Tragedy In One Act

by Herschel Cozine

There was nothing like a phone call from Captain Jeremiah to put Kate in a foul mood, especially if it came on a weekend as this one did. She listened in gloomy silence as Jeremiah, in his own curt way, told her why he called. Well, not really why . That would be asking too much.

“Get down to headquarters,” he said.

Kate muttered an oath as she switched off her cell phone and threw it on the couch. Her plans for a quiet relaxing weekend had just gone up in smoke, as had so many before it. She hadn't had a weekend off in three weeks. This made it four. Cursing Jeremiah and his reason for calling her, Kate navigated through the late evening traffic with the daring of a race car driver. It would serve Jeremiah right, she thought, if she had an accident.

“Get over to the university,” Jeremiah said without prelude as she walked through the door at police headquarters.

“The university is a pretty big place, Chief. Could you be a little more specific?”

“Science building.”

“Who am I meeting there?” she said. “And why?”

Jeremiah waved an impatient hand. “Charlie. Murder,” he grumbled, thus answering both questions in two words.

Kate knew better than to ask who the victim might be. Jeremiah probably didn't know and wouldn't tell her even if he did. Conversation was not his long suit. A loner in the strongest sense of the word, he had no close friends at work and no outside life. Some of his coworkers didn't even know his first name. Police work was his life. He even had a cot in the back room where he spent many nights while working on a case. Kate admired his work ethic, but never tried to get too close.

She pulled into the university parking lot, killed the engine and walked up the tree-lined sidewalk leading to the Science Building . Although according to the calendar it was spring, there was a chill in the air that held a hint of the cruel winter that had just passed. Kate pulled her coat tighter around her and walked a little faster.

Charlie looked up as she came through the door, greeted her with a slight nod of the head, and led her down the hall to a classroom near the back of the building. He lifted the yellow tape and she ducked under. Charlie followed.

Charles Morgan was Kate's assistant, a sergeant who had been with the force for as long as anyone could remember. And he never missed a day of work. Almost as dedicated to his job as Jeremiah, he nonetheless pursued a personal life. Married, with two grown children, he was a devoted husband. Kate consoled herself with the fact that Charlie's weekend plans had also been torpedoed. For some reason this made her feel better while at the same time it made her feel guilty for having such thoughts.

“Who's the vic?” Kate asked.

“Name is Sarah Winters. She is—or was—a science professor. Some students found her about an hour ago. I just got here myself.”

Sarah Winters' body was sprawled on the floor of the classroom at Murrayville University where she had taught biology and anatomy. Her pale skin appeared even paler under the harsh fluorescent light. A pair of scissors protruded from her back. In her hand was a cardboard sign with the female symbol on it: a circle with a cross extending downward from it. In her dying moments she had taken it from the wall behind her desk. The male symbol remained in its place on the wall.

Kate surveyed the room quickly. A trail of blood led from a spot near the window on the far side of the room. Sarah had evidently been stabbed while standing by the window and had crawled to the wall and picked up the sign before she died. Kate wondered why. The significance of the sign escaped her.

A small white haired man, dressed in an ill fitting suit, stood nervously by the window, his hands working each other, his face registering fear mixed with dismay. He glanced at Kate, then returned his gaze to the window, his eyes carefully avoiding the body on the floor.

“Who is that?” Kate indicated the man with a nod of her head.

Before Charlie could answer the man walked over to Kate and held out his hand.

“I'm Professor Timms,” he said. “I'm the head of the science department.”

“Lieutenant Petersen,” Kate said. She looked into the pale blue eyes of the professor and waved her hand toward the body. “What can you tell me?” she asked.

The professor made a face. “Nothing that would be of any help. I only arrived a few minutes before the police.”

“Who reported it?”

“Security,” Timms said. “I got a call a little over half an hour ago from the guard. I immediately called the police and came down here as fast as I could.” He grimaced, twisting his gnomish face into a mass of wrinkles. “Terrible. Nothing like this has ever happened before.” Kate grunted in a poor attempt at sympathy. Leaving the professor to his misery, she pointed to the sign.

“What do you make of that?” she inquired of her assistant.

“Dunno,” Charlie replied. “Is she telling us the killer was a woman?”

“If so, she has narrowed the suspects down to half the population.”

Kate looked to Timms with a raised eyebrow.

“I'm afraid I can't help you,” he said. “I know that the symbol means ‘female'. But I have no idea what message Professor Winters was trying to convey.”

