CHAPTER EIGHT
Early the following morning Janet flung a few belongings into a small overnight bag which fitted into her bicycle carrier. She deposited a note on the hall-table for Kay who was still in bed, not to expect her back that night. But before leaving the house she phoned the Pinkney residence. After a long delay Jeremy sleepily answered the ring.
"Any more uninvited visitors?"
“Oh, it's you Jan. No, though I sat up most of the night on guard,” Jeremy yawned,
"No great surprise," Janet muttered, thinking aloud.
"What's that?"
"I said- small wonder- when you think about it. Listen Jerry, you recall you were contemplating a trip to your Aunt's place?"
"You mean Aunt Elizabeth in Allentown town?"
"Right. Well, I think you should go."
There was a considerable pause on the other end of the line.
"Are you still there, Jerry?"
"Yes, I'm here, but I don’t think I heard properly. You want me to abandon the place after what has already happened?"
"Precisely, And I would be glad to go along if you wanted company on the trip."
"Of course. That would be great! But suppose the fellow comes back who - you know -"
"All the more reason for us to be elsewhere. Now here's what I want you to do," and .Janet described in detail what she had in mind. "What do you think, does that seem OK?"
"Yes, I think it's workable," Jeremy concurred after some hesitation. "Will you call me later, when you're ready?"
"No. It would be best if you called me at exactly -" she consulted her watch" - half-past-two. That gives you several hours to set everything up. Ring the office number if I'm not there. Be sure to get through. Remember, it's an urgent call."
"Got you. So we could leave by about five?"
"Right. See you then," and she set off on her bike. Janet busied herself in the lab for the next couple of hours, worked through the lunch-hour completing and correcting the documentation of her equipment needs, and at two o'clock presented herself with the papers in the Professor's office. After he had read through the proposal and price quotations he called his secretary into the office and gave directions regarding the purchase order for the centrifuge.
"Now Janet, we'll expect you to charge on unimpeded in quest of the elusive elixer of cell differentiation. Any recent leads on how you may recover the lost activity after it goes through the column fractionation ?"
Janet explained her frustrating efforts to recapture the will-o'-the-wisp growth-activating properties of her protein fractions.
"I don't think it can be due to breakdown of the substance by an endogenous protease because I can leave the starting extract out in the cold-room for the same time as the fractionation takes and the whole activity is still there. Not 75% but 100%, and protease inhibitors have no effect when added during the fractionation."
John Antwhistle grimaced and wrinkled his brow. After rubbing his chin for a moment and gazing out of the window he fixed Janet with a steady eye.
"It's well beyond my area of expertise. And, if you'll pardon my saying it, it seems a bit beyond yours too at the present." Janet bristled a little at this appraisal, but had to admit grudgingly to its cogency. "What you -- we -- need to push on with this is someone with professional competence in this field." She had the impression that she was hearing an echo of an earlier conversation. "A protein chemist. Would you object for instance, if I were to discuss this in Solingen at the conference next week? There's a rather bright young chemist attending the workshop I'm involved with. I had some vague hopes of attracting him here, at least for a visit, but with a view to recruiting him on staff. He could be a valuable collaborator for both our projects."
Janet gladly agreed to the suggestion after she had reflected. It was foolish to remain in her present state of impasse, if it were only pride that prevented her from obtaining some much needed new insight from an experienced protein chemist. Moreover, the release of information about her work at this point coud hardly damage her prospects for priority in ultimate publication of the results. It would take the most astute investigator several weeks of close observation on the spot to reproduce the complex manipulations necessary to produce active extracts of her growth factor, not to mention the extremely difficult assay medium to demonstrate its effects on the cells' differentiation and growth. In fact, the more time she lost now in fruitless efforts to reconstitute the activity from the purified fractions the greater the chances that some high-powered group in another institute would eventually scoop her by stumbling on the same phenomenon.
The buzzer rang from the outer office intercom, and the Professor picked up his phone. After a few sentences he handed the receiver to Janet.
"It's Pinkney junior. Wants to talk to you,"
Janet looked suitably embarrassed and terminated her conversation with Jeremy as expeditiously as possible.
"I'm sorry about that, but with Jerry-- well you know how excitable he can be, and when he couldn't get me in my office I guess they told him I was here," she blundered on.
"Not to worry my dear. But, as you say, a rather labile young fellow. Needs some looking after to keep him out of difficulty. I suppose that's where you come in eh?"
"He does seem to need a bit of help, especially just now. He has to deliver some of his father's family memorabilia to an aunt in Allentown; wanted to drive up this evening so long as I would go along. His aunt will put us up," she explained.
