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IX
The Second Thursday
Knowledge is to be found not only in demonstrations, it can be found in fiction, reflexion, narrative accounts…
Michel Foucault
The way to do it was as straightforwardly as possible. At nine-fifty, when he knew either Phoebe or Jodie would be off to the cafeteria to bring back coffee and pastries for their ten o'clock break, Charlie went to the main office. Sure enough, Phoebe wasn't at her desk. He casually asked Jodie for the master key, saying he'd stupidly locked himself out when he went to the washroom and that his keys were on his desk. The gods smiled because the phone rang just then and Jodie handed over her key without a word and picked up the phone. Charlie went to Barrett's office and opened the door, leaving it slightly ajar but still locked. He went to his own office, got his keys which he'd deliberately left on his desk, and went back to the main office. He returned the key to Jodie, who was still on the phone, giving her a smile and mouthing "Thanks."
On his way back down the hall he looked around, saw no one, and slipped into Barrett's office, carefully closing the door. The custodians made their rounds in the afternoon so he had a bit of time. He got out the Philos. 110 folder and left the office, again leaving the door slightly ajar. Back in his own office, Charlie scanned the book list on his three-way printer. Checking the hall, he walked back to Barrett's office, replaced the folder, shut the door as quietly as he could, and checked it had locked. All of this took surprisingly little time and when he returned to his office he still hadn't seen anyone in the hall.
Back in his office, Charlie read through the list. What had Barrett been up to? He was going to have to do what he didn't want to do, which was speak again with Dalton. The place to start was by accessing the department course offerings to see what course listed Dalton as the teaching assistant.
It didn't take long for Charlie to learn Dalton was the T.A. for the second term of Jack Shwayder's logic and linguistics course. The course had two lectures and one discussion period; the lectures were on Monday and Wednesday, and the class was then broken up into two groups, one of which met on Thursday afternoon, the other which met Friday morning. Dalton should be taking the first discussion group that afternoon at two-thirty. That meant he'd probably be in the T.A. office till about two-fifteen and likely for a time after class, say from three-forty-five on, allowing time for him to return from the building in which the class was held. Charlie planned to be in the vicinity of the T.A. office from three-thirty in order to conveniently run into Dalton.
Lunchtime came and Charlie walked to the club. On Thursdays and Fridays there was a buffet, and the club tended to be more crowded than earlier in the week and by the time he got there the club table was nearly full. He would like to have talked about Barrett's murder, but as he'd noticed before, after an initial flurry of interest the topic had been put aside. Today the conversation was mainly about a student street party planned for that weekend. A previous one had been a disaster, with an overturned car, several fights, and hundreds of broken beer-bottles littering the two blocks where the party had taken place. Everyone at the table voiced an idea of how to better manage these affairs, most of which involved quite impossible corporeal punishment for the rowdiest of the students. The buffet, though, compensated for the inanities being voiced and Charlie ate more than he should have before making his way back to his office.
About two-thirty Charlie decided to call it a day and went online to see what the market was doing. He was so caught up in trading a couple of his tech stocks that it was after three when he realized he had to be ready to run into Dalton. He packed his laptop and left the office. He arrived at the T.A. office at three-forty and wondered how best to set things up. He positioned himself in front of a washroom roughly halfway between the elevator and the T.A. office. His plan was to look as if he'd just come out of the washroom but he got lucky. Jennifer Pullen came out of the T.A. office and walked toward him. Jennifer smiled at him; he smiled back and asked if Dalton was in the office.
"Rich? No, he's got a class that's over at three-thirty. He'll be coming in soon. He usually comes back to pick up his stuff."
"Does he often bring students with him to discuss the class?"
"No, none of them ever come this far after a class. They might trail after him out of Howell Hall, but they won't walk all the way over here."
Charlie was trying desperately to think of something to say to prolong the conversation, appreciating that if Dalton found him talking to Jennifer, his presence there would look more natural. He was just about to make some inane remark when Jennifer spoke.
"Oh, here's Rich now. Bye, Dr. Douglas; I have to get going."
Charlie doubted that Dalton would have heard this exchange, as he was still some twenty feet away, but he'd seen the two of them together so things had worked out just fine.
"Dr. Douglas, hello. Not often we see you down here."
"Just talking to Jennifer. And if you don't mind my saying so, you're looking much better than the last time I saw you."
"I'm feeling a bit better; I guess the work is therapeutic, as they say."
"Did the detectives show you the picture of McKay?"
"Oh, yeah. The guy was here this morning showing it to everyone in the office. Only a couple of people who'd been to the parties recognized Chet."
"So it was McKay?"
