The Square Root of Murder (Professor Sophie Knowles)

knew was Gil’s. I could take care of the first. I had many notes from Hal in my desk on campus. Unfortunately, all the samples I’d taken to Virgil had been from home, the personal cards that Gil most likely had written. I’d never thought to pull samples from campus correspondence also.
    Bruce broke into my thoughts. “I assume you’re going to tell me why this matters to you?”
    I gave him the short form of my reasoning. “I think it was Gil Bartholomew, not Hal, who killed Keith and Hal is taking the rap.”
    “The rap? I knew it. You’ve been hanging around Virge too much.”
    “Please, Bruce.”
    “I’m just saying.”
    I appreciated the levity, but continued past it. “It makes so much sense. Gil always reacted more strongly than Hal when Keith insulted her husband. And according to you and the other rumormongers, she suspected Hal and Rachel of having an affair.”
    “That was more than a year ago.”
    “That kind of thing doesn’t go away, Bruce.”
    “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
    “I’m a girl. That’s all the experience I need. By framing Rachel, Gil’s actions get rid of two ugly people in her life.”
    “Man, I am put on notice.”
    “Believe it.”
    “For real, I’m with you on this theory. I can see that Hal, good guy that he is, would rather be punished himself than have his wife pay the price,” Bruce said. “But it’s very hard for me to think of someone I thought I knew well as a killer.”
    “I’m sure it is. Hal must have realized it was Gil as soon as Virgil brought him in and showed him the marked up pages. Virgil said he confessed immediately. Why else would he do that?”
    I didn’t wait for or expect an answer. I was out of breath with excitement. I tried to calm down and plot the course of the next couple of hours. While I was on campus, I’d walk over to my office and see what I had in my files. I knew I’d recently had a note from Hal about changing my statistics exam date for one of his physics majors, and I’d seen his greetings on a “Welcome to Math and Science” poster Rachel was putting together for the incoming freshmen. She’d planned it for the display case. I hoped Keith hadn’t signed it yet. It would be too gruesome a reminder.
    “What can I do?” Bruce asked, barging in again on my dizzy train of thought.
    “If we had a couple of new samples, one from each of the Bartholomews, that would do it. Can you go to MAstar and get me a couple of samples of Gil’s handwriting?”
    “Yeah.” Bruce stretched the word out. Suspicious. “What are you going to do with whatever I find?”
    “Give it to Virgil.”
    “Can I trust you to do that?”
    “Yes.”
    “You have to promise me that you won’t do anything yourself. You’ll turn over whatever we have to Virge.”
    I was happy to hear the “we.”
    “I promise,” I said, meaning it. I longed to get back to where the puzzles didn’t involve real humans and life and death.
     
     
    It was almost pleasant this evening, still in the eighties, but with a slight breeze wafting across the Henley College lawns as the sun descended. There was talk that the heat wave was coming to an end. At least until the next one.
    Near the library were a few students who must still have been living in Paul Revere dorm, but there were no cars to speak of. Even the lot nearest the admin building had emptied out. My car was near the tennis courts, only a short walk to my first-floor office in Franklin Hall.
    I entered the building through the basement. It was hard not to relive my last trip through this door, the clumsy red dolly at my heels. The memory prompted a question in my mind. If Gil was Keith’s killer, as I now firmly believed, it must have been she who took the boxes from my garage, and then returned them here. The only reason I could think of was that Keith had secreted another incriminating letter or photograph—birth certificate?—that would be embarrassing to her or Hal or both. I wondered how he’d buried that one. In a file labeled “Christmas Lists” or “Facebook Friends” ?
    Come to think of it, did Keith have a file on me? Maybe I should have bargained with the dean to let me look through the material in the boxes.
    The basement was as creepy today as it had been on Saturday. I wished I’d taken the front steps to the first floor, but this seemed quicker and cooler than a lumbering trip up the long outside flight. The sounds of the generator and fans and