Last Things

 

“Apparently Karl Hoffer always took the easy way out,” Mac said. “That is why he never became a really great magician: He did not have the capacity for taking pains to perfect his craft.”

“He was good enough to fool the rest of us, mostly Ph.D.’s, on the night he killed Rodney Stonecipher,” I said.

“The most sophisticated people are the easiest to fool. That is why scientists so often fall prey to mediums, psychics, and the like. Children, on the other hand, are a magician’s toughest audience.”

It was a couple of frantic days after Hoffer’s suicide. Quandra and Fitzwater had left town, with Fitzwater saying he’d like to come back and make a movie in Erin. Mac and I were sitting in Mac’s office at St. Benignus, doing a post-mortem on all that had happened.

“In the end it turned out to be a locked room mystery after all,” he said. “However, the locked room was part of the solution instead of part of the mystery. This case is unique in the way it stands one of the most ancient conventions of the detective story on its head.”

While Mac was patting himself on the back, I was still trying to figure out the ancient history - Hoffer’s original connection with Stonecipher. I’d already decided he must have paid somebody in the student records office at UC to tip him off if anybody seemed to be nosing around. Or maybe he just cultivated a friend there.

“Why was he so eager to tell me he was at UC when that established a potential link between him and Stonecipher?” I asked.

“Because what you suspected - that his academic credentials were spurious - was even worse. If there was an irregularity in his master’s degree, there was probably one in the Ph.D. as well. Bringing that to light would simply destroy his whole image as an explainer of miracles and un-masker of frauds. He expected to make a lot of money out of that image.

“The knowledge that Stonecipher and Hoffer had both been at UC should not have been that damaging, anyway. It is a large university with many graduates in this region and the two men were not there at the same time. The connection was really just a minor coincidence - perhaps one that brought the two together when they first met. I suspect that Hoffer, already seeking an easier alternative to the life of an itinerant performer, was giving a performance at the hospital where Mr. Stonecipher was being treated. Somehow they struck up a deal that Mr. Stonecipher regretted and felt ashamed of for the rest of his short life.”

“One thing still bothers me about your charade, Mac,” I said. “Fitzwater was alone in the murder room with the murderer - and the room has a back door for a quick exit.”

“That door was guarded by another of Oscar’s officers,” Mac said. “Still, I would not bring up the subject with Mr. Fitzwater. There is still one loose end, by the way. I would like to know how Hoffer secured access to the apartment where he murdered Peter.”

“Ah, I talked to Oscar about that one,” I said. “It seems that Susan Gramke was, let’s say, earning a lot of extra credit with Hoffer after hours. He had a key to her apartment. And he knew her well enough to be pretty sure she wouldn’t tell anybody about it after the murder because she wouldn’t want the hassle - hassle with the police, hassle with her straight-laced parents when they found out about Hoffer. She went for the easy way out, too.”

I heard footsteps behind me, followed quickly by a harsh voice. “Now, what, McCabe? How dare you demand that I come here?”

“Please sit down, Ralph. Demand is much too strong a word. When I called and suggested that we meet here I was merely trying to spare you some potential embarrassment. There could be spies in your office who would be eager to make common knowledge out of what is going to happen between us in the next five minutes.”

I was pretty sure that Mac just wanted to confront Ralph on Mac’s own turf this time, and Ralph knew it. He never took his eyes off Mac while he slid down into a chair.

“Nothing that will happen here could possibly embarrass me,” he said.

Mac ignored that. “I understand that Howard Fitzwater has talked of filming a motion picture in Erin - possibly on the campus itself,” he said conversationally, unwrapping a cigar.

Ralph smirked. “I might as well speak frankly, McCabe. There is a strong feeling on the board of trustees that the economic effects of a film being made on or near this campus would be salutary . . . but scarcely enough to redeem your actions in this disgraceful affair.”

Mac arched an eyebrow. “Indeed? You believe I behaved badly, and so I did. And what of Karl Hoffer’s culpability?” He stuck the cigar in his mouth, as if for emphasis.

“Hoffer never would have encountered Rodney Stonecipher in what was to him a threatening context if you hadn’t hired Stonecipher for that ridiculous prank to begin with.” Mac’s involvement had come out in The Erin Observer & News-Ledger. “You are indirectly responsible for his death.”

Mac nodded. “In that you are correct. I have not forgotten that and I never will. My shameful folly will be with me the rest of my life. I am a chastened man and I have vowed to myself to be changed man.” We had talked about that and I knew that he meant it. I wasn’t sure that Peter Pan was going to suddenly grow up, but I expected to see a greater sense of responsibility in Sebastian McCabe.

“I am not, however, a double murderer,” Mac went on. He lit the cigar. “Hoffer’s actions surely reflect more poorly on this institution than anything I have done.”

“But you are alive and still working here - so far. Hoffer is dead. Case closed.”

“Not entirely.”

“Meaning what? What kind of shakedown is this supposed to be?”

Mac leaned back and puffed contentedly while Ralph steamed visibly. “I took the liberty of making a few enquiries with friends of mine in the psychology department; don’t bother to try to find out whom. They were able to confirm something I had suspected because of the timing of your arrival and Hoffer’s.” He smiled. “You hired him, Ralph. As part of your great effort to improve the academic integrity of St. Benignus, and over the objections of the psychology department head, you hired a man who was an academic fraud and later became a double murderer.”

Ralph squirmed in his chair. “I can’t be blamed for not knowing the man was going to go off the deep end when he got here. His credentials and background were impeccable.”

“He did not even earn his master’s degree. He was a cheat.” Mac leaned forward, talking into the intercom on his phone. “Am I going too fast for you, Heidi?”

The only response was a quick click.

“There was no way on earth I could know that a man had bought his master’s thesis fifteen years before,” Ralph protested.

“Surely, however, that fact indicates a flawed character that ought to have been detectable using proper hiring procedures. To my knowledge, the department head you superseded in imposing your will has never hired a murderer or a fraud.”

Ralph slumped. “I couldn’t know,” he mumbled. “I couldn’t know.”

“I suppose you could offer that defense to the board of trustees.”

The academic vice president and provost looked up. “What do you mean by that?”

Mac was the personification of good humor. “Naturally, I have no choice but to see that this matter is brought before the board at its regular meeting next week - perhaps right before the discussion of the popular culture program. I have at least one friend on the board who would be willing to do that.”

“And I have a number of strong allies on that board, McCabe.” The fight wasn’t out of him yet.

“I have no doubt that they will mount a spirited defense in your favor. They may even win. Or they may lose, putting you and me on the unemployment line together. Or perhaps, on more mature reflection, you do not want to ask the board to abolish the popular culture program after all.”

Ralph stood up, struggling to keep his voice from cracking and his body from trembling. “This is blackmail, McCabe!”

“I prefer to think of it as an aggressive negotiating posture.”

The broken man looked at Mac, then at me, then at Mac again. He opened his mouth, then closed it tight. Without another word, he rose and stalked toward the door. Mac called after him:

“Do not miss the next issue of The Write Stuff, Ralph. It will contain some of your most memorable work!”