Death in the Library
(inspired by a real sign, in a real library, in a real school)
(inspired by a real sign, in a real library, in a real school)
It was about 8:30 one Friday evening in November. Doctor Thomas Alethia, Assistant Professor of Philosophy at Collins University, was in the Philosophy section of Geiger Library, trying to find some "light" bedtime reading.
Suddenly, around the corner came Doctor Rosalita Edwardson, assistant professor of English.
"Oh, hello, Dr. Alethia," she said. "How nice to see you at work, ha, ha! I'm just getting a couple of books to read over the weekend."
Dr. Alethia looked at the stack of books she was carrying. "Planning a short bibliography?" It would have just three names: Doyle, Gardner, Verne.
"Oh, I'm not working. These cold nights, when Jack's out of town, I just love to read by the fire. It's such a relief from grading freshman essays. You should try it!"
"I do. In fact, I'll forgo this ontology tome in favor of one of Verne's travelogues."
Talking quietly of Verne's work, the two professors returned to the Fiction section, and after Dr. Alethia had made his selection, they proceeded to the checkout desk. She put her pile of books down, and the student worker glared at her.
"What's wrong? Too many books?" Dr. Edwardson smiled.
The sullen youth replied, "Didn't you see the sign?"
In bold capitals it stated:
"No!" Dr. Edwardson shrilled. Her eyes flashed, revealing her Castilian ancestry. "I'm a professor here, and I want to take these books out tonight! Tomorrow will not do."
CHECKOUT DESK CLOSES
15 MINUTES BEFORE CLOSING.
F. R. Hallen, Head Librarian
"Sorry, Professor," the checker mumbled. "It's Mr. Hallen's rule. But he's not here tonight. You'll have to talk to him about it on Monday. He gave me strict orders; I can't make an exception, even for staff." He did not look too upset; clearly he wanted to be finished working and enjoy his weekend.
"I certainly will talk to Mr. Hallen! I never heard of such a thing. 'We close before we close.' Not only redundant, but stupid, in an academic institution of the 21st century! Well, we might as well go," she finished, turning to he colleague with her eyes full of fire. Dr. Alethia put his books down on the desk and the two left.
The two professors walked towards the parking lot, "I can't believe them," fumed Dr. Edwardson. "That lazy Hallen. This library is terrible. Hallen doesn't care about the students or the staff. He's begging for retaliation. They think they have a lot of security, but there's something which can be taken from them without going through the door with it. That Hallen had better get organized, or he'll find out what it is!" Eyes still ablaze, she walked to her car and drove away. Dr. Alethia walked to his own car, wondering what she meant by her parting remarks.
* * *
It was the following April. Dr. Alethia was at home, reading the campus paper. The headline proclaimed: "Students cheer Dean Czerny's 25th." It was the story of the 25th anniversary dinner for Dean of Students Mikhail Czerny. It had been organized by the students, paid for by the students, and managed by the students. Not only was the man a great worker and truly devoted to the students, but they loved him and were devoted to him as well. Even the faculty were not immune to his powers of persuasion. Last year he had directed the students in organizing a fund drive to help St. Stephen's Hospital build a new surgical wing. Somehow he convinced the faculty to put on a talent show which was open to the public - and it was tremendous! Dr. Alethia gave a dramatic reading, and Dr. Edwardson, granddaughter of a great flamenco dancer, showed her abilities were not limited to the classroom. The amount raised was significant, and one of the operating rooms was named the "Collins Suite" though most students tried to get it named the "Czerny Suite" instead. He was a real campus legend, loved by the students, faculty and administration.
Dr. Alethia finished reading the menu and had just gotten to the list of speakers when the telephone rang. "This is Dr. Alethia."
"Oh, Dr. Alethia! He's dead! What'll we do?"
He recognized the voice immediately - it was Audrey Rollins, one of his sophomore students. "Calm down, Miss Rollins, and tell me who is dead. Remember to be accurate, even when you are emotional." He was gentle, but firm, having learned that was the best manner when dealing with emotional issues in class.
"It was Dean Czerny! He was killed. It happened just a short while ago, over in the library." She sounded as if she were about to begin sobbing.
"Well put. Succinct. Now, where are you calling from?"
"I'm at the campus phone just outside. I was about to go in to study, but there were a lot of cops at the main entrance, and they weren't allowing anyone to go in. I saw one of my friends there, and she told me that Dean Czerny had died."
"Very clearly put. Stay there, and I will come right over."
Dr. Alethia finished reading the menu and had just gotten to the list of speakers when the telephone rang. "This is Dr. Alethia."
"Oh, Dr. Alethia! He's dead! What'll we do?"
He recognized the voice immediately - it was Audrey Rollins, one of his sophomore students. "Calm down, Miss Rollins, and tell me who is dead. Remember to be accurate, even when you are emotional." He was gentle, but firm, having learned that was the best manner when dealing with emotional issues in class.
"It was Dean Czerny! He was killed. It happened just a short while ago, over in the library." She sounded as if she were about to begin sobbing.
"Well put. Succinct. Now, where are you calling from?"
"I'm at the campus phone just outside. I was about to go in to study, but there were a lot of cops at the main entrance, and they weren't allowing anyone to go in. I saw one of my friends there, and she told me that Dean Czerny had died."
"Very clearly put. Stay there, and I will come right over."
