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XV
The Third Thursday
Truth is a thing of this world: it is produced only by virtue of multiple forms of constraint.
Michel Foucault
Charlie turned up at the department just past eight-thirty. The phone rang as he was going to the cafeteria for coffee and pastry. It was DeVries.
"We've had no luck tracking down the elusive Laurel. We're going to see if Richard Dalton and Ms. Milford can work with a police-artist to come up with a likeness. The trouble is that it's expensive. Our Lieutenant wants us to do just two sketches. I think we should ask Richard Dalton. What do you think about Ms. Milford and Ms. Bartolini?"
"Dalton for sure, and I'd go for Theresa Bartolini. She's savvy and observant and in this case quite impartial. Theresa is the one who told me about seeing Barrett, McKay, and this Laurel at the Black Dog. She's also the one that commented on Laurel's clothes."
"Thank you, again, Charlie. We'll get Richard Dalton and Ms. - Dr.? - Bartolini."
Charlie was dealing with his email when a student from his course knocked on his door. For an hour they talked, though less about the course than the state of philosophy.
"I just don't know if I may not be wasting my time."
"You won't be doing that; not if you think through your reading and involve yourself in class discussion. A great deal of what philosophy offers doesn't have to do with the subject matter; it has to do with thinking your way through the problems. A head of Film Studies some years ago told me that film studies is a discipline with too much subject matter and no methodology, while philosophy is a discipline with too much methodology and no subject matter. What he meant was that philosophy doesn't have specific content the way physics or history do. Anything can raise philosophical questions because philosophy is about reasoning and understanding. If you complete your M.A. you'll learn to think better. Your undergrad major was philosophy. Didn't it help you think better?"
"I guess I haven't thought of it that way. I've just been reflecting that I'm piling up expertise in books and issues no one cares about outside of the department. I see what you mean, though. The best indication of it is how irritated I get when I hear or take part in arguments and debates outside this department. I hear some dumb things; I often feel like yelling: 'Non sequitor!' I think this talk really helped. Thank you, Dr. Douglas."
At lunch the conversation was about yet another gaffe on the part of the president. She had given one of her corporate-speak answers to the wrong reporter and been embarrassed by pointed questions about just what she was saying.
On the way back to the department Charlie wondered if DeVries was getting anywhere. His thoughts were a premonition because his phone was ringing as he entered his office.
"Charlie? What the hell have you gotten me into?"
"Theresa; calm down. It's about the sketch, right?"
"You're damn right it is! I saw that woman a couple of times; how am I supposed to describe her to a police artist?"
"I've been told it's amazing what a competent artist will get from you. It's largely computerized now: you'll be asked to pick among a number of different shots of eyes and mouths and so on and the police artist will then put things together into a portrait."
"Well, they're in a big rush and since I have a free afternoon I'm on my way there now.
Trouble is, I paid more attention to her clothes than to her."
"Don't fret. I'm sure you'll be surprised how well you'll do."
Somewhat mollified, Theresa promised to let Charlie know how things went and rang off.
Prompted by the call, Charlie started musing about who the blond woman might be. Was she McKay's girl-friend? If not, what was her connection to Barrett? Then Charlie remembered bits of his dream.
Barrett had bought a house! Charlie quickly booted his laptop and started tracking down Kingsford realtors. He went through only four websites before he found himself staring at a carefully posed picture of an agent named Laurel Hamilton. She had blond hair and was almost certainly Barrett's mysterious guest. He dialed DeVries' number.
DeVries was out of her office but he was patched through to her without having to ask. She'd obviously left instructions, which made Charlie feel good.
"DeVries."
"Hello; it's Charlie. You won't have to spend money for those sketches. The blonde's name is Laurel Hamilton and she's an agent at New Vistas Realty."
