CHAPTER SEVEN
"So you think you have solved the mystery of the great Antabuse caper Miss Holmes."
Bob Woodward was leaning backward in his office chair. Over his shoulder Janet could make out white-clad tennis players leaving the centre-court. Though it was only ten a.m. heat was building up rapidly.
"Elementary my dear Watson, once we had your sterling chemical analyses," she replied brazenly.
"And have you any idea about the identity of the perpetrator of this dastardly prank? By the way, a cup of coffee?"
Janet nodded, thankful for the diversion while she considered her reply.
"No creamer please!"
She stirred some sugar in and gazed silently out of the window.
"Some disgruntled student," Bob hazarded.
"Possibly. Whoever it was covered his tracks pretty effectively,"
"In any case you feel certain that it isn't going to happen again
I gather."
"I think we can count on that."
"Well, I won't press you about the victim or victims. With that mode of administration I imagine there could have been many people affected, besides the one or ones intended."
Janet nodded again.
"It was in fact, what put me on to it," she continued carefully. "Too many people with similar symptoms -- simultaneously."
"Ah yes. Well, if you do get another outbreak I'll be glad to serve again. And speaking of serving, there's a regional mixed doubles tournament at the end of the month. Interested?"
"Yes I would be. But as you say, speaking of serving, that’s liable to be my weak link. I've hardly held a racket more than two or three times this year. I’m afraid my serve and volley will be just a bit rusty."
"I'll take my chances on that. I saw you taking on young Pinkney the other day. I don't think you've lost too much. I could arrange a few practice matches, if you'd like."
"Next week, maybe," Janet persuaded.
"Suits me better too. I've got some contract work with Solarcon to finish up, and there seems to be some sort of flap on in their management section to move in new directions."
The name Solarcon tripped a connection in Janet's memory with the late Principal's affairs. The toad, the badger, the rats the Pinkstitute, Solarcon, Raymore Electronics. Was there more going on between the Regents and the Principal than strictly academic matters?
"What actually is this Solarcon development anyway?'" she asked in a casual manner, trying to show as much interest in her unfinished coffee as in the subject.
"It's a holding company as I understand it. Back when Quinn and Pinkney devised the amorphous silica phototransducer for solar cells they took out patents through the University."
"And that was what endowed the so-called Pinkstitute?"
"Yes. The royalties eventually built up an endowment that
made it a virtually self-sustained research institute, set up a chair for Quinn and several junior appointments. In a sense that made it a somewhat autonomous body, with a separate directorate outside the Departments of Chemistry and Physics, outside the control of the University actually. Now, when they later extended the multilamellar, microsurface processing which amplified the power output by several orders of magnitude the new patents didn't have to go through Essex U. They needed an arms-length agency so they created Solarcon as the holding company. I don't really understand all the licensing arrangements for exploitation of the patents, but once they got beyond pilot plant development, Solarcon expanded and went into production and marketting as well."
"And what's the link then to Raymore?"
'"Ah, so you remember that canard!"
Janet shook her head in bewilderment. "Sorry, I don't know-" ."You probably made the connection because of the rumpus last winter. Series of allegations in the Faculty Review? Nearly set off some fireworks."
"Oh yes," Janet nodded. "I vaguely recall a sniff of scandal,"
"Can't remember how it was resolved, or if indeed it ever was settled," said Bob. "It wouldn't surprise or shock me if there were all sorts of connections between Raymore Electronics and Solarcon. Anyway, they've done well by our Department. You people in Biology should get a piece of the action. Can't you cook up a project on photosynthesis in some, tropical organism? The least you could get might be a paid vacation in the Caribbean to collect specimens, or something! They're sending me to a conference on the Riviera come September."
"Unless I can come-up with a green man-- or find some way to make human cells photosynthesize , my chances are slim, I'm afraid. But I'll be in touch next week about the tournament. Thanks for the coffee."
"My pleasure," said Bob seeing her to the door. Janet headed off to her lab, but took a short detour on the way to drop by the offices of the Faculty Review, and came away with several back issues of the campus newspaper. In the corridor she ran into Julia bearing results from their last fruitless fractionation experiment. Together they pored over the negative findings trying to puzzle out the reason for their failure, but to no avail.
