Dr. Thomas Alethia, a professor at Collins University, was in the practice of using a computer to store his notes. Although he taught philosophy, he found computers fascinating. But then he found most things and most people fascinating. One of the many strange events from his first years at Collins was the way in which a computer led to the solution of a murder...
It was April of his first year as an assistant professor. An early spring had brought the beauty of flowers to Collins. Everywhere on campus the students began their age-old sun worship - the solar disk now reincarnated as frisbees. He was amazed to see some students sprawled on the grass reading, sketching, even typing on their portable computers. He walked down the path thinking of their happiness despite their work: Ah! happy days! while they may enjoy the fullness of their powers of mind and body in such a beautiful...
“Look out, Professor!”
Suddenly, a fluorescent orange token of an ancient Egyptian religion flew past his head! A handsome student, who could have been cast as the Pharaoh himself in his shorts and bare feet, jumped to catch the disk, but he missed, and it went spinning on. It crashed into a portable computer, only a few feet from its user, who was stretched out on the grass sunning herself. Bits of electronic stuffing erupted as the frisbee hit. As its owner turned to view the disaster, Dr. Alethia recognized her as one of his students in Metaphysics. A look of horror crossed her face, quickly replaced by a big broad smile. She actually started laughing! He went over to her, and asked if she was all right.
“Oh, Dr. Alethia,” she said, “I’m fine. The frisbee didn’t hit me, nor did any of the pieces of this wreck.” She kicked it, and it disintegrated further.
“But your work?” he asked her.
“Oh, it’s all stored. See, this is really just a terminal machine, and nothing is stored in it. Not even those old floppies. My paper for your class is stored in the big machine down in the Cave. I’ve always hated this one - it’s too slow. And my father is buying me a new machine as a graduation present.” She laughed again, and bent down to pick up something. “So maybe you’ll help me graduate and give me one of these.” She handed him a little square piece of plastic. It was one of the keys of the computer keyboard, the “A”.
It was April of his first year as an assistant professor. An early spring had brought the beauty of flowers to Collins. Everywhere on campus the students began their age-old sun worship - the solar disk now reincarnated as frisbees. He was amazed to see some students sprawled on the grass reading, sketching, even typing on their portable computers. He walked down the path thinking of their happiness despite their work: Ah! happy days! while they may enjoy the fullness of their powers of mind and body in such a beautiful...
“Look out, Professor!”
Suddenly, a fluorescent orange token of an ancient Egyptian religion flew past his head! A handsome student, who could have been cast as the Pharaoh himself in his shorts and bare feet, jumped to catch the disk, but he missed, and it went spinning on. It crashed into a portable computer, only a few feet from its user, who was stretched out on the grass sunning herself. Bits of electronic stuffing erupted as the frisbee hit. As its owner turned to view the disaster, Dr. Alethia recognized her as one of his students in Metaphysics. A look of horror crossed her face, quickly replaced by a big broad smile. She actually started laughing! He went over to her, and asked if she was all right.
“Oh, Dr. Alethia,” she said, “I’m fine. The frisbee didn’t hit me, nor did any of the pieces of this wreck.” She kicked it, and it disintegrated further.
“But your work?” he asked her.
“Oh, it’s all stored. See, this is really just a terminal machine, and nothing is stored in it. Not even those old floppies. My paper for your class is stored in the big machine down in the Cave. I’ve always hated this one - it’s too slow. And my father is buying me a new machine as a graduation present.” She laughed again, and bent down to pick up something. “So maybe you’ll help me graduate and give me one of these.” She handed him a little square piece of plastic. It was one of the keys of the computer keyboard, the “A”.
* * *
Dr. Alethia spent that summer on a retreat in the Rockies. Fishing and sleeping under the stars, and silence. He was happy that his first year as a professor had gone well, but he was doubtful of his career, even then. His childhood friend, Mike Carlson, who was now a Lieutenant in the Harley Police Department, had often thought Tom should have a more active role in life: “With your mind, you’d be a fine officer. But you’d rather keep your nose in a book. That won’t solve crimes!”
By November of that year, he would think a little differently.
By November of that year, he would think a little differently.
* * *
The new school year opened. Dr. Alethia did not think of himself as a seasoned professional, but there now was a feeling of familiarity about the campus, emphasized by the presence of newly hired faculty members. One of them he met in the faculty dining hall very early in September was Dana Smith, a new assistant professor in the Chemistry department. She was tall and very dark, and had a strikingly well-formed face. After introducing himself, he asked her about her work.
“I’ll probably be teaching the freshmen about acids and bases this year, but my specialty is blood chemistry. New electronic devices have greatly increased our ability to measure the proportions of various blood components. My studies have involved the use of these new devices to attempt formulation of a more discrete set of blood ‘types’, to insure safer blood transfusions.”
“And here I always thought there were just four types of blood.”
“No, there’s the Rh factor, and several others...” She smiled at me and continued, “If you really are interested, I can get you a copy of my dissertation.”
“I’m interested, but if I don’t get back to my office and pick up my lecture notes, my face is going to look fairly bloodless when I try to give an off-the-cuff lecture in an hour.”
They parted then, though Dr. Alethia told her he would come by her office after class to see her paper.
