the subscription services--Dr. Marks can give you their contact information--and they could track it down. But, anyway, I just don't see how knowing what she was researching would help find who killed her."
"Dr. Barnes," he said, staring at her intently, his shaggy brows lowered, "It may not have anything to do with her murder, but we're investigating all possibilities. We're working on the assumption that this was not a random killing. We believe--and I am guessing you might be too--given you have 'thought about nothing else,' that Dr. Clark was not the victim of a random crime. We believe, at least at the moment, that someone sought her out and intentionally murdered her."
Pamela cringed. Yes, she'd thought that. But to have Shoop say it formally was frightening for Pamela.
"Just because there was no evidence of theft in the lab?" she asked.
"That," he responded, "and other things. For one, the killer didn't appear to be looking for anything. Apparently, the killer went directly to Dr. Clark and strangled her. Also, there is the fact that the killer picked a time when Dr. Clark was alone, a time when it would be unlikely that anyone else would be around and the killing could be accomplished without witnesses. This murder has all the hallmarks of an intentional crime, Dr. Barnes. That's why I'm back here talking to you. I want you to dig deep into your memory and pull out anything you remember, either from the events that took place when you discovered the body or any other occurrence that might--even in the slightest way--relate to this crime." He leaned forward and spoke in a conspiratorial voice, "Because, Dr. Barnes, this is a murder. There is a killer out there and we don't know who he--or she--is."
"You don't suspect me, do you?" she asked, suddenly flustered.
"No, not at the moment," he responded, "But for the moment, you--and your young assistant--are our only sources of concrete information. We really need your help."
"Are you telling me, Detective Shoop," she phrased her words carefully, "that you believe Charlotte's killer is someone in our department?"
"It's quite possible, Dr. Barnes," he replied, "and until we're certain otherwise, I'd advise you to be very careful who you talk to and what you say. As the person who discovered the body, you may have special knowledge that may lead us to the killer--even if you don't realize it. The killer may perceive you as a threat and your life could be in danger. I don't say this to scare you, Dr. Barnes, but only to urge you to be cautious in what you say and do. If the killer is one of your colleagues or a staff member or a student, you might inadvertently reveal information which the killer might consider threatening and thus jeopardize your own welfare."
"I couldn't believe that...," she stammered, but the detective continued.
"I noticed," he said, speaking softly but intently, "when I came in that there was a group of your colleagues here chatting. Now, I'm sure they were all just very concerned about you, and their presence gave you a sense of support, but, Dr. Barnes, you don't know who you can trust. So, for the moment, until we catch this person, I'd advise you to keep conversations with people on campus to a minimum--or at least--avoid discussing the murder."
She absorbed this information and the policeman's suggestions. It was difficult to believe that she was in any danger--particularly from her friends and co-workers. Even so, she vowed to do as the man requested.
"All right, Detective," she nodded, "if you think that's best, I'll be very discreet."
"Good," he said, smiling his sad smile and looking over his notebook, which he finally closed and placed back in his shirt pocket. He pushed himself out of the sofa where he'd almost taken root in the soft cushions.
"Detective," she stopped him as he started for the door, "One question."
He turned to her. "I was wondering," she asked, "if your men are still working in the lab? This may sound callous, but I have data collection scheduled in there and I know you have the lab screened off. I was just wondering when we--I mean--the faculty could get back into the lab to work?"
"They're not there now," he said. "But we're leaving the tape up because we may want to get back in. Also we need to go over the lab with your Department Head, Dr. Marks, with his inventory list and confirm that nothing of value is missing. You'll have your lab back in a day or two."
"Thank you, Detective," she said.
He was at the door. He turned back to her. "Oh, and Dr. Barnes, I'm serious. Keep a low profile," he said, "and if you think of something else that might have anything--anything at all to do with Dr. Clark's death-- contact me at once." Then he loped down the hall and out of her sight.
Pamela waited for his disappearance. She looked at her watch; it was after three o'clock. Other than her colleagues earlier and Shoop's visit, no students had shown up for her office hours. That was typical, she noted. Some days it was barren and other days her office was like a zoo. Today's lack of student visitors must be a reaction to Charlotte's murder. She guessed that she too would find it hard to think about academic pursuits if one of her instructors had been murdered.
She glanced out her window at the parking lot below. Shoop was climbing into his car and heading out of the lot. The police still had the lab barricaded, he'd said, but no one was in there now. Reardon was a small town with a small town police department-not the New York City Crime Unit. Just how sophisticated could Reardon's little police department be and what could they possibly have found?