* * *
Dr. Alethia lived just a few blocks off campus, and it was relatively mild that night. As he strolled over, he prayed silently for the deceased; Dean Czerny had been a great influence for good on campus, and would be impossible to replace. Miss Rollins was not to be found. There was a large number of students gathered in front of Geiger Library. Someone had gone to a local grocery store, and purchased a quantity of candles, and the students were holding a vigil. Stan Kirkpatrick, the Student President, was addressing the assembly. "Our vigil will continue until the one responsible for this crime is brought to justice!" Kirkpatrick finished his speech, then spotting Dr. Alethia beneath a street light, the student leader came over to the professor and told him what was known. It appeared that the Dean had just entered the library when the fire alarm sounded. The fire engines came quickly, and when they searched the building, they found a body, but no fire. The building had been emptied of occupants, so it was too late to seek witnesses. Nevertheless, the firemen had forbidden entry until the police arrived. Since the deceased was identified by a student volunteer firefighter, the word leaked out, and students gathered quickly, hoping to find out more. Those who had left when the fire alarm rang had remained in the vicinity, and joined the others.
Dr. Alethia was a little surprised that there were no faculty in the gathering, and asked Kirkpatrick if he had seen any.
"Yes, I saw Dr. Edwardson, but she left rather hurriedly. The head of Chemistry, ah, is it Dr. Yong? was checking some books out, and he ran like a cheetah when the bell went off. Dr Toby, I believe is still inside, and so is Mr. Hallen, of course. And I think old Mrs. King is around somewhere. But she won't be any help. I don't even think she knew the bell went off. But that's all I saw. Oh, Dr. Alethia, won't you please try to find out what happened?"
Dr. Alethia assured him that he would attempt to do so, then went up to the door of the library.
The professor recognized the officer at the door, who told him, "The Lieutenant was expecting you; he's up on the third floor." Alethia and Carlson had attended elementary school together, and had remained good friends since. They saw each other frequently, on or off campus - sometimes professionally.
The professor found Michael Carlson directing the efforts of several other officers. The body lay half in and half out of one of the aisles of books. A pile of maybe a dozen books were on the floor in the main aisle. The photographers had finished, and the scattered books were being examined for fingerprints.
"Tom!" Lieutenant Carlson spotted the professor. "C'mon over and take a look. It's a real puzzle, just what you like. He's been strangled, it appears."
"Now, Mike, I told you!" the medical examiner complained. "There's something disturbing about this. Thumbprints, yes. Hyoid broken, yes. But there's something not quite right. We'll have to explore..."
"Oh, all right. It might have been a strangling. Now tell me, Tom, who hated this guy? I read the campus paper, and I thought he was the campus Santa Claus. But why are all these books all over the place?"
The cameraman said, "Oh, surely he knocked them down as fell."
The officer working on the fingerprints looked up and shook her head. "Surely not. There are no books missing on these shelves. In fact, they are not from anywhere near this section of the library. I've spent enough time with both the Dewey and the Library of Congress systems to know that."
"Officer Ruther is right," Lieutenant Carlson stated. "Oh, Sandra, meet an old friend of mine, Thomas Alethia. He's a professor here. Tom, this is Sandra Ruther." The two nodded, and Ruther returned to her work.
The Lieutenant gestured to the books. "And that is what makes the puzzle, Tom. Just take a look at these titles." Carlson stooped down and read some of the titles:
"But was he holding them, or was someone else?" queried Officer Ruther. "I'll know when I check these prints."
"Ah," said the professor, leaning over to look at the pile of books on the floor. He straightened up and smirked. "The common theme of these titles? Offhand, I can think of none."
"A lot of help you are," smiled Carlson. "Give a guy a Ph.D. and he thinks he can solve any problem."
"No, only the unimportant ones," Alethia replied. "The real ones can only be lived through, not worked out using a calculator, or a thesaurus. But Mike, make me a list of those books, just for fun."
Officer Ruther continued to collect prints from the scattered books, glancing up as if seeking permission. Carlson nodded.
Doctor Alethia bent down to look at the dean's face. It was not pleasant, but he had to see it. Even in death it had some strange humor about it, as if there was one final joke he wanted to tell. The professor could not guess what it might be.
"Mike," the professor said, shaking his head. "He wasn't a research dean. He was the dean of students. He would not have been collecting books for a journal article. In fact, I'm not sure I can think of a reason why he was here."
"Maybe he just wanted to read a book," Ruther said.
The investigation proceeded in silence. Carlson paced back and forth, making notes. Dr. Alethia pondered the books and the body, trying to collect his thoughts.
"What's this?" Carlson had walked down the hall a few paces, seeking a different vantage point. He was staring at the fire alarm box on the wall. It had been the one which had signaled the alarm earlier. He beckoned to Ruther, who pulled out a large magnifying glass, and using tweezers, she pulled out a thin strip of paper from behind the alarm box.
"It's probably too small for prints. But I'll check it anyway, at the lab." She put it into an envelope, and marked it.
Mike Carlson looked thoughtful. "Check this alarm box, too. But I'll bet there are no prints. You had better check this whole area as well. I'm going to go see what the librarian has to say. Are you coming, Tom?"
The professor accompanied him down to the main floor. Dr. Toby, the chairman of the philosophy department, was just coming out of a study room with another officer, who addressed the his superior: "Lieutenant, we have his statement. Do we need anything more from him?"
"Not just now. You'll be available if we need you, Dr. Toby?"
"Certainly; where would I go? I have classes," he replied in a haughty tone. "My office hours are posted on my door." He was stuffy as always - to students, faculty, or anyone. Dr. Alethia wondered whether his chairman would concede the existence of the world beyond the Collins campus.
"Very well, you may go," Mike Carlson ordered. "And now for Hallen." Dr. Alethia followed him down the hall to the office of the librarian.