“I’ll probably be teaching the freshmen about acids and bases this year, but my specialty is blood chemistry. New electronic devices have greatly increased our ability to measure the proportions of various blood components. My studies have involved the use of these new devices to attempt formulation of a more discrete set of blood ‘types’, to insure safer blood transfusions.”
“And here I always thought there were just four types of blood.”
“No, there’s the Rh factor, and several others...” She smiled at me and continued, “If you really are interested, I can get you a copy of my dissertation.”
“I’m interested, but if I don’t get back to my office and pick up my lecture notes, my face is going to look fairly bloodless when I try to give an off-the-cuff lecture in an hour.”
They parted then, though Dr. Alethia told her he would come by her office after class to see her paper.
* * *
October had just begun. Down in the Cavaugh Computer Center, nicknamed the Cave, the morning system operator unlocked the main door of the center, and went to the storeroom to bring a new box of paper to reload a printer. The door stood ajar, and just inside on the floor was a body...
“It’s Viraj. I can’t tell you his last name, I cannot remember it. It’s in our personnel file.” The head of the computing operations staff shook her head. “It’s horrible. Who could have done this?”
Lieutenant Michael Carlson looked at her. “You tell me. What about his co-workers? Any animosity among them?”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t know. He was always quiet. I don’t think he had any friends among them. The door was open - could someone from outside have done it?”
“We’re checking all possibilities, Mrs. Cavaugh. Just a few more questions, then you’re free to go about your work.”
“It’s Viraj. I can’t tell you his last name, I cannot remember it. It’s in our personnel file.” The head of the computing operations staff shook her head. “It’s horrible. Who could have done this?”
Lieutenant Michael Carlson looked at her. “You tell me. What about his co-workers? Any animosity among them?”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t know. He was always quiet. I don’t think he had any friends among them. The door was open - could someone from outside have done it?”
“We’re checking all possibilities, Mrs. Cavaugh. Just a few more questions, then you’re free to go about your work.”
* * *
That night, Mike Carlson and his wife Mildred ate dinner at Dr. Alethia’s house.
“You probably have heard about this... death... in the Cave today, Tom, haven’t you?”
“Yes, some of my students mentioned it. One, an Indian student, brought up the matter of death in class, and told us about Viraj. You may not know this, but it seems that no one had more than a passing acquaintance with him. Another of my teaching assistants, who is president of the Indian Students Club, told me he had never met him, and the few Indians he spoke to about Viraj said that he had always been very quiet.”
“Yes. The computing people told me that also. Viraj was quiet. Too quiet. It’s almost as if he had some ulterior motive, always listening for something.”
“Maybe, but perhaps it was the shyness of a new student in a new land.”
“No, Tom. He was born in this country, and probably didn’t know a word of an Indian tongue. We’ve checked. In fact, that makes it all the stranger, since most everyone believed him to be a foreign student, and his actions seemed to reflect that belief.”
“So there’s no one you’ve talked to so far who can give you any clue about Viraj?”
“We interviewed his four housemates, and they seemed to know remarkably little about him. He never ate with them, and when he was home, he was in his room with the door closed. None of them had any personal knowledge of him.”
“How did they react to the news?”
“One was another Indian with the name of Rajesh. I’ve got his last name in my notes, but it’s beyond the power of my memory to recall. He told me he was working on a doctorate in physics. I think he would not react if I slapped his face. His temperature did not seem to vary from a courteous coolness, even though I was rather inquisitive. In fact, I became quite suspicious of his calmness. I think he knows something.”
“Perhaps, but you do not usually deal with such foreign students. Some follow philosophies which demand emotionless life. Others are so devoted to their academic work, or even so fearful of life in a foreign land - “
“Foreign?” interjected Mildred, who habitually remained silent when Mike and I talked. (She once told me “I prefer only to listen to the two of you. It’s like living through part of a detective story!”)
“Yes, Mildred. They come from across the globe to study in that foreign country we call home. Paradoxical, but true.”
“Well, the second was an American, Alex Stevens,” Mike continued. “And his reaction was almost opposite. He told me he was preparing for his candidacy exam next week, and had no time for my questioning. I’ve checked with his department, and they told me he is not scheduled for the exam.”
“That’s interesting. What department is that?”
“Chemistry. I talked to one of the secretaries.”
“I would think that is conclusive, since the secretary of our department knows more than I do about our students. But that is a large department, and I would double-check. You can call the Dean of the Graduate School, since copies of candidacy plans must be filed there as well. If not, you may need to talk to Mr. Stevens further.”
“There are two more to describe, but they are not as interesting to me as the first two. The third was Hans Larsson, a Norwegian working on his master’s in metallurgy. He told me he had been working in his room last night, and offered to show me several pages of notes he had made. The fourth was Tak On Kung. He had been out with a friend last night, grading papers for Math 14; he is a teaching assistant. He told us the papers were still in his office, and we could see them, but he wouldn’t tell us his friend’s name. I didn’t like the way his eyes looked - he’s not telling us everything.”
“Maybe his friend’s a girl. Maybe he didn’t grade the papers yet,” Dr. Alethia postulated.
“Maybe. We will know about the papers tomorrow.”
“Was there anyone else?”
