Murder at the Opera

TWENTY-EIGHT

Despite Sylvia Johnson’s mild protest, Willie Portelain insisted upon stopping for a slice on their way to Georgetown University. She’d decided that her nagging about his eating habits only put her in the position of sounding like a wife, a role she wasn’t anxious to play. Besides, it didn’t seem to do any good. Maybe not mentioning it would be more effective. Her not wanting to stop this time had more to do with schedule than concern over Willie’s health. She had a date that night with a handsome young lawyer from the Department of Homeland Security and wanted time to get ready before he picked her up.

She stayed in the car while Willie gobbled his slice of pizza and washed it down with a Mug root beer. She checked her watch every few minutes. He was back in the car in seven minutes. Not bad.

“Good?” she asked as she backed out of the parking space and headed for 37th and O Street, the main entrance to the university.

“I’ve had better. Not enough cheese. Should have asked them to put on some extra.”

“How have you been feeling?” she asked.

“Good. Real good.”

“Taking your medication?”

“When I remember. Maybe I ought to buy one of those little pill boxes-you know, with the days on it. That’d help me.”

She made a mental note to buy him one. He wouldn’t.

Sylvia wasn’t Catholic, but she had a special fondness for the Jesuit university, founded in 1789, making it the oldest Catholic university in the country, although approximately half of its student population was not of the Catholic faith. The first black person to earn a doctorate in the United States, Reverend Patrick Healy, had once been its president, making him the first black president of a predominantly white university in America. Sylvia took pride in the accomplishments of African Americans and had read a number of books about those who’d left their mark on American society. She’d spent an occasional Saturday or Sunday strolling Georgetown University’s shady cobblestone streets, stopping now and then to rest on a bench and read whatever book she was into at the moment, soaking in not only the sun and fresh air, but the aura of the place, as though absorbing an education through her pores.

They bypassed the Visitor Information Center and went directly to the building in which Edward Grimes’ office was located. The young woman who’d been at the receptionist desk when they’d taken Grimes away looked positively panic-stricken when they walked through the door.

“Hello again,” Willie said, flashing a broad smile.

“Hello,” she said in a shaky voice. “How is-how is Professor Grimes?”

“He’s just fine,” Willie said. He pointed to a series of doors. “We thought we’d have a chat with some of the professors who work with him.”

“Is he-?”

“He’s just fine,” Willie repeated. “Not to worry. We’re just asking some questions, that’s all.” He pointed to doors along a corridor. “This where some of his colleagues work?”

“Yes, but-”

“Who is his superior?” Sylvia asked.

“The dean.”

“Could we speak with him, please?”

“Just a minute.”

She placed a call. A few minutes later, a tall, patrician man wearing a maroon cardigan sweater over an open collar, blue, button-down shirt appeared in the hallway. He introduced himself as Warren Eder. “Can I help you?” he asked.

Johnson and Portelain explained their presence, and asked if they could speak with him privately. “Of course,” he replied, and led them into his office, a large space with windows overlooking the campus. They took chairs across the desk from him. “I have to admit I was shaken when Professor Grimes was arrested earlier today. Is he being charged with Dr. Musinski’s murder?”

“He’s being questioned about it,” Sylvia said.

“I thought that was all resolved six years ago,” said Eder. “We were all so relieved when Professor Grimes was cleared.”

“Still an open case,” Willie said. “Tell us about Professor Grimes.”

“We understand he’s not a full professor,” Sylvia said.

“That’s right. He’s up for appointment next year.”

“He worked with Musinski, right?” Willie said.

“Dr. Musinski had a number of people involved with his research, including Ed Grimes. Dr. Musinski had a unique situation here at Georgetown. We’re not known as a liberal arts school, although that department has developed significantly over the years.”

And I bet you think it’s thanks to you, the cynical Willie thought.

“We’ve always been known for our schools of diplomacy, government, medicine, and law. I believe our law school receives more applications than any other law school in the country.”

“What was Professor Grimes’ relationship with Dr. Musinski like?” Sylvia asked.

“It was…” Dean Eder laughed. “Dr. Musinski was a remarkable character, not an easy man to understand, much less get along with. As I said, his situation here at the university was unique. It would have been more logical for him to have established himself and his research at another university, one more immersed in the arts, particularly music. But his Catholic background caused him to come here, and we were privileged to have a man of his stature on our faculty.”

“About Professor Grimes,” Sylvia said, having stolen a peek at her watch.

“He and Dr. Musinski got along as well as anyone. What I mean is, working closely with Aaron could be frustrating, at best. He wasn’t a tolerant man. He tended to berate his staff on occasion for what he felt was a lack of academic commitment. Finding those lost Mozart-Haydn musical manuscripts represented another feather in his cap. How tragic that not only did he lose his life in such a brutal way, but the thing he’d pursued for years was gone with him.” He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Has new evidence surfaced implicating Ed Grimes again?”

“We’re not at liberty to say,” said Sylvia. “Let me ask you this question, Dean Eder. In the months and years following Dr. Musinski’s murder, did Professor Grimes show any difference in his lifestyle?”

“In what way?”

“Did he seem to live a little more lavishly than before?”

“Ed? Gracious, no. He’s a very modest man. Have you met his family?”

“We intend to.”

“A nice family. I just pray he wasn’t involved in the murder. It would be devastating to his wife and children, and to the university.”

“You said he and Musinski got it on sometimes,” Willie said.

“Got it on? Oh, you mean had their differences. As I said, Dr. Musinski could be difficult to get along with. I do remember one time when Musinski berated Grimes something fierce. I was appalled at the vehemence of his attack and spoke to Aaron about it. He was aware of his volatility and tried to curb it. I admired him for that.”

“When was that?” Sylvia asked.

“I can’t recall specifically. Maybe six years ago.”

“Around the time of the murder,” Willie said.

“I suppose,” Eder said.

“Let me ask you another question,” Willie said.

“Yes?”

“If Musinski was so tough to get along with, how come you kept him around?”

“As I said, Detective, any college or university prides itself on the professional credentials of its faculty. Musinski was a giant in his field. His computer program, through which the compositional techniques of the masters from generations ago could be compared to newly discovered works, was groundbreaking. And it should go without saying that men of his stature invite considerable donations to an institution of higher learning.”

“Yeah, I imagine,” Willie said.

“We’d like to see Professor Grimes’ office,” Sylvia said. “Has anyone been in there since he left with us?”

“I don’t believe so.”

She said to Willie, “Let’s get some help over here and clean out his office.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Willie said.

A call to MPD resulted in two uniformed cops and an evidence tech arriving in a panel truck and removing files, papers, and Grimes’ computer. Sylvia and Willie helped, but another look at her watch told Sylvia she was running late.

“I have to go,” she whispered to Willie. “I’ll drop off the car. You can get a ride with them. Will you stay here until they’re done?”

“Where you going?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I have a date.”

“Oh, ho,” he said. “Cheatin’ on Willie, huh?”

She looked at the officers unloading things from the office to see whether they’d overheard the exchange. “See you in the morning,” she said.

“You have trouble with this dude, you call me,” Willie yelled after her, to her chagrin.