"It's terrible, terrible!" mourned Frederick Hallen, the librarian. "I really can tell you nothing more. I was here when the alarm went off, and then I heard of the horrible discovery of Dean Czerny. Even now I can hardly think of it." And he shook with emotion.
"We have a complete statement," reported the interviewing officer as he stood to salute his superior.
"You can go, providing you remain in the locality," stated Carlson. "Your fingerprints are on record, are they not?"
"Yes, of course." Hallen was still shaking. "The military, you know. Dean Czerny did so much good for the school, the students. He always had their welfare in mind. Ah, it's a loss."
"You suspect him?" Dr. Alethia asked Carlson after Hallen had gone.
"We suspect everyone - even you!" the Lieutenant chuckled. "But," he added, shaking his head, "it's wide open. There was every opportunity to leave the scene, once that alarm went off. We've only begun. There's no inkling of a motive - not with him loved by everyone. We had a problem dealing with Mrs. King - she only hears what she wants to hear, I guess. She's American, but her accent sounds Eastern European. I think we'll have to look into Czerny's private life. It's been a few decades since there had been difficulties over in the Eastern European countries, but sometimes there are old hatreds, old fears. We'll find out." But Tom did not look very convinced. "It's going to be a real tricky one."
Dr. Alethia was a little surprised that there were no faculty in the gathering, and asked Kirkpatrick if he had seen any.
"Yes, I saw Dr. Edwardson, but she left rather hurriedly. The head of Chemistry, ah, is it Dr. Yong? was checking some books out, and he ran like a cheetah when the bell went off. Dr Toby, I believe is still inside, and so is Mr. Hallen, of course. And I think old Mrs. King is around somewhere. But she won't be any help. I don't even think she knew the bell went off. But that's all I saw. Oh, Dr. Alethia, won't you please try to find out what happened?"
Dr. Alethia assured him that he would attempt to do so, then went up to the door of the library.
The professor recognized the officer at the door, who told him, "The Lieutenant was expecting you; he's up on the third floor." Alethia and Carlson had attended elementary school together, and had remained good friends since. They saw each other frequently, on or off campus - sometimes professionally.
The professor found Michael Carlson directing the efforts of several other officers. The body lay half in and half out of one of the aisles of books. A pile of maybe a dozen books were on the floor in the main aisle. The photographers had finished, and the scattered books were being examined for fingerprints.
"Tom!" Lieutenant Carlson spotted the professor. "C'mon over and take a look. It's a real puzzle, just what you like. He's been strangled, it appears."
"Now, Mike, I told you!" the medical examiner complained. "There's something disturbing about this. Thumbprints, yes. Hyoid broken, yes. But there's something not quite right. We'll have to explore..."
"Oh, all right. It might have been a strangling. Now tell me, Tom, who hated this guy? I read the campus paper, and I thought he was the campus Santa Claus. But why are all these books all over the place?"
The cameraman said, "Oh, surely he knocked them down as fell."
The officer working on the fingerprints looked up and shook her head. "Surely not. There are no books missing on these shelves. In fact, they are not from anywhere near this section of the library. I've spent enough time with both the Dewey and the Library of Congress systems to know that."
"Officer Ruther is right," Lieutenant Carlson stated. "Oh, Sandra, meet an old friend of mine, Thomas Alethia. He's a professor here. Tom, this is Sandra Ruther." The two nodded, and Ruther returned to her work.
The Lieutenant gestured to the books. "And that is what makes the puzzle, Tom. Just take a look at these titles." Carlson stooped down and read some of the titles:
Guide for the Military Officer.He straighened up and stared at the professor. "What's change ringing, anyway? A lot of random nonsense, it sounds like, to me."
Non-Professional Hospital Careers.
My Life as a Priest.
Advanced Group Theory.
Yachting.
The History of Fast-Food Corporations in America.
Change-Ringing in England and America.
Inventory Management for Small Businesses.
Sorting Algorithms.
"But was he holding them, or was someone else?" queried Officer Ruther. "I'll know when I check these prints."
"Ah," said the professor, leaning over to look at the pile of books on the floor. He straightened up and smirked. "The common theme of these titles? Offhand, I can think of none."
"A lot of help you are," smiled Carlson. "Give a guy a Ph.D. and he thinks he can solve any problem."
"No, only the unimportant ones," Alethia replied. "The real ones can only be lived through, not worked out using a calculator, or a thesaurus. But Mike, make me a list of those books, just for fun."
Officer Ruther continued to collect prints from the scattered books, glancing up as if seeking permission. Carlson nodded.
Doctor Alethia bent down to look at the dean's face. It was not pleasant, but he had to see it. Even in death it had some strange humor about it, as if there was one final joke he wanted to tell. The professor could not guess what it might be.
"Mike," the professor said, shaking his head. "He wasn't a research dean. He was the dean of students. He would not have been collecting books for a journal article. In fact, I'm not sure I can think of a reason why he was here."
"Maybe he just wanted to read a book," Ruther said.
The investigation proceeded in silence. Carlson paced back and forth, making notes. Dr. Alethia pondered the books and the body, trying to collect his thoughts.
"What's this?" Carlson had walked down the hall a few paces, seeking a different vantage point. He was staring at the fire alarm box on the wall. It had been the one which had signaled the alarm earlier. He beckoned to Ruther, who pulled out a large magnifying glass, and using tweezers, she pulled out a thin strip of paper from behind the alarm box.
"It's probably too small for prints. But I'll check it anyway, at the lab." She put it into an envelope, and marked it.
Mike Carlson looked thoughtful. "Check this alarm box, too. But I'll bet there are no prints. You had better check this whole area as well. I'm going to go see what the librarian has to say. Are you coming, Tom?"