"I don't understand it," said Julia in exasperation. "I made up everything fresh-- new reagents, and the controls responded as usual."
"Try cranking up the concentrations," Janet suggested. "Look, there's a tiny response in these later fractions."
"So tiny I'd hate to bet on its significance!"
"Maybe we're losing potency with time. You did leave the control in the cold room for the same period as the test samples coming off the column?"
"Yes, and no loss of potency there."
"Funny," mused Janet. "We'll run a series with that later group, boost up the amounts by ten-fold, and check the very low molecular weight fractions again too. Maybe we should pool several of those and concentrate them down."
They discussed a few more details of the attempts to salvage the apparently ruined experiment, and then Julia set about the next stages of the analysis. Janet closed her office door and started scanning the old copies of the Review. It didn't take much searching to discover the articles that Bob Woodward had mentioned to her. And although there were no open accusations of malfeasance, there seemed to be abundant innuendos that while deficits from operating the non-profit Institute were being bailed out by the University and Government grants, the same individuals, acting as major shareholders in Solarcon, were realizing personal profits from the patent licenses. Several senior administrators and faculty were no doubt involved in these conflicting roles, and a main player in the subcontracting and marketing end was Raymore Industries through its electronics subsidiary. Of whom, noted Janet with interest, several members of the Board of Regents, including its chairman, were listed as active directors and executive officers.
A large flock of pigeons banked and wheeled across the sky in a flurry of wings. Where was the cat that had put these pigeons to flight? Supposing that the Principal was a key link in all the entanglements, any change in his position could well unbalance the delicate network. Perhaps there were power-struggles among the participants. There might be reluctance, or outright opposition, to the Principal's reappointment from the group of Regents affected. For his own part, a man like Dr. Pinkney would hardly take a passive role if his status had been threatened as seemed to be implied by the failure of the selection committee to reach an early consensus. How might he exercise his powers of office to fight back? And if he were losing the fight, how might he retaliate from his position of strength and knowledge about the possible conflicts of interest? Janet frowned as she watched the birds disperse; the flock was no longer a cohesive group, but little sorties of individuals flying helter-skelter in pursuit of others, similar to dog-fights of fighter aircraft, tumbling in disarray. Might there not have been just such a process of alienation among the parties to the Solarcon agreement, with the Principal at the centre of the turmoil? Perhaps the pigeons, individually or collectively, in some manner had turned upon the cat in their midst.
Janet checked her watch as she moved away from the window. It was early afternoon and she s
till had much to accomplish in piecing together her application for the centrifuge equipment before tomorrow's deadline. First she confirmed that Professor Antwhistle would be present next afternoon to receive it, then she hurriedly drafted the budgetary details. Next she lifted the telephone and was about to dial the Pinkney residence when a voice broke in and apologized. It was the Department secretary cutting in to inform her that there was a call on the other-line, and would she take it now as it seemed to be urgent.
The caller was responding with necessary information long-distance regarding her prospective centrifuge purchase. Although thankful for the interruption, Janet was rather perturbed concerning privacy of her telephone conversations. It might seem paranoic to assume that anyone in the central office would have either the time or the interest to monitor her private calls, but the opportunity was there. In point of fact there really could be no such thing as a truly secure conversation within the Departmental phone system. She finished the draft, dropped it into the office for typing, and cycled out to the Pinkney residence by the river trail.
Jeremy was stretched out in a somnolent pose on a chaise on the patio. Thankfully Janet noted that he was quite sober when she roused him from his slumbers. She explained her fears about the telephone system, and her reason for coming out instead of calling. When she outlined her suspicions Jeremy was sceptical at first, but gradually became persuaded.
"Then you think that somebody involved with the Institute or Solarcon was searching for some incriminating documents?"
"It’s only a hypothesis, Jerry. Goodness knows I don't have any insights about these people; but someone must have had a good motive for going through those papers."
Jeremy nodded. "You could be right. That fellow Nicholas, for instance. Smarmy bugger. I always figured he had other than altruistic reasons for getting involved with the Board of Regents. And the Chairman's job paid a pittance of an honourarium for the honour of service. Jackson Nicholas, you may be sure, was moved by only one incentive-- cold cash!"