“Not so far. I’m not satisfied with any of the four.” Mike shrugged. “I have not been able to talk to Larsson’s advisor - she is out in California this week at a conference, and Kung’s was out of town today, but he’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Tell me about the physical evidence of the crime.”
“There are one or two interesting things to tell you. First, he died of a blow to the head - his temple was crushed. We haven’t found the object yet, and forensics was not able to pick up anything suggestive. It was kind of rectangular, and most probably plastic. There were no other physical clues which give us any leads. Oh, yes. He did have keys to the stock room, and he had been on duty last night. But that doesn’t really narrow things down much.”
“Nothing in the stock room was disrupted?”
“No. There’s a good large open area just inside, and that’s where he was. If there had been a struggle, it must have happened there. We aren’t ruling out the possibility that he was killed somewhere else, and moved there. There wasn’t a lot of blood, and we haven’t found any traces except where the body was found.”
“I would talk to the housemates again. Are they all fluent in English?”
“Oh, yes. They all have accents, but all are perfectly clear. I might have my new officer interview them. She earned a couple of master’s degrees before she decided to change her career and become an officer. She’ll know how to deal with them.”
“You probably have heard about this... death... in the Cave today, Tom, haven’t you?”
“Yes, some of my students mentioned it. One, an Indian student, brought up the matter of death in class, and told us about Viraj. You may not know this, but it seems that no one had more than a passing acquaintance with him. Another of my teaching assistants, who is president of the Indian Students Club, told me he had never met him, and the few Indians he spoke to about Viraj said that he had always been very quiet.”
“Yes. The computing people told me that also. Viraj was quiet. Too quiet. It’s almost as if he had some ulterior motive, always listening for something.”
“Maybe, but perhaps it was the shyness of a new student in a new land.”
“No, Tom. He was born in this country, and probably didn’t know a word of an Indian tongue. We’ve checked. In fact, that makes it all the stranger, since most everyone believed him to be a foreign student, and his actions seemed to reflect that belief.”
“So there’s no one you’ve talked to so far who can give you any clue about Viraj?”
“We interviewed his four housemates, and they seemed to know remarkably little about him. He never ate with them, and when he was home, he was in his room with the door closed. None of them had any personal knowledge of him.”
“How did they react to the news?”
“One was another Indian with the name of Rajesh. I’ve got his last name in my notes, but it’s beyond the power of my memory to recall. He told me he was working on a doctorate in physics. I think he would not react if I slapped his face. His temperature did not seem to vary from a courteous coolness, even though I was rather inquisitive. In fact, I became quite suspicious of his calmness. I think he knows something.”
“Perhaps, but you do not usually deal with such foreign students. Some follow philosophies which demand emotionless life. Others are so devoted to their academic work, or even so fearful of life in a foreign land - “
“Foreign?” interjected Mildred, who habitually remained silent when Mike and I talked. (She once told me “I prefer only to listen to the two of you. It’s like living through part of a detective story!”)
“Yes, Mildred. They come from across the globe to study in that foreign country we call home. Paradoxical, but true.”
“Well, the second was an American, Alex Stevens,” Mike continued. “And his reaction was almost opposite. He told me he was preparing for his candidacy exam next week, and had no time for my questioning. I’ve checked with his department, and they told me he is not scheduled for the exam.”
“That’s interesting. What department is that?”
“Chemistry. I talked to one of the secretaries.”
“I would think that is conclusive, since the secretary of our department knows more than I do about our students. But that is a large department, and I would double-check. You can call the Dean of the Graduate School, since copies of candidacy plans must be filed there as well. If not, you may need to talk to Mr. Stevens further.”
“There are two more to describe, but they are not as interesting to me as the first two. The third was Hans Larsson, a Norwegian working on his master’s in metallurgy. He told me he had been working in his room last night, and offered to show me several pages of notes he had made. The fourth was Tak On Kung. He had been out with a friend last night, grading papers for Math 14; he is a teaching assistant. He told us the papers were still in his office, and we could see them, but he wouldn’t tell us his friend’s name. I didn’t like the way his eyes looked - he’s not telling us everything.”
“Maybe his friend’s a girl. Maybe he didn’t grade the papers yet,” Dr. Alethia postulated.
“Maybe. We will know about the papers tomorrow.”
“Was there anyone else?”
“Not so far. I’m not satisfied with any of the four.” Mike shrugged. “I have not been able to talk to Larsson’s advisor - she is out in California this week at a conference, and Kung’s was out of town today, but he’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Tell me about the physical evidence of the crime.”
“There are one or two interesting things to tell you. First, he died of a blow to the head - his temple was crushed. We haven’t found the object yet, and forensics was not able to pick up anything suggestive. It was kind of rectangular, and most probably plastic. There were no other physical clues which give us any leads. Oh, yes. He did have keys to the stock room, and he had been on duty last night. But that doesn’t really narrow things down much.”
“Nothing in the stock room was disrupted?”
“No. There’s a good large open area just inside, and that’s where he was. If there had been a struggle, it must have happened there. We aren’t ruling out the possibility that he was killed somewhere else, and moved there. There wasn’t a lot of blood, and we haven’t found any traces except where the body was found.”