The professor accompanied him down to the main floor. Dr. Toby, the chairman of the philosophy department, was just coming out of a study room with another officer, who addressed the his superior: "Lieutenant, we have his statement. Do we need anything more from him?"
"Not just now. You'll be available if we need you, Dr. Toby?"
"Certainly; where would I go? I have classes," he replied in a haughty tone. "My office hours are posted on my door." He was stuffy as always - to students, faculty, or anyone. Dr. Alethia wondered whether his chairman would concede the existence of the world beyond the Collins campus.
"Very well, you may go," Mike Carlson ordered. "And now for Hallen." Dr. Alethia followed him down the hall to the office of the librarian.
"It's terrible, terrible!" mourned Frederick Hallen, the librarian. "I really can tell you nothing more. I was here when the alarm went off, and then I heard of the horrible discovery of Dean Czerny. Even now I can hardly think of it." And he shook with emotion.
"We have a complete statement," reported the interviewing officer as he stood to salute his superior.
"You can go, providing you remain in the locality," stated Carlson. "Your fingerprints are on record, are they not?"
"Yes, of course." Hallen was still shaking. "The military, you know. Dean Czerny did so much good for the school, the students. He always had their welfare in mind. Ah, it's a loss."
"You suspect him?" Dr. Alethia asked Carlson after Hallen had gone.
"We suspect everyone - even you!" the Lieutenant chuckled. "But," he added, shaking his head, "it's wide open. There was every opportunity to leave the scene, once that alarm went off. We've only begun. There's no inkling of a motive - not with him loved by everyone. We had a problem dealing with Mrs. King - she only hears what she wants to hear, I guess. She's American, but her accent sounds Eastern European. I think we'll have to look into Czerny's private life. It's been a few decades since there had been difficulties over in the Eastern European countries, but sometimes there are old hatreds, old fears. We'll find out." But Tom did not look very convinced. "It's going to be a real tricky one."
* * *
The next day, Dr. Alethia was on his way to class when he saw a group of students outside the library, still holding candles.
There was a message in his department mailbox to call Mike Carlson. After class the professor called his friend, and learned that the only fingerprints on the scattered books had been Dean Czerny's. The strip of paper had not been found to match any of those books, nor had its origin been determined. "I'll stop by campus and leave the list of books for you. We took them all over to the lab, but we'll be bringing them back tomorrow, so you can check them yourself, if you like."
"I'm only interested in their titles and authors, Mike. Did the coroner learn anything about the cause of death?"
"I'm still waiting for a call. The time they take! I'll call you after I hear from them."
Dr. Alethia decided to eat in the faculty dining room, in order to see how the news had touched his co-workers. The atmosphere there was subdued. After he got his tray, he saw Dr. Yong and some others about to sit down, so he went over to join them.
"Dr. Yong, I believe? I am Thomas Alethia, of Philosophy."
"Ah, Dr. Alethia." He rose, and bowed slightly. "I am happy to meet you, alas, on a sad day for our school." He introduced the others at the table, all of the chemistry department.
"Yes, I was there last night, before I found out what had happened. I was looking up the distinguishing chemistry of the Lanthanides when I heard that bell." He was suddenly pale, and his voice got higher. "It was just the same bell! The same as on the day of the explosion, when Li Phan died! Ah!" I saw a tear begin to run down his face, then he wiped it away. "Excuse me, please. My fiancee died in a terrible explosion in the lab where I was doing my graduate work. I heard that same bell again last night, and I was terrified. Please excuse me. I shall return to my office now, I am no longer hungry." He rose and bowed, and left, no longer restrain his tears - of loss, and of embarrassment at his own fear of last night.
"To be so moved at death?" asked one of the younger chemists, blandly shaking his head. "Is not the body just a few kilograms of salts, and not exotic ones at that?"
"Your asking that question would tend to answer it in the negative," Dr. Alethia stated, suddenly no longer hungry. "Please excuse me, I have some business to attend to." He left the table, rather perturbed at the sloppy thinking of Dr. Yong's colleague.
There was a message in his department mailbox to call Mike Carlson. After class the professor called his friend, and learned that the only fingerprints on the scattered books had been Dean Czerny's. The strip of paper had not been found to match any of those books, nor had its origin been determined. "I'll stop by campus and leave the list of books for you. We took them all over to the lab, but we'll be bringing them back tomorrow, so you can check them yourself, if you like."
"I'm only interested in their titles and authors, Mike. Did the coroner learn anything about the cause of death?"
"I'm still waiting for a call. The time they take! I'll call you after I hear from them."
Dr. Alethia decided to eat in the faculty dining room, in order to see how the news had touched his co-workers. The atmosphere there was subdued. After he got his tray, he saw Dr. Yong and some others about to sit down, so he went over to join them.
"Dr. Yong, I believe? I am Thomas Alethia, of Philosophy."
"Ah, Dr. Alethia." He rose, and bowed slightly. "I am happy to meet you, alas, on a sad day for our school." He introduced the others at the table, all of the chemistry department.
"Yes, I was there last night, before I found out what had happened. I was looking up the distinguishing chemistry of the Lanthanides when I heard that bell." He was suddenly pale, and his voice got higher. "It was just the same bell! The same as on the day of the explosion, when Li Phan died! Ah!" I saw a tear begin to run down his face, then he wiped it away. "Excuse me, please. My fiancee died in a terrible explosion in the lab where I was doing my graduate work. I heard that same bell again last night, and I was terrified. Please excuse me. I shall return to my office now, I am no longer hungry." He rose and bowed, and left, no longer restrain his tears - of loss, and of embarrassment at his own fear of last night.
