“I can see why,” Lydia commented. The look of the thing was terrifying enough, but worse was the rest. This was the same sort of instrument that had been used on Sladder.
Fredrick puffed smoke. “May I ask the nature of your inquiry?”
“Sure,” Lydia said. “The weapon that made these strike-marks murdered a man.”
“Oh, dear,” Fredrick said.
“But knowing what it is isn’t good enough, not with something this old. I need to know where a person could get one.”
“Well, I’ve told you, there aren’t any museums in the vicinity. Exham is a remote town; who needs museums here?”
No museums, Lydia thought. No beam hewers.
“Except, of course,” Fredrick continued, “the artifacts owned by the college.”
Lydia stared. “You mean there’s a museum here? On campus?”
“No, but there are exhibits. The archaeology department sponsors several digs per year. Several battles of the Revolution were fought nearby, and early colony settlements were scattered all over Exham. We’ve got more musket barrels, bent bayonets, and crushed powder horns than you can shake a stick at.”
“Fine,” Lydia said. “But do you have any beam hewers?”
“Why, of course,” Fredrick answered.
Lydia wanted to shout the next question into his face, but she managed to calm herself. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“You specifically asked me about independent museums, not college archaeological properties.”
Lydia’s heart quickened. “Professor Fredrick, are you telling me that there are beam hewers on this campus right now?”
“Yes,” he said. “Several, as a matter of fact.”
“Where?”
“The main administration lobby. My department maintains a fine display of local artifacts there. It’s an impressive exhibit; I’m sure you’ve seen it. There are three or four hewers on display.”
Lydia’s scalp seemed to be tingling. Tensely she stood up and said, “Professor Fredrick, thank you very, very much.”
««—»»
Wade scrubbed toilets and mopped floors, oblivious. He smiled, whistling, and thought of his night with Lydia Prentiss.
It had been wonderful, which sounded corny, but it was true. He’d driven her home at 7 A.M. He could tell by the way she kissed him that this was more than a one night stand. The look in her eyes had finished him. This girl loves me, he thought in a crash of incredulity. She hadn’t said it, of course. But Wade knew, and that shock of knowledge was all it took to show him how significantly his life had changed literally overnight. His past’s romantic demons had fled like blown leaves; Lydia had exorcized them. No more macho rich kid in a Corvette. No more beaver patrol. No more reducing the society of women to physical tidbits for his indulgence. The burden of his sins was gone. Wade the Conqueror had been conquered. By Lydia.
I’m in love, he thought giddily. How do you like that?
What a stark, blazing realization. He felt glittering in the rush of love. Nothing could spoil the moment of this beautiful truth.
Or at least almost nothing—
Plunk.
He looked down and saw that he’d stepped in the mop bucket. It tipped over when he lifted his foot out. Then he slipped.
Splap!
Now he lay belly down in the puddle. His temper struggled. When he tried to rise, he slipped again and fell on his back. He got up, swore, and kicked the bucket. The bucket bounced off the wall, hit him in the head, and knocked him in the water again.
Splat!
Laughter cracked down the hall. Wade, wet and red faced, looked up. Chief White was standing in the doorway.
“I seen a lotta dumb ass hobnobbin’ in my day, but I ain’t never seen a grown man get his ass whupped by a bucket.”
“What do you want!” Wade yelled.
“Get in the car, St. John. We’se goin’ for a ride.”
««—»»
Wade sat in back, behind the screen, as White drove his souped Buick cruiser. Am I in trouble? he wondered. The mop water stank in his clothes. But the situation stank worse.
White had developed a nervous tic. He chewed a cigar butt and steered wringing his hands. Earlier, Lydia had made Wade and Jervis promise not to speak of the business at the Erblings’ dorm. She wanted to follow up on it herself, assemble more pieces before informing White. She’d implied that White had been covering things up lately, before Lydia could investigate them properly. Wade knew White was a crank, but maybe it was something more than that.
White spat out the chewed butt and parked at the campus substation. He shuffled Wade in and slammed him down in a chair.
“Why the Gestapo treatment, Chief? Is kicking a campus owned mop bucket a felony? What am I looking at, five to ten?”
White sat at his desk. “You’re a two bit pain in my ass, St. John. You know that?”
Two bit? What an insult. “What’s this all about, Chief?”
“It’s about your pal Tom McGuire, that’s what!”
Wade tried to show no reaction. Had Lydia changed her mind about informing White of the break in at the Erblings’?
“The goddamn punk robbed the Town Pump last night,” White spat. “The owner made his vehicle and got his plates, then picked his face out of random student photos. Positive ID.”
“Tom’s got plenty of money,” Wade said. “He doesn’t rob liquor stores. That’s ridiculous.”
Or was it? Jervis claimed he saw Tom breaking into the Erblings’, which was ridiculous too. Then there was always the Spaten cap Wade had found at the campus clinic.
“He beat up on the owner and stole two cases of beer.”
“Oh, yeah?” Wade challenged. “What type of beer.”
White grimaced at the police report. “Spaten Oktoberfest.”
Not good, Wade thought. “All right, even if he did rob the Pump, which he didn’t, why drag me down here?”
“’Cos you and him are buddies. You must know somethin’ about it.”
“Look, Chief,” Wade lied, “I haven’t seen him for days.”
“Bullshit! You were at the inn with him two nights ago!”
“That was the last time I saw him,” Wade lied. “I haven’t seen him since then. I haven’t even seen his car in the lot.”
White grimaced further. “Well, he ain’t gonna be hard to find, not in that mint white Camaro of his, and vanity plates. Got an APB out on him now. He tries to cross the line in that car, the state boys’ll be on him like bugs on flypaper. And what about this other motorhead friend of yours? Jervis Phillips.”
“Jervis isn’t a motorhead, Chief. He drives a Dodge Colt. And what about him?”
“He’s friends with McGuire too. Might know somethin’. But we can’t find him either. You know where he is?”
“Sorry, Chief,” Wade lied again. “Haven’t seen him.”
“Right, and if I was the devil I could stir my coffee with my dick. Holdin’ back knowledge of a crime, or harborin’ a criminal, can make you an accessory. Keep that in mind.” White pointed the cigar like a gun. “And another thing, boy, and I ain’t foolin’ around. I hear you been datin’ one of my officers.”
Wade looked ashamed. “It’s true, Chief. Porker and I have been seeing each other for months now. The wedding’s in September.”
“Don’t get funny with me. You stay away from Prentiss, or else next time I’ll be the one moppin’ the floor—with you.”
“I’ll never speak to her again,” Wade lied. God, it’s fun lying to police! “I won’t even look at her.”