Kate grunted and made a notation on her pad. She walked over to the body and kneeled down. She studied the sign carefully. It was a professionally made sign, white heavy gauge cardboard with black print. In the lower corner was the statement, “Made in USA ”. It was worn and dirty from years of use. Its meaning was clear. In biology, the symbol stood for female.

Kate looked at the other sign. Except for the male symbol—a circle with an arrow protruding from it—it was identical to the female sign. What was Professor Winters trying to tell her?

“So,” Charlie said. “We have a stiff...” he paused and looked to Timms. “Sorry, professor. We have a body in a deserted classroom on a weekend when no classes are being held. Is the building locked on weekends?”

Professor Timms shook his head. “Only if no one is in the building, which is rare. Many of the professors use the weekend to catch up on their research.”

“Did the security guard see anyone or notice anything suspicious?”

“I don't know,” Timms said. “But he is in his office if you want to speak with him.”

“Yes,” Kate said. “Let's see what he can tell us.”

“I'll take you there,” Timms said in a voice that betrayed relief at being freed from the gruesome environment. Walking quickly down the hall, he knocked gently at the door of the security office and opened it.

Harold Mills was a beefy man in his early fifties. He was wearing a uniform that was a size too small and in need of ironing. Probably a bachelor, Kate thought as she introduced herself.

“I got called over to the science building by a student,” Mills said. “He was real excited. Said they had discovered a body.”

Kate threw a puzzled glance at the man. “Then you weren't in your office at the time?”

“There's an office in every building. I was in the Music building. Just finishing my dinner.” He combed his thinning hair with his fingers. “Thought I'd stick around here for awhile. I figured the police would want to talk to me.”

“I think you said ‘they' discovered a body. How many is that?” Kate asked.

Mills held up his fingers. “Four students. Professor Timms has their names.”

Professor Timms spoke up. “Here are the names,” he said. He handed Kate a sheet of paper. “Traditionally, a group of science students puts on a play each year just before spring break. A melodrama. A farce. She was the director, and these students are in it. There was a rehearsal scheduled for tonight, and since this is the weekend, the campus is pretty deserted. These four would be the only ones in the building, I expect.” He shook his head sadly.

Kate took the paper from Timms and studied the names. “Where can I find them?”

“They're in the theatre. It's just down the hall.” He pointed.

Andrea Miller, Guy Hanson, Jason French and Michelle Cooper sat together talking softly when Kate and Charlie entered the theatre. In reality the theatre was an oversized classroom that served as a lecture hall. A small stage at the far end made it possible for it to double as a theatre if the ensemble was small enough. There wasn't room for more than half a dozen people to be on stage at the same time.

Jason, the apparent leader of the group, stepped forward. Tall and thin, with brown hair and eyes, he smiled warmly, extending his hand.

“Jason French,” he said.

Kate took his hand, nodded to Charlie. “I'm Kate Petersen and this is Charles Morgan. We're police detectives.”

The rest of the cast was introduced. Kate turned her attention back to Jason.

“Who discovered the body?”

“We all did,” Jason said. “We came together. We live on campus, so we usually have dinner together on rehearsal nights. Then we walk over here.” He shrugged. “When Doctor Winters didn't show up at the theatre we came over to the lab.”

“You saw no one else?”

Jason shook his head.

“Did any of you touch anything?”

Four heads shook in unison.

“Do any of you know why she would have grasped the card that indicates ‘female' as she was dying?”

Again all four shook their heads.

“Doctor Winters used the signs often in her lectures,” Guy said. “But I don't have any idea why she would pick up that sign.”

“Maybe it was an accident,” Michelle offered. “She was dying and reached out for anything.
“I don't think so,” Kate said. “She was stabbed on the other side of the room from the sign. There's a trail of blood leading to the wall where we found her. She had a good reason for wanting that sign.”

“Can you think of any reason someone would kill her?”

Another shake of the head. “Nobody here, at least.”

Andrea, standing apart from the rest of the cast, shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

“Do we need a lawyer?” she asked in a timid voice.

Kate shrugged. “That's up to you,” she said. “At this point I am simply getting information.”

“Well,” Andrea replied. “Jason is wrong about someone not wanting to kill her.”

Jason started to say something, but Andrea cut him off.

“C'mon, Jason,” she said. “None of us liked her. Let's face it. She's a bitch. We all just about quit the show because of her. It's only because we invested so much time and effort that we are still here.” She shook her head. “And it's a fun show to do in spite of everything.”

