Sounds of Murder

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

She couldn't believe she was still here--still in the building this late at night. She placed her key in the lock and opened her office. Shoop immediately brushed past her, reached for the light switch, which he found instinctively to the left of the door. Bright stark fluorescent light illuminated her usually cheerful space. Shoop strode to her paisley sofa, removed his overcoat, and laid it over the arm. Then he sat perfunctorily in the middle. He gestured for her to take a place at her desk.

"Have a seat, Ms. Barnes," he motioned, pulling his small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. She moved to her desk, dumped her belongings on top and sat in her swivel chair. Usually she preferred to lounge on the sofa. It was more comfortable and she had discovered over the years that if she allowed students to take up a position on her couch, they had a tendency to stay there for a long time. Please don't let this be the case with Shoop, she prayed. She desperately wanted to go home to Rocky. She needed to feel his arms around her and hear him tell her this was all a bad dream.

Shoop crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in the soft pillows of her sofa. He looked entrenched. Not what she wanted.

"All right, Ms. Barnes," he started, flipping through the pages of the notebook and glancing at the notes he'd taken in the lab. "Let's start at the beginning. When did you arrive here?"

"You mean tonight?" she asked, somewhat confused.

"Yes," he answered. "You weren't here all day?"

"No, sir," she said. She was sitting up straight in her desk chair, not feeling one bit relaxed. She knew she had nothing to hide and yet this was quickly beginning to feel like an interrogation.

"When did you first arrive at the building today?" he asked, rephrasing his question, and poising his pen for her response.

"I got here this morning around nine o'clock, but I went home for dinner about five o'clock and then returned at six," she described.

"Is this your regular daily pattern?" he asked, now munching thoughtfully on the end of the pen, his sleepy brown eyes watching her, as he glanced over the tops of his rimless glasses.

"No," she said, swallowing, "only on Tuesdays. I have a graduate seminar on Tuesday nights."

"I see," he nodded. "Hmm," he added, changing positions. "All right, take me again through every step from the time you entered the building at six."

"All right," she said. "I parked in the lot. One of my students, Kent Drummond, you know, you met him ..."

"Right," he cut her off. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose. "Continue with your story."

She suddenly felt defensive. "It's not a story," she said. "I'm just telling you what actually happened."

"Right, right," he said in a practiced soothing voice, "Just continue." He shoved the hanky back in his pocket.

"Kent met me at my car."

"Where did he come from? The building?" asked Shoop.

"No, I believe he'd just arrived. His car was parked behind mine."

"Fine," answered the detective. "Go on."

We walked into the building together," Pamela continued, "He went directly to the seminar room and I stopped at the main office."

"Did anyone see you in the office?"

"I was just going to say, I stopped at the office because Phineas Ottenback, one of my colleagues, wanted to talk to me. I stood in the hallway for just a few minutes talking to Phineas and then he headed upstairs to his class and I went into the office to get my mail."