"Yes. What I wasn't sure about was why the detectives were so interested."
"Well, my understanding is that McKay was or is a mercenary, and that got their attention. They're still looking for the gun, and I guess mercenaries and guns go together."
"I guess so, though I'm pretty sure Chet is out of that game now. He never talked about his work. All he and Barrett talked about were books. I remember them coming close to a real argument about Hugh Thomas' The Spanish Civil War. Chet thought the book was great, but Barrett claimed it caricaturized Franco. I think Barrett was more right-wing than Chet."
"That's interesting because I'd wanted to ask you if Barrett had an interest in books outside his own discipline."
"Definitely. Barrett's conversations with Chet were mainly about books, and certainly not logic books. They often talked about rare books, you know, first editions and the like."
Charlie hadn't had to ask about books, since Dalton volunteered what he wanted to know: Barrett and McKay were interested in books. He thanked Dalton, told him he was looking a bit better, and left.
When Charlie got home Kate was waiting just inside the door with her coat on. He knew well enough what that meant, and he put his laptop down on the nearest surface and went back out to the car. This time they decided to go somewhere a little different and Charlie suggested the grandiosely named Taj Mahal, the best of Kingsford's Indian restaurants. Over their curry Charlie filled her in on what he'd been up to that day.
"Dalton's told you a lot."
"Dalton saying Barrett and McKay talked and argued about books makes it look to me like the list of titles is relevant; maybe even very important."
"Let's run through what you've got. First the facts: Barrett got killed; Barrett gave parties; Barrett knew a guy who was or may still be a mercenary; Barrett provided students with pot and coke at his parties; Barrett moved from his apartment to a house. Okay? Now the conjectures: Barrett was having a sexual affair with Dalton; Barrett knew McKay before Dalton met him. These conjectures don't take us very far, but the first does explain why Barrett moved and broke up with his girlfriend. Did I miss anything?"
"No, but laid out like that it's not a lot."
Charlie and Kate finished dinner and went home. On the way they talked, not about Barrett's death, but whether they might contact a realtor to see what they could get for the house. Charlie knew from the newspaper that the housing market had softened in recent months, but perhaps prices were perking up. Their town house, or what Kate insisted on more plainly calling a row house, was small, but it certainly had location going for it. If a r
ealtor thought they could get a lot for it, perhaps that would make up their minds about selling. When they got in Charlie checked his email while Kate changed. The phone rang.
"Charlie, it's me. I'm in a huge rush; I'm on my cell in the car. I'm just reminding you about my little affair tomorrow night. Come early, about seven-thirty, and you and Kate can have dessert with us before everyone comes for drinks. Okay; gotta go."
Other than his initial "hello," Charlie hadn't said a word; not unusual with phone calls from Marcela. He'd totally forgotten her invitation, having been distracted by the Barrett affair. Apparently, Barrett's death just the previous week hadn't stopped Marcela from going ahead with her plans. Of course, most of her guests would be from the medical side and wouldn't have known Barrett. She'd probably invited Theresa because she liked her, and Don Grahame would be there because Jean would be. He reminded Kate about the party and told her about going early. She said she hadn't forgotten.
After settling in with his latest mystery, Charlie's mind wandered back to Kate's summation of the little they knew and what they thought about Barrett. But none of it pointed toward a suspect. Then there was the nagging matter of that list of titles. The only connection so far was that Barrett and McKay talked about books, and the list certainly was one of discussable books. A sexual connection was a credible motive for murder, but Dalton shooting Barrett? Why was that hard to take seriously? For one thing, Charlie couldn't believe that Dalton had only pretended to be upset by Barrett's death, and he'd been so forthcoming that Dalton apparently had nothing to hide.
"You're doing some virtual sleuthing, aren't you. You're sitting there staring at your book rather than reading it. You haven't turned a page in longer that it takes to read five or six. C'mon, Charlie, give it a rest."
"I know, I know. I was actually thinking about how you summed things up. I just wish I had somewhere to go with what I know or think I know. I guess the main problem is that McKay and Dalton look like the only suspects. What about Janet Milford? Maybe she was pissed off by being dumped for a guy."
"You don't know she was dumped. Maybe she got fed up with him and initiated the breakup and that's why Barrett hit on his student. It doesn't have to be that the affair with Dalton came first, you know."
"You know, one of the reasons I'm intrigued by Barrett's murder is that I'm thinking about writing it up, as a mystery story. Remember my efforts to write a novel? I think they failed because it was all spun out of thin air. Barrett's murder offers solid material."
Kate looked at him for a long time, and where he'd expected to see irritation in her eyes he saw something else. He thought it was a combination of understanding and envy, though he was probably being fanciful. What she said next, though, told him he was more right than wrong.
