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The Second Friday
I should like to know whether the subjects responsible for scientific discourse are not determined in their situation…by conditions that dominate and even overwhelm them.
Michel Foucault
The first people Charlie saw on arriving at the department that morning were Bolster and DeVries. They both wore the deadpan faces they usually did, but he noticed a slight smile on DeVries' part when he got out of the elevator.
"Why are you two here? More trouble?"
"No. We were just letting Dr. Rankin know that, officially, Dr. Wilson's office is no longer considered a crime-scene. We were actually finished with it a few days ago. In any case, it looked to me as if people have been in and out of the office. The wastebasket's been emptied, shelves tidied, that sort of thing. Well, we have to get going."
Bolster hadn't said anything and now he merely gave Charlie a nod as he followed DeVries into the elevator. For a moment Charlie was tempted to stop them and tell them about the book list, but he refrained, feeling he needed to better sort things out before saying anything.
As Charlie walked to his office he noticed that the door to Barrett's office was open and that there was a tarp covering the desk. It looked like the custodial staff had gotten the jump on official notification and were going to paint Barrett's office.
When he took a break from his proofs to go for some coffee Charlie saw one of the custodians in Barrett's office packing up his books. They would probably be stored in the basement until someone got around to disposing of them. That thought made Charlie realize that it had now been ten days since Barrett's corpse had been found and Charlie hadn't heard anything about Amanda's planned memorial service.
Returning from the cafeteria, Charlie stopped in Amanda's doorway, the door being again open when she was in.
"Amanda, I was just wondering about Barrett's memorial service."
Amanda may have been surprised that it was Charlie asking, but she gave no sign.
"Well, Barrett seems to have had no family. Someone thought he had a brother somewhere, but neither I nor the police have been able to track him down. Barrett's file is remarkably free of information about him other than his academic credentials. He wrote 'N.A' in the next-of-kin blank. I took 'not applicable' to mean there's no one, but detective Bolster said people who've fallen out with relatives sometimes do that. After all, writing 'not applicable' isn't the same as writing 'none.' Anyway, we've not traced anyone. The body was officially released but no one's claimed it. It might fall on the university to bury him, sell his house, and deal with other details. He left no will, either, so I've no idea of what the university lawyers will do with the proceeds, though I'm sure they'll find some way to hang on to some or all of the money. Because of all that I've been slow about the service. I'm worried it'll be embarrassing if only a few from the department attend."
"What about Janet Milford?"
"Ah, yes. She didn't call, so I called her. She said she was not interested and pretty much hung up on me."
By lunch time Charlie was certain that he'd finish the proofs that afternoon. If he did so before five he could get them couriered out today rather than Monday. He debated getting a sandwich and not taking the time to go to the club but was sure he could finish in another couple of hours.
The club table was crowded, as it always was on a Friday, but Charlie found a seat. After listening to a couple of jokes someone asked about Barrett's murder. The Times-Standard coverage had pretty much run its course in two or three days for the simple reason that nothing of note had emerged since then. Charlie was quite sure that the police hadn't released word about McKay's profession and he wasn't about to blab. So he ducked the question and left the club for his office earlier than he usually did.
"Hey, Charlie, cutting your two-hour lunch short?"
"I've got proofs to finish, J. D., but before I get back to them, I did want to ask something. Did those detectives show you the picture of that guy who was at Barrett's parties?"
"Sure, me and everybody else."
"They showed it to me, too, but did they say anything about the man, who he was or why they were interested in him?"
"No; they just showed the picture saying they needed to identify everyone who'd had anything to do with Wilson. They told me to call them if I saw the guy. I had the impression they were a little concerned about him, as if they knew something but weren't telling. Did they tell you anything more?"
Charlie was careful to stick reasonably close to the truth. "They showed me the picture; I said I didn't know him. I think, though, that you're right about them being concerned about him. Well, I've got to finish those proofs."
Charlie went to his office thinking that Bolster and DeVries had made an exception in his case by telling him about McKay having been or maybe still being a mercenary. But if they'd told him to alert him, as they'd said, why hadn't they told others? He began to think they'd initially overreacted to the information.
At four Charlie finished the proofs, packaged them, and took the parcel to the main office. Jodie gave him the form for the courier service, scribbled in the department's account code, and initialed the form. Charlie would be charged later, but at least he got the university rate rather than having to pay the standard fare. Because the last departmental pick-up was at three and he'd missed it, Charlie walked over to the next building where the courier service had a kiosk in which packages could be left for the last campus pick-up at five. After feeding his package into the secure slot, Charlie returned to his office to lock up.
When he got home he found Kate in the predictable exercise of scouring her closet for something to wear to Marcela's get-together. She couldn't remember what she'd worn the last time she'd seen Marcela and was trying to figure out what she would most likely have chosen, in order to choose something else. She had four outfits laid out on the bed and Charlie decided to not intrude.