“I would talk to the housemates again. Are they all fluent in English?”
“Oh, yes. They all have accents, but all are perfectly clear. I might have my new officer interview them. She earned a couple of master’s degrees before she decided to change her career and become an officer. She’ll know how to deal with them.”
* * *
Mike called Dr. Alethia during office hours the next day. The Dean of the Graduate School didn’t have a candidacy plan for Mr. Stevens. The advisor for Rajesh stated that he had not met with him since early that summer, and had no idea what he was working on. The elusive friend of Mr. Kung had not been tracked down. When his advisor has interviewed, he complained that he frequently called Kung and the telephone was answered by a woman with an “Asiatic” accent: “Sorry, my specialty is groups of finite order, not linguistics,” he said.
Mike said he was going to take Stevens down for questioning: “When I saw him in his room, he had about a dozen books open on his desk, and was flipping through a notebook. He was very nervous.”
“Mike, I think you should check again. If there’s been some mixup in the school and he really is taking the candidacy exam next week, you shouldn’t stress him any more.”
“I wish I didn’t have to stress anybody, but I face my candidacy exam every day, and never more so than when I’m dealing with a murder.”
Mike said he was going to take Stevens down for questioning: “When I saw him in his room, he had about a dozen books open on his desk, and was flipping through a notebook. He was very nervous.”
“Mike, I think you should check again. If there’s been some mixup in the school and he really is taking the candidacy exam next week, you shouldn’t stress him any more.”
“I wish I didn’t have to stress anybody, but I face my candidacy exam every day, and never more so than when I’m dealing with a murder.”
* * *
That night Dr. Alethia went over to the library to check a few references on a paper he was writing. He sat down at the computer “card catalog” which provided access to the all the books and periodicals of the library, and began checking various holdings he needed.
He was jotting down a new reference in his notebook when he heard the young woman next to him tell her neighbor, “See, I told you they have the complete works of Aristotle in the original.”
He recognized her as Beth Cummings, a student in his introductory philosophy class. He didn’t recognize her friend, but when she spoke he could guess at her interest - her accent was clearly Greek.
“Excuse me,” the Doctor interrupted them. “You needn’t do quite that amount of research for your homework. But I’m glad you are interested in seeing Aristotle’s work in his native tongue. Do you speak any Greek?”
“Oh, Dr. Alethia, this is my roommate, Diana Corintha.” Beth turned to her friend. “He’s the one who got me interested in Aristotle, “ and turning back to me she continued, “Diana learned Greek in elementary school, but moved here before high school. She wanted to see how much she could understand of the ancient dialects, and I was telling her about my class.”
“I see. How nice. But why were you looking up his work here? Oh - for the location, obviously.”
“You’re right, professor. But I don’t understand why the catalog didn’t show any Aristotle when we checked earlier. It told us there was no such author.”
“Strange. When did you notice this? I’ve been using the catalog for about half an hour, and it’s been ok. I’ve even checked the holdings by Aristotle, but not the Greek versions.”
“It was just a few minutes ago,” Beth told me. “We were down in the Cave working on our computer assignment, and on our way out, I stopped at the library access terminal in the consulting room. It was so strange. Did you ever hear of...” - she paused, and pulled out her notebook - “...a writer named Arosiliet?”
“No. Let me see that.” It seemed strange, almost an anagram.
“I can’t guess what we did wrong. It worked fine here.”
“Let’s go over, shall we? I’d like to know more about this philosopher Arosiliet.”
He was jotting down a new reference in his notebook when he heard the young woman next to him tell her neighbor, “See, I told you they have the complete works of Aristotle in the original.”
He recognized her as Beth Cummings, a student in his introductory philosophy class. He didn’t recognize her friend, but when she spoke he could guess at her interest - her accent was clearly Greek.
“Excuse me,” the Doctor interrupted them. “You needn’t do quite that amount of research for your homework. But I’m glad you are interested in seeing Aristotle’s work in his native tongue. Do you speak any Greek?”
“Oh, Dr. Alethia, this is my roommate, Diana Corintha.” Beth turned to her friend. “He’s the one who got me interested in Aristotle, “ and turning back to me she continued, “Diana learned Greek in elementary school, but moved here before high school. She wanted to see how much she could understand of the ancient dialects, and I was telling her about my class.”
“I see. How nice. But why were you looking up his work here? Oh - for the location, obviously.”
“You’re right, professor. But I don’t understand why the catalog didn’t show any Aristotle when we checked earlier. It told us there was no such author.”
“Strange. When did you notice this? I’ve been using the catalog for about half an hour, and it’s been ok. I’ve even checked the holdings by Aristotle, but not the Greek versions.”
“It was just a few minutes ago,” Beth told me. “We were down in the Cave working on our computer assignment, and on our way out, I stopped at the library access terminal in the consulting room. It was so strange. Did you ever hear of...” - she paused, and pulled out her notebook - “...a writer named Arosiliet?”
“No. Let me see that.” It seemed strange, almost an anagram.
“I can’t guess what we did wrong. It worked fine here.”
“Let’s go over, shall we? I’d like to know more about this philosopher Arosiliet.”
