Voice Mail Murder Part 14

"It was for the coach," offered Pamela, walking with Laura further into the office, then thinking better, added, "I really shouldn't have said that."

"Pamela, it's all right," said Laura, reaching into the faculty mailboxes for her mail, "everyone is aghast about the Coach. Who would do such a thing?"

"I don't know yet," Pamela replied, grabbing a pile of envelopes and flyers from her own cubby hole.

"Yet?" cried the young professor. "Pamela, are you involved in this murder case too?"

"What?" a voice chimed in behind them. The two women turned and noticed Jane Marie Mira neatly ensconced behind her computer in her alcove, a coffee cup at her lips. "What's this about the murder case, Dr. Barnes? Are you involved in this one too? I didn't know they had a recording of Coach Croft's murder?"

"They don't," said Pamela, standing in front of the secretary's desk. Laura moved inside the smaller office and the three women bent their heads together over Jane Marie's desk. "Please, don't discuss this, you two. I'm not supposed to be talking about it. I shouldn't have mentioned anything, really." She put a finger to her lips in cla.s.sic "shhh" mode.

"I promise I'll never say anything to anyone," said Laura, quickly, giving the "cross your heart" gesture in an enthusiastic child-like fas.h.i.+on.

"Dr. Barnes," added Jane Marie, "you know you can count on me for discretion. After all, didn't I know all about . . . . Well, you can count on me to keep my mouth shut." She produced the age-old key-turning in front of the mouth routine.

"We're a bunch of mimes!" declared Pamela looking from one woman to another and the three of them broke out laughing. "Truly, there's not much to tell."

"So, tell it," demanded Jane Marie, with a sweet smile.

"The police requested my a.s.sistance," she began, with a bit of a flounce to her sweater and a toss of her hair. "It seems that," she said and bent closer to the two women, forcing them to come closer to hear, "it seems that Coach Croft kept his old voice mail messages on his cell phone."

"And?" asked Laura.

"And," filled in Jane Marie quickly, "these messages were not from his wife."

"His invalid wife," added Laura.

"Correct," said Pamela, pointing her finger at each woman as they scored points.

"Wait a minute," said Jane Marie, pus.h.i.+ng away from her desk and standing up. "You said *messages' not *message.' Does that mean that he received several messages from one mistress or that-oh, my G.o.d-don't tell me-there was more than just one mistress?"

"That's what the newspapers are hinting," said Laura to Jane Marie.

"What are they saying?" asked Pamela.

"They're saying, or rather suggesting that Coach Croft had a mistress. Some people think the mistress stabbed him," contributed Laura, nodding furiously.

"I haven't really been following what the press is speculating," said Pamela, "but I know for a fact that there are three different women who left a total of seven different messages on the Coach's cell phone. I know because I listened to all of these messages and determined the number of speakers myself." The two women gasped.

"Well, with a little help from Willard Swinton," she added.

"Dr. Swinton is helping with the investigation too?" asked Laura.

"We both are," said Pamela, "but please, don't mention this. I shouldn't have said anything to anyone. I'm sorry now I even brought it up." And she was sorry. There was no reason for her to tell Jane Marie or Laura the specifics about the murder other than to look important. It was one thing to tell Willard Swinton because he was able to help her evaluate the voice mail voices-but now she was regretting saying anything to these female colleagues. If she was going to tell anyone, she should have at least told her best friends Joan and Arliss. On the other hand, it would only be a matter of hours before the local media became aware of the new homicide of Skye Davis and its possible relations.h.i.+p to the Croft murder. They would quickly put two and two together-mother of football team member killed shortly after coach is killed in sleazy motel. Hmm. Is there a connection?

"Dr. Barnes, are you saying that these three women on the Coach's voice mail are the main suspects in his murder?" asked Jane Marie, sitting back down at her desk and resuming sipping her coffee.

"I would have said so," explained Pamela to the two women, "but this morning Detective Shoop-he's the investigating officer on this case, just as he was on Charlotte's case, if you remember-well, anyway-this morning he called me at the crack of dawn. We'd been working on trying to identify the three women. We had figured out two of them-based on their accents-and other things..." She didn't indicate that it was one woman's son hearing his mother's voice that provided the original clue. "...but we were able to identify two of the women and both admitted-or seemed to admit-to affairs with Croft. We were unable to identify the third mistress, but we had it narrowed down to a short list based on certain characteristics..." She didn't mention that the main characteristic was race for the third woman. "...when one of the women on this list was found murdered this morning."

Both women gasped again.

"Yes," said Pamela. "That was my reaction. There's no guarantee that this recent murder is connected to the Coach's murder, but I'm betting it is!"

At that, the connecting door to Mitch.e.l.l Marks' office opened and the Department Head stuck his face out.

"What are you women babbling about? It's not even nine yet," he growled. The man's head of thick blond hair was thoroughly mussed and his eyes looked swollen.

"Dr. Marks!" exclaimed Jane Marie, "I didn't know you were here! You never get in this . . . . Uh, you didn't sleep in your office all night, did you?"