"Are you looking for a job? That's great! You'll have to tell me how you figured it out. I'm going to go ahead with the sketches. If they are a good likeness to this Ms. Hamilton, we'll have some evidence of her presence at Dr. Wilson's home and with him and Mr. McKay at a public restaurant. I'll get back to you. And thank you, again."
If Hamilton was a realtor that more or less ruled her out as being involved with the books. She was attractive enough that Barrett, the user, no doubt had made a point of inviting her out and to his parties. Charlie went back on line and Googled "Laurel Hamilton" but learned nothing new. He got a large number of irrelevant links; the only ones that related to Hamilton were houses she was selling. Charlie looked up Hamilton's name on Twitter. The names that came up were not her, so Hamilton wasn't a member nor was she notable enough to merit being 'followed' on her own. Charlie thought about trying Facebook but decided not to.
Neither Charlie nor Kate felt like one of their favorite restaurants that night, so they decided just to have a bottle of wine at a lounge they sometimes went to and eat later at home. They arrived at five-thirty to find Joanna's fairly busy with the after-work crowd. The lounge was laid out with groups of four wing-back chairs set around small tables, a long bar along one wall, and a large fireplace at the far end. The fire was real, not the usual electric fake, and logs occasionally popped as they burned. Most of the people in the lounge were near the fire or at the bar, so they found a comfortable corner and waited for Marge to notice them. Marge had been at Joanna's as long as Kate and Charlie had been going there and they often traded jokes. She was Greek and plugged into anything that had to do with eating or drinking in Kingsford. In a few minutes she came to the table with an ice-bucket and a bottle of Spanish champagne Charlie and Kate liked.
"Usual?"
This was asked as a kind of ceremony, because Marge was already opening the bottle.
"Uh, no; I'd like a pink lady and Kate wants a beer with a rye chaser."
"Sure. Now, the serious stuff. What's the word on the murders?"
"There were two."
"Thank you. Charlie; I've really been wondering about that. Only thing I heard was from a guy that delivers pizza to the cop shop. He thinks they think the same guy did both. I asked around and a sub-sub-editor at the Times-Standard who comes in to see how long he can nurse a beer told me his boss thinks so, too, but the lawyers told him to hold off till he had something solid. Anyway, enjoy; I've got a kitchen pick-up."
"Do you want to change your mind and have a burger or a club-sandwich?"
"How about we split a club and just have a snack later?"
While they waited for Marge Charlie told Kate about his stroke of genius in getting Laurel Hamilton's name and Bolster and DeVries trying to get a sketch of the blond.
"Nibblies?"
"We're going to split a club-sandwich, Marge, just to keep you busy."
"Charlie; that's really impressive. I'll bet DeVries was impressed. Now they won't have to bother with the sketches."
"I think she was impressed, but they're going ahead with the sketches. If they work, they'll be good evidence of Hamilton's connection to Barrett because it'll mean that there are two people - Theresa and Dalton - who are witnesses to the connection."
"Are they going to talk to Milford?"
"Apparently it's expensive to do those sketches and they've been limited to two."
"Too bad. I know Theresa's sharp, but Milford saw this Laurel up close."
"Milford's probably busy with some guy. She's gorgeous and wouldn't be alone for long.
"
"Charlie, you don't get it. She can't see herself like that now, at least not for a while. How can she feel beautiful and desirable if the man she lived with for three years dumped her for some guy? How would you feel if I dumped you for a woman?"
"Wouldn't she just write Barrett off as a fool?"
"Short answer? No. Long answer? No."
"Okay; I'm missing something. I thought these days she wouldn't be as rattled by Barrett's behavior as she might have been some years ago."
"Get serious. He chose Dalton over her, for whatever reason and however long it took. She'll be feeling very unsure of herself for a time, regardless of her attractiveness."
"Do you think it'd help if I went down there and…."
"Do you want to sleep in your own bed tonight, or are you hankering to see what the Holiday Inn has to offer?"
"Fine, fine; we'll drop it. What bothers me is that I don't know what to think about her role in the book thing. She might be innocent of the whole thing, but maybe not."