"I wish I could say that. I thoroughly enjoy reading, but wouldn't it be something to write! I've never envied you your academic books because they're just out of my reach, but a mystery! That would be great."
Somehow the moment had a certain completeness, and Charlie didn't say anything. He stood, kissed Kate, and went to open a bottle of wine.
"This deserves a celebratory glass, don't you think? Maybe we could do a mystery together."
"You know, Charlie, one thing I wonder about is if Barrett did drugs himself. It's hard to imagine he just provided them along with drinks, don't you think?"
"I thought Bolster and DeVries had some evidence, and that was why they asked us about drugs, but DeVries brushed it off, saying that drugs are something they always factor in. Even if Barratt did use drugs, which I find hard to credit, what real difference would that make?"
"Charlie; think a minute. It'd have to do with how he got them. If he got more than a little for his parties, maybe he owed a bunch of money. Maybe he switched from one supplier to another and angered the first."
"Those are real possibilities, but I don't buy it that Barrett used drugs. And if he did, I find it even harder to believe that he used enough to owe a lot. I really think the drug thing is a non-issue. It was just Barrett trying to be cool."
"You're probably right; the drug thing may loom large because there's nothing else we know or can think of to explain why Barrett got himself shot. How about jealousy? What if Barrett did dump Milford for Dalton and she shot him?"
"That's a possibility, Kate, but it seems, I don't know, a little archaic; jealousy of that order. I'm not dismissing it, but it doesn't feel credible."
"Well, that's some progress."
"It is?"
"Sure, Charlie. The motive question is narrowed down in a way that makes it look like no one among the people closest to Barrett - at least that we know of - had a good enough motive to put a bullet in him. That would also explain why it happened at his office rather than at home; you know, that he was killed by someone he arranged to meet there. That also would explain why he went to the department during the break."
"It does seem unlikely that Dalton or Milford would arrange to meet Barrett in his office in order to shoot him - or McKay, for that matter. I think Barrett met someone that he didn't want to be seen with or that didn't want to be seen with him. What better and more private place than his office in an empty department?"
"You know, that feels right. I think you should go with that until something else comes up, and focus on whom Barrett met and why that person wanted him dead."
Charlie and Kate read for a while and then he decided to check his email and have a look at his favorite finance site to see what they were saying about the next day's market. He'd bought a small oil-sands company on spec and was alert to the price of crude oil and related news. However, his in-box was empty and there was nothing of note about oil. He shut down his laptop and sat staring at the wall. He felt good about his conversation with Kate, but he realized that he'd done very little of a productive nature in the past week. He was finishing the proofs, yes, but that was a backward looking task; it had to do with what he'd already written. What about this mystery idea? Should he just start in? He could write up what had happened so far, changing names, of course, and then see how things went. On the other hand, he could think seriously about another academic project. Perhaps not on Foucault; he'd done a lot of that. Maybe the place to start was to email the editor who was waiting for his proofs and ask if she had any suggestions about a new topic he might work on. Maybe he'd email her tomorrow. With that he went to brush his teeth.
Waiting for sleep Charlie tried to think some more about approaching his editor, but his mind kept slipping back to Barrett's murder. He wondered if there was any chance of meeting Chet McKay. Charlie would like to know how Barrett had met and apparently befriended someone with McKay's background. The fact that McKay had been or still was a mercenary made him an unlikely friend for Barrett. If McKay were a used-car salesman or a broker, it might still be odd, but being a mercenary wasn't just a career choice. It was first and foremost being a certain kind of person, one who would fight and kill for money. How had they first connected?
Sleep still didn't come. Charlie realized that by now it was almost certain that Bolster and DeVries had interviewed McKay; and they'd probably looked for a gun - but no doubt more carefully than they'd done when they searched Charlie's house. What did McKay, a mercenary, have to do with that stupid list of books? Dalton had mentioned rare books, but that Barrett and McKay talked about rare books didn't necessarily mean that McKay even knew about the list. Another thing was that, in a way, the list had been rather cunningly hidden in plain sight. It struck Charlie that if he'd wanted to hide a list like that he'd have done what Barrett no doubt did: put it in a folder with a spurious and uninteresting sounding label like "Philos. 110." And if Barrett had hidden the list, it was important. It could be the reason or part of the reason Barrett was killed. Why? The list obviously wasn't important just as a list. It had to be important because it was a list of particular books Barrett wanted or possibly owned. That must be it; Barrett's list was a list of rare books he actually had. As he dropp
ed off to sleep, the question in Charlie's mind was whether to tell DeVries about the list or wait a bit to see how things developed.