As he was getting dressed Kate proceeded with what he thought of as Phase Two of getting ready.
"Charlie, truthfully now, do I look too old for this dress?"
"I don't think so, I mean I really don't think so; I'm not just saying that."
"Oh you are, but thank you. At least I still have good skin, though. Okay, I'll wear this… or does my butt look too big in it?"
"You look good; all over. Really."
Happily Kate didn't pursue it and Charlie finished changing without having to run another gauntlet. They were soon in the car and not much later arrived at Marcela Reilly's house. The house was a sprawling one and looked as comfortable as it was. They'd arrived early, as Marcela had suggested, and after putting their coats away sat at the dinner table to have the promised dessert. Marcela, whose metabolism seemed to run at twice the normal speed, kept three conversations going: one with Charlie about Barrett's murder, one with Kate about the wisdom of trading the house for a condo, and a running battle with George, her husband, about a new roof.
"Charlie, I have to warn you; I've invited a couple of students who've TA'd for me. Oh, and Don and Jean are coming. Now, my specialty and some great Kona coffee that I acquired by devious means."
What Marcela put in front of Kate, Charlie, and George were plates with lemon squares sitting in the middle of beautifully done swirls of raspberry sauce and topped with impossibly thin intertwined tendrils of spun sugar. Charlie was afraid to touch his lest it dissolve. Kate began by picking the spun sugar tendrils with her fingers. George, apparently unimpressed, cut the lemon square in two with his fork and put half in his mouth.
What impressed Charlie was that Marcela would have prepared the dishes in minutes while thinking of something else. The dessert wasn't her specialty, of course; she said that about everything she served. To top it off, she wasn't having any. The dessert disappeared in moments and the coffee was excellent. When they finished Marcela raced off to change. Had Charlie not known better, he would have expected George to go off to change, t
oo, as he was wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and a sweatshirt bearing a logo Charlie didn't recognize. That was George's perennial costume, an outfit Charlie had once described as "upscale homeless," a description that had earned him a little lecture from a woman at the club table who thought it insensitive and offensive.
A few minutes later Marcela's guests began to arrive. As Charlie had anticipated, there were far more of them than she'd suggested and the living room and dining room were soon full. Drinks were passed around and Charlie was glad to see that this was one of the times Marcela had shopped when she started bringing out trays of tempting hors de oeuvres. As he was loading his plate Don and Jean Grahame came up to him.
"Skip dinner, Charlie?"
"I gambled she'd have food tonight, and won. These little sausage-rolls are delicious. And the salmon puffs. I can't believe she does all this; I'm certain a caterer delivers an hour before we get here."
After a little more chit-chat Charlie moved a little closer to Don and dropped his voice.
"Don, I was asking some people in the department if the detectives had shown them that picture of a guy who was at Barrett's parties. Did they show it to you?"
"Sure; I think they showed it to everyone."
"What I wanted to know is whether they said anything to you about the man."
"No, just asked if I recognized him. I said I didn't, they thanked me, and that was that. Why?"
"Well, when they showed me the picture they seemed, oh, a little alarmed."
Charlie debated telling Don what Bolster and DeVries had said, but decided not to. In any case, Don was answering.
"I didn't get that impression. They just said they were trying to put a name to the face. I heard later that a couple or three of the students told them the guy's name is Chet."
Charlie decided not to pursue the matter and changed the subject to Don's plans to talk Jean into an expensive condo, a topic Don was more than ready to discuss. As he listened to the pros and cons he'd heard before and had considered himself, part of his mind reflected on what now seemed certain: Bolster and DeVries had told only Kate and him about McKay being a mercenary. Had they learned more about McKay that eased their initial concern or had they, as he thought, just overreacted?
"Don, I've been told a condo has all the disadvantages of a house and all the disadvantages of an apartment. Plus you have to get yourself on the board or take whatever the board dishes out. Kate and I have been thinking about a condo ourselves, but I don't like the idea of being out a big chunk of money and still having to pay a maintenance fee plus steep property taxes."
"Yeah, we keep coming back to the cost, the taxes, and the monthly fee. It really is like paying rent, and ownership doesn't guarantee much. The board can make all kinds of decisions you'd have to go along with. But the view…"
"Dr. Douglas?"
Charlie almost dropped his drink when he turned and saw who had just addressed him. The only difference between McKay in the flesh and his picture was that the slit of a mouth was now slightly curved in what passed for a smile. Don Grahame must also have recognized McKay from his picture because he stopped talking and lost the animated look he'd had on his face. McKay introduced himself and offered his hand.
"Dr. Douglas, I'm not staying long and I wonder if I could have a minute of your time?"
Don quickly turned back to the hors de oeuvres and muttered something to Charlie about seeing him later. McKay and Charlie moved a little away from the table and as they did so Charlie caught a glimpse of Kate looking in his direction with a raised eyebrow.