“And we get extra credit for doing this,” Guy added. “God knows I can use it.”

Jason nodded in agreement.

“The play we were doing was a silly little farce. One act,” he said. “To give you an idea of what it was all about, Guy plays a dock worker named ‘Stevie Dore'. Michelle is an art store owner named ‘Venus D. Milo'. Andrea is ‘Minnie Strone', manager of a diner. And I am ‘Cliff Hanger', author of suspense novels.” He laughed. “It's called ‘Five Greasy Pizzas'.” Another chuckle. “You won't see it on Broadway.”

Kate noted the names on her pad. “From what we can determine at the moment, Doctor Winters has been dead for about three hours. Were you all together at that time?”

Jason glanced at his watch. “That would be five o'clock or so. No. We eat at six. I was doing laundry in the dorm basement at five.”

“Was anyone else there?” Kate asked.

Jason shrugged. “No. I'm afraid not.” He smiled ruefully. “So I guess I'm a suspect.”

Kate turned to Michelle. “Where were you?”

Michelle frowned thoughtfully. “Five o'clock? Let's see.” Her frown deepened, then she sat up straight. “I was studying my lines in my room,” she said.

“Alone?”

“Yes.” She pushed her hair from her eyes. “In fact someone knocked on the door, but I didn't answer. I didn't want to be disturbed.” Her face betrayed her nervousness. “So whoever knocked would probably tell you I wasn't there. That's bad, isn't it?”

Kate shrugged and made a note in her pad. She turned to Guy, raising her eyebrow in a silent question.

“I was in the gym working out,” Guy said. Before she could ask, he went on. “A couple of other guys were there, but they were in the other room. I don't think they saw me, or if they did they probably wouldn't remember.”

“Do you know their names?”

Guy thought for a moment. “No. I've seen them there before, though, and could point them out to you. But like I say, I don't think they could help.”

Kate turned to Andrea. Andrea played with her hair nervously. “I was right here. I was in the dressing room mending my costume.” She shuddered. “I'm afraid that's not much of an alibi. It's so close to the lab.”

And the scissors, Kate thought. They could have come from the dressing room.

“And no witnesses to verify your story, I suppose.”

Andrea nodded. “I was alone. I didn't see or hear anything. And as far as I know, no one saw me.”

“OK,” Kate said, closing her pad and storing it in her shoulder bag. “You're free to go. But leave your names and a place where you can be reached. I will probably have more questions for you.”

The four students straggled out of the room without speaking to Kate or each other. Kate turned to Charlie.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Charlie shrugged. “None of them have alibis that will stand up. And even though Jason said no one would want to kill her, it's apparent that Professor Winters was not on their Christmas card list.”

“Which means there are others, besides the four cast members, who probably feel the same way.” She sighed. “I guess it would be too much to ask to have a case where the killer was caught redhanded.”

Charlie chuckled. “That would be boring.”

“I can live with ‘boring',” Kate said. She opened her note pad and studied it for a few moments.

“Winters is a small woman and all of the cast members are of good size. Any one of them could have easily killed her.”

Charlie nodded. “The choice of weapon makes it appear to me that it was a spur of the moment killing, not planned. Wouldn't a knife be a better choice?”

“I suppose,” Kate said. “But the killer may not have wanted to carry one into the building and risk being seen by security or anyone else.”

Charlie sighed. “So. What now?”

Kate shrugged. “Grunt work. You know the routine.”

Charlie took a toothpick from his pocket and put it in his mouth. Chewing on it thoughtfully, he said, “the chief is gonna want answers. The vic is no ordinary schmuck. She's a respected professor in a respected university.”

“The chief will have answers as soon as we do,” Kate replied. “I'm not going to be rushed.”

Charlie showed no surprise at her answer. They had worked together long enough that each knew how the other felt.

* * *

“Well?” Jeremiah said as Kate and Charlie walked through the door of headquarters.

“At the moment we have four potential suspects,” Kate said. “But they are by no means the only ones who could have done this.”

“What evidence do you have?”
Kate shrugged. “Very little. A pair of scissors. A sign. We'll see if we can get anything off the scissors, but I'm not very hopeful. We dusted for fingerprints, but it wasn't of any help. Everybody in school had access to the lab.” She consulted her notepad. “The only interesting thing about that is that her desk and filing cabinet had been wiped clean. Apparently the killer made a crude attempt at eliminating his or her fingerprints.”

Jeremiah frowned. “What is this sign are you talking about?”