* * *
They walked over to the Cave through the cool October night. The professor was almost unaware of the puzzles of the last days, as he indulged in one of his secret hobbies, the making of anagrams: “Only one T. Not quite an example of the ars magna”, he thought to himself.
“Here’s the terminal we tried,” Beth pointed at the machine.
Dr. Alethia sat down and pushed the “Standard Search” function key, then the “Find by Author” request.
“I can’t guess what you did wrong,” he told them, looking at the girls’ faces and not at the keys. (His parents had taught him to touch type when he was young, and he had always enjoyed having the skill. It was one less worry when he wrote his dissertation.) The screen changed, and displayed the first few entries written by Aristotle. “See? It seems fine now.”
“Let me try again, please,” Beth asked.
Diana stopped her. “No, I was the one who did it then. Let me do it again.”
“All right.”
She sat down and as she looked at the keys, she spoke each letter as she typed it. “A... R... I... S... T...”
“Wait!” As they watched the screen, the AUTHOR entry box showed the letters “AROSI.”
“Type the letter 'T' again,” the professor ordered.
“There. Two more 'T's.”
But they were not 'T's. Two 'I's had appeared.
“How strange. Look, professor, the keyboard is wrong.”
“You’re right!” So it was a transposition, he said to himself. “Finish the typing - let’s see which letters are wrong.”
They looked. “'E', 'O', 'I', 'T', and 'L'. How can the keyboard be wrong?”
The professor shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it was made wrong. I know very little about computer mechanisms.”
“I guess we should tell the consultants, and they can request service for it.”
“Yes.” He put his hands in his pockets, feeling for a pen. “I’ll just make an ‘out of service’ note for this terminal.” His hand closed around something small - he had no idea what it was. He took it out. It was a small square piece of plastic. It had the letter 'A' on one side, and he saw it was nearly identical to the keys of the transposed keyboard.
“Well, that’s strange.”
“You have an 'A'.” Beth stared at it. “I had no idea the keys could come off,” remarked Diana.
“I wonder if these come off,” the professor said. He took out his pocket knife and pried off the 'Z'. he then tried the 'A' as well, as he wanted to compare it with the 'A' he had in his pocket, but his hand slipped, and he scratched himself on the protruding mechanism under the 'Z' key.
“Oh, that’s sharp.”
He swiveled in the seat to get more light, and inspected his hand.
“Did you cut yourself?” Beth asked.
“A slight scratch. It hardly broke the surface.”
“But look at that blood!” Diana said.
“Where?”
“Under the keys.”
He lifted the keyboard up, peering closely into the opening left by the removal of the 'Z' and 'A' keys.
“You have good eyes, Diana. Yes, there appears to be something in there.”
He then realized that he was almost certainly holding the murder weapon. Not wanting to alarm them, he sat it down, and said, “Probably someone spilled cocoa on it. I’ll just make this note, then take the keyboard to the service area myself. You needn’t delay yourselves any longer.”
“Well, then, good night, Professor. See you in class.”
“See you there, Beth. Very nice to meet you, Diana. I would be glad to discuss Aristotle with you sometime, and talk about Greece. My ancestry is partly Greek, also.”
“I would like that, someday, Professor. Good night.”
“Here’s the terminal we tried,” Beth pointed at the machine.
Dr. Alethia sat down and pushed the “Standard Search” function key, then the “Find by Author” request.
“I can’t guess what you did wrong,” he told them, looking at the girls’ faces and not at the keys. (His parents had taught him to touch type when he was young, and he had always enjoyed having the skill. It was one less worry when he wrote his dissertation.) The screen changed, and displayed the first few entries written by Aristotle. “See? It seems fine now.”
“Let me try again, please,” Beth asked.
Diana stopped her. “No, I was the one who did it then. Let me do it again.”
“All right.”
She sat down and as she looked at the keys, she spoke each letter as she typed it. “A... R... I... S... T...”
“Wait!” As they watched the screen, the AUTHOR entry box showed the letters “AROSI.”
“Type the letter 'T' again,” the professor ordered.
“There. Two more 'T's.”
But they were not 'T's. Two 'I's had appeared.
“How strange. Look, professor, the keyboard is wrong.”
“You’re right!” So it was a transposition, he said to himself. “Finish the typing - let’s see which letters are wrong.”
They looked. “'E', 'O', 'I', 'T', and 'L'. How can the keyboard be wrong?”
The professor shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it was made wrong. I know very little about computer mechanisms.”
“I guess we should tell the consultants, and they can request service for it.”
“Yes.” He put his hands in his pockets, feeling for a pen. “I’ll just make an ‘out of service’ note for this terminal.” His hand closed around something small - he had no idea what it was. He took it out. It was a small square piece of plastic. It had the letter 'A' on one side, and he saw it was nearly identical to the keys of the transposed keyboard.
“Well, that’s strange.”
“You have an 'A'.” Beth stared at it. “I had no idea the keys could come off,” remarked Diana.
“I wonder if these come off,” the professor said. He took out his pocket knife and pried off the 'Z'. he then tried the 'A' as well, as he wanted to compare it with the 'A' he had in his pocket, but his hand slipped, and he scratched himself on the protruding mechanism under the 'Z' key.
“Oh, that’s sharp.”
