Chapter 14
The noise was soft but unmistakable. Someone had unlocked and opened the door to the lab. Had she locked the door behind her when she entered? She was sure she had. The mysterious person obviously had a key. Without thinking, she stood up at the carrel where she was working.
"Hello," she called out cheerily. "I'm working in here! It's Dr. Barnes!" She waited for someone to enter but the door was quickly closed.
Pamela looked down briefly at the progress on the CD duplication. When the light clicked off, she opened both drawers and removed the original CD and the duplicate, and slipped them in their sleeves and into her purse. Waiting to see if the person on the other side of the door would change his or her mind and enter the lab, she remained standing in the carrel, breathless. After a few minutes, which seemed like a few hours, she headed for the door.
Cautiously turning the knob, she peeked out, and seeing no one in the hallway, she slipped out, and turned back to lock the door behind her. As she turned around, she found herself staring into the face of Willard Swinton who'd just come up behind her.
"Pamela," he began.
"Willard," she spoke, breathlessly, shocked to see him appear seemingly out of nowhere. "I didn't see you. Did you just open the lab door?"
"The door? No. I was in the men's restroom," he explained. His dimples indenting his dark cheeks like a chocolate mousse. "Sorry to have scared you. You weren't working in the lab, were you? If it were me I'd stay far, far away from that place."
"I..." she stammered, "I have data to collect...." She started to walk past him.
"Pamela," he called out, touching her arm, "Could I have just a word with you?"
"I ...." she sputtered, anxious to get going and very conscious of the contraband in her purse. "I guess, all right. I'm in a bit of a hurry, though."
"Of course," he said sweetly. "I simply wanted to get your views on our tenure problems now that Charlotte is...."
"Yes," said Pamela, "yes, of course. I really hadn't thought about that, Willard. I guess I'll have to. We do have three candidates waiting on our decision."
"We do," he noted, "and now that Charlotte is...um...out of the picture...well, I'm afraid our decision is going to be even more difficult."
"How?" she asked.
"You may have heard," he began, "that the Dean is talking of restricting our department to two tenure appointments instead of three."
"I had heard that," she said.
"And with Charlotte gone, there are now only four members on the Tenure Committee. If there's a split vote--and there may be--how will we come to a decision?"
"Willard," she answered, sighing, "Let's get past this horrible event. Charlotte is barely dead. I just can't think right now about how her death will affect my committee vote."
"Pamela," he said softly, his cheeks flattening, the dimples gone, "You're so right. This has been such a terrible ordeal for you ...finding her body. I never should have even mentioned this to you. I'm so sorry." He bent his head and looked genuinely grieved.
"It's all right, Willard," she said, "truly it is. But, can't we talk about it later? I really need to get going. It's getting late and ...."
"Yes, I'm so sorry," he replied. "I'll talk to you next week. We have plenty of time to discuss this. Maybe you and Joan and I can get together and...."
"Yes," she nodded, now walking away and calling back to him, "we'll do that. Bye!" She strode down the hallway and out the corner entrance and into the parking lot. Even inside her car she was unable to calm down. Not that Willard Swinton bothered her. He was a dear, sweet, gentle soul. It was just that she was so nervous about making the duplicate CD. It was as if all eyes were on her, and then to bump into him right as she left the lab. It was as if he appeared out of nowhere. It was simply unnerving. Had he been the one who opened the lab door? And if so, why did he deny it when she asked him?
She started her engine and bolted out of the lot. No one seemed to be looking at her as she left. Thank goodness. Oh, she was becoming paranoid. Now, she thought, off to the police station.
The local police headquarters-court house was located in the downtown area, several blocks from campus and around the corner from the Reardon Coffee Factory. Pamela had actually been there many times, to pay derelict traffic fines-of which she had accumulated many. Rocky called her Lead Foot because of her penchant for driving over the speed limit. Maybe that's why she was procrastinating in bringing the CD to Shoop. The place reminded her of one of her embarrassing flaws-she was a bad driver. She tended to drift off and think of anything other than the road or-worse-she'd allow her emotions to bleed into her pedal foot-particularly angry emotions-and before she realized it, she was speeding. It happened far more often than she cared to realize. The tickets in the mail were enough of a reminder, but having to come here to the local courthouse/police station-was just too much.
There it was. An old concrete building stuck on the corner. It looked like some dilapidated public school built in the 50's--ochre in color, two stories, with grey porticos. Imposing but not very elegant. A small parking lot was in front. One section of the lot was labeled "Visitors." She found an empty spot in this section, parked, and with a gulp headed toward the police entrance on the parking lot side.