Kate drew the symbol on a pad and held it out to Jeremiah. “She was holding a sign which represents female. It meant something to her, I suppose. But I have no idea what she was trying to tell us.”

Jeremiah's frown deepened as he studied the drawing. Finally he grunted and turned back to his desk.

“No days off until this is in the bag,” he said. Picking up his ballpoint pen, he started to write. This, Kate knew from experience, meant the meeting was over. She winked at Charlie and together they left the room.

“You know,” she said, “there were several other students around last night. Any one of them could have gone to the lab and killed Professor Winters.” She sighed. “We have our work cut out for us.”

“Yeah,” Charlie agreed. “The only real clue we have is that blasted sign. And it don't mean diddly to me.”

“Ditto,” Kate said. Frowning in thought, she walked absentmindedly down the sidewalk past her car. She was several paces beyond when Charlie called out to her.

“You planning on walking home?”

Kate smiled sheepishly as she returned to the car.

* * *

Kate's interview with Professor Timms was of very little help.

“Yes,” he had said in answer to her question, “she had a problem relating to people. As far as I know she had no friends on the faculty.” He shifted nervously in his chair as he spoke. “But,” he quickly added, “certainly no one hated her. At least not enough to kill her.”

Kate shook her head. “She didn't kill herself, professor,” she said. “So someone—faculty or student—must have done it. If we can find someone who had a compelling reason to want her dead, that would be helpful.”

The small man leaned back and pursed his lips. He remained silent for several moments while Kate waited patiently for him to speak.

Finally he leaned forward. “Professor Winters, as I said, was not well liked by the other members of the faculty. But she wasn't a threat to any of them, and I can think of no reason why any of them would risk their careers or lives to kill her.” He smiled thinly. “If I were you I would concentrate on one of the students.” He shuffled through some papers on his desk, selected one and scanned it briefly.

“Jason French is a Science major and takes two classes from Sarah. He was doing well in one of them, but struggling in the other. However, I see no reason for him to kill her. At least not a scholastic reason. There may have been a personal relationship that I don't know about.”

Kate frowned. “Personal? How personal?”

Timms waved a dismissive hand. “I'm not implying anything other than a teacher-student relationship. Doctor Winters had an exemplary life. She would never get personally involved with a student—especially a male student.”

“Was she married?”

“No. Sarah was devoted to her career and found marriage, or even a relationship, ‘a nuisance I do not need' to quote her.”

“So I can rule out sex and jealousy as a motive?”

“I believe so,” Timms said, then sighed. “I don't pretend to know Sarah that well. But I pride myself in being a pretty good judge of character.” Another thin smile. “Of course, knowing the human condition, anything is possible.”

“What about the others?” Kate asked.

Timms turned his attention to the paper before him.

“Michelle Cooper is here on a scholarship. Grades are very important to her if she wants to keep it.” He pulled another paper from the pile and studied it. “She had a midterm grade of ‘C-‘ in Biology. She needed to bring it up to at least a ‘B-‘. With the new term about halfway through, she was still not up to that level.” He shrugged. “Motive? Perhaps. But Michelle doesn't seem to be the type.”

Kate grunted. “Professor Timms, I have been in this business long enough to know that there is no ‘type'. We are all capable, I believe, and given a strong enough motive we might be able to commit murder. The question is, do any of these kids have a strong motive?”

She consulted her list. ”Andrea Miller. What can you tell me about her?”

Timms shrugged. “Nothing. Ordinary student. From the midwest, out here on a partial scholarship. Majoring in Business. She's a student of Sarah's, as are the others.” He looked at his paper. “She's carrying a ‘C' in the course, and as far as I know, she has no issues with Sarah—certainly none serious enough to warrant killing.”

Kate nodded, unconvinced. “Andrea told me that everyone hated Professor Winters. She even called her a bitch and said that all of the cast members had almost quit the play because of her. That hardly sounds like a devoted fan.”

Timms blinked rapidly, removed his glasses and polished them with his handkerchief. “As I said, Sarah was not a likeable person. I never cared for her either. But she was a good teacher, well grounded in her subject and able to pass her knowledge on to her students.” He smiled and leaned back. “Most professors are not good teachers. They are so immersed in their research that they don't have the patience or the ability to teach. When someone like Sarah comes along, with the knowledge and the ability to teach, I feel blessed. I put up with her shortcomings as a human being. Nobody's perfect.”

“Nevertheless,” Kate said. “Someone—one of the cast members or an intruder nobody saw—hated her enough to kill her.”

