That evening, since she was going to be on her own for the weekend, Emily attended a concert in the college chapel – a lovely wood-paneled room at one end of the second floor of Eliot Hall, where the vaulted, beamed ceiling created excellent acoustics. The chapel had once been a place of worship but now hosted concerts, films, and the very occasional wedding. Tonight the Collegium Musicum, Bede’s chamber ensemble of vocalists and Renaissance instruments, performed motets, chansons, and madrigals by Thomas Tallis, Josquin des Prez, Monteverdi, and Palestrina. The women’s voices finished off the concert with an a cappella chant by Hildegard von Bingen.
As the final pure, high notes of the chant echoed through the rafters and deep into Emily’s soul, she felt a peace and serenity that had eluded her all through the last two weeks. People filed out all around her, but she remained seated with her eyes closed, holding the music in her heart, unwilling to end the moment and return to ordinary life.
‘Emily?’ She came back from a great distance to register that a familiar voice was calling her name. She turned to see Oscar and, behind him, Lauren. She’d been so preoccupied with matters surrounding the murder that it hadn’t even struck her that she hadn’t seen either of them since the night of her dinner party a week and a half – or maybe a lifetime – before. Oscar shared a hole-in-the-wall office in a different part of the library from Emily’s table, so she had not run into him either there or in Vollum.
‘Oscar! Lauren! How lovely to see you. I was just trying to prolong the moment here. But I guess I’ll have to admit it can’t last forever.’
‘We were thinking about going out for dessert,’ Lauren said. ‘Would you like to join us?’
Emily glanced from one to the other, gauging the sincerity of the invitation. Both looked as though they genuinely wanted her company, so she said, ‘I’d love to. If you’re sure I won’t be in the way.’
The night was clear and lovely, if cold; the clouds that had threatened snow had dissipated without delivering on their promise, though Emily suspected they would return. She was pleased to note the way Oscar and Lauren clung to each other’s hands as the three of them walked up the hill to Baumgartner’s. The deli stayed open late on Friday and Saturday nights to serve the post-event crowd with luscious concoctions such as blackberry cheesecake, mocha torte, and flourless chocolate cake. Emily chose the torte, Lauren the cheesecake, and Oscar the chocolate cake, and they settled into a booth in a back corner.
‘Wasn’t that concert heavenly?’ Lauren said, snuggling much closer to Oscar than the size of the booth warranted. ‘At moments like this I can believe Dostoevsky’s assertion that beauty will save the world.’
‘You know, he didn’t really say that directly,’ Emily responded. ‘A character in The Idiot more or less accuses Prince Myshkin of having said it – giving it as evidence of his imbecility – but he denies uttering those precise words.’
‘Don’t you think Dostoevsky believed it, though? I bet he was just sneaking in his own pet theory in a form in which no one could challenge it.’
‘That’s possible. Maybe he didn’t want to take the trouble of defending the idea in the novel, so he didn’t give the characters a chance to debate it.’
‘I wish he had. I’d have been interested to hear what they’d say,’ said Oscar.
‘Me too. I’d be inclined to think Dostoevsky himself did believe it, if you look at it the right way.’
‘What way is that?’
‘Assuming he accepted Keats’s assertion, “Beauty is truth, truth beauty”, I think Dostoevsky would identify both beauty and truth with Christ. And in that sense, absolutely, beauty will save the world.’
Oscar and Lauren exchanged an uncomfortable glance, and Emily realized she was talking to people for whom Christ was a historical figure, a moral teacher, a philosophical construct, perhaps, but not the Son of God and Savior of the world.
‘But you can look at it on a more human level, too,’ Oscar said. ‘The beauty that people create goes a long way toward saving both those who create it and those who partake of it.’
‘I sure felt saved tonight,’ said Lauren. ‘I’ve always believed that if you could get people to genuinely perceive and appreciate beauty, they’d be healthier psychologically and far less prone to antisocial behavior.’
‘That sounds reasonable to me,’ Emily replied. ‘I’ve had a really tough time lately, and that concert just washed all the turmoil right out of me. I felt peaceful for the first time in weeks. Imagine if mental patients could live in a beautiful natural setting, in comfortable, orderly, well-designed buildings, surrounded by great art and music and literature. Surely that would go a long way toward facilitating their cure.’
‘I see you share my opinion, ma’am,’ Lauren quoted, reproducing Wickham’s intonation to Emily’s delight. ‘That’s been my vision ever since I started studying psychology. Maybe someday we can build a clinic together.’
‘That sounds like a marvelous plan.’
Oscar said, ‘Lauren will be the brains – the expertise, I mean, not to disparage your brain, Emily – and I guess Emily will be the moneybags. But I’m not sure where I could fit into this scheme.’
‘You could introduce the residents to literature,’ Lauren said. ‘And do readings. You’re great at reading aloud.’
‘I second that,’ Emily said, remembering Christmas Eve at Windy Corner. ‘You were terrific when we read A Christmas Carol. And I hear you’re an excellent teacher. I nominate you for official Literary Resident of our clinic. What shall we call it?’
‘“Saved by Beauty”,’ Lauren pronounced. ‘I can see it already.’ She giggled. ‘Of course, it’s really just a pipe dream, isn’t it? I mean, how likely is it to actually come about?’
‘As likely as we want it to be, I think,’ Emily replied. ‘When the current kerfuffle is over, let’s get together and talk about it seriously. I’m pretty tied up with this murder at the moment. I can’t give a lot of thought to anything else.’
