This time, Miss Fenchurch chose a table in the front room. Apparently she felt more comfortable with witnesses now that everyone most likely knew of my involvement with the case. Or maybe she didn’t want anyone to think she was sharing information with me. Either way, we sat near a window in full view of the other diners. We made small talk until the food arrived, then I began to tread carefully, wanting to keep her as an ally if possible. “Have you thought of anything that might be helpful to the case?”
She cut her shepherd’s pie into small pieces without eating it. “No, nothing I didn’t tell you about yesterday.”
I tried again. “So there weren't any rivalries?”
“None as serious as that.”
“I would have thought the summer trip was quite a coup for whoever managed to get it.”
“It is, but there was no rivalry about that. If Professor Brookwald is well enough, it's his. He has seniority. He's also been on several other digs going all the way back to his undergraduate days. He's the obvious choice. Unless it was directly related to Sparta, in which case Professor Headly might have been the best choice, but I don't think Professor Brookwald would have objected to that. Since he isn't well, it went to Professor Headly. If you're looking for a motive for murder, it's not there.”
“What did you think of Professor Headly?”
“If you want the truth, when I was told there was a murder, I wasn't surprised to hear it was him.”
I cradled my cup of tea in my hand and watched her. “Why ever not?”
“He wasn't much good, if you must know. Always on the look out for some angle. Ever since he was a student here himself.”
“So you wouldn't be surprised if it came out he was, say, blackmailing someone?”
“Not at all. Wait, do you know something? You do. I can tell; you're trying too hard to show nothing, so there's something to show. Well, I must say... I knew there was something of the sort going on. I could probably tell you five of the victims off the top of my head, just by the change in their behavior.”
My ears perked up. “I'd be interested in hearing about them.” But I wasn't going to be that lucky.
“I probably shouldn't say, as I don't have any actual facts, you see.”
“Of course.” I tried another approach. “What was Mr. Headly blackmailing you with?”
“I wasn't being blackmailed.”
I bit my lip. How would she react if I came out and told her I had the materials? I decided against risking it. “He seemed to be blackmailing everyone in the department; I'm surprised you weren't affected.”
“Oh, it's not to say that he didn't try. He had some nonsense about me and Mr. Carrington at the restaurant down the way. I told him to go ahead and tell anyone he liked that we were involved, and then see how he liked having to function in the department after I was sacked. I even developed a splitting headache and had to stay home the next day, just to give him a taste of how the office was run without me. I never heard a word about it after that.”
It seemed to be a very effective way to dissuade him. “Do you have any idea how he found out about Mr. Carrington?”
“None whatsoever. I assumed he saw us about somewhere. We are discreet, but there are limits.”
“And what did he want from you? Money?”
“I would assume not. My position is not a well-paid one. He never got as far as asking for anything: merely a few threats. Not even that, really; more hinting at a few threats. So you believe that was why he was murdered? One of his victims couldn’t stand the suspense of threatened discovery?”
I wondered how much she knew about the ‘suspense of threatened discovery.’ “It does seem likely. Blackmail is a dangerous business, although most blackmailers don't realize it.”
“As I said, I wasn't being blackmailed, so I'm not a good suspect.”
According to her, she wasn't being blackmailed, but I didn't say that. “But it does make you a very good witness.”
“To what, though, I'm not sure.”
I tried to come up with something that didn’t involve her blackmail. “Is there anyone in the college you think I should talk to?” It was a stall for time more than anything else.
She sighed. “Let me think. There have been some whispers about Professor Brookwald and why he hasn't allowed Mr. Langley to advance. I'm not certain how Professor Graham keeps his position, aside from the cricket. Professor Armstrong is always short of money and always trying to get more for the college, which causes some resentment among the staff. Otherwise, no, there's nothing but petty rivalries. I don’t have much real contact with the students. There could be all sorts of problems there.”
I already knew Professor Brookwald's secret, or I thought I did, and I didn't want to put too much attention on it. I latched onto the other names. “Where would I find Professor Armstrong?”
“He had a tutorial at eleven, then he usually stays to speak to students in his office and goes to lunch. After, it's anyone's guess, but I would assume either home or where ever he thinks he can find some wealthy donors.”
“And Professor Graham?”
“He has office hours this afternoon and then cricket at three.”
“And Mr. Kendall?”
“He'll be in the office they all share. I don't think he has a lecture today.”
“The same for Mr. Redmond?”
“That’s right. And Mr. Langley.”
I realized leaving Professor Brookwald out entirely would do the very thing I was trying to avoid, so I asked, “And Professor Brookwald?”
“A tutorial at one and a lecture after.”
“Then there are a few places for me to start, anyway. If you think of anyone else, I'm staying at Mrs. Eggleston's.”
Miss Fenchurch reached for her handbag, but I shook my head and insisted on treating her. I offered her dessert, but she said she needed to return to her desk. I suspected she merely wanted to get away from me now that she’d given me some other suspects to pursue away from her, so I said I’d decided to have some myself and watched her leave. Once I felt I’d given her enough of a head start, I paid the bill and went in search of Professor Armstrong.
I found Professor Armstrong crossing the common square in the middle of Serringford College. I caught up to him and fell into step. He seemed confused to see me, but said “Good afternoon, Miss Pengear.”
“Good afternoon.” I fell back on what had become my standard entry point. “I don’t know if you were aware, but I’m a suspect in Professor Headly’s murder.”
“Yes, I had heard that, although I wasn’t sure why that was. I don’t believe I’d heard your name before...”
It was a good opening. “I had done typing for Professor Headly. He telephoned me the day he died. I was wondering if you knew why.”
“No, he didn’t say anything to me about it.”
“It’s a terrible thing to have happened.”