"To be so moved at death?" asked one of the younger chemists, blandly shaking his head. "Is not the body just a few kilograms of salts, and not exotic ones at that?"
"Your asking that question would tend to answer it in the negative," Dr. Alethia stated, suddenly no longer hungry. "Please excuse me, I have some business to attend to." He left the table, rather perturbed at the sloppy thinking of Dr. Yong's colleague.
* * *
Dr. Alethia had invited Lieutenant Carlson and his wife to his apartment for a barbecue that evening, but yesterday's warmth was a misleading harbinger of spring. Alethia was frying hamburgers at the stove. Mike and his wife Mildred were seated in the small living room, supplied with frosty mugs of beer. The kitchen/dining area and living room were divided only by a counter, and they were able to converse easily while the professor cooked.
"It's gotten more confusing, rather than less." Mike stated. "The autopsy showed that Czerny died of heart failure, which definitely preceded the strangulation."
"Oh, really?" Alethia asked him. "Is this certain?"
"Yes. I guess it was his color which was so unsettling to our medical examiner - not quite the bluish cast seen in the typical strangulation. And keep this to yourself. We still have to find out what really happened."
The burgers were finished, and the salad was already on the table. Dr. Alethia grabbed three more beers from the refrigerator, mixed the dressing, and they began to eat. He told them of his day on campus, how the vigil was still proceeding, and the strange history of Dr. Yong. Mike talked about other parts of the investigation, none of which had resulted in any progress.
After dinner, the three returned to the living room, and had coffee.
"Mike, give him the list you promised him," scolded Mildred.
"Here it is." He handed it to the professor, who started to look it over.
Mike sat down again and sipped some coffee. "I couldn't get over to campus as I promised. Ruther typed it up, and made an extra copy for you. She even put it into alphabetical order."
Dr. Alethia was reading the list, and not really attentive to his remarks. It was a habit he had tried to break himself of - always tuning out the world while he read. He only heard the last few words he said, and jerked to a mental halt. "What did you just say?"
"Officer Ruther put the books into alphabetical order. She thought it would be neater that way, though she has a diagram we made from one of the cameraman's shots which shows where each book was located. Do you want that?"
"No. I want... No, I'm not sure. Wait a bit."
The room was silent. "You didn't find out where that strip of paper in the fire alarm came from, did you?"
"No. But not from any of those books. It was a piece of thin cardboard, actually. More like the cover of a paperback - but every one of those books near Czerny were hardcover. The lab is trying to determine the dye - that may tell us the publishing company."
"What I would like to determine is what someone can take from a library without going through the door with it. And you've just told me what it is. It's the common concept among all these books - or at least among those I recognize. Let me make a call."
"There's a common thread among these titles? You've got to be joking." Mike smiled, and Mildred smirked her agreement.
Dr. Alethia merely proceeded to dial. "Hello, Dr. Edwardson? Yes, are you busy? Could you come over to my home? It won't take long. I want to ask your opinion about the format of a paper I'm writing. No, it's too intricate to explain over the phone. I've got a new recording of some medieval Spanish organ music, also. No, it's Soler. It's very good. Come over! You will? Good. See you." He hung up. "She's coming. But you are going to have to disappear. Let's see. I'll just open the cellar door, and you can wait down there. She'll tell me more if she doesn't know you are here."
"You don't think she is involved?"
"I don't know, but I've got an idea which will clear up some of the confusion about this case."
"It's gotten more confusing, rather than less." Mike stated. "The autopsy showed that Czerny died of heart failure, which definitely preceded the strangulation."
"Oh, really?" Alethia asked him. "Is this certain?"
"Yes. I guess it was his color which was so unsettling to our medical examiner - not quite the bluish cast seen in the typical strangulation. And keep this to yourself. We still have to find out what really happened."
The burgers were finished, and the salad was already on the table. Dr. Alethia grabbed three more beers from the refrigerator, mixed the dressing, and they began to eat. He told them of his day on campus, how the vigil was still proceeding, and the strange history of Dr. Yong. Mike talked about other parts of the investigation, none of which had resulted in any progress.
After dinner, the three returned to the living room, and had coffee.
"Mike, give him the list you promised him," scolded Mildred.
"Here it is." He handed it to the professor, who started to look it over.
Mike sat down again and sipped some coffee. "I couldn't get over to campus as I promised. Ruther typed it up, and made an extra copy for you. She even put it into alphabetical order."
Dr. Alethia was reading the list, and not really attentive to his remarks. It was a habit he had tried to break himself of - always tuning out the world while he read. He only heard the last few words he said, and jerked to a mental halt. "What did you just say?"
"Officer Ruther put the books into alphabetical order. She thought it would be neater that way, though she has a diagram we made from one of the cameraman's shots which shows where each book was located. Do you want that?"
"No. I want... No, I'm not sure. Wait a bit."
The room was silent. "You didn't find out where that strip of paper in the fire alarm came from, did you?"
"No. But not from any of those books. It was a piece of thin cardboard, actually. More like the cover of a paperback - but every one of those books near Czerny were hardcover. The lab is trying to determine the dye - that may tell us the publishing company."
"What I would like to determine is what someone can take from a library without going through the door with it. And you've just told me what it is. It's the common concept among all these books - or at least among those I recognize. Let me make a call."
"There's a common thread among these titles? You've got to be joking." Mike smiled, and Mildred smirked her agreement.