"Whoever it was may return," Janet warned. Look, don't you think we should hand these papers over to someone, for safekeeping."
"Not to worry," said Jeremy. "I've taken care of that. Locked everything away."
"Well, do be careful to secure the house tonight as well. I must get back to carry on with some lab-work. Call me tomorrow, but be careful what you say on the phone," and she trundled her bike back down to the river path. Her mind was a confused blur of suspicions. Not for the first time she felt well out of her depth.
It was past ten o'clock when Janet reached home that evening. She collected her mail from the hall-table and noticed a gleam of light from the back porch and a faint murmur of voices. She was half-way up the stairs when she heard Kay calling to her from the porch.
"Janet, Do join us won't you?"
The porch was dimly illuminated by a kerosene-burning lamp which flickered fitfully in the evening breeze. Dr. Bert Tower arose from the largest of the wicker arm-chairs and greeted her, while Kay poured out a cup of tea.
"Bert has just been conveying some interesting findings from his recent inquiries into our little mystery."
"Not much of interest, I regret," Dr. Tower remarked, and proceeded to explain the course and sources of his inquiries.
"Your strange story about the Antabuse doping, and the other peculiarities surrounding Dr. Pinkney's death kept gnawing away at me. So I couldn't avoid having some words with his own private doctor, Dr. Whiteman, in strictest confidence of course. I covered myself as co-investigator of a public health survey upon stress-related fatalities among top executives and administrators, Dr. Pinkney’s case could well be construed as a classic of that genre."
"Is this survey to be published eventually?" enquired Janet.
"Only in the most lurid form of detective fiction, if I can puzzle out the clues," chuckled Dr. Tower. "Still, the fiction I laid out for Dr. Whiteman was much less far-fetched than that of some of my erstwhile patients who conjure up imaginary symptoms of imaginary friends!"
"Well, I only hope you were more successful in perpetrating the fiction than your patients were," said Kay, taking his point. Janet thankfully munched on some cucumber sandwiches and fell silent as Dr. Tower continued his narrative.
"First of all, we dispensed with the possibility of chronic alcoholism and its sequelae. Not a likely cause of a sudden demise- cirrhosis of the liver, Wernicke's encephalopathy-- nasty and lingering, but not in the category of catastrophic death without obvious preludes of hospitalization. Now, the cardiovascular accident, the common cerebrovascular hemorrhage or aneurysm, blowout, blockage of key blood vessels-- these are your more likely killers in the bolt-from- the-blue variety."
"But again, wouldn't there be some prior warnings, heart irregularities and so forth?" interjected Kay. "In James's case for example, he had apparently a lot of pain, angina, that he tried to hide from me-"
"Yes, "replied Dr. Tower, "we might have expected some previous symptoms as you say -- high blood pressure possibly. Dr. Whiteman assures me there were no cardiac irregularities, no evidence of hypertension -- in fact Dr. Pinkney was, to put it indelicately, in the pink. His penchant for regular swimming for example, no doubt kept up his cardiovascular fitness. But on the other hand from Dr. Whiteman's viewpoint there were these unexplained fainting spells, etcetera. To the point where he had begun to suspect a brain tumour. But again, they performed a CAT-scan of his head -- found nothing!" he concluded irreverently.
"Did Dr. Whiteman have any other ideas about these spells? Or did you tell him anything?" asked Kay.
"Good gracious no! And he was plainly baffled. Dr. Pinkney took no prescription drugs. He was averse to all forms of medication- antibiotics, even aspirin- claimed they interfered with the body's natural defences. They did an autopsy too, incidentally; no sign of tumour, brain damage, etcetera. As I said some time ago, no evidence of drowning either. Just a sudden heart seizure."
"Like a conducting block," volunteered Janet.
"Quite so. A strange, but not unknown happenstance. Some times associated with violent events in an otherwise normal person. A terrifying experience, a night-mare perhaps, a great surprise-"
"Or an electrical shock?"
"Exactly, a shocking event."