‘Oh, the murder,’ groaned Oscar. ‘What do you have to do with that? Or do you naturally end up sleuthing every time a murder happens in your general vicinity?’
‘I was involved with a group of people who either were Taylor’s victims or were trying to save others from her. So I know the whole gaggle of suspects and what was going on with them, more or less. The young man who’s been arrested was a kind of protégé of mine.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Oscar said in a small voice. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘No reason you should.’
Lauren had been following the conversation avidly, growing increasingly excited. ‘You mean you actually solve murders, Emily? What fun! How did you get into that?’
Emily grimaced. ‘It wasn’t by choice. My great-aunt was murdered, but nobody knew it at the time. I ended up helping to figure that out. And since then murder seems to follow me around like a particularly nasty and unwelcome stray dog. I can’t get away from it, so I do my best to get it off my back as quickly as possible. It isn’t exactly what I’d call fun.’
Lauren looked abashed, but only momentarily. ‘Well, no, not fun per se. But isn’t it satisfying in some way? Digging for clues, chasing down the truth, bringing criminals to justice?’
Emily frowned. ‘I might feel that way if I weren’t always personally involved to some extent. In two cases I’ve been a target myself, and in another my housekeeper was a prime suspect.’ She glanced at Oscar, silently querying whether she might mention his involvement in the last murder she’d faced at Windy Corner. He nodded almost imperceptibly. So he and Lauren had shared their closet skeletons, and she was still around. This relationship was looking more hopeful by the minute.
‘And most recently, it was a murder that brought to light the fact that Oscar and I are siblings. This time around it isn’t quite so close to home.’ She paused, recalling the one aspect of the current situation that had hit extremely close to home. But her memories of past abuse were not intrinsically connected with the murder, and she didn’t want to go into them with Oscar and Lauren. ‘But I still care about the people involved. It isn’t like being a policeman and dealing with a bunch of strangers.’
‘No, I guess not. Well, these people are strangers to me, pretty much, and it sounds thrilling. Do let me know if I can do anything to help.’
Oscar stared at Lauren in something like horror. ‘You actually want to be involved with a murder investigation? Are you out of your mind?’
‘Why not? I won’t drag you into it if you don’t want me to. But I’m interested in forensic psychology. If we don’t build that clinic, that’s probably what I’ll go into. I don’t want to be an academic forever.’
He shuddered. ‘Better you than me.’ He appealed to Emily. ‘Just don’t let her get in over her head, OK?’
‘I won’t if I can help it,’ Emily said with a fond glance at Lauren. ‘But I have a feeling she’s likely to dive right into the deep end.’
On Saturday morning, while she was still at home, Emily was a little surprised to get a call from Colin. ‘Do you guys work twenty-four seven?’ she asked.
‘During a murder investigation we do,’ he said. ‘Not all of the twenty-four, usually, but definitely seven. Anyway, I heard back from the organized crime guys about your Russian mafia dude.’
‘Oh, really? So Wharton was right about him?’
‘Absolutely. Ivan Bordetsky. He’s not a hit-man or an enforcer, though. He’s head of a smuggling ring.’
‘Aha! I knew it! Did they look into that icon on Curzon’s wall?’
‘Yep. It’s shady, all right. Looks like you were on target about Curzon being involved with the ring in smuggling it out of Russia. Our guys have confiscated the icon and are looking into getting it returned to Russia eventually. In the meantime, it may help get Bordetsky and his gang put away for a while.’
A part of Emily was glad to hear that, but another part mourned that she would never be able to venerate that beautiful icon in the way its creator intended, in a place of worship. But someone would – many someones – and that was the point. It wouldn’t be hidden away in the office of one woman who saw it only as a valuable art object.
‘So do you think Bordetsky’s a viable suspect?’
‘OC says not. For one thing, he’s got a pretty good alibi – he was seen at a nightclub by more people than he could realistically have bribed to lie for him. And for another, the method is wrong for that kind of hit. Mob guys use guns, occasionally knives, but not opportunistic weapons like that statue. And they kill dispassionately, not in a rage. I didn’t tell you this before, but Curzon had multiple head wounds – the killer struck half a dozen times. He was frenzied.’
Emily winced. ‘I didn’t know the number, but I always did figure rage was involved. I guess because Taylor was that kind of person.’
‘Yeah. Sorry to kill your pet theory.’
‘Oh well, I never gave it all that much credence. Any other developments?’
‘We got some DNA results back. Daniel’s DNA is on Curzon’s clothing. Apart from the blood.’
‘That’s easily explained. She tried to force herself on him that morning.’
‘The morning of the murder? Why did you never tell me that?’
‘I guess the classic answer – you never asked. I told you about the general situation between them.’
‘Yeah, but – stuff like that can be important. There’s other DNA we can’t identify. Do you know of other people she may have touched?’
‘I do, as a matter of fact. She also had confrontations with her husband, Douglas, and with Richard McClintock. I only heard the conversations, I didn’t directly witness them, so I don’t know how much touching went on, but if I were you I’d swab those two. Then if you still have unidentified DNA left over, that will be really interesting.’
‘It certainly will. I’m on it.’
He hung up, and Emily was left wondering what to do with her day. Of course, the library was open and there was nothing to prevent her from continuing her research. But she felt divorced from it at this point.
She could always visit Daniel again, just to offer him moral support. He must be badly in need of that. She called Colin back.
‘Today? I guess so. I’ll fix it up and call you back.’
She puttered around the house and played with the cats, who had been pestering her nonstop, until he called back. ‘Can you be here by eleven?’
‘No problem. See you then.’