Twelve Angry Librarians

THIRTY-THREE

I shifted my position in the bed and squinted at the clock on the nightstand. The luminous numbers told me it was nine twenty-one.

Not too late, then, to get in touch with Kanesha.

I reached for my cell phone but drew back my hand before I touched the phone. No, what I was thinking was too wild. Kanesha would think I’d finally gone completely round the bend.

It was possible, I thought. Maybe not probable, but possible. Weirder things had happened in the annals of crime. Without thinking too hard about it, I could remember at least two crime novels that had solutions as improbable as the one I’d come up with in the present case.

I doubted, however, Kanesha would have any interest in that. She needed facts, evidence that could prove beyond a reasonable doubt the identity of the killer.

I had conjecture, mostly, no hard facts that could be considered evidence. But maybe with my theory—okay, I’ll call it that, a theory—to work with, Kanesha might find the evidence that would prove I’m right.

I considered a couple of things she told me when we talked face-to-face about the investigation. I needed to figure out how certain things fit into my wild scenario.

Maxine Muller had told Kanesha that Gavin had received anonymous death threats and was frightened.

Maxine had seen a couple of the threats. One through an anonymous e-mail account, the other through the regular mail. She wasn’t sure if Gavin had kept the envelope. She also wasn’t sure how many threats he’d received. He had told her multiple, that was all.

He had told her one other thing, however. He was pretty sure who was behind the threats, but he refused to tell her who it was. He did finally admit to her that he knew the person would be attending the SALA conference, and he planned to confront him there.

Gavin had specifically said him, Maxine recalled, so she figured a man was behind the threats. When pressed by Maxine, however, Gavin got nasty with her and wouldn’t confirm the gender of the culprit.

Kanesha couldn’t ask Gavin about any of this, of course. I wondered if she had found any evidence of these threats when she and her people searched Gavin’s room. I had asked her when we talked, but she said they hadn’t, at that point. They were still going over his suite looking for evidence. I figured he might have brought any sent through the regular mail with him to use when he confronted the person he thought was responsible. Any others he received electronically would be found in his e-mail, surely.

Why had Maxine been given a tainted water bottle? I thought I knew the answer to that, too. Maxine knew too much about Gavin’s activities, the nefarious ones, and she posed a threat to the killer. The killer wanted her completely out of the picture. Tying up the loose ends, as it were.

Maxine had told Kanesha one other thing, and it fit in with my solution. Gavin had applied for four different jobs over the past nine months, all of them at larger, better known schools than his current institution. Two of the schools appeared interested and set up phone interviews. A day or two before the scheduled phone calls, however, Gavin had received e-mails telling him that they regretted it, but he was no longer being considered for the position. From the other two schools he received fairly prompt responses to let him know they weren’t interested.

He had been livid, Maxine told Kanesha, over the rejections. Particularly the two with the canceled phone interviews. Gavin was convinced someone had blackballed him. Again, he seemed to be sure who was responsible, or so Maxine thought. But he wouldn’t say who. She figured it must be the same person who was sending the threatening letters. Gavin had started receiving them around the same time he received the rejections for his job applications.

I thought I knew who had blackballed Gavin, and I found it amusing, in a macabre sort of way. Hoist by his own petard, or the biter bit. Poetic justice, I’d call it. And more to come.

I reached for the phone again, and this time I picked it up. I thought about calling, because I doubted she was even at home, let alone in bed. No, a text would do. That way she could text me back and tell me I had lost what mind I had or she would call me to hear me out.

I tapped the keyboard slowly so I wouldn’t have to go back and correct any misspellings or stupid auto-correct changes.

Think I have figured it out. Too complicated to explain in text. When can we talk?

I hit Send and waited.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Fifteen, and I was getting drowsy. Was she ever going to respond?

I thought about sending another text, one that I knew would grab her attention. Perhaps something like the killer was the first to die. That ought to get results.

I put the phone on the nightstand. Kanesha would respond when she was ready to. In the meantime I was getting drowsier by the minute. Diesel slept soundly beside me, and soon I drifted into sleep myself.

The ringing of my cell phone woke me out of a deep sleep. I fumbled for the phone, dropped it on the floor, and had to scramble to retrieve it before it stopped ringing. I knew it had to be Kanesha.

I noticed the time as I answered her call. Six fifteen. Sunday morning, then.

“Hello, this is Charlie.” I yawned right into the phone the moment the words left my mouth. “Sorry.”

“Guess I woke you up,” Kanesha said. “I’ve been up most of the night. Could sure use some coffee.”

I was suddenly wide awake. “I’ll make the coffee. Come on by, and I’ll have it ready.”

“On the way.” She ended the call.

“Come on, Diesel, time to get up.” I glanced at the bed and realized I had been talking to the air. No Diesel on the bed. That meant Stewart must be downstairs with Dante.