Inside the building, the place was busy. Uniformed officers were moving around. Some workers were seated at desks out in the open, and some she could see in offices to either side of the large central area. She walked up to a counter that was manned by a uniformed officer.
"May I help you, ma'am?" he asked.
"I'd like to see Detective Shoop, if he's in," she responded.
"One moment," the officer answered, leaving her there, and heading off towards the back of the central area to one of the side offices. He disappeared into a doorway and soon came out followed by Shoop. Pamela would recognize that tall, loping gait anywhere. The two men walked to the counter.
"Dr. Barnes," greeted Shoop, wiping his nose with his large handkerchief and then stuffing it in his jacket pocket. "Seems you know your way around here, so I hear."
"What?" she gulped.
"One of my friends in Traffic tells me they have a Pamela Barnes who has racked up quite a record of fines. Would that be you?"
"I don't see what my driving record has to do with a murder case."
He gave her a Cheshire Cat smile and held out his hand which she shook very unwillingly. "It doesn't. Have you remembered anything else?"
"Yes," she said, "and I have something for you."
"Oh?" he said, sounding intrigued, "Well, then, why don't you come back to my office."
He led the way and Pamela followed him, trying vainly to keep up with his long strides. When they reached his office, Shoop stood aside and held the door for her to enter. It was a glum looking room, smelling of mentholated spray and spearmint. There was a small humidifier in the corner spewing steam. Shoop removed some papers and magazines from a green plastic couch and gestured for her to sit. She did so cautiously as the furniture looked as if it had been donated from a rummage sale. Shoop returned to his desk and pulled a lozenge from a jar and popped it in his mouth.
"Sorry," he said, "Got a bit of a cold. Now, Dr. Barnes, you say you have something for me?"
"Detective," she began, "First, let me say, that after your men were finished going over our computer lab, I went down there to look around. I got to thinking."
"Not always a wise thing, eh?" he chuckled.
"Probably not," she responded, "as I'm not sure you'll approve of what I've done. I know my husband doesn't."
"Hmm," he said, "this is sounding more and more interesting."
"Anyway," she continued, "I was in the lab today." She surely wasn't going to tell him that she'd broken in yesterday before the crime scene tape was removed. "and I thought about what might have happened when Charlotte was ...was ...when she died. I thought it was probably likely that there would've been a struggle. You see, each computer desk in the first row has a toggle switch for recording."
"Yes," he added, "I realize that. But the toggle switch in the carrel where Dr. Clark was found was off."
"I know," Pamela continued, "but I speculated that if during the struggle between Charlotte and her killer--surely there must have been a struggle--what if the killer pushed Charlotte down on the desk or if she pushed her hands down to get leverage--or any number of possibilities--and accidentally pushed the toggle switch."
"Even so, Dr. Barnes," Shoop replied, "the toggle switch just turns the sound on and off--it doesn't actually start a recording. Our crime techs have gone all over that computer."
"I know," she said, feeling somewhat exasperated, "I use that lab all the time. But what you don't know, Detective, is that the master console makes back-up recordings anytime a toggle switch is turned on. These back-up recordings are erased at regular intervals when it's determined that they're no longer needed. Usually a graduate assistant does that."
"I see," he nodded.
"So," she said, "I thought, just on the off chance that maybe there was a back-up recording made of the murder--or even a part of the murder--that it might be worth it to just check those back-up recordings for the period when the murder probably took place."
"And?" he queried, his big brows lifting skyward, the lozenge rolling in his mouth.
"A back-up did record briefly on Tuesday night at 8:27 p.m., in Carrel #4--about two minutes worth of sound." She reached into her purse and brought out the original CD in its paper sleeve.
He reached out for the CD, saying smugly, "You are the little scientist, aren't you?"
"That's my job, yes," she replied. She sat quietly then, as Shoop examined the disk. He bit his lip, obviously thinking about what to do next. Then, shrugging, he slid the disk out of the sleeve, pressed the CD drawer on his small, desktop computer and loaded the disk.
"I take it, you've listened to it," he looked at her.
"Yes," she said, "I didn't want to bother bringing it here if it didn't have anything on it."