“I can't disagree with that,” Timms said.

“What about Guy Hanson?” Kate asked.

Timms grunted and leaned back. “A jock. Plays football. He's here on a partial athletic scholarship.”

“Would grades matter to him?”

“Yes and no,” Timms replied. “On the surface, athletic scholarships are as grade related as scholastic ones. But with the emphasis on sports, many professors yield to the pressure from coaches to give athletes passing grades whether they deserve them or not.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, this university is guilty of that as well.”

“But,” Kate said, “it sounds to me as though Professor Winters wasn't the kind to give in to that kind of pressure. Maybe Guy—or even one of the coaches—had a hand in this.”

“Coaches?” Timms said. “I doubt that very much. Hanson isn't a star. He is an average player. Running back. Seldom starts a game. As I said, he has a partial scholarship. The choice athletes get full scholarships, special dorms, transportation, and many other perks the public doesn't hear about. Hanson is not in that category.”

“So it sounds as if we can rule out the coaching staff. But Guy himself would have a motive if a failing grade in Biology made him ineligible. That's a strong motive.”

“Agreed,” Timms said. “But therein lies the problem.” He held up a piece of paper. “Guy Hanson is carrying a ‘C+' in Biology.”

Kate sighed and noted this on her pad. She stood up and extended her hand. “Thank you for your time and cooperation, Professor.”

“I wish I could be more help to you,” Timms said.

Kate started for the door, turned and looked to Timms.

“Have you given any more thought to the sign that Sarah Winters was holding when she died? The female symbol?”

Timms shook his head. “I can't help you there,” he said. “It seems to be unrelated to the case.”

“I don't believe that,” Kate said. “She went to a lot of trouble to get it. We're not looking in the right place.” She shrugged her shoulders, smiled at the professor and left.

* * *

Kate's conversations with the four students did nothing to shed any light on the case. Andrea Miller repeated her statement about Sarah Winters. But, she admitted, her feelings did not run deep enough for murder.

“I've known a lot of people like her,” she said. “I'd be a mass murderess if I allowed my feelings to run my life.”

“Have you talked to other students about your feelings toward Doctor Winters?”

Andrea shook her head. “It's never been a topic of discussion. It's sort of an understanding. We all agreed without talking about it that Doctor Winters was not well liked.”

“Any particular reason?”

Another shake of the head. “She was...I don't know...it's hard to explain. She was cold, domineering, impossible to talk to about problems you may be having with her class. She had no sense of humor.”

“But,” Kate said, “she was directing this farce on her own time. It sounds to me like she must have some appreciation for humor outside of her area of expertise.”

Andrea laughed. “No way! This is an annual event—a tradition so to speak—and the faculty direct the plays on a rotation basis. This year it was Doctor Winters' turn. She wasn't doing it willingly, and she let us know that. Frequently.”

“OK,” Kate said. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

Andrea gave Kate a fleeting smile and left.

Guy Hanson, Jason French and Michelle Cooper all gave similar accounts of Sarah Winters and the circumstances surrounding her death. None were very helpful.

* * *

Kate stopped by the forensic lab on her way back to the office.

“What can you tell me bout the scissors used in the Winters killing?” she asked.

Brett Wiley, young, tousled hair and amusingly brash, looked up from his microscope.

“Katie, my love,” he said. “I was hoping you would ask.”

“Cut to the chase, Brett.”

“Not until you say you will marry me.”

“When you learn to shave,” she said. “In the meantime I have a case to solve. Can you help?”

Brett shrugged. “'Fraid not. Scissors are run of the mill. No definable prints.”

“Were they wiped clean?”

“No. But whoever used them gripped them in such a way that he or she left no useful print patterns.”

“Were these scissors part of the lab equipment, or did the killer bring them to the lab?”

“Oh they were lab scissors. No question about that. Lots of residual material. Tissue. Skin. They were used to dissect frogs and the like.”

“OK,” Kate said. “Do you have anymore useful information? DNA perhaps?”

Brett shook his head. “Nope. No contact with the victim that we can find. No struggle. Apparently the victim had her back turned when she was stabbed. No bruises, torn clothing. That sort of thing.”

Kate smiled wistfully. “Thanks, Brett. You've been a big help. When I crack the case I'll give you full credit for all your help.”

Brett smiled his boyish, irresistible smile which Kate resisted without effort. “Thanks, sweetheart. Marry me and we'll call it even.”