"I came with Rich Dalton; I don't even know Dr. Reilly. My reason for crashing was that Rich thought you'd be here. I'm interested in doing some work in philosophy. I was going to do a course with Barrett, with Dr. Wilson, but of course I can't do that now. What I'd like to know is if you'd be willing to talk to me about a reading-course I might do with you."
"Are you going to register for the graduate program?"
"I want to, the M.A., but to do that I have to do two make-up courses. I did a little philosophy a long time ago; uh, before going into my present profession. I originally did a B.A. in history. They won't let me into the M.A. program without the two make-ups. One has to be in epistemology, the other in ethics."
"If you discussed doing a make-up epistemology course with Barrett, you'll find that my approach is very different. I don't mean that it wouldn't be epistemology, but I'd come at the issues from a different perspective than Barrett would have. I have serious doubts about the basic questions that underlie theory of knowledge. I'd have you read the basics, Descartes, Hume, and so on as Barrett would have, but he'd then have you read a contemporary like Dancy and I'd have you read an anti-epistemologist like Rorty."
"I expected that; Rich told me a little about what you do and I've just started one of your Foucault books, the intro one. It's a side of philosophy I didn't know anything about. Would you at least discuss the course with me? I can come to your office whenever it's convenient."
"Okay, let's say Monday around ten or in the afternoon after my seminar, whichever you'd prefer."
They agreed to meet at ten and McKay left after saying something to Dalton. Charlie walked toward Kate who was already on her way to him.
"What was that all about? That was McKay, wasn't it?"
"It certainly was. That was quite a surprise. He came with Dalton. He wants to do a reading-course with me."
Kate looked skeptical.
"DeVries and Bolster warned us about McKay, didn't they?"
"I've been thinking about that. They don't seem to have warned anyone else; they just showed McKay's picture. I'm not sure why they told just us about McKay in that warning way, unless it was an initial overreaction."
Charlie's attention was drawn by the front door opening and he saw Dalton leaving. When Marcela turned from closing the door Charlie was standing next to her.
"You losing guests this early? Didn't they like the food?"
"Don't think they got any with you all over it. You know Rich Dalton, don't you? He was my T.A. for a term. I think he just came as a courtesy; said something about having a lot of work to do. He brought someone I'd not met; Chet something. Said he came to see you. What about?"
"Chet McKay; he talked to me about a reading-course. He was going to do one with Barrett. First time I've spoken to him."
"Are you going to do it?"
"If things work out when we talk. Did you speak with him?"
"Oh, just hello and goodbye. I also reassured him that you were here, somewhere among the sausage rolls."
Charlie spent a pleasant hour talking to various people before he started looking to see if Kate was ready to go. When he caught Kate's eye she gave him a slight nod and he found George and Marcela to say goodbye. He'd been careful to nurse just two glasses of wine and to intersperse them with coffee and some mineral water, so wasn't concerned about driving home. When they got back to the house Kate gave him just time enough to take off his coat and hang it up before demanding an in-depth account of his conversation with McKay. He repeated the gist of it, adding bits he recalled verbatim.
"And you're seeing him Monday morning?"
"Yes; at ten. I'm already disposed to do the course."
"Do you think it's safe? He could have killed Barrett; have you forgotten that?"
"No, not at all. In fact, I'm going to call DeVries and sort of clear it with her. I won't try to get her over the weekend, but I'll call her before I meet McKay. And don't worry; I'll be very careful with him, regardless of whether I do the course or not. He's a likely suspect, so I'm not about to tick him off. I'll also make sure that Jodie or Phoebe or both know about my meeting with him. Now, I was very abstemious at Marcela's; how about a glass of pinot noir?"
"No; I wasn't abstemious, and I ate too much; I'm going to have some chamomile."
Charlie poured himself a glass of wine and settled in with his book. Enough about Barrett. He was meeting McKay; he'd try to learn
something while at it. Later, as was becoming standard, Charlie marshaled his thoughts before sleep.
Dalton had taken McKay to Marcela's party uninvited, so might know McKay better than he'd made out in describing Barrett's parties. Maybe Barrett's death had brought them closer together. Still, for even a doctoral student to take an uninvited guest to a professor's party was a bit much. As for McKay's interest in philosophy, perhaps his connection to Barrett might have an innocent explanation. Just as Dalton had gone into philosophy after the military, McKay might be doing the same. Perhaps getting into the M.A. program had been the key to McKay's befriending Barrett. However, McKay's interest in philosophy didn't do much to make him any less a suspect. As he started to drop off Charlie wondered if Barrett had had a sexual relationship with Dalton, he might also have had one with McKay. He recalled from Foucault's biographies that while monogamy is common among lesbians, it's not at all among gay men. Foucault had a long-standing partner but had valued anonymous sex in California's "leather bars." A three-way relationship would explain Barrett, Dalton, and McKay largely keeping to themselves at Barrett's parties. It certainly would explain Milford's departure.