"Okay," he said. "Let's see what all the fuss is about." He brought up his Sound Player and hit "enter." From the built-in speaker on his computer, the choking sounds of Charlotte Clark, plus the extraneous bumps, scratches, and clicks that Pamela had also heard when she first played the brief recording sprang to life. Soon the sounds ceased as abruptly as they started.
"That's it?" he asked, pulling his large cloth handkerchief out of his pocket and again rubbing his nose.
She cringed. If she stayed in this office much longer, she'd surely catch some wayward bacteria. "That's it."
"It does seem to be the sound of someone choking," he noted. "I'll have forensics take a look at it. If they think it warrants further investigation, they'll probably go back and extract the data from your master console themselves." He removed the CD from the drawer and slid it back into the sleeve.
"Detective," Pamela spoke rapidly, fearing that Shoop would not heed her ideas, "I think you can clearly hear Charlotte struggling on this recording. It's possible that she might be trying to say something--maybe sending a message or a clue to the identity of her killer."
"Unlikely," said Shoop.
"And those other noises," added Pamela, "those aren't human sounds. Some may be sounds of Charlotte or the killer bumping into things as they thrash around during their struggle. But we don't know. If we could identify those sounds--even just one of them--they might lead us to Charlotte's killer."
"Unlikely there too," said Shoop, "Our techs have gone over the inside of that carrel looking for trace evidence, Dr. Barnes. Also, there was no skin found under Dr. Clark's fingernails, so any thrashing she did, didn't produce any trace evidence from the killer."
"Detective," she said, insistently, "that's wonderful, but I was thinking about clues inherent in the sounds on this recording. I don't know what type of forensics analysis your unit will be able to conduct, but I'm trained in acoustics and I'm able to evaluate the sound waves on this recording for a variety of...."
He cut her off mid-sentence. "Dr. Barnes," he said, rising, "I do appreciate you bringing this CD to our attention. We'll definitely investigate it. Rest assured." He stood up behind the desk. She was being dismissed.
"Detective Shoop," she interrupted, remaining seated, "there are a few more things I wanted to tell you. A few things that I--remembered---and you said I should let you know if there was anything at all that I remembered about the murder or the people connected to Charlotte."
"Yes," he said, sitting back down, and sighing heavily, "what do you remember, Dr. Barnes?"
"First," she began, "I forgot to tell you that the conversation between Dr. Marks and Dr. Clark that I overheard the night of the murder was really more of a fight."
"You heard them?" Shoop asked.
"Yes."
"Do you have any idea what the fight was about?" he asked, jotting this new information in his ever-present notebook.
"Not really," she replied. "Then, the other thing I forgot to mention. This is related. The next day, the day after the murder, our secretary Jane Marie Mira found an envelope in Dr. Marks' mailbox that she believes was put there by Dr. Clark. In it was a photograph of a woman."
"Did she see Dr. Clark put it there?"
"No," she mused, "But, Jane Marie says the envelope was like Dr. Clark's personal stationery. There was nothing in his mailbox when she left and it was there the next morning. And I know for sure that Charlotte was in the main office that night."
"We have only Ms. Mira's word for this," he added.
"Why would Jane Marie make up these things about Charlotte?" Pamela argued, defensively, "Jane Marie was mystified as to who the photograph was. Then, she tracked the photo down from one of the school's yearbooks."
"The photograph that was supposedly placed by Dr. Clark in Dr. Marks's mailbox?"
"Yes," she exclaimed, "The photograph--supposedly--placed by Charlotte in Mitchell's mailbox! Jane Marie found this woman's photograph in a yearbook. She was a student at Grace University about ten years ago, she said. Her name is Evelyn Carrier."
Shoop jotted this information in his notebook too.
"You know, Dr. Barnes," he surmised, "Ms. Mira, your secretary, never mentioned any of this to me when I questioned her the other day."
"I know," said Pamela, sitting up taller, "Jane Marie told me she hadn't thought about it until later. She's actually a bit fearful to say anything about this to you--or anyone. Dr. Marks is her boss. She doesn't want to antagonize him."
"But you can?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and stretching his long legs out over his desk.
"No, but Dr. Marks isn't my immediate superior in the same way that he is Jane Marie's. I assume he didn't mention the fight or the photograph to you."
"Hmmm," mused Shoop, ignoring her question. "Well, is that all, Dr. Barnes? Or do you have any other piece of hearsay or another secret recording you'd like to share?" He stuffed the large cloth back into his pocket. The sound of the humidifier churned away in the corner.
