Murder at Whiskey U

By Sanford Temkin

It's back-to-school Saturday for the fall semester at Wissahicken University. Larry Kellington is in his office to attend to some loose ends. Once finished, he cuts across the grass in the dark toward the parking lot and discovers the motionless body of a naked adult female. He makes his way to Campus Security to report what he saw. Then he is interrogated by a hard -nosed Philadelphia Police Department Lieutenant.

A few weeks later, under a growing dark cloud of suspicion, Larry recruits four faculty friends to help him solve the murder. They divide up the work and go after the killer. A second murder, a bandaged sore head for Larry, and some deflated egos spur them on, until they are able to bring down the killer in a face-to-face surprise climax.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467025003

Book preview

Murder at

Whiskey U

SANFORD TEMKIN

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AuthorHouse™

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© 2011 by Sanford Temkin. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 11/18/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4670-2501-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-2500-3 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011915774

Printed in the United States of America

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third party websites or their content.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

She Should Never Have Done It

Back-to-School Saturday

Still At Square One

Either In Or Out

The Faculty Five

And That’s That

Certifiably Cool

Still Feelings Run Deep

Electronic Security

And Then There Were Four

Another Note

Reduced to Three

Peace Keeper

Remember What Pogo Said?

Ferguson’s Choice

Going Solo

Time for Some Action

First Day on the Job

Inspector Moroni’s Decision

Introducing Barry Pine

Nail That Mother

Let’s Make A Deal

A Refresher Course in Statistics

The Penthouse Suite

The Arthricure Experiment

Larry Chan

Two Names Left

Epilogue

I dedicate this book to Al and Sadie, my parents.

I would like to acknowledge Maxine Temkin, my wife, who was there to help whenever it was needed.

And to Debbie and Michael who were always ready to offer their suggestions and help.

She Should Never Have Done It

An unopened morning paper rested next to what earlier was a steaming-hot bowl of oatmeal. Intrigued by movement of the overhead fan reflecting on the shiny kitchen table surface, he had been sitting in his underwear engaged in thought for quite some time.

He lifted his head. The hard part was over. He knew how he wanted to do it, but with the semester beginning Monday there wasn’t a great deal of time. He’d have to speed it up.

Since yesterday he had been through this a number of times and in each instance the same answers won out. He should be feeling good about things. Instead, he felt he may not have accounted for everything. Or it could be his intuition signaling a better way of getting this done was staring him in the face. So he decided in favor of returning to the beginning and covering everything again… for the final time, hopefully.

Comfortable now that he had been as thorough as was humanly possible in confronting a risky situation, he began to experience a sense of accomplishment. His nagging suspicions were completely gone. His patience had paid off.

The game plan would kick in with him calling Beverly at home after lunch. He would say he was busy. That he’d reach her at home once he was free, probably late this afternoon. He would really hold off until shortly before dark and ask her to meet him at school. He was certain she would go along with his request.

There was no other way this could have played out. Not after she’d called him here at home, eager to talk about the data she had lucked into at work. A few days later she stopped by his office unexpectedly. Explained she was confused about the published difference between the experimental and control group averages, and the one she got when she entered the data into her computer program. She ended up asking if he would help her reconcile the difference between the two sets of figures.

He knew there was no good reason for him to even attempt to explain away what she, a senior in college, had been able to accomplish. Unbelievable was what it was.

He would respond the only way he could. He would kill her.

Her first mistake was allowing herself to be led around by academic curiosity. She was far too young, far too inexperienced for anything like that. The next, the biggest of her life was asking for help from him.

She should never have done it.

He shrugged as he reached for the paper.

Back-to-School Saturday

Wissahickon University nestled against Fairmount Park in the far northwestern reaches of Philadelphia. The campus was a half-mile square with the library at its center. Skilled groundskeepers cared affectionately for the landscape in the spring, summer, and fall seasons. Clearing roads of snow and ice was occasionally on their schedule during winter months.

The weekend after Labor Day traditionally marked the return of students for fall-semester classes. On this back-to-school Saturday afternoon a gentle breeze complemented a sunny seventy-four degrees to create a sense of ease and wellbeing for all.

Most of the hugging and unpacking was over by the time Larry Kellington passed through the main gate. He bypassed still-busy narrow roads and made his way to the faculty lot behind Laker Hall. Hoping to avoid difficult to escape what-did-you-do-last-summer conversation with his peers, he took the stairs in the rear.

Larry found his office just as he had left it: books, journals, folders with papers piled high on his desk, the filing cabinet, the floor.

In mid-semester form already. There’s no doubt about it.

Beginning next week this lanky, energetic teacher in his middle forties would be giving a first-time MBA offering in business ethics and corporate strategy, along with two of their junior-year sections of introductory finance. He eased into the chair in front of his, at times unpredictable, computer and with a satisfied smile on his face booted it up.

He wanted to accomplish two things today: catch up with his backlog of summer e-mail, and attend to last minute changes to each course syllabus.

Nearly two hours elapsed before he was done. He removed his reading glasses, went to the window and peered into the dim early evening light. Cars, vans, SUVs, pickup trucks, jeeps, motorcycles and bicycles, a few hours ago clogging campus arteries were gone. Aside from a trickle of students traveling alone or in small clusters there was little to see.

Larry checked his work again, before going to the Xerox machine at the end of the hall. He ran off a few more copies for his students than the latest enrollment figures indicated. Next he intended to make certain the articles cited on his syllabuses would be available for them at the reserve desk in the library.

Prior to heading there he poked his head into the hall and noticed the door to Bob Cohill’s office across the way ajar.

Larry was chuckling as he pushed open the door. His young, well-proportioned, muscular friend dressed in a lightweight Philadelphia Eagles green sweatshirt and khaki pants swiveled in his chair to face him. No time for talking, Larry. I’m busy. Swamped is a better word.

Larry placed his briefcase on the floor and sat.

No time for this, Larry. I’m sorry.

You have twenty seconds to explain, Robert.

It’s my consulting work, Larry. I’m overwhelmed. I should have things under control late tomorrow. We can talk on Monday. Will an early lunch at the club… say 11:15, be all right for you?

Monday, early, sounds good.

A brief stop at the library turned into something much more, when Larry’s department chairwoman spotted him in line at the checkout counter and asked was this a good time to discuss a committee assignment for the new semester. One thing led to another, and it was past 8:30 before they finished.

Larry took a brightly lit walkway that wound through the campus and set out in the cool, moonlit, starry night for the parking lot. He glanced at his watch, and nodded in response. Then he abandoned the light of the walkway