No time like the present, she thought. Quickly, she grabbed her jacket and purse and headed out her office door, locking it securely as she left. As she walked down the hall, she noticed that Joan's and Willard's offices were closed. They were either in class or had left for the day. Hopefully, the situation would be the same on the main floor. As she headed down the stairs, she felt her heart start to beat faster. At the bottom of the steps, she opened the stairwell doors and peeked through. The coast was clear; she could see no one in the side hallway that led to the lab. Quickly she slipped through the doors and down the hall. Shoop was right. The yellow tape was visible at eye level, barring the lab door. The door was securely locked, too, forcing her to fumble in her purse for her keys. As she unlocked the door, stooping carefully under the tape, and went inside, she thought, what are you doing? This is probably exactly what Charlotte did yesterday, and look where it got her.
She looked around the lab. She noted the sign plastered above the check-in table. It's large font stated, "Only graduate students and faculty are allowed keys to this laboratory. Please do not leave the lab unattended."
At the far end of the room were some storage compartments where they kept replacement parts for the computers, microphones, and headphones. She walked to the back of the room and surveyed the entire laboratory.
Taking up almost the entire room were four rows of computer carrels, each with a computer terminal. The second through fourth rows had computer terminals only. The carrels in the first row had computer terminals, free-standing microphones, headphones, and control panels immediately to the right of the free-standing microphones. The front-row booths were all separated by acoustic paneling that rose to a height of eight feet and extended out a width of five feet on both sides.
Pamela walked up the side of the lab and down the first row of carrels. When she arrived at Carrel #4, where the murder had occurred, she saw that the police had removed the computer terminal, keyboard, and microphone, and all the attaching wires. They were probably looking for trace evidence and dusting for fingerprints. She noticed bits of black powder on the interior walls of the carrel and realized that it was probably remnants of fingerprint powder from where the technicians had examined the interior of the booth-its desk, the walls, and probably the chair and the surrounding floor too.
She sat at an unoccupied booth in the first row. Thus seated, she could see no one and hear no one in either booth beside her if anyone were sitting there. She loved these first row terminals. In addition to the extra recording paraphernalia, the computers in the first row also provided the subscription database services that were not available free over the Internet and that had made her research much easier.
Directly in front of her and facing the four rows of computer carrels, was the master control panel. This long table allowed graduate students and faculty to have access to and control of the data being recorded or listened to in any of the 40 carrels. Indicator lights showed which computers were in use. These lights also indicated which computers were in "record" versus "listen" mode. They indicated the number of subjects who had used each terminal each day and how many times each stimulus tape had been played, among other types of data. From the master control panel, a faculty member or graduate assistant could, technically, control anything going on in any of the terminals, and could record--or delete--anything recorded in any terminal.
Carefully, she touched the keyboard in front of her. She noted the various buttons for volume control and other output. The toggle switch, as she had described to Shoop, was located on the right side of the keyboard, slightly toward the front edge of the desk. She imagined Charlotte sitting here. This booth was just like Carrrel #4. Someone had grabbed her from behind and strangled her. Was it at all feasible that Charlotte might have inadvertently bumped or pushed the toggle switch while she was being strangled? If that had happened, Pamela knew that nothing would show on the monitor because Charlotte wasn't attempting to record anything. The police obviously had checked or would check the monitor from Carrel #4 to discover whether or not a recording had been made. But, Pamela reasoned, if Charlotte had bumped the toggle switch and then maybe bumped it back---quite possible if there was a violent struggle---then the sounds of that struggle might have been recorded. Not here on the computer in Carrel #4, but....
She walked directly to the front of the room, toward the master control console and pressed the master power switch. Lights lit up the entire unit. Each terminal was listed by number. On the right side of the console, she found the storage unit, which she knew was the device that kept all recordings made in each carrel in the first row of computers. These recordings were stored until a faculty member or graduate assistant went through and manually deleted them.
As she clicked on the storage unit, the carrels from #1-#10 lit up, each showing a graph for amount of sound recorded. All ten graphs were at zero--except for Carrel # 4, the carrel where Charlotte was found. Oh my God!, she thought. She noted the date--October 30-yesterday! She carefully clicked on the segment. There was only a small amount, probably just a few seconds worth of sound. The time stamp said "8:27 p.m."
She glanced around. Already she'd been here too long. The police techs might return at any moment, and after what Shoop had said to her, she didn't want to run into anyone in here. Grabbing a blank CD from a bottom drawer in the master console, she slid it into the CD slot and hit duplicate. The console whizzed and whirled and then quickly stopped. She opened the drawer and removed the CD, placing it back in its paper sleeve and into her purse. Then, after shutting down the console, she gave the lab a quick once over, and when she was certain it was the same as it was when she entered, she hurried out, stopping briefly to duck under the police tape and lock the door behind her.