Good, that meant the coffee was already made. Bless Stewart, I thought, and not for the first time, as I stumbled out of bed and into my bathroom to splash cold water on my face.

A few minutes later, after having exchanged my shorts and tee shirt for clothes suitable for talking to the law, I walked into the kitchen. Stewart sat at the table, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. Diesel and Dante wrestled on the floor near him. The wrestling didn’t amount to much, because whenever he wanted, Diesel could call a halt to the proceedings by sitting on the dog. He was at least three times the dog’s size and weight.

“Good morning, Charlie.” Stewart lowered the paper. “You’re up earlier than usual on a Sunday morning.”

“Good morning,” I said. “Not by choice. Kanesha is coming over for coffee. I think I’ve figured out the solution to the two deaths, and I suppose she’s coming to hear me out.”

“There’s plenty of coffee,” Stewart said. “I made a whole pot, and I’ve had only one cup so far. Haskell is still in bed. He didn’t get in until around one this morning.”

“He must have been totally worn-out.” I took a mug from the rack near the coffeemaker and filled my cup. I pulled out my usual chair and sat.

“Yes, he was knackered, as the Brits would say.” Stewart smiled. “He’s off duty today, so I plan to let him sleep in as long as he wants.”

“Lucky Haskell,” I muttered. I couldn’t really complain, however, because I was the one who wanted to talk to Kanesha.

“Should I make myself scarce?” Stewart asked. “Is this meeting with Kanesha confidential, or can anyone sit in?”

“Probably confidential,” I said. “Considering that the investigation isn’t closed yet.”

“No problem.” Stewart rose from the table and went over to the coffeemaker. “I’ll take my refill and the newspaper up to our sitting room. You’re not going to be reading the paper anytime soon, right?”

“Right, you’re welcome to it,” I said.

“Okay, toodles, then,” Stewart said. “Come on, Dante, let’s go upstairs.” He headed out of the kitchen. Diesel got up off the dog, and Dante scooted after his master.

I grinned at my cat. “You love having that dog to torment, don’t you?”

Diesel gave me one of those feline-trademarked supercilious looks and started cleaning his right front paw. The doorbell rang moments later, though, and he abandoned his pose of indifference to follow me to the front door.

Kanesha looked as if she hadn’t slept in two days, but her manner was as brusque as ever.

“Come on in, coffee’s ready,” I said.

“Thanks, I could use a gallon or two right about now.” She headed past me to the kitchen, Diesel ambling alongside her, meowing the whole time.

While Kanesha chose a seat at the table, I poured coffee and gave it to her. She gave Diesel a couple of absentminded pats before downing about half her coffee at one go.

“Oh dear Lord, that is good,” she said. “Stewart must have made it. He’s the only one I know can make coffee as good as my mama.”

“Yes, he did. Let me know when you want a refill.”

In response she drained her mug and held it out to me. “Thanks, Charlie, I appreciate it.”

I returned the mug full, and she took a couple of sips. She looked better now for having caffeine coursing through her system. I waited, though, for her to initiate our conversation about the case.

I didn’t have to wait all that long. A few more sips of coffee, and she appeared to be ready to talk. “You think you’ve got it all figured out. Go ahead and tell me your solution.”

“I will, but first I have at least one question,” I said. She nodded, and I continued. “Did you find any evidence of the threats Gavin alleged to have received?”

“We did,” Kanesha replied. “Several in his e-mail inbox, and he had a folder with seven printed ones in his laptop case. And, before you ask, the printed ones weren’t copies of the e-mail messages. They were different.”

“I’m willing to bet you’ll find that Gavin wrote them himself,” I said. “I don’t suppose you’ve been able to trace any of them yet.”

“Not yet,” Kanesha said. “I’ve turned them over to the MBI. They have people who can do the necessary electronic forensics on the e-mails. They’re also looking at the printed ones.”

“There were no envelopes with the printed ones, were there?” I asked.

Kanesha shook her head. “If he kept them, he didn’t bring them with him.”

“I assume the police in Alabama, or their bureau of investigation, will be searching his house for evidence.”

“Naturally. Already done,” Kanesha said. “After you’ve told me your solution, I’ll tell you what they found. We’ll see if it corroborates what you’re going to tell me.”

“Okay, fair enough.” I paused for a sip of coffee and a deep breath or two. I was preparing myself for being laughed at.

Kanesha sipped her coffee and regarded me with that laser stare of hers. I hesitated, because all of a sudden I was certain I’d gotten it all wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made a fool of yourself. I told my inner voice to shut up. Not aloud, of course.

“Well, go on,” Kanesha said. “I’m listening.”

“Here goes,” I replied. “Gavin was the poisoner. He killed himself accidentally, but Maxine Muller deliberately.”