"See that you take on the driving then," admonished the Professor, "As I recall young Jeremy is not the safest thing on wheels. Particularly with that two-wheeled monster he presently tears around on!"
"Oh, he's fairly careful driving the family wagon," replied Janet getting up from her chair. "I presume you may be gone on your trip before I get back, so have a good meeting and dig out what you can to help solve my problem."
"Right," he responded. "I leave late tomorrow for Europe. If anything crops up I'll get in touch."
Two hours later Janet was headed out of town on the road to Allentown with Jeremy beside her in the passenger seat of the Pinkney wagon. He was in a jubilant frame of mind, like a boy scout on his first overnight camping trip.
"More I think of it the better I like it," he chortled. "Did the old Prof. swallow it?"
"Of course," Janet replied slyly. "I led him to believe it was to be a romantic venture!"
"Well, that's not so far-fetched! Who knows what may develop after all."
"How did you get along with your part?"
"According to plan. I got to father's office before noon. Both ladies with little to occupy them and a thirst for a little gossip to pass on at lunch-time. I'm sure that all members of the administrative staff in Morton Hall, if not the whole campus, must have learned of our little junket by now, as well as the Professor, his nosy secretary and assorted members of your Department. Poor Janet, what a shambles I have made of your reputation!"
"All in the interest of finding the truth. How far is Allentown anyway?"
"About four to four and a half hours at a good pace."
"Then perhaps we should think about a meal on the way," said Janet wheeling into the parking-lot of a roadside restaurant. Both the service and the fare were mediocre, and combined with Jeremy's insistence upon several pre-dinner trips to the bar, they got away from the restaurant shortly before dusk. Considering Jerry's rather alcoholic exhalations Janet was glad that she had followed her Professor's advice and resumed her position behind the wheel. She turned the car around and headed back the way they had come.
"Clever, clever gal Janet," murmured Jerry beside her. "Now that he thinks all us cats are in Allentown -- mousie will come to play, and snap goes our trap!"
"Did you talk to Mr. Moorcroft?"
"Told him to make himself scarce, douse all lights, so forth. Place ought to look a regular tomb."
Janet shuddered involuntarily at the association, and briefly had second thoughts about the cleverness of her plan
to induce the would-be intruder to show his hand. As Jerry had remarked, the Principal's residence should appear to be deserted. And as she had explained the scheme to Jerry earlier, that fact would probably be well broadcast even into the higher echelons of Raymore Corp., Solarcon, and the Pinkstitute via the secretarial group in the Regents' office.
"I think we'd better not park the car near the house, in case it's spotted by someone. There's a good secluded area down here," Janet noted, turning off before they reached the Pinkney residence. The road petered out near the river meadows, and she wheeled the wagon off the track beneath a heavy clump of bushes,
"You do surprise me," chortled Jerry, "how expertly you find the lover’s lane. I hope your intentions are honourable?"
"It happens to be a well-known jogging route," said Janet matter-of-factly and she led the way down to the river path.
"How prosaic; a jogging route!" snorted Jerry. In a few minutes they reached the base of the Pinkney property and entered by the gate. The house certainly looked dark and deserted as they let themselves in stealthily by the door to the patio. They made their way in the gloom to the sunroom chesterfield and sat: down. The room was heavily curtained so that they could watch the doorway leading outdoors without being observed by anyone entering there. The papers and boxes lay much as they had been left two nights ago -- bait for the mousetrap.
They conversed in subdued tones for a while, Jerry making frequent surreptitious trips to the kitchen in order to replenish his supply of beer. By midnight the latter was exerting some effects upon his state of watchfulness and he started to doze. From her vantage point Janet could watch his face, dimly illuminated by the pale moon light filtering through the panes in the doorway. In repose, it was an even more boyish and immature face, with a trace of petulance in the protruding lower lip, face of a boy who would never become a man. She wondered at the strange combination, of guile and gullibility that lurked behind it: on the one hand, the guile to carry out such an elaborate deception; on the other, the gullibility to assume that it would be convincing.
"Who's that?" he started, rousing himself as Janet moved across the room.
"Just me," she answered.
"Any sign of anyone? Do you think he'll come?"
"He'll come all right. We just have to be patient and wait him out."
"You seem awfully certain. How can you be so sure?"
“The person we're dealing with is cunning, resourceful, and desperate. He won't give up after one try.”
"So we have a psychological profile of this person?"
"Oh yes. We know him pretty well, and I'm sure that tonight his motives will be revealed. It's a terrible pity isn't it that such a clever person didn't use his talents for something constructive."
"I'm not sure I'd agree with that implication. No doubt you'd find quite a few members of the University community who would find his actions constructive. My father's passing was not universally lamented, least of all by me, or mother."
