The Square Root of Murder (Professor Sophie Knowles)

ask Liz to come into my den.
     
     
    “We were at the party for Dr. Bartholomew, like everybody else, then we went to the dorm,” Liz said. Was that an echo? I deemed it useless to ask her to repeat the line using only herself as subject.
    We’d already covered her topic for a significant paper to wrap up the applied statistics class. Liz had turned in her seat and was now in the “ready, set” stance, waiting for “go.”
    “Liz, I’m sure you know that sometimes even a very small omission can mean a great deal in a murder investigation.”
    “Are you investigating Dr. Appleton’s murder?”
    I didn’t expect that blow. Pam must have stayed up all night prepping her girls.
    “No, of course not,” I said, “but like every other teacher and student at Henley I’m concerned that his killer be found quickly, so we can all feel safe.”
    Liz flinched. It was a cheesy shot to throw in the safety angle, but I was losing.
    “Aren’t the police supposed to take care of that?” she asked, with a shaky voice.
    I felt only a little guilty scaring her, but I knew I should quit.
    I was officially exhausted from the deviousness of my pursuit and more glad than ever that I hadn’t gone into any aspect of law enforcement. I was ready to admit defeat. “You’re right, Liz. And you have no obligation to tell me anything.”
    “So we’re through?”
    Liz had regained her composure and came off as unflappable.
    “We’re through. Why don’t you just get started on that paper? And please tell Casey I’ll need a few minutes before I go over her work with her.”
    Liz shot out of our little corner.
    How did detectives like Virgil and Archie do it? I couldn’t even break down cute little soon-to-be coeds. How difficult must it be to work with hardened criminals?

     
    I stood up to stretch and guzzle a few ounces from my water bottle. I decided to treat myself and pay a visit to Bruce whom I’d left at the front of the library. I figured he’d been alone long enough and might need a little human interaction and a peck on the cheek.
    Not necessary.
    I approached the area and saw my boyfriend engaged in animated conversation with two women. Coeds? No, older than that.
    The group of three, with their backs to me, made for an unusual tableau on a Sunday morning in the college library: Bruce Granville, medevac pilot; Gil Bartholomew, flight nurse; and Phyllis Underwood, academic dean.
    Bruce and Gil had met the dean at holiday gatherings and celebrations, but hadn’t exchanged more than a few polite words with her.
    Now the two emergency workers appeared to have found a willing audience for their exciting tales. I held back and tuned into the conversation.
    From Gil: “Then there was the time we simulated a bus crash with thirty people on their way to a casino.”
    From Dean Underwood: “Does someone think that could really happen?”
    From Bruce: “Anything can happen.”
    Oops, the dean never wanted to hear something like that. But I hadn’t been asked to edit.
    From: Gil: “The idea is to practice our drills, get to know each other and how we operate, you know, just in case.”
    From Bruce, who had read the dean correctly: “On the outside chance.”
    From Gil: “We brought in twelve fire departments, three law enforcement agencies, an emergency communications agency”—she ticked off the list I’d heard more than once from Bruce—“the state office of emergency services, and the coroner’s office.”
    From Bruce: “Plus hospitals and an air ambulance.”
    From Dean Underwood: “My.”
    Gil was the first to spot me. She waved me to a seat next to her. “Hey, Sophie, look who’s all here.”
    I’d noticed. “Hey, Gil. Bruce.” I cleared my throat and all but bowed. “Dean Underwood.”
    Bruce stood and took my arm, leading me to a seat. I was sure the dean would be impressed by his old-fashioned chivalry, and the way I seemed to accept it. I also knew that’s what Bruce had in mind.
    “Hal has something to pick up or leave off or whatever in Franklin Hall, and Timmy’s with his grandmother,” Gil said, “so I thought I’d ride over and then get a lunch date out of it.”
    “You’re off today?”
    “Not supposed to be, but the schedule got crazy this week, with all hands on deck for the big drill and people switching here and there. Happens a lot.”
    “The nurses have it a lot easier,” Bruce said.
    Gil gave him a mock frown and pulled something from her purse. She handed me a