Dr. Alethia merely proceeded to dial. "Hello, Dr. Edwardson? Yes, are you busy? Could you come over to my home? It won't take long. I want to ask your opinion about the format of a paper I'm writing. No, it's too intricate to explain over the phone. I've got a new recording of some medieval Spanish organ music, also. No, it's Soler. It's very good. Come over! You will? Good. See you." He hung up. "She's coming. But you are going to have to disappear. Let's see. I'll just open the cellar door, and you can wait down there. She'll tell me more if she doesn't know you are here."
"You don't think she is involved?"
"I don't know, but I've got an idea which will clear up some of the confusion about this case."
* * *
Rosalita Edwardson came about twenty minutes later. "So where is this paper?" she asked.
"Here. It's only the bibliography I'm concerned with." Dr. Alethia handed her the list from Lieutenant Carlson.
"Well, Tom, I'm surprised at you. The author always goes before the title, and you didn't..." She broke off, as she realized the content of the list.
"You've been moving some books around, haven't you?" he asked very gently. "I know what it is you can take from a library without going through the door with it. You very cleverly pointed that out. How long has this been going on?"
Eyebrows raised, she glared at Alethia as if he were insane. "What? I took something? What did I take? What do you mean, 'how long has this been going on?'"
"Oh, come, Rosalita. I remember that day back in November, when you couldn't take the books out. 'We close before we close', remember? You told me that you would do something - take something from them. I know what it is. The common concept among all these books - the word "order." A library would be chaos without some kind of order, and you decided to scramble it. Just a little bit, I know, but enough to make you feel satisfied, retaliating for their absurd rule."
Her face contorted, as if about to laugh. Then tears began.
"Yes, you are right! I moved the books. But I had nothing to do with Dean Czerny's death. Nothing! I saw him in there last night. He was furious. I heard him grumbling in some foreign language. He had a handful of books, and he walked down the aisle, passing me without even acknowledging my presence. God, it was the last time I ever saw him, and he didn't even see me," she sobbed.
Dr. Alethia knew that Dean Czerny had always paid the utmost respect to any woman he met. Nor was his courtesy lacking to men, either. Moreover, he was never known to speak except in English, with but the slightest accent.
"I believe you," Alethia said in a level tone. "Though the events of last night are still unclear. Just let me ask you a few questions. Where were you when you saw him?"
"On the third floor." She wiped her eyes, and became less agitated.
"Was there anyone else around?"
"I had just seen Mr. Hallen. He told me that he had requisitioned a certain reference for me through the inter-library loan program. That floor was rather empty, I recall."
"Was he carrying anything?"
"Yes, a book or two. I only saw him for a few moments."
"Is there nothing else you can recall about last night?"
"No. I feel so embarrassed about this. And scared. I didn't kill Dean Czerny! How could I? He invited me to dance in our show. He sent me roses afterwards. I loved him, as nearly every student and teacher at Collins loved him."
"I'm sure of it. But now, go home and get some sleep. Be sure you talk to Lieutenant Carlson tomorrow about your 'theft'."
"Here. It's only the bibliography I'm concerned with." Dr. Alethia handed her the list from Lieutenant Carlson.
"Well, Tom, I'm surprised at you. The author always goes before the title, and you didn't..." She broke off, as she realized the content of the list.
"You've been moving some books around, haven't you?" he asked very gently. "I know what it is you can take from a library without going through the door with it. You very cleverly pointed that out. How long has this been going on?"
Eyebrows raised, she glared at Alethia as if he were insane. "What? I took something? What did I take? What do you mean, 'how long has this been going on?'"
"Oh, come, Rosalita. I remember that day back in November, when you couldn't take the books out. 'We close before we close', remember? You told me that you would do something - take something from them. I know what it is. The common concept among all these books - the word "order." A library would be chaos without some kind of order, and you decided to scramble it. Just a little bit, I know, but enough to make you feel satisfied, retaliating for their absurd rule."
Her face contorted, as if about to laugh. Then tears began.
"Yes, you are right! I moved the books. But I had nothing to do with Dean Czerny's death. Nothing! I saw him in there last night. He was furious. I heard him grumbling in some foreign language. He had a handful of books, and he walked down the aisle, passing me without even acknowledging my presence. God, it was the last time I ever saw him, and he didn't even see me," she sobbed.
Dr. Alethia knew that Dean Czerny had always paid the utmost respect to any woman he met. Nor was his courtesy lacking to men, either. Moreover, he was never known to speak except in English, with but the slightest accent.
"I believe you," Alethia said in a level tone. "Though the events of last night are still unclear. Just let me ask you a few questions. Where were you when you saw him?"
"On the third floor." She wiped her eyes, and became less agitated.
"Was there anyone else around?"
"I had just seen Mr. Hallen. He told me that he had requisitioned a certain reference for me through the inter-library loan program. That floor was rather empty, I recall."
"Was he carrying anything?"
"Yes, a book or two. I only saw him for a few moments."
"Is there nothing else you can recall about last night?"
"No. I feel so embarrassed about this. And scared. I didn't kill Dean Czerny! How could I? He invited me to dance in our show. He sent me roses afterwards. I loved him, as nearly every student and teacher at Collins loved him."
"I'm sure of it. But now, go home and get some sleep. Be sure you talk to Lieutenant Carlson tomorrow about your 'theft'."
* * *
After she left, Mike and Mildred came back into the living room. "You've figured it all out, haven't you?" asked Carlson.
"No. And there's only one way to confront the murderer, or rather the perpetrator. With evidence. But it's going to require a trick. And a lot of hard work. We need to find the book where that strip of paper came from. It should be fairly easy. I'll just make another phone call."
"No. And there's only one way to confront the murderer, or rather the perpetrator. With evidence. But it's going to require a trick. And a lot of hard work. We need to find the book where that strip of paper came from. It should be fairly easy. I'll just make another phone call."
