The Square Root of Murder (Professor Sophie Knowles)

et cetera. This is where I arrive with my partner, Archie—you’ve met him a couple of times, I think. We send the uniforms out . . .” Another pause to flip through pages. “The janitor says the bottle looks like it belongs down the hall in a chemistry laboratory, in a cabinet that’s always locked.”
    “I know the cabinet you’re talking about. A lot of people have a key,” I said. Including Rachel.
    “Your friend has a key,” Virgil said, echoing my thought.
    “But she’s not the only one. Every chem and bio faculty member has a key, plus a couple of interns. You’d have to have a lot more than that before—”
    My voice had risen again. Virgil put his hand out to stop me before I made a complete fool of myself. Perspiration that had formed on his forehead made its way down his face. Here was this very tired, very busy detective in my home, to accommodate me, as a courtesy to his best friend. He had no obligation whatsoever to be here or to share information.
    “There is more,” he said, mopping his brow.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice back in control.
    Virgil waved away the second apology I’d made in less than ten minutes. “An eyewitness saw Ms. Wheeler outside the door to Professor Appleton’s office in the afternoon between one thirty and one forty-five, which looks to be close to the time of death, though we don’t know that for sure yet. That was just a quickie guess by the ME. Could have been any time from about noon till the gentleman found him at four.”
    An eyewitness saw her? Probably Woody. I could take care of that little nothing of a clue. “Rachel went upstairs to take Keith some food from a party we were having on the first floor.” I felt and heard a triumphant ring to my response. “We were celebrating Hal Bartholomew’s doctorate. He teaches physics.” That should clear things up.
    Virgil scratched his head. “What kind of food was that?”
    I described the paper plate with cake that Rachel had assembled. “White frosting, blue icing. And a can of soda. I don’t know which kind,” I added.
    Virgil flipped through his notebook. “I don’t see a mention of food or a drink here anywhere in the office.”
    “There has to be food there. I saw her leave the lounge with it. It was a very nice gesture on her part. While everyone else was ragging on him, I might add.”
    “I’ll check the photos when I get back.”
    “Wait. I remember Rachel said Keith didn’t answer her knock. I’ll bet she just left the plate outside his door. Would the photos show that?”
    “If there was anything outside the door, yes, it would have been photographed.”
    Virgil shot me a sad, tired look. I was amazed he showed no anger or frustration, which, given my performance, I’d have completely understood.
    “I’m really grateful to you for coming, Virgil,” I said. “I’m getting concerned that you’ll get no sleep at all tonight if you don’t leave soon. I guess I lost track of the fact that you’re doing me this big favor.” I took a big breath. “I’m just worried about my friend.”
    “I understand, Sophie. I didn’t come here for a party.” He held up his nearly empty beer bottle and smiled, barely. “This was a good start, though.”
    “Can I get you another one? Or some coffee?” About time I showed my classy side.
    “I’m good.”
    “I just want you to know I’d like to help Rachel Wheeler. She seems to think you’re zeroing in on her. Maybe she’s wrong?” I checked Virgil’s face for signs of “Bingo, you’re right; she’s wrong.” Nothing. “Or if she is at the top of your list because of something I don’t know yet, maybe you could tell me and I could explain it for you.”
    I was out of breath as often happened when I rambled.
    Virgil drained his beer then sucked his lips in tight. “We’re withholding one thing. I’m going out on a limb here telling you. But what the heck, I don’t think this is what’s going to be the gotcha.” I moved forward on my seat. “There were papers scattered over and around the victim’s body and throughout the office. Pages and pages of yellow computer paper, eight and a half by eleven sheets, some with typed text, some with diagrams and pictures. They were crinkled up as if someone had thrown them around in anger.”
    I thought immediately of Rachel’s thesis. The campus store sold reams of very inexpensive yellow paper that most students used for drafts of their reports that no teacher would