"You know, Detective," she said, "you went to great extremes to encourage me to report to you any little piece of information that I might think of. Now, here I am, bringing you what I consider, some remarkable evidence, and you treat it as inconsequential. At least, I've been able to find something that might help discover Charlotte's killer. Unlike you. It certainly doesn't appear to me that you and your "forensics" team have been able to uncover anything that might lead to a break-through in this case." She stood and was about to leave, her fury increasing by the moment. Her lead foot was itching.
"Sit down, Dr. Barnes," Shoop ordered.
She looked at him and the skeptical, facetious look had disappeared from his face. She slowly lowered herself to the sofa.
"Rest assured, Dr. Barnes," he said with calm intensity, "we are working night and day to find Dr. Clark's killer. I don't belittle any of the information you have provided me. Far from it. I intend to pursue every item. You're not aware of everything we're presently doing to track down the person who killed Dr. Clark, but that doesn't mean that we're not hard at work." He ran his hand through his hair and looked around, as if trying to decide if he should continue. Then he bent over his desk and spoke to her in a whispered voice. "Dr. Barnes, let me enlighten you as to our progress. First, we scoured the lab and Dr. Clark's office for fingerprints, and we're comparing prints taken from Dr. Clark's body with those of all potential suspects. We don't expect to find much there as it appears the killer wore gloves and finger prints from virtually every faculty member are present in the lab. We've searched her office and her home for evidence. Second, we interrogated all individuals who might have seen any suspicious vehicles or persons in or near Blake Hall at the time of the murder. Third, we've interrogated all faculty, staff, and graduate students in your department-in some cases more than once. Fourth, I have, at your suggestion, contacted the subscription database service used by your department and have been able to track down-as of about 45 minutes ago" and he looked at his watch, "the exact site Charlotte Clark was looking at when she was murdered."
"You have?" asked Pamela, now thoroughly engrossed in the man's tale. "What was it?"
"Maybe you can enlighten me on this," he said, almost to himself. "When she was murdered, Dr. Clark was reading an article, a dissertation actually, by a Jonathan Pierce Culver, on your specialty subscription to Dissertation Abstracts' full text service. She was on page 87, the cursor highlighting paragraph 5. The dissertation was entitled, "Sexual Dysfunction in Late Adolescence: Addictive Behavior among Young Criminals."
"It sounds like something she might read for her own work on addiction," responded Pamela. "We do subscribe to Dissertation Abstracts and that extra database you mention does allow us access to the full-text of all registered dissertations."
"So," he said, "you believe that her research the night she was murdered was just something she was working on for one of her own studies?"
"It sounds like it," said Pamela, hesitantly, "yet, I was there Tuesday night, Detective, and I heard how furious she was when she left Dr. Marks' office. I can't see her just storming off to the lab and suddenly changing gears so fast and abruptly working on some of her regular addiction research."
"I agree," he said, tapping his pen. "There's something else." He paused, contemplating, it appeared, if he should share a particular piece of information with Pamela. Finally, he spoke, "We found a small notebook in a locked drawer in Dr. Clark's office desk. In it, there are two columns-one labeled 'source' and one labeled 'copy.' The 'source' column lists names, dates, pages, and lengthy quotes. The 'copy' column lists only quotes and page numbers. There were several different names in the 'source' column, but this Culver was one of them."
"Can I see it?"
Shoop reached into a manila folder on the left side of his desk and pulled out a small three-ring notebook. He handed it to her.
"Any idea what all that means?"
"No," she replied as she perused the small notebook. "It does seem to be related to her research, "but I don't see any reason that she would keep any of her research locked up." She contemplated the various quotes and source citations.
"The fact that this Culver's name appears both in this locked up notebook and on the website she was reading when she was killed," he continued, "tells me there's a good chance that what she was researching online had something to do with why she was killed."
"If it was, why didn't the murderer click out of the site before he or she left?"
"I'd thought of that too," he noted, "but it's possible the murderer just didn't have any time and didn't want to stay there any longer than absolutely necessary. I mean, the killer left the lights on, the door open; he or she left in a real hurry. Is it any surprise, the killer left the computer screen as it was too? Maybe the killer didn't even notice the screen. And, obviously, the killer didn't know about the notebook locked in her desk."
"It's a mystery," she mused. "I'll think about Culver's dissertation, Detective, and the notebook. Maybe something will come to me."
"If it does..."
"I know, contact you right away." She stood up, grabbed her purse, and started for the door. She exited jauntily, leaving Shoop sitting there with a confused look on his face.