"And," continued Janet, "someone who had been suffering from the nauseating and other toxic effects of Antabuse plus alcohol could be more susceptible to shock-related stress despite his cardiovascular fitness under normal circumstances?"
"Certainly seems plausible to me," responded Dr. Tower.
"I think then we may have some leads concerning the agency of Dr. Pinkney’s cardiac arrest, though not necessarily the agent," said Janet, and she related her experiences at the Principal’s pool .
"But if what you say is true," Kay put in, "surely the circumstance in the pool points to accidental death, not a contrived event. It is hard to make any connection anyway, between the administration of the Antabuse and the pool situation. Just an unfortunate combination of factors-- a short-circuit in the light system as you experienced, with an abnormally sensitive heart."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps a most cleverly arranged combination of factors by person or persons unknown. Person number one, possibly a crank, a disillusioned faculty colleague or suspicious husband, wants to embarrass the Principal publicly. So he or she contrives the Antabuse-alcohol prank -- maximum public observation of the effects -- mortification the intent, but not mortality. Right?" asked Janet rhetorically, Her audience nodded but remained silent.
"Along comes person number two, quite a different case, someone whose career may be threatened (or thought to be) and observes, as the rest of the public, that the Principal shows signs of some sort of attack-- weakened condition as noted by those at the convocation, for example; everyone knows that there have been problems with the pool lighting system so he just arranges to see that the Principal gets an extra jolt. Object, homicide.”
"I will allow," replied Dr.
Tower, "that person number one and his putative motives seem consistent; a reaction to some malice by the Principal producing a malicious response, possibly even intended to discredit the man, make him appear unfit to govern. Apparently the selection committee had not endorsed his reappointment even at the time of his death."
"So person one may have succeeded in his limited objective," said Kay.
"Possibly, although we have no knowledge of the factors that may have influenced the committee. The perpetrator, quickly realizing his inadvertent poisoning of the two secretaries, removes the evidence, and exit person one," Janet explained.
"But," Dr. Tower interjected, "I do have problems with your hypothetical opportunistic person number two. A Principal doubtless influences many careers, though the University is not quite a Principality. Hardly a typical response of one passed over for promotion or refused tenure, to do in the chief administrative officer. Unless we are dealing with a totally deranged mind, and the premeditation and modus operandi seem inconsistent with that."
"I presume," replied Janet, "that any murderer by-definition of normal conduct must be deranged to a degree, but he may still be possessed of cunning in the execution of the abnormal act, and escape detection."
"Quite so," Dr. Tower agreed, "The paranoid schizophrenic type for example. Extremely dangerous and capable of concealment. But could there be other relatively sane persons with cause, and if so what cause could motivate such an extreme measure?"
"Blackmail," Janet replied, "A Principal may not have de facto powers to deal with his associates but he has access to much confidential information. And that information could be very powerful indeed. Perhaps a certain incriminating document passed into his hands; he might use that to ensure cooperation from the person implicated. If this were person number two of our scenario he might conceivably go to extreme measures to avoid exposure. He may even now be attempting to obtain the documentary evidence," and she related Jeremy's account of the intruder at the Principal's residence and at his University office.
"And, who's to say. Maybe he did find what he was seeking, "rejoined Kay after a moment’s reflection.
"Jerry seemed to think not. He felt that he had surprised the burglar in the act. I saw the mess that he left, and it did appear that he had been in the middle of searching through a pile of papers at the desk lamp when he fled."
"If he was desperate enough to break in like that he certainly might try it again," admitted Kay,
"i'm sorry if I gave you the impression it was a break-in," Janet corrected, and told of the unlatched door, "but I believe that Jerry will be more security conscious henceforth. He intends to mount guard over the place with the hope of catching the culprit."
"That seems extremely unwise to me," said Dr. Tower, and Kay nodded her assent.
"Perhaps," she put in, "it is time that we reveal our suspicions to the authorities. Get someone competent-- sorry, I meant professionally competent -- to hold inquiries and so forth."
Janet looked doubtful, and Dr. Tower paused before responding. "As I see it, apart from some testimony from young Pinkey (an unimpressive witness even when sober) of a possible invasion of privacy by an unknown intruder there is no crime to report -- no forced entry, nothing stolen."