* * *
Dr. Alethia called Stan Kirkpatrick, but he wasn't at home. So he walked over to the library, where the student leader and about fifty other students were keeping their candlelight vigil. Several other student leaders were there, and the professor explained how they could help solve the mystery of Czerny's death. These few spread the word quickly: "Be at the front steps of the library at 9 PM!"
* * *
And so began what came to be called the "Great Collins Book Search." Hundreds of Collins students gathered on the front steps of the library. It was quite a spectacle. Graduate students left their laboratories, and undergraduates left their dorms. The Iota Nu Kappa Sorority was there, and their arch-rivals, Theta Omicron Psi. Xi Omega Psi Fraternity was there, together with Eta Alpha Omicron, Lambda Rho Lambda and Psi Xi Chi. It was not quite a tenth of the campus student population, but it would be sufficient.
Dr. Alethia explained to them what had to be done. Lieutenant Carlson and Officer Ruther were also there; she had a fingerprint kit with her.
The crowd began filing into the library. The total shelf area was divided into sections, each to be examined by a team of students. Their instructions were simple, though the work was tedious - they were to verify that the every single book in the entire library was in its proper place. Moreover, they had been supplied with index cards, as they were not to touch any book which was found out of place until it had been checked for fingerprints.
The noise volume went up considerably as the searchers began their work. But Mr. Hallen was not around, and the very few scholars at work were quick to excuse themselves when it was explained that the search was for clues to Czerny's death.
Officer Ruther was slowly working her way through the library, followed by Mike and myself. He kept a list of the misplaced books. It seemed that Dr. Edwardson had been busy - nearly one hundred books on "order" were out of their assigned positions. There were, of course, perhaps another hundred which had probably been misfiled. After all, it was not reasonable to suppose she was guilty of every misfiled book. In fact, Dr. Alethia was almost certain there was one in particular that had not been near Dean Czerny - a book which had been moved by someone other than Dr. Edwardson.
The evening passed slowly. Dr. Alethia walked through the library, trying to find an explanation, but he knew that only the one responsible could give it. Then he noticed the map cabinet just outside of the hall to the librarian's offices. He pulled open the top drawer, and there it was. It had to be the book. The title fitted exactly. It even had a small tear in its paper cover. Then he hurried to find the police officers.
"Yes, his prints are here," Officer Ruthen stated. "I've only done a quick check, but I have no doubt at all. Now, can you explain what happened?"
The Lieutenant shook his head, then looked at Dr. Alethia and said "Well, Doctor?"
"Our only chance is to confront him. He's not going to face a murder charge, after all, and I'm willing to bet that there is some kind of extenuating circumstances. Let's go see him."
They dismissed the students, telling them that a clue had been found, but a complete explanation was not yet available. Then they left for Mr. Hallen's home.
Dr. Alethia explained to them what had to be done. Lieutenant Carlson and Officer Ruther were also there; she had a fingerprint kit with her.
The crowd began filing into the library. The total shelf area was divided into sections, each to be examined by a team of students. Their instructions were simple, though the work was tedious - they were to verify that the every single book in the entire library was in its proper place. Moreover, they had been supplied with index cards, as they were not to touch any book which was found out of place until it had been checked for fingerprints.
The noise volume went up considerably as the searchers began their work. But Mr. Hallen was not around, and the very few scholars at work were quick to excuse themselves when it was explained that the search was for clues to Czerny's death.
Officer Ruther was slowly working her way through the library, followed by Mike and myself. He kept a list of the misplaced books. It seemed that Dr. Edwardson had been busy - nearly one hundred books on "order" were out of their assigned positions. There were, of course, perhaps another hundred which had probably been misfiled. After all, it was not reasonable to suppose she was guilty of every misfiled book. In fact, Dr. Alethia was almost certain there was one in particular that had not been near Dean Czerny - a book which had been moved by someone other than Dr. Edwardson.
The evening passed slowly. Dr. Alethia walked through the library, trying to find an explanation, but he knew that only the one responsible could give it. Then he noticed the map cabinet just outside of the hall to the librarian's offices. He pulled open the top drawer, and there it was. It had to be the book. The title fitted exactly. It even had a small tear in its paper cover. Then he hurried to find the police officers.
"Yes, his prints are here," Officer Ruthen stated. "I've only done a quick check, but I have no doubt at all. Now, can you explain what happened?"
The Lieutenant shook his head, then looked at Dr. Alethia and said "Well, Doctor?"
"Our only chance is to confront him. He's not going to face a murder charge, after all, and I'm willing to bet that there is some kind of extenuating circumstances. Let's go see him."
They dismissed the students, telling them that a clue had been found, but a complete explanation was not yet available. Then they left for Mr. Hallen's home.
* * *
"You found that book!" Hallen was pale. "Where? I looked all over the library for it. Somehow, not a single book on that topic was in its proper place. I can't imagine how it happened. It's the same one that Czerny was looking for when he..."
"Yes? when he what?" Lieutenant Carlson asked him.
"Ah, I give up. Why should I try to hide my guilt?" Hallen covered his face with his hands. "I killed him! He accused me of wrecking the library. Of keeping books from the students, and from the staff. He swore at me. He was furious, and told me I would be fired, and never get a library job again. So I choked him to death."
"No, Fred. I don't believe you." Dr. Alethia went over to him, and patted him on the back. "We know that he died of a heart attack before the strangulation. Now why don't you tell us what happened?"
"You know that? Oh, then I might as well tell you. But I won't be able to face the students again. It was stupid of me, but I thought I was doing them a favor. I didn't want Czerny's memory spoiled. I mean," he gasped for breath, "I admired him too, though that may be hard for you to understand."