He swiveled in the seat to get more light, and inspected his hand.
“Did you cut yourself?” Beth asked.
“A slight scratch. It hardly broke the surface.”
“But look at that blood!” Diana said.
“Where?”
“Under the keys.”
He lifted the keyboard up, peering closely into the opening left by the removal of the 'Z' and 'A' keys.
“You have good eyes, Diana. Yes, there appears to be something in there.”
He then realized that he was almost certainly holding the murder weapon. Not wanting to alarm them, he sat it down, and said, “Probably someone spilled cocoa on it. I’ll just make this note, then take the keyboard to the service area myself. You needn’t delay yourselves any longer.”
“Well, then, good night, Professor. See you in class.”
“See you there, Beth. Very nice to meet you, Diana. I would be glad to discuss Aristotle with you sometime, and talk about Greece. My ancestry is partly Greek, also.”
“I would like that, someday, Professor. Good night.”
* * *
“Yes, it’s blood. The forensics lab says it’s identical to Viraj’s blood.” It was later that same night, and Mike and the professor sat in his office drinking coffee.
“What about the keys?”
“There are traces of blood on the Z, and on the O and E keys. Not enough to type, but we don’t need to type it.”
“Why?”
“It has to be Viraj’s blood.”
“As a matter of fact, it isn’t. The blood on the Z key is mine.”
“What do you mean, it’s yours? How can it be yours?”
“I told you, when I tried to get the A key off, I scratched my finger on the Z mechanism. There’s a sharp edge in there. I really think you should test the blood on the keys.”
“We can’t. There isn’t enough to type.”
“Maybe I can help you there. Let me make a phone call.”
“Hello, Dana? This is Dr. Alethia, of Philosophy. I have a question about your work in blood typing. No, I haven’t had time to read your dissertation yet. It’s rather important. How much blood do your tests require? Really? That sounds quite precise. Can you come down to the police station and take a look at something for us?”
He turned to Mike. “That was Dana Smith. Her research involved studying the typing of blood proteins at the cellular level. I think she’ll have enough blood to work with.”
“What about the keys?”
“There are traces of blood on the Z, and on the O and E keys. Not enough to type, but we don’t need to type it.”
“Why?”
“It has to be Viraj’s blood.”
“As a matter of fact, it isn’t. The blood on the Z key is mine.”
“What do you mean, it’s yours? How can it be yours?”
“I told you, when I tried to get the A key off, I scratched my finger on the Z mechanism. There’s a sharp edge in there. I really think you should test the blood on the keys.”
“We can’t. There isn’t enough to type.”
“Maybe I can help you there. Let me make a phone call.”
“Hello, Dana? This is Dr. Alethia, of Philosophy. I have a question about your work in blood typing. No, I haven’t had time to read your dissertation yet. It’s rather important. How much blood do your tests require? Really? That sounds quite precise. Can you come down to the police station and take a look at something for us?”
He turned to Mike. “That was Dana Smith. Her research involved studying the typing of blood proteins at the cellular level. I think she’ll have enough blood to work with.”
* * *
Two days later Dr. Alethia and the Lieutenant met in Dr. Smith’s office.
“The lab says the keyboard fits to the head wound,” Mike announced. “What have you been able to determine?”
“I have completed my tests,” stated Dr. Smith. From the blood under the O key, I was able to detect the presence of three proteins which indicate a Northern European ancestry. I must stress this is only indicative, and not conclusive.”
“But compared to, let’s say, an Oriental, an African, or an Indian?” Mike asked her.
“None of those would have the same indications. With the three I detected it would be difficult to be more specific as to the European area, but among the four genetic backgrounds you mentioned, the proteins are sufficient to provide an accurate measure of difference.”
“Couldn’t you demonstrate that the blood came from a particular individual?”
“Perhaps. There was very little blood there. Moreover, what you call blood and what I call blood are not the same.”
“What do you mean - oh, never mind. I’m sure it’s over my head.” Mike sighed. “Now what do we do? The evidence seems to indicate Stevens. The chemistry department and the Dean were clear on that.”
“Which Stevens?” asked Dana.
“Alex Stevens. He’s supposed to take the candidacy exam next week.”
“You mean Alex Stephan? Tall, not as black as me, very short hair?”
“That’s him.” Mike looked at her intently. His name isn’t Stevens?”
“No. I thought it was, though, when he introduced himself. He wants to have it changed, and often tells people his name is Stevens. He’s quite good at chemistry, but he’s...”
“He’s just barely missed being tagged for murder! Say, he’s not working with you, is he?” Mike asked, a suspicious look on his face.
“No, he’s in rare earth extraction. Also, one of our secretaries is being fired at the end of the week for sloppy work. I bet you talked to Brenda, didn’t you?”
Dana looked relieved when Mike took out his notebook, flipped through it, and nodded. He seemed somewhat embarrassed.
“Tom, what do you think would be the best way of...”
Just then the telephone rang. “Dana Smith. He’s here, just a moment, please.” She handed the receiver to the Lieutenant.
