‘Professor Langston?’ the voice said.
She had just stepped into the circle of light under one of the lampposts. Peering into the darkness beyond, she asked, ‘Who is it?’
‘Me,’ he said. ‘Chuck.’
And shot her twice in the face.
5.
MORTIMER SHEA WAS wearing a bulky cardigan sweater with a shawl collar. He was smoking a pipe. He was bald except for a halo of hair above and around his ears and the back of his head. A manuscript sat on the desk before him in his corner office at Armitage Books. The place seemed Dickensian to Kling and Brown, but they’d never been inside a publishing house before. Shea’s title here was Publisher.
There were also two framed photographs on his desk. One showed a rather horse-faced young woman, the other showed a similarly horse-faced older woman. It took the detectives a moment to realize they were not mother and daughter, but instead the same unattractive woman at different stages of her life.
‘Christine,’ Shea informed them. ‘The one on the left was taken while she was still in college. The other only last summer. But there’s the same vibrant love of life in each photo.’
‘Got any idea who might’ve wished her harm?’ Brown asked. Standing there big and black and scowling, he sounded and looked as if he might be accusing Shea of the crime; actually, he simply wanted to know if Christine Langston had any enemies that Shea knew of.
‘At any university, there are interdepartmental jealousies, rivalries. But I sincerely doubt any of Christine’s colleagues could have done something like this.’
How about you? Kling wondered.
Shea was a man in his early seventies, still robust, clear-eyed. The super of his building had told them the lady - meaning Christine - had moved in with him around Christmas time. The super said they seemed like a nice couple.
‘How long did you know her?’ Kling asked.
‘I met her four years ago. We published a book of hers. I edited it.’
‘What sort of book?’
‘An appreciation of Byron.’ Shea paused. “Do you know who I mean?’
‘Yes,’ Kling said.
‘You’d be surprised how many people don’t know who Byron was. Or Shakespeare, for that matter. In one of her classes last week, Christine asked her students if they were familiar with the words “To be or not to be.” Christine asked them to identify the source, and extend the quotation if they could. Eight students in the class. What would you guess their answers were?’
The detectives waited.
‘Four of the eight couldn’t identify the source at all. Three of them said the source was Hamlet. The eighth said Romeo and Juliet. Six people couldn’t extend the quotation at all. Two people could add only, “That is the question.” One student told her after class that it would have been a lot easier if Christine had given them a quote from a movie. “To be or not to be,” can you imagine? Only the greatest soliloquy ever written for the English-speaking stage!’ Shea shook his head in despair. ‘Sometimes, she would come home weeping.’
‘When did you start living together?’ Kling asked.
‘Well, almost immediately. That is to say, we kept our own apartments, but de facto we were living together. She didn’t give up her place and move in with me until last Christmas.’
‘When’s the last time you saw her alive, Mr. Shea?’ Brown asked.
‘Yesterday morning. When she left for work. We had breakfast together and then… she was gone.’
‘What were you doing last night around eight o’clock?’ Kling asked.
Shea said nothing for a moment. Then he said, ‘Is this the scene where I ask if I’m a suspect?’
‘This isn’t a scene, sir,’ Kling said.
‘I was here in the office. Working on this very manuscript,’ Shea said, and lightly tapped the pages on his desk. ‘Dreadful, I might add.’
‘Anyone here with you?’
‘Any number of people. We work late in publishing.’
‘What my partner means…”
‘Did anyone see me here? I believe Freddie Anders stopped in at one point. You might ask him to corroborate. His office is just down the hall.’
‘What time was that? When he stopped in?’
‘I believe it was around six thirty, seven.’
‘Anyone see you here at eight, Mr. Shea?’
‘Oh dear. Now we have the scene where I ask if I need a lawyer, isn’t that right?’
‘You don’t need any lawyer,’ Brown said. ‘We have to ask these questions.’
‘I’m sure,’ Shea said. ‘But to set the record straight, I didn’t leave here until ten last night. When I got to the apartment, the police were already there, informing me that Christine had been shot and killed. For your information, I loved her enormously. In fact, we planned to be married in the fall. I had no reason to kill her, and I did not kill her. And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to leave.’
‘Thanks for your time,’ Kling said.
Shea turned back to the manuscript on his desk.
* * * *
‘Everybody’s always innocent,’ Brown said. ‘Nobody ever did anything. Catch ‘em with the bloody hatchet in their hands, they say, “This ain’t my hatchet, this is my uncle’s hatchet.” Wonder anybody’s in jail at all, so many innocent people around.’
‘You think he was lying?’ Kling asked.
‘Actually, I think he was telling the truth. But he had no reason to get all huffy that way. We do have to ask the goddamn questions.’
The car’s air conditioner wasn’t working, and the windows, front and back, were wide open. The noonday traffic sounds were deafening, discouraging conversation. They rode in silence, in stifling heat.
‘Artie,’ Kling said at last, ‘I got a problem.’
Brown turned from the wheel to look at him. Kling kept staring straight ahead through the windshield.
‘I think Sharyn and I may be breaking up,’ he said.
His last words were almost lost in the baffle of city traffic. Brown always looked as if he were scowling, but this time he really was. He turned to Kling again, briefly, scowling in reprimand, or disbelief, or merely because he wasn’t sure he had heard him correctly.
‘I thought she was cheating on me,’ Kling said. ‘I followed her.’
‘She’d never cheat on you in a million years, man.’
‘I know that.’
‘So what the hell’s wrong with you? You go tailin the woman you love?’
‘I know.’
‘Playin cops and robbers, the woman you love.’
‘I know.’
‘Where’s this at now? Where’d you leave it?’
‘She doesn’t want to talk yet. She says I hurt her too much.’
‘Yeah, well, you did! I ever go followin Caroline, she’d put me in the hospital.’
‘I know.’
Brown was shaking his head now. ‘Big detective, what’s wrong with you, man?’
‘She thinks… Artie, can I say this?’
‘How do I know what you’re gonna say before you say it?’
He sounded suddenly angry. As if, by betraying Sharyn’s trust, Kling had somehow betrayed his trust as well. Something was sounding a warning note. Kling almost backed off. He took a deep breath.
‘She thinks I didn’t trust her because…”
Brown turned from the wheel.
‘Because she’s black,’ Kling said.
‘Well?’ Brown said. ‘Is that the reason?’
‘I don’t think so.’