"And," continued Janet, "really no substantive case to be made for non-accidental causes of death of Dr. Pinkey.”
“Well, let's bide our time for a bit longer, see if our unknown suspect makes another move. But I believe that Pinkney Junior must be restrained from entering into any heroics of detection and capture. Do you think I should have a fatherly chat with him?"
Janet frowned and then shook her head, "No, I think it would be better if I were to do that. He’s pretty unpredictable emotionally just now with all these strange happenings. If he finds that I've been talking about this with you he may freak out. I'll have a chat with him tomorrow, of the sisterly variety. Also I'll see if he has any ideas about the type of document the prowler, was looking for. It could provide a lead to the person's identity.”
After Dr. Tower had departed, the two women sat listening to the amphibian concerto beyond the porch, illuminated by occasional flashes from itinerant fire-flies over the meadow. Neither of them was prepared to take the initiative in reopening the discussion, yet both were reluctant to terminate their conclave. Janet pondered asking her views of the potential suspects in the affair, and was about to speak when Kay finally broke the silence herself,
"A grand person, Bert Tower, probably a superb physician also, but not a great judge of human character.”
Janet was taken aback by this sudden indictment.
"I first noticed this about him years ago--the clinical detachment, diagnostic features of this or that disease -- but lacking in understanding of the humanity of his patients," she concluded.
"Perhaps we need a bit of detachment, cool deduction of the diagnostician, what you referred to yourself as professional competence."
"My dear, when I referred to that I meant it to apply solely to the facts and mechanics of the case. Those aspects could readily foil amateurs like you or Jeremy, and possibly bring you into some personal danger. The aspect that interests me is the understanding of the humanity of the major figures -- the perpetrator (possibly plural as you suggest ) of the crime, and its victim. After all, the motives (and I am certain these are plural) are the energy that propelled the machinery of the events. The events and their mechanism were simply the loaded weapon, but it took a lot of motivational energy to line up the sights and pull the trigger. And that requires more than diagnosis of cause and effect as applied by Bert Tower to some syndrome of signs and symptoms, Which is why I would set more store by Mr. Whatsis, the gardener's common-sense view of events than our good Doctor's computerized analysis!"
"You're just annoyed because the Doctor found the connection between you and me from his computer printout of our address records," teased Janet, "But you don't set much store by the new technology of the computer, do you?"
"Don't try to dismiss me as an old-fangled fogy, Janet," said Kay sternly. "Your chips and megabytes and ROM's and RAM's may be great for plotting and interpolating in curves, extrapolating predictable equations, and crunching up numbers, but they still can't see into the mind of a chimpanzee, much less that of Josh Pinkney or his possible malefactors. Now you, in contrast to Bert Tower, and in spite of that sceptical smirk on your face, realize intuitively that what I say is correct. I can tell it quite clearly from the little you have said about Jeremy, his reactions and, above all the way you have handled that very delicate situation. So there!" she concluded triumphantly, "despite your attempt to clothe yourself outside with the appearance of the ultrarational scientist dealing only in verifiable facts, in my opinion -- and I say it not to flatter but perhaps to shock you out of your pretense of mechanistic thinking - you are a somewhat stronger student of human nature than you are of natural science!"
"If by stronger student you mean that I am learning faster, I must agree," nodded Janet with a sigh. "I don't seem to have my mind productively on science, natural or otherwise these days."
"Well, let's try to direct the same sort of concentrated thought on the human factors as you might on your experiments. First, consider Dr. Pinkney and his peculiar foibles as a man, not as a Principal, that mark him out as a victim. Then," Kay continued briskly, "let's look at our dramatis personae of suspected perpetrators of events leading to his demise."
The piping from the swamp was replaced by the twittering of birds, and the incandescence of the lantern and the fireflies by the first faint gleam of daylight when the two finished their discussion. As with the dawn upon the new day, Janet, beyond exhaustion, beyond sleep, reached a realization that she had grown in a new dimension that night. But the realization brought little peace or comfort to her troubled mind, and it was a numb-like trance that she drifted later into her bed -- a type of sleep with eyes open, peering grimly into reality.