He went and got himself some water. Then he sat down, and began the story: "I had just gone to the fiction section to get some bedtime reading material, and I found that book you're holding stuck between two Jules Verne stories. I took it, and was going to return it to its place, when I saw Dean Czerny walking down the aisle towards me. His face was red, and he was muttering under his breath. When he saw me, he shook his fist at me and yelled, 'The books are all mixed up. Why do you have such a sloppy library?' He said more, too, which I cannot repeat. He was rude and I swore at him. Then, as I came closer to him, he saw the book I was carrying, and his manner changed. 'Ah, I was wrong. You have anticipated my need and...' then he broke off, clutched his chest, and fell over. I yelled his name, and felt for a pulse. He was dead. I suddenly feared that he had been heard, and that his image would be destroyed in death. And so I put my hands around his throat, and crushed it!" He sobbed again, and they waited for him to recover. "It was stupid. I guess I should have called for emergency medical support, and they might have saved him. But somehow, I felt angry about the mixed-up books which had angered him, and I just reacted. Then I used that book to ring the fire alarm, so that my fingerprints would not be on the alarm handle. But then I completely forgot where I put the book. I deal with so many, and I guess I had no worry that it could be traced to me. With the mass exodus due to the fire alarm, I figured that the possibility of any suspicion would be lost. But then you come here, with the book, and with the true facts of his death. I guess you can take me away, now."
"I don't think so," said Lieutenant Carlson. "We will want a statement from you, but we can do that now, and you need not come to the station tonight. You should have used a little more thought, however."
"There's just one thing I'm confused about," Hallen said. "Why did his manner change so quickly when he saw that book?"
"I think I can tell you," Dr. Alethia told them. "I forgot all about it until I saw this book. I had dinner with him a few weeks ago and he said that despite his many years of academic experience, he had never learned parliamentary procedure. He seemed embarrassed to tell me, but he said he felt it was a personal shortcoming, and he wanted to remedy the situation. I told him that there were sure to be several good explanatory books in the library, but I guess those were the ones he couldn't find."
"Why couldn't he find the books?" asked Hallen.
"Oh, I'll tell you, when you explain why you close the circulation desk fifteen minutes before the library closes. And it has a lot to do with the title of this book." Dr. Alethia handed him the paperback which he had used to set off the fire alarm - a book which led to a strangler, not guilty of murder - a book called Robert's Rules of Order.
"Yes? when he what?" Lieutenant Carlson asked him.
"Ah, I give up. Why should I try to hide my guilt?" Hallen covered his face with his hands. "I killed him! He accused me of wrecking the library. Of keeping books from the students, and from the staff. He swore at me. He was furious, and told me I would be fired, and never get a library job again. So I choked him to death."
"No, Fred. I don't believe you." Dr. Alethia went over to him, and patted him on the back. "We know that he died of a heart attack before the strangulation. Now why don't you tell us what happened?"
"You know that? Oh, then I might as well tell you. But I won't be able to face the students again. It was stupid of me, but I thought I was doing them a favor. I didn't want Czerny's memory spoiled. I mean," he gasped for breath, "I admired him too, though that may be hard for you to understand."
He went and got himself some water. Then he sat down, and began the story: "I had just gone to the fiction section to get some bedtime reading material, and I found that book you're holding stuck between two Jules Verne stories. I took it, and was going to return it to its place, when I saw Dean Czerny walking down the aisle towards me. His face was red, and he was muttering under his breath. When he saw me, he shook his fist at me and yelled, 'The books are all mixed up. Why do you have such a sloppy library?' He said more, too, which I cannot repeat. He was rude and I swore at him. Then, as I came closer to him, he saw the book I was carrying, and his manner changed. 'Ah, I was wrong. You have anticipated my need and...' then he broke off, clutched his chest, and fell over. I yelled his name, and felt for a pulse. He was dead. I suddenly feared that he had been heard, and that his image would be destroyed in death. And so I put my hands around his throat, and crushed it!" He sobbed again, and they waited for him to recover. "It was stupid. I guess I should have called for emergency medical support, and they might have saved him. But somehow, I felt angry about the mixed-up books which had angered him, and I just reacted. Then I used that book to ring the fire alarm, so that my fingerprints would not be on the alarm handle. But then I completely forgot where I put the book. I deal with so many, and I guess I had no worry that it could be traced to me. With the mass exodus due to the fire alarm, I figured that the possibility of any suspicion would be lost. But then you come here, with the book, and with the true facts of his death. I guess you can take me away, now."
"I don't think so," said Lieutenant Carlson. "We will want a statement from you, but we can do that now, and you need not come to the station tonight. You should have used a little more thought, however."
"There's just one thing I'm confused about," Hallen said. "Why did his manner change so quickly when he saw that book?"
"I think I can tell you," Dr. Alethia told them. "I forgot all about it until I saw this book. I had dinner with him a few weeks ago and he said that despite his many years of academic experience, he had never learned parliamentary procedure. He seemed embarrassed to tell me, but he said he felt it was a personal shortcoming, and he wanted to remedy the situation. I told him that there were sure to be several good explanatory books in the library, but I guess those were the ones he couldn't find."
"Why couldn't he find the books?" asked Hallen.
"Oh, I'll tell you, when you explain why you close the circulation desk fifteen minutes before the library closes. And it has a lot to do with the title of this book." Dr. Alethia handed him the paperback which he had used to set off the fire alarm - a book which led to a strangler, not guilty of murder - a book called Robert's Rules of Order.
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