"Jane Marie," snapped Marks, "get me some coffee." He slammed the door, leaving the startled women staring at each other in dismay.

"He never asks me to make him coffee," whispered the secretary. "This is way too early for him to be here. I didn't even know he was in there!"

"You don't think he actually slept in his office all night, do you?" questioned Laura.

"I don't know," said Jane Marie. "But look at him! He looks awful!"

Pamela personally didn't think that her boss looked any worse than he normally did, but she did believe that he seemed more than unusually gruff. He was typically of a fairly moderate disposition.

"He seems upset," she offered. "Is he? I mean, is he getting along with Velma? I saw them at the football game-remember? They seemed okay to me."

"To me too," agreed Jane Marie.

"I'd better get going before I get in trouble," said Laura in a quiet voice. She gave a gentle wave to the two women and tip-toed carefully out of the office.

"I'd probably better follow her lead," said Pamela to Jane Marie.

"Just a minute," said the secretary, grabbing Pamela's jacket sleeve. "You're embroiled in this murder investigation and you didn't tell me about it . . ."

"Jane Marie," said Pamela, "there's nothing to tell, really. Besides, Shoop ordered me to keep quiet about my involvement. It's police business."

"That didn't stop you with Charlotte's murder, Dr. Barnes," noted Jane Marie.

"I know," agreed Pamela. It was true. Jane Marie had been an amazing accomplice in her first investigation, aiding and abetting her in tracking down Charlotte's killer and a variety of additional departmental mysteries along the way. Jane Marie had campus sources and techniques for gathering information that were unknown in police circles, she was sure. "All right, Jane Marie. You're in. I'm sorry I kept you out of the loop, but you have to promise . . ."

"I already did all that, Dr. Barnes," said Jane Marie, motioning away Pamela's worries with her gesture. "You can trust me-just like you did before. I can help you solve this."

"You think we can solve it? Truly?" asked Pamela, marveling at the possibility that she and Jane Marie, pooling their skills, might be able to identify the Coach's killer-and now possibly the killer of one of his mistresses.

"How hard can it be?" asked Jane Marie. "You say there were three women who left voice mail messages-three women who must have been his mistresses. One of them is now dead. Don't you think that she was probably killed by one of the other two? You know. A jealous rage sort of thing?"

"I don't know, Jane Marie," said Pamela, thinking. "I heard the other two women and they didn't sound like they even knew that any other mistresses existed."

"They're not going to let on to you what they knew. Maybe they suspected!" cried Jane Marie.

"I guess if they could kill the coach, they could kill one of his mistresses. My G.o.d! It could be!" Pamela shouted.

The inner door popped out and Mitch.e.l.l Marks was again highlighted in the entrance, hanging against the door frame as if he might collapse on the floor.

"What?" he whined. "What's all the ruckus about? Tell me now, and it better be good or I'll see to it that you both regret it when I write your yearly performance evaluations. And where is that coffee?"

Chapter Twenty-Four.

She had taught her one cla.s.s for the day and had spent a pleasant hour with her graduate a.s.sistant, Claire, going over the young student's data from her thesis research project. She typically did a lot of hand-holding-in the figurative sense-with her graduate students who generally struggled with the data a.n.a.lysis portion of their thesis research. Why wouldn't they? She remembered her own doctoral program and the mountains of computer printouts she'd had to wade through for her own studies. It was so much easier today with online statistical a.n.a.lysis programs. Graduate students could run their t-tests and multivariate a.n.a.lyses right on their own laptops in their own dingy apartments. They didn't have to take up residence in some central computer lab as she'd had to do many years ago when she was running data. Claire was a conscientious young woman and diligent, but not nearly as enthusiastic about research in general as her former a.s.sistant, Kent Drummond, had been. Yes, the same Kent Drummond who now vied for-and apparently appeared to be winning-the race for top man in her daughter Angela's heart. Strange, she thought, how lives are interwoven.

"Dr. Barnes," said Claire, seated beside Pamela on her couch, "did you say that I should rerun the data for both Hypothesis Two and Three or just Two?"

"What?" responded Pamela. Their laps were filled with reams of statistical print-outs. A typed rough draft of the student's thesis lay to Pamela's right side. "Sorry, Claire, I must have drifted."

"It's okay, Dr. Barnes," said the thin girl, long brown hair draped over her face, "I do that too after staring at rows and rows of numbers for hours on end." She gave a weak laugh. Pamela placed a hand on Claire's shoulder.

"Maybe it's time we wrapped up for the day," she suggested. "Let's take a look at your data tomorrow, with a fresh eye. I'll be thinking about what to do about your two hypotheses. Maybe we could combine them."

"That would be great!" replied the student and noticeably sparkling.

"Good," said Pamela, gathering the papers, standing, and stretching. My goodness, I have been seated hunched over that project for far too long. Claire grabbed her backpack from the floor and shoved the pile of print-outs inside. Quickly zipping up the bag, she stood and headed for the door.

"Oh, and, Claire," said Pamela, retreating to her desk, "don't forget about our subjects for the deceptive vocal cues study."