“Yes, yes. It is.” He seemed confused by me talking about it but was too polite to tell me to be quiet.
“I wonder why it happened.”
“What?”
Had I been too abrupt? I hadn’t thought so, but I wasn’t used to being in academia. Maybe he wasn’t used to speaking to women outside of tea and dances. But I pressed on. “There had to be some reason, and this seems like such a nice, peaceful place. It’s hard to imagine that something like this could happen here.”
“That’s true, it’s a lovely college.”
That hadn’t been the sort of response I’d wanted. I tried being more direct but couching it in a gossipy voice. “But of course, something must have happened. Someone disliked him enough to kill him.”
“I suppose.”
I had to be even more direct. “Did you know of anyone who might have felt that way?”
Professor Armstrong looked shocked and a bit disturbed. “Miss Pengear, I’m sure they’ll find that it was some stranger. Someone from outside the college, outside the city even.”
“But how would they have...”
“I’m sorry, Miss Pengear. I have a meeting with some donors, and I don’t want to be late. And to be frank, I don’t want them to be thinking about this when I bring up the new collection we’re trying to purchase for the library. You understand.”
I understood he was trying to get rid of me. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. Perhaps we can speak of it another time.”
He looked even more horrified by that suggestion but said nothing, presumably since I was leaving.
Professor Graham seemed to be the next suspect to talk to. He was supposed to be meeting with students, so I started back towards the college building, but found Professor Graham standing in the square outside surrounded by a group of students, all tanned with athletic builds, none of them wearing their academic gowns, a couple without their jackets either. The cricket team, no doubt.
“All right, lads, another strategy session at lunch tomorrow, practice this afternoon, same time. Yes, Spencer, if you absolutely must work on your mathematics tutorial at lunch you may be excused. No, Donne, you have weeks to finish your end of term project. You can spare a few minutes for cricket. Any other questions?” He scanned the group and noticed me waiting on the edge. “Then dismissed. Don’t forget anything.”
There was a scramble as the boys collected up textbooks and papers from the ground nearby. Professor Graham barely acknowledged my presence as he watched the boys collect their things and handed out whatever cricket assignment they’d been given.
“Good afternoon, Professor Graham.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Pengear. Were you lost?” Professor Graham paid more attention to gathering up his gown than to me.
I was thinking of an answer when I was jostled by two of the boys pushing at a third in what I thought was supposed to be a playful manner. I pushed back, pretending they had caused me to stumble.
“Sorry, miss,” the two said as they adjusted their positions to continue harassing the third boy. Professor Graham made no move to stop them.
The third boy swatted them away. “I had them at practice yesterday, I know I did. It’s the last place I remember having them. I showed them to you, Marcus.”
“That’s exactly what I’d expect from a tinkering student.”
“Really, what is it with you guys, Bailey. Do they give you something in the chemicals or something?”
“Lay off, guys. I really did have them.” He looked up at me. “Tinkering notes, for my end of term project.” He turned to Professor Graham. “You didn’t find them yesterday, did you, sir?”
“No, no tinkering notes yesterday.”
The taller of the two players turned to me. “Seriously, miss, have you ever known anyone to be as absent-minded as a tinkering student?”
I shrugged. “All the tinkerers I know had already graduated when I met them.”
“Would you stop already?”
I turned to the third boy. “Mr. Redmond said he had some tinkering notes when I spoke to him yesterday.”
The young man gave me a grateful smile. “I’ll check with him. Thanks.”
Professor Graham interrupted us. “I’m sure you didn’t come here to discuss tinkering notes.”
“No, no, I didn’t.” I fell back on the story that had been working so far. “Professor Headly telephoned me the day he died; I was hoping someone knew why.”
“Gracious me, getting telephone calls from strange men. Really, Miss Pengear.”
I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, so I feigned concern. “Oh no, you misunderstand. I had done some typing for him, and I worried that he was unhappy with my work.”
“I’m sure it was fine. I wouldn’t concern yourself.”
“Well, it’s not every day I get a telephone call from a dead man.” Inspector Burrows and Inspector Wainwright might think differently, of course.
Professor Graham scribbled something on the papers he was carrying. “Well, he wasn’t dead at the time, so I wouldn’t worry about it.” He was certainly more worried about the stack of cricket notes he had than he was about my piece of mind.
“But somebody wanted him dead. Do you have any idea why?”
He snapped the folder of notes closed. “I’m certain whatever the reason was, it won’t reflect badly on you. I’m sure I will have the pleasure of seeing you later. Good afternoon.”
So shouldn’t worry my pretty head about murder. I sighed and turned towards the school.
The young man with the missing notes was waiting for me a little ways away from the place the team had been meeting.
“You’re interested in what happened on Friday night?”
He seemed sincere, so I answered directly. “Yes, I am.”
“You’ll find a group of students at the library, second floor. There’s a table in the corner, behind the translations of Sanskrit poetry that no one reads. They’re a bit... not really a rough bunch, but the even librarians don’t generally go up there and try to shush them if you see what I mean.”
“I think I do.” The ones who fancied themselves in charge. Probably well-off if not wealthy, good-looking, and with the personality of alley cats and the morals to match, if that wasn’t insulting to alley cats. “Do you think they might know something?”
He shrugged. “If there’s trouble, they’re usually in on it. Some of them are reading Classics. And I think they had something going on Friday night. One of them, Combe, lives on my floor, and he was spending a suspicious amount of time in the common room studying that night.”
“You think he was waiting for someone?”
“For a signal to sneak out.” He shifted his books in his arms. “I don’t know any more, or if you even want to talk to them, but I thought I’d say.”
“I’m glad you did. Thank you.”
He nodded and ran towards the school. I wandered towards the library more slowly, considering how best to deal with a group of unruly young men.