"You know Jerry, you've never explained why there was such antipathy between you and your father, or between your parents."
"It was easier for me -- I got away from the place -- but for mother it was putting on a face, with everyday reminders of his bestiality."
Janet could tell by the sound of his voice that Jeremy was approaching a state of agitation. Although the room was only dimly lit she could observe his face growing flushed, partly with drink, partly with emotion. This time she made no at tempt to stem the emotional tide.
"He abused your mother regularly?"
"Regular abuse. Verbal and physical abuse. His philandering was bad enough. He was smart enough to keep it quiet outside but it was no secret in the family. Then when he imagined she might be looking in other directions he attacked her. As for me I wasn't favoured that much by his attentions," he continued bitterly. "I never came up to his great expectations. I suppose I wasn't really a member of the family in his eyes. Later on when I dropped out of school I didn't actually exist at all. For a while I thought I could protect mother somewhat by staying around, but my being here made him all the more abusive."
"But somebody had to even the score."
There was a long pause from Jerry. In the gloom Janet could see the terrible struggle he was undergoing. When it finally spilled out it was like the release of pent up flood water .
"First my own mother suspects me, and now you. I always thought you were my friend, Jan." She could sense that tears were not far away.
"Et tu Brute," she murmured.
"You'd all like that wouldn't you? For me to take the blame. There were a dozen people who would have liked to do it."
"But they lacked the determination to do it didn't they?"
Jerry didn't answer. He sat quietly, shoulders hunched, head bowed.
"You really think I killed him," he said shaking his head slowly.
"He died didn't he?"
"But, Oh God! You don't think it was me --"
"You gave him the Antabuse."
Jerry stopped shaking his head, took a deep sigh, and nodded.
"I didn't mean to--"
"You meant to pay him back,"
"But not to kill!"
"And then," continued Janet unrelentingly, "the two secretaries accidentally took some of it too."
"I was going to clean it all out of the office. I had no idea they had taken it to the outer office that moning. And then they both had wine with lunch. It was pretty obvious right away just what had happened when they took sick."
"So you came back later and changed the bottles."
Jerry nodded miserably.
"And manufactured the tale about some unknown intruder?"
There was no reply, but Janet could see that she had hit the mark.
"Why should I believe that you didn't also make up the story about someone breaking in here -- rummaging through the document? Just another smokescreen!"
He didn't answer at first but sat with his head in his hands. When he finally looked up he fixed Janet with a steady-gaze. The hysteria seemed to have disappeared suddenly, and he spoke with deadly control.
"If you think that why are you sitting here?"
He got up from the chair and walked slowly toward the door. Janet sat silently, her heart pounding as if she were in the middle of a foot-race. It was at the stage where the fatigue and emotional stress were beginning to have an overpowering effect on her. She would need a strong push of determination to prevail.
"Curiosity. And suspicion. I was curious to see if the burglar would persist. I suspected strongly that he might be connected with the Antabuse doping. But I needed some sort of proof."
"Or confession. I suppose I was a suspect all along,"
"You gave yourself away when you feigned ignorance about the Antabuse effects. After all we both took that pharmacology course from Dr. Halinka, You probably knew that area better than I did because you did a project in his lab. And there was a post-doc working there on the aldehyde dehydrogenases, and the inhibition by sulfirams. At first I suspected Halinka himself, but I realized you had easy access to the chemical too."
Jeremy remained standing near the door with his back to her. He made no reply and Janet forged on.
"It was a well-known fact by this spring that something was wrong with your father's social behaviour. Many people, including those on the committee to decide on his reappointment, suspected his bouts of sickness were the effects of alcoholism. I heard that Dean Owens had been persuaded by some of them, to withdraw from the committee in order to let his name stand as an opposing candidate when it became clear that there were problems in endorsing the reappointment. In the end your, father's demise was an opportune solution to their dilemma, and therefore nobody was too eager to urge exploration for causes of the accident. But your mother couldn't rest her suspicions that something, was terribly amiss."
"You seem to think you have everything figured out," muttered Jeremy.
"Most of it fell, into place by
itself once I realized you were behind it. There were a few things that were hard to figure out at first. Then I was literally shocked into realization of the method of the murder when I swam in your pool that night. That and a chance comment of Mr. Moorcroft -- about the death of a toad."
"Seems like rather a tasteless joke."
"That's what Mr. Moorcroft had in mind. But it was what he attached with it that made me pause. He described it as a green toad, lying dead in the pool. There aren't any green-coloured toads in this area, so I assumed he mistook a common leopard frog, Rana pipiens, for a toad. Now a toad falling in the pool and unable to scramble out could plausibly drown by morning, but not a nocturnal frog, who would survive immersed for long periods, barring accidents. If Mr. Moorcroft was correct (and he seemed a credible and observant man to me) then our green 'toad' probably met his end by some external agency. Namely, a strong dose of electric current also used to dispatch your father."
