“Gotta go,” Missy said, and walked away.
“The other cop just came and talked to the class after Dr. Prince was killed,” Bev said. “He didn’t tell us anything.”
“We read about it in the papers,” Sandy said. “It’s very awful.”
“Yep,” I said. “If we could talk, maybe you could help.”
“Help?” Bev said.
“More I know,” I said, “more chance there is I’ll catch the bastards.”
“We were going down to the pub,” Sandy said. “You wanna come along?”
“Okay with you, Bev?” I said.
“Sure,” she said. “Actually, you’re kind of cute.”
“Everybody tells me that,” I said.
18
The pub was in the student union, off the student cafeteria. A sign at the door said Proper ID Required for Service. It was neat and clean, with a lot of glass and stainless steel. It didn’t look like a pub. It looked like the cocktail lounge at an airport. There was music I didn’t like that was playing in the room. But it was discreet enough so we could talk. Things were slow still, and the room was two-thirds empty.
Bev and I had a beer. Sandy had a glass of chardonnay.
“Thank God it’s evening,” Bev said.
We drank. They drank faster. They were nearly through the first drink by the time I got to my interrogation.
“Did you like Dr. Prince?” I said.
“Well, sure,” Sandy said. “I mean, the poor man.”
“You don’t need to like him because he was killed,” I said. “Did you like him when he was alive?”
They looked at each other. It was apparently a harder question than I had expected. While they looked, I got the waitress and ordered another round.
“I always had the feeling,” Sandy said after the drinks came, “that he was, like, looking through my clothes.”
Sandy was slight, with brown hair and glasses and nice eyes.
“Face it,” Bev said. “He was a cockhound.”
Bev was dark-haired and somewhat zaftig, with a slight almond shape to her eyes.
“He ever make an attempt on your virtue?” I said.
“He made an attempt on everyone’s virtue,” Sandy said.
“He succeed much?” I said.
“Not with me,” Sandy said firmly.
I looked at Bev. She grinned at me. Both girls had emptied their glasses again. We got another round. Sometimes it went easier with booze.
After the waitress left, I said, “How about you, Bev?”
She nodded slowly.
“We had a night,” she said. “He seemed like he was in a hurry.”
“How so?” I said.
“It was like . . . you know, not a lot of foreplay.”
“Slam, bam, thank you, ma’am,” I said.
Bev laughed.
“Exactly,” she said. “It was like once he got me into bed, he wanted to get it over with and move on somewhere.”
“Probably the next girl,” Sandy said.
Bev smiled again.
“Like I said, he’s a cockhound . . . was.”
“He, ah, friendly,” I said, “with others in the class?”
“Others?” Sandy said. “The only other girl in class is Missy. He wasn’t interested in the boys.”
“Was he friendly with Missy?” I said.
“Sure,” Sandy said.
I could hear the wine in her voice.
“How friendly?”
“She liked him,” Bev said.
“She was sort of his girlfriend, I think,” Sandy said.
“Doesn’t seem the girlfriend type,” I said.
Sandy shrugged.
“She never said much,” Sandy said. “But I know she was with him a lot.”
“You didn’t like him,” I said to Sandy.
“I thought he was a creepy old guy. I didn’t want to see him with his clothes off. . . .” She made a face.
“But you liked him,” I said to Bev.
I had no idea where I was going. I just wanted to keep them talking and see if anything popped out.
“Not really,” Bev said. “But I kinda liked the idea of bop-ping a professor, you know? Only once, though.”
“Ever meet his wife?” I said.
They both shook their heads.
“I didn’t know he had one,” Bev said.
“I guess neither did he,” Sandy said.
“Would it have mattered?” I said to Bev.
“Hell, no,” Bev said. “That’s between him and her. Not up to me to, you know, keep him faithful to his wife.”
“True,” I said.
We lasted another hour. I didn’t learn anything else. But they had gotten drunk enough so I wouldn’t have had much faith in anything they told me, anyway. I stood.
“Good night, ladies,” I said.
“How ’bout you,” Bev said. “You married?”
“Kind of,” I said.
“You cheat?” Bev said.
“No,” I said.
“Really?” Bev said.
“Really,” I said. “But thanks for asking.”
19
I got Missy Minor’s campus address from Crosby, and in the mid-morning I fell into step with her when she came out.
“You’re that detective,” she said.
“Spenser’s the name,” I said. “Law and order’s the game.”
“I told you yesterday that I don’t know anything about Dr. Prince, except that he was an okay teacher and an easy grader.”
“I heard you were his girlfriend,” I said.
She was silent for a beat.
Then she said, “That’s crazy. Where’d you hear that.”
“I’m a detective, “I said. “I have my sources.”
“Speaking of which,” she said, “let me see your badge.”
I took a business card from my pocket and handed it to her.
“Private,” I said. “Working with the police.”
“ ‘Private’?” she said, looking at my card. “A private detective? I don’t have to talk with you.”
“But why wouldn’t you?” I said. “I’m a lot of fun.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I can see that.”
“Plus,” I said, “we have a connection.”
“What?” she said.
“I know your mother,” I said.
Again, a short silence.
Then she said, “You know Winifred?”
“I do,” I said.
“You been talking to her about me and Dr. Prince?”
“No,” I said. “If I did, what would I say?”
“My mother’s a worrier,” Missy said. “She heard any of your bullshit theory about me being his girlfriend, she’d go crazy.”
“Even though there’s no truth to it.”
“She’s a worrier,” Missy said.
“How about your father?” I said.
“Don’t have one,” Missy said.
“Ever?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t want to discuss it,” she said.
“Did you have any sort of relationship with Ashton Prince?” I said.
She shook her head again.
“Why do you suppose people had the idea that you did?” I said.
“You’re the detective,” she said. “You figure it out.”
“He hit on you?”
“He was my professor,” she said. “That’s all. I don’t see why you’re harassing me like this. It’s not my fault I was in his class, and it’s not my fault somebody blew him up with his damn painting.”
The other girls hadn’t mentioned the painting. It wasn’t secret. But you needed to be interested to remember that the infernal device had been the painting, or something everyone thought was the painting.
“I’m going to be late,” Missy said. “I wish you wouldn’t bother me about this anymore.”
“I’m sure I won’t need to,” I said.
She scooted off into the science building. I watched her go. Liar, liar, pants on fire.
20
I took Winifred Minor to lunch at Grill 23, which was handily equidistant between her office and mine. We sat at the bar. It was kind of early in the day for the warming pleasures of alcohol, so I ordered iced tea. She ordered a glass of chardonnay. “So,” I said, and raised my glass of tea. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”