“There was a photo on his desk,” I said. “Signed by you, with lots of love?”
The professor giggled, a high-pitched sound that startled the mice in the rear of the lab, which began squeaking. “A brief flirtation at the beach last summer. A few weeks in the sun. Surely not a reason for foul play. Carl and I were still fond of each other. Sometimes we even talked about going on another trip, but it never amounted to much. That’s because neither of us was willing to abandon our first love.”
“First love?” I asked.
“Our work, of course.”
“Right,” I replied. “Anyone you suspect other than terrorists or PETA activists who would have wanted to harm Dr Schneider? Angry relatives, old girlfriends?”
“No-o-o,” said Winfree, drawing the word out the length of a sentence. “Carl didn’t associate with people outside of the complex. None of us do. We’re devoted to our work. It’s our life.”
I nodded. Obsessed. Great for the country, bad for a murder investigation.
“I wasn’t even here the other night,” continued Winfree. “I was giving a lecture at the university. You should ask Otto if anything strange happened. He’s always around.”
We left Professor Winfree after a few more questions. If she was guilty of murdering Schneider, then I was a monkey’s uncle. Though, I’ve been wrong before. Plenty of times.
“Who’s Otto?” I asked.
“First floor,” said Rackham. “Otto Klax, Professor of Neurobiology, the man in charge of our MEMS program.” Rackham sighed. “Another genius with underdeveloped social skills. At least he doesn’t work with lab animals. Not enough room in his lab for anything other than him and his ego.”
MEMS referred to mechanical components on the micrometer size and included 3D lithographic features of various geometries. They were made using planar processing similar to semiconductor processes such as surface micromachining. Devices using them ranged in size from a millionth of a meter to a thousandth of a meter. Too small to even imagine, yet they were the hottest item in military circles. I noted that both Schneider and Klax were neurobiologists, yet while Schneider concentrated on the brain, Klax’s focus was on MEMS. “Why would a neurobiologist be working with MEMS?” I asked Rackham.
He shrugged. “More sadistic torture of innocent animals, I suppose. They build tiny electrical and mechanical devices that they implant into animal brains. Klax builds the devices, Schneider uses them. Klax does a lot of the hard work, Schneider gets the glory. Not that I’d call an award for torturing animals to their deaths, glory.”
I had to agree with Rackham. Even the salary of a Klax or Schneider was nothing more than blood money.
If Otto Klax had even the slightest trace of personality, he could have played a mad scientist in a horror movie. He definitely looked the part, standing six foot six and weighing no more than a hundred and fifty pounds. Thin enough that if he turned sideways he didn’t leave a shadow. Jet black hair, a thin moustache, and tiny black eyes that darted around the room, never making direct contact with anyone. He spoke softly and in a rush, making his speech almost incomprehensible.
“What do you want with me?” he asked, seconds after we introduced ourselves. “I’m much too busy for anything you want to talk about anyway. Much, much too busy for idle chit-chat. Not enough time in the day as it is. What do you want, why are you bothering me?”
“Dr Schneider died in his lab the night before last,” said Rackham. “Professor Winfree suggested we ask you if anything strange happened in the complex that evening.”
“Mary said that?” said Klax. “I don’t know why she would think so. I was in my office working, as usual. All night, every night. Locked in here like a rat in a trap, no way out, nothing to do but wait till morning. If anything weird took place, I wouldn’t know. Not me, locked behind these concrete slabs.
“Besides,” continued Klax, “Schneider worked with monkeys and I hate monkeys. Dirty rotten little beasts. There’s nothing for me to gain from Schneider’s death. Only one who benefits is Arronds, his assistant. Talk to him, he’s the one with a motive. Now, get out. I have machines to build, reports to write. Get out, get out. Stop wasting my time.”
Marvin Arronds had waved good night to Schneider when the slabs closed and locked, and had found the professor’s body in the center of the lab the next morning. According to the few locked-room mystery stories I’ve read, that made him the most likely candidate for murdering his boss. Unfortunately, none of those stories offered any explanation about how Arronds could have managed the task with no one the wiser. Nor did they explain the two Marine guards who had also seen Schneider alive when the slabs had locked shut.
“Me? Kill the professor?” said Arronds, a short, rotund man, with a shaved head and a voice that boomed like a megaphone. Necessary to be heard over the monkeys, I guessed. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Sure, I worked in the laboratory, but Dr Schneider was the genius. Besides, the professor was my friend. Sure, he was a nerd, but that was okay. Everybody liked him.”
“Dr Klax suggested that-” I began.
“Dr Klax is nuts,” said Arronds, sounding furious. He pointed a finger the size of a sausage at my face. “Guy’s a paranoid fruitcake. Thinks everyone is out to steal his ideas.”
Five minutes of questioning Arronds further convinced me that, if he had invented a unique method of murder, it was the first thing he’d ever discovered in his life. He was strictly a bottle washer with a degree in biology. More to the point, he genuinely seemed to have liked Schneider. I mentally crossed him off my list of suspects, which left me zero for three.
“You want to interview the professors in the east wing next?” asked Rackham when I was finished with Arronds.
“Sure, why not,” I replied. I had a feeling this was going to be a long day – a very long day.
5
I arrived home around nine that night. Penelope was sitting in the TV room, watching a rerun of Law and Order. She took one look at the sour expression on my face and ordered me to the kitchen. “Julian made shrimp for dinner. There should be some leftovers in the refrigerator. Eat and drink, then report.”
It took me nearly two hours to describe my day. During the entire recital, Penelope only interrupted once. “Bats? Did you actually see bats?”
“Flying over the rooftop when I left,” I assured her. “Little ones, but definitely not birds. Bats.”
Penelope nodded then settled back and let me drone away. I did my usual fine job of imitating a video recorder, describing in great detail everything I had seen, heard, and smelled the entire time I had been away. By the time I finished, she was having difficulty covering her yawns.
“I know, it’s not very exciting stuff,” I said, “but if anyone committed a crime in that place, I’ve no idea how.”
“That’s because you’ve forgotten your Sherlock Holmes,” said Penelope, rising from behind the desk. “I’m going to bed. I suggest you do the same. Tomorrow, we’ll need to be at our best for the seance.”
“Seance? We’re having a seance?”
“Of course,” said Penelope. “What better way to identify a murderer?”
What Penelope Peters wants, Penelope Peters gets. Especially when she’s working for the government and they’re anxious for results. Wearing a black tuxedo and feeling pretty much the idiot, I answered the doorbell the next evening at 8 p.m. Standing on the steps were Captain Rackham, Mary Winfree, Otto Klax, and Marvin Arronds. Backing them up were two Marines. Our guests had arrived.
As instructed, I ushered them into the parlor, which Julian and I had earlier arranged per the boss’s instructions. A small round table sat in the middle of the room covered by a black cloth. In the center of the table was a crystal ball I had rented earlier in the day from a Manhattan theater props store. Six wood chairs circled the table. I arranged everyone exactly as Penelope wished. First came Mary Winfree, then Rackham, then Otto Klax, then me, then Marvin Arronds. The blank chair was for my boss.