"How would she be involved?"
"Well, maybe she was involved with McKay and she bad-mouthed him to cover up."
"That doesn't feel right, but I agree with you that she's not just outside the whole affair. She'd have learned something listening to them talk. Maybe while they were still together Barrett promised her all kinds of stuff when he and McKay sold the books."
"That could be right. Anyway, Milford takes second place to Laurel Hamilton right now."
"Why?"
"Well, even if she did in fact find the house for Barrett, why would she go to some of the parties and go to the Black Dog with him and McKay?"
"Oh, Charlie; don't complicate everything. Maybe they just got on; maybe she was trying to sell McKay a house. Realtors do a lot of social schmoozing."
"I suppose so; I guess I'm a little desperate. Anyway, it was great to find her."
"You found her on the realtor's site; show me when we get home; I'm curious."
When Charlie and Kate got home he booted up his laptop and navigated to the New Vistas site, quickly bringing up Hamilton's picture.
"Oh my! It's her."
"Yes; that's the mysterious blond."
"No, you dummy. We've seen her before; don't you remember? Of course her hair wasn't in a French twist; it was all loose and long and sort of covered one side of her face."
"What are you going on about? I don't recognize the woman at all."
"You don't? She was Shwayder's date that night at Grimaldi's. Don't you remember?"
"No; I guess I was paying more attention to Shwayder. You say it's the same woman?"
"Yes; definitely. Actually, I think she looks better in the French twist, but I guess it's sexier with her hair loose, especially when it's that long."
"What was she doing with Shwayder?"
"Selling him a house? Selling his house? Is Shwayder married or have a partner?"
"I don't know. The few times I've seen him at department affairs I never noticed if he was with anyone."
"Who could tell you?"
"Jodie'll know. I'll find out tomorrow. Do you think it's worth telling DeVries? I can imagine Hamilton having some involvement with the book thing, but Shwayder?"
"You've said he was Barrett's good buddy."
"Yeah, but that was in the department; I don't know if they had much to do with one another outside of the department. No one's mentioned Shwayder being at any of Barrett's parties. Dalton surely would have mentioned him if he'd been there."
"I think you should tell DeVries. If she's going to question Hamilton, she can ask about Shwayder. It is another connection to Barrett, even if a bit round-about."
"You're right; I will tell her, but I'll talk to Jodie first. For all we know Shwayder's been teamed up with Hamilton for years. Maybe it was Shwayder who put Barrett on to Hamilton when Barrett decided to buy a house?"
"That works."
Charlie poured each of them a glass of merlot and got into his book. Kate took her wine upstairs to watch television in the bedroom.
After reading for an hour Charlie's mind wandered back to the revelation that the blond at Barrett's parties was now connected to Shwayder. Probably Shwayder had hooked up Barrett and Hamilton, but that didn't explain why Hamilton had joined Barrett's small social circle rather than just doing her job. Kate was right, though; part of Hamilton's job was schmoozing. Odd that Dalton hadn't seemed to know much about Hamilton. And why was McKay included in the Black Dog sessions and meetings in other bars or restaurants? Well, Hamilton was a realtor; and Charlie and Kate had been thinking about a condo and selling their house. Perhaps a phone-call or visit was in order?
"What would you say to talking to a realtor; maybe have her come look at the house?"
"Her? You're going to call Hamilton, aren't you?"
"Well, she is in the business, and Barrett could have mentioned her name."
"To you?"
"She might not know about Barrett and me; he might not have said anything."
"Come on, Charlie; that's exactly what he'd do."
"Okay; we saw her with Shwayder and one of us recognized her from an ad."
"That might get by. Maybe it's a good idea; she might say something useful - about the house."
Charlie brushed his teeth and went to bed. Tomorrow he had to ask Jodie about Shwayder; he probably should call DeVries; and he couldn't wait to call Hamilton.