"Uh, tomorrow," mumbled the girl, "I think we've got a few people coming in. I'll check the sign-up sheet in the lab and e-mail you. Okay?"

"Sure," said Pamela, and the girl was gone. Yes, Kent was definitely a more worthy a.s.sistant. Still, Claire had always come through for her and had completed all the tasks that she'd given her. Claire just didn't seem to have much interest in research and certainly little joy-in much of anything.

At her desk, she poured herself a fresh cup of blackberry tea from her thermos that Rocky had packed for her and glanced out her window on the lovely fall day below. Joan and Willard were in cla.s.s, she knew and she reveled in this moment of privacy before plunging back to work. The ringing telephone drew her back to reality.

"Dr. Barnes." It was Jane Marie. She hadn't spoken to her since the excitement this morning and she was curious to find out if Jane Marie had discovered what was up with their ill.u.s.trious leader. Why was he so grouchy this morning? And why was he even in the building so early? He'd looked like he'd been on an all-nighter as her students would say.

"Jane Marie, whatever is going on with Dr. Marks?"

"I've been investigating, Dr. Barnes," replied the secretary. "Just like you. You'll be surprised all that I've found out. Are you out of cla.s.s?"

"Yes," said Pamela, intrigued.

"It appears he and Velma had a huge fight."

"But we saw them at the football game," argued Pamela. "They seemed fine. Although Velma is always very quiet. I'm never really sure about her."

"I know," agreed Jane Marie, "a strange bird, that one, if you ask me. But anyway, Dr. Marks wouldn't say directly, but, you know me, I can usually finagle any tidbit of information I need-or want-from him. I know how to get him to-well, I know how to manipulate him . . ."

"I'm sure you do . . ."

"What were they fighting about?"

"The Coach!"

"The Coach? Why?"

"Now, this is where this becomes an a.s.sumption on my part, but I was sort of tiptoeing around after you left. I got him his coffee like he asked-which I never do, you know. Dr. Marks is always so women's lib, even though I would never mind making him a cup of coffee. For heaven's sake, I make a pot for myself every morning and bringing him a cup is no great imposition! Anyway, after I brought him his coffee, I was in his office, just standing there at his desk. He was sitting there, drinking it, rubbing his hands through his hair like he was lost. And, Dr. Barnes, I could smell him. He had not showered. You saw him! He was a mess! I know he's wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday! It's horrible! And he has a five o'clock shadow! I mean, what if he has a meeting with Dean?"

"Did you say any of this to him?" asked Pamela through the receiver, now becoming totally immersed in the woman's story.

"Of course not!" replied Jane Marie, aghast. "That's not how I do things. I . . . I handle Dr. Marks in a more. . . subtle way. . ."

"I'm sure you do," said Pamela, chuckling to herself.

"All of a sudden," said Jane Marie, "he started on this tirade about women. Mind you, I'm standing right there. He's never done that before."

"You mean, spoken disparagingly about women?" asked Pamela.

"No!" she countered, "opened up to me at all! He was furious. I don't think he even knew-or cared-that he was speaking to a woman. He was mad at women-or I dare say-a woman. And who would that woman probably be?"

"Velma," supplied Pamela, perfectly.

"Yes," agreed Jane Marie, "then in the midst of this huge speech about the horribleness of womankind, he says it's all the Coach's fault!"

"How could it be the Coach's fault?" queried Pamela. "I'd think it would be the other way around. I mean, he's the one cheating on his wife with three-possibly more-women."

"Evidently," said Jane Marie, pointedly, "Mrs. Marks-Velma-sees this whole episode with the Coach and his mistresses, particularly because of his invalid wife-as an indictment of all men! The Coach, according to Velma, is just the poster boy for what's wrong with the men of the world!"

"Oh-oh," said Pamela, "it sounds as if Velma was already chomping at the bit and that the Coach's murder-and his escapades-were just the catalyst to set her off. Maybe Dr. Marks is up to his old tricks again. . . ."

"You mean another affair?" asked Jane Marie, and then quickly answered her own question. "No, I don't think so. He really learned his lesson the last time. That episode with Evelyn Carrier about did him in. It almost ended their marriage too. He's worked so hard to make it up to her."

"Maybe not hard enough," suggested Pamela.

"I see it from his point of view, I guess," said Jane Marie, "I don't know what Mrs. Marks goes through. I do know he spends a lot of time on campus."

"Even more last night," responded Pamela, and the two women giggled together with apparent relish. "So, what did he do? Did he go home to clean up? Or what?"

"No, he stayed," said Jane Marie. "He evidently had a razor in his desk and tried to shave and wash up in the first floor men's rest room."

"That must have been amusing," remarked Pamela.

"Definitely," agreed the secretary, "unfortunately, he still smells, but I won't tell him. He went to Admin for a meeting. That's why I'm calling now."

"Not with the Dean?"

"Lord, I hope not!" said Jane Marie. "Anyway, he never really told me that he spent the night in his office, but I obviously figured it out and he didn't say anything to try to dissuade me. I just tried to be sympathetic and helpful-you know, like I always am-and I figured eventually I'd find out what happened."

"You are a super sleuth," said Pamela.