"Of course. I should have thought of that myself," agreed Jerry, "The pool wiring was notoriously faulty. And it would account for the fact that father died from heart seizure rather than drowning. It's a clear case of accidental electrocution."
Jerry was more composed now, almost arrogant in his assurance. He was sitting down again on the sofa, looking at ease and relaxed. Janet, standing in front of him, continued to press her argument.
"No Jerry, not accidental electrocution, though that is precisely what the killer wanted the rest of us to believe. If the cause of heart failure was eventually attributed to an external agency, there was a ready-made explanation in the defective wiring of the pool-lights. But the lights were not turned on -- your father didn't use them according to Mr. Moorcroft -- and if he had there was no current through them because the main fuse was blown."
"That could be consistent with some electrical fault, blowing the fuse.”
"But not the switch being turned off!"
She paused for a moment to gauge his response, but there was none. Catching her breath she decided to take the plunge.
"Been doing any fishing lately?"
“No. Why do you ask?”
“I noticed your tackle-box in the cabana by the pool."
"Yes, --that's where I always leave it. I can just pick it up on my way down to the river."
"Very convenient. And you were fishing in the river not too long ago. I saw you one morning practicing some casts while I was out jogging."
"You could have. But I haven't been down there too recently."
"No, this would have been a few weeks ago. Before your father died.”
"Possibly. Since then I've had other things on my mind."
"What does a fisherman use copper line for?"
"Deep trolling for salmon mostly."
"Not for casting?"
"Certainly not for casting!"
"Yet you were casting, or practising casting, with what looked to me very like copper line."
"That's fantastic! You must have been dazzled by the sun to make such a mistake,"
"I think not. I also found in your tackle-box a reel with some copper wire on it, too light I'm sure for salmon trolling, but quite possibly used for casting for somewhat bigger fish."
Jeremy was silent now, but his arrogant demeanour was gone.
"The night your father took his last swim, the pool-lights were off. Somebody sitting in the cabana could easily follow his movements in the water, back-lighted from the house. But the person in the pool would have no idea he was being observed provided that the watcher stayed still. After completing a length toward the cabana the swimmer would turn his back on the observer. With a sufficient weight on the end of the line a practised cast would carry a length of copper wire, far enough to reach the swimmer. The rod is already wired through the open switch at the fuse-panel. After dropping the rod, a quick flick to close the switch, and it's all over for the swimmer and the unfortunate frog who got in the way, A brilliant scheme-- almost the perfect crime."
"Your speculation gets wilder by the minute," declared Jerry, "Anyway, it's completely unprovable."
"Not necessarily. Ends of the wires would show evidence of overheating where there were attachments to the main electricity outlet. There would likely be characteristic burn marks on the victim’s flesh -- not obvious perhaps unless looked for closely, but still apparent on careful re-examination."
"Unfortunately," replied Jeremy, " it's merely a theory. No, you as a scientist would say a hypothesis." He got up once more and strode around as he talked, showing progressively more agitation in his speech. "An ingenious hypothesis which will never come to publication in your bibliography. The author of this highly original piece of scientific deduction, or should I say invention, has a dirth of publishable data to substantiate it, This patchwork tale of drowning toads or frogs, loose ends of wire, electrified fishermen -. Who's going to pay attention to such an obviously absurd fabrication particularly when its author has herself met with an unfortunate accident before completion of the manuscript!"
His body was silhouetted against the doorway giving Janet a last minute glimpse of something ominously heavy in Jerry’s right hand which he held in a striking position. As he made a lunge toward her Janet desperately twisted partly deflecting his arm, and she stumbled and went down in a heap. From the corner, half-dazed, she was suddenly aware that another figure had entered the room, not from the outer patio door, but from the interior of the house. There ensued a brief struggle, then one of the figures tore itself loose and sprang out through the door to the patio with the other in pursuit.
In the dim predawn light outside Janet followed confusedly just catching a fleeting image of Jeremy leaping onto his motorcycle. With a flash and a roar it started and tore down the path toward the river. By the time she had caught up to his pursuer the motorcycle had reached the open gate. She expected to see it brake and turn along the river path, but, whether through design or miscalculation, the rider obviously had too much speed and momentum to make the turn. The machine flew ahead past the gateway, the engine whined loudly amid the noise of cracking branches as the cycle mowed through the willow shrubs, followed by a loud splash and silence. Janet looked into the sad face of Mr, Moorcroft, and felt her knees and spirit collapse under the weight of realization of what had happened.