Kate rubbed her cheek as if shaving, then pointed at Brett. “Remember our agreement.”

Before Brett could respond she left.

Back at the station, Kate tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid Jeremiah.

“What's going on with Winters?” he growled as she walked past his office.

“Nothing new, Chief. I just came from the university.”

“Dammit!” he said. “This is a big case. The public wants answers.”

“So do I, chief. So do I,” Kate said.

Jeremiah waved his magazine at her. “You're getting paid to...” he started.

Kate held up her hand. What are you reading?” she asked, frowning at the cover.

Jeremiah's frown deepened. “What the hell difference does it make?”

“Scientific American.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn't know you were interested in anything that didn't have to do with police work.”

“As a matter of fact,” Jeremiah growled, “there is an article in here about the latest developments in forensic science. Not that it's any of your business.”

“The cover story is about the evolution of our solar system.”

Jeremiah threw the magazine on his desk. “Officer Petersen, you'd do well to concentrate on the Winters case and not worry about our solar system.”

Kate didn't hear him. “But that's it, chief!” she shouted. “Why didn't somebody think of this sooner?”

“What's the matter with you?” Jeremiah asked. “Have you gone nuts?”
Kate was halfway to the door before Jeremiah finished the sentence.

* * *

Michelle Cooper slumped in the chair in the interrogation room at police headquarters. She twisted a can of Diet Coke on the arm of the chair while Kate talked.

“It would help you, Michelle, if you came clean on this.”

Michelle stared at the floor. The silence was broken by the hum of traffic outside.

“OK,” Kate said at last. “If that's the way you want it. We found your fingerprints in the lab.”

Michelle fidgeted in the chair. “So what? I'm in the lab a lot. But I wasn't there last Saturday, I told you. I was in my room.”

“Yes,” Kate said. “Studying your lines. You even had someone knock on your door, but you didn't answer.” Kate smiled. “Nice touch. Almost believable.”

Michelle continued to stare at the floor.

“But your prints were in a place they shouldn't be.”

“And where was that?” Michelle asked.

Kate didn't answer her question directly.

“Here's what we think happened,” Kate said. “You were in danger of losing your scholarship because of your poor grade in Biology. The midterm test was coming up. I think that in your desperation you were looking for the answers to the test. Sarah must have come in and caught you in the act.”

“You can't prove that,” Michelle said.

Kate leaned forward, almost touching the trembling girl.

“I think we can. “The file containing the answers to the midterm had your prints on it. You would have no reason to be in Sarah's files. From what I have learned about Doctor Winters, she would not tolerate that.”

Michelle sat motionless.

“And the sign, Michelle. The sign Sarah was holding points to you. Once we figured out what she was trying to tell us, the rest was easy.”

“The sign?” Michelle said. “Female? Andrea's female. What does...”

“No, not female. The symbol stands for female in biology. But it has another meaning, one that none of us thought of at first. You see, in astronomy the symbol represents the planet Venus. You're character name. Venus D. Milo .”

Michelle melted into the chair, put her hands over her mouth and sighed deeply.

“She wasn't supposed to be there,” she said.

“No, she wasn't,” Kate agreed. “According to security she never got to the lab before 6:30 on rehearsal night.”

Michelle was crying softly. “I didn't mean to kill her. All I wanted to do was pass the midterm. But Doctor Winters was furious. She threatened me with immediate expulsion. I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn't listen.”

“Michelle,” Kate said, looking at the girl with a growing sense of sympathy. “I think you should get a lawyer before we go any further.”

Michelle wiped her eyes with her sleeve and nodded.

* * *

“You are as responsible as anyone for solving the case, Chief,” Kate said. “After all, your Scientific American was what gave me the idea.”

Jeremiah, stoic and somber, put his feet on the desk and waited for Kate to continue.

“In her dying moments, Sarah tired to point to her killer with the sign. Without that clue we may never have cracked this case. Certainly we had no reason to dust the files for fingerprints. But when we realized that our prime suspect was someone who needed a good grade in Biology, it made sense to see if perhaps she was trying to find answers to the test. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

Jeremiah grunted, put his feet back on the floor and rubbed his stubbled chin.

“Good work, Petersen,” he said.

“Thanks, chief,” she replied. “Coming from you that is high praise indeed.”

Jeremiah put a pad of paper on the desk, picked up his pen and started to write.

Kate gave an inward smile. She had been dismissed. Still glowing from Jeremiah's “enthusiastic” praise for her work she turned and left the office.