“Carlson here. OK. Yeah, she thinks it’s Northern European. That would be Larsson. No, Stephen is out. No, it’s Stephen. No S at the end and with a P, H instead of a V. And tell that Davis to be sure to have people spell their names. Yeah. No, I missed checking it, too. OK. What do you have on Kung? It was his girlfriend? No. His WIFE? Oh.” To us he said, “He didn’t want the professors to know. He thought they would terminate his grants when he got married.” Back to the phone: “And what about Rajesh? He submitted a first draft of his dissertation? His advisor thinks it will be the last draft as well? Wow!” Dana and I looked at each other in amazement. That would be a first at Collins, a dissertation accepted on its first draft!
“Anything on Larsson? Nothing at all? Say, didn’t he have a bandage on his finger when we first saw him? Yeah, I thought he did, too. Maintain surveillance there, but we’re going to go over and talk to him now. Ok. Yeah. No. Not until we’re back at the station. Thanks, Sandra. Good work.” He hung up the phone.
“The lab says the keyboard fits to the head wound,” Mike announced. “What have you been able to determine?”
“I have completed my tests,” stated Dr. Smith. From the blood under the O key, I was able to detect the presence of three proteins which indicate a Northern European ancestry. I must stress this is only indicative, and not conclusive.”
“But compared to, let’s say, an Oriental, an African, or an Indian?” Mike asked her.
“None of those would have the same indications. With the three I detected it would be difficult to be more specific as to the European area, but among the four genetic backgrounds you mentioned, the proteins are sufficient to provide an accurate measure of difference.”
“Couldn’t you demonstrate that the blood came from a particular individual?”
“Perhaps. There was very little blood there. Moreover, what you call blood and what I call blood are not the same.”
“What do you mean - oh, never mind. I’m sure it’s over my head.” Mike sighed. “Now what do we do? The evidence seems to indicate Stevens. The chemistry department and the Dean were clear on that.”
“Which Stevens?” asked Dana.
“Alex Stevens. He’s supposed to take the candidacy exam next week.”
“You mean Alex Stephan? Tall, not as black as me, very short hair?”
“That’s him.” Mike looked at her intently. His name isn’t Stevens?”
“No. I thought it was, though, when he introduced himself. He wants to have it changed, and often tells people his name is Stevens. He’s quite good at chemistry, but he’s...”
“He’s just barely missed being tagged for murder! Say, he’s not working with you, is he?” Mike asked, a suspicious look on his face.
“No, he’s in rare earth extraction. Also, one of our secretaries is being fired at the end of the week for sloppy work. I bet you talked to Brenda, didn’t you?”
Dana looked relieved when Mike took out his notebook, flipped through it, and nodded. He seemed somewhat embarrassed.
“Tom, what do you think would be the best way of...”
Just then the telephone rang. “Dana Smith. He’s here, just a moment, please.” She handed the receiver to the Lieutenant.
“Carlson here. OK. Yeah, she thinks it’s Northern European. That would be Larsson. No, Stephen is out. No, it’s Stephen. No S at the end and with a P, H instead of a V. And tell that Davis to be sure to have people spell their names. Yeah. No, I missed checking it, too. OK. What do you have on Kung? It was his girlfriend? No. His WIFE? Oh.” To us he said, “He didn’t want the professors to know. He thought they would terminate his grants when he got married.” Back to the phone: “And what about Rajesh? He submitted a first draft of his dissertation? His advisor thinks it will be the last draft as well? Wow!” Dana and I looked at each other in amazement. That would be a first at Collins, a dissertation accepted on its first draft!
“Anything on Larsson? Nothing at all? Say, didn’t he have a bandage on his finger when we first saw him? Yeah, I thought he did, too. Maintain surveillance there, but we’re going to go over and talk to him now. Ok. Yeah. No. Not until we’re back at the station. Thanks, Sandra. Good work.” He hung up the phone.
* * *
Hans Larsson did not appear very happy. “I’m not sure what you are asking. I barely knew Viraj. We did not eat together. We did not study together. Yes, he lived here, as I live here.”
“You say you had no personal contact at all with him?”
“No. He and I stayed apart.”
“If you don’t mind, we would like to ask your permission for a blood sample. Dr. Smith can do it right here.”
“Why? I tell you there is nothing. We did not talk.”
“Why should you be concerned about a simple blood test?”
“You do not need to see my blood. I have no connection to him. None.”
Mike looked at Dr. Alethia, who reached in his pocket and pulled out five little plastic squares. He put them on Larsson’s desk, and arranged them. They read “TO LIE.”
“What are those?”
“Those are keys from the keyboard which crushed Viraj’s head. There was blood under them. Whoever put them back scratched his hand on the mechanism under the keys. We have enough blood from it to determine who it was.”
Larsson picked up the L and put it down. He turned his hand over and examined it, unknowingly making the same motions Dr. Alethia had made when he scratched his own hand.
“No. It was not me. I didn’t hit him that hard. It must have been someone else.”
“I think you better explain that statement.”
“He had come into my room, and brought a little tape player. He played the tape. It was me, on the phone. He taped my talking to... But I will not say who it was. She and I were... I will not say. But he wanted money, or he would send it to my wife. He told me he would have to have money, and my help with his master’s paper. He told me I would have to give him my idea. I would give him money. But when he told me to give him my work, I was furious. I told him no. I grabbed the tape, and smashed it. He laughed, and told me it was just a copy anyway. I knew he had to work that night, and I thought I would be able to search his room then, and get it.”
They looked intently at him. His eyes were closed, his face contorted with emotion.
“I searched it. There was a clever phone tap, and a little box with tapes. He had labelled each one neatly with our names and the date and time of each conversation. There were three or four for each of us who live here. I smashed all of them and threw them away somewhere on campus. I was furious and I decided to tell him what I had done. I should have told my housemates, but they were all busy, and I did not want to disturb them. I went to the Cave where he worked. It was almost time to close the stock room, there was no one else around. I came to him there.”
Larsson paused in his story. “He laughed. ‘You are in my pocket!’ he told me. ‘You are my little brain.’ ‘No!’ I said, ‘Never!’ A stack of boxes stood nearby, and the top one was open. I picked up a new keyboard, I guess it was a replacement part. ‘All your tapes are gone,’ I said. ‘All of them. You have no future.’ He still smirked at me: ‘You can squirm, but there are more copies. You will work for me, spineless student. All brains, and no imaginations. What good is that keyboard? He did not know that I was a discus thrower for the Olympic team. The keyboard hit him on the side of the head and he went down. I thought he was knocked out, and there was a little blood, but when I saw it I was scared. Parts of the keyboard had come off, so I picked them up. I wiped the keyboard off, but when I put the keys back on, I scratched myself. I took the keyboard out and swapped it for the one on the library catalog terminal. That one I put back in the stock room. How did you discover the switch?”
Dr. Alethia had to smile. “A philosopher with the unusual name of Arosiliet. You put the keys back incorrectly.”
“You say you had no personal contact at all with him?”
“No. He and I stayed apart.”
“If you don’t mind, we would like to ask your permission for a blood sample. Dr. Smith can do it right here.”
“Why? I tell you there is nothing. We did not talk.”
“Why should you be concerned about a simple blood test?”
“You do not need to see my blood. I have no connection to him. None.”
Mike looked at Dr. Alethia, who reached in his pocket and pulled out five little plastic squares. He put them on Larsson’s desk, and arranged them. They read “TO LIE.”
“What are those?”
“Those are keys from the keyboard which crushed Viraj’s head. There was blood under them. Whoever put them back scratched his hand on the mechanism under the keys. We have enough blood from it to determine who it was.”
Larsson picked up the L and put it down. He turned his hand over and examined it, unknowingly making the same motions Dr. Alethia had made when he scratched his own hand.
“No. It was not me. I didn’t hit him that hard. It must have been someone else.”
“I think you better explain that statement.”
“He had come into my room, and brought a little tape player. He played the tape. It was me, on the phone. He taped my talking to... But I will not say who it was. She and I were... I will not say. But he wanted money, or he would send it to my wife. He told me he would have to have money, and my help with his master’s paper. He told me I would have to give him my idea. I would give him money. But when he told me to give him my work, I was furious. I told him no. I grabbed the tape, and smashed it. He laughed, and told me it was just a copy anyway. I knew he had to work that night, and I thought I would be able to search his room then, and get it.”
They looked intently at him. His eyes were closed, his face contorted with emotion.
“I searched it. There was a clever phone tap, and a little box with tapes. He had labelled each one neatly with our names and the date and time of each conversation. There were three or four for each of us who live here. I smashed all of them and threw them away somewhere on campus. I was furious and I decided to tell him what I had done. I should have told my housemates, but they were all busy, and I did not want to disturb them. I went to the Cave where he worked. It was almost time to close the stock room, there was no one else around. I came to him there.”
Larsson paused in his story. “He laughed. ‘You are in my pocket!’ he told me. ‘You are my little brain.’ ‘No!’ I said, ‘Never!’ A stack of boxes stood nearby, and the top one was open. I picked up a new keyboard, I guess it was a replacement part. ‘All your tapes are gone,’ I said. ‘All of them. You have no future.’ He still smirked at me: ‘You can squirm, but there are more copies. You will work for me, spineless student. All brains, and no imaginations. What good is that keyboard? He did not know that I was a discus thrower for the Olympic team. The keyboard hit him on the side of the head and he went down. I thought he was knocked out, and there was a little blood, but when I saw it I was scared. Parts of the keyboard had come off, so I picked them up. I wiped the keyboard off, but when I put the keys back on, I scratched myself. I took the keyboard out and swapped it for the one on the library catalog terminal. That one I put back in the stock room. How did you discover the switch?”
Dr. Alethia had to smile. “A philosopher with the unusual name of Arosiliet. You put the keys back incorrectly.”
* * *
Larsson was not tried for murder. It was discovered that he had diplomatic immunity, and we never heard about the resolution of his case in Norway. Mike told Dr. Alethia he thought a good lawyer could make a strong case for self-defense. But Dana was never asked to go to the Europe to testify. Rajesh’s first draft was approved, and he received his doctorate. He is now teaching in India. Kung left school; he runs a Chinese restaurant and has four children. Alex Stephan passed his candidacy. He eventually made a trip to Europe, when he and his wife Dana won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry.
All text and pictures copyright © 2008 by Dr. Thursday
(I wrote this in 1991 while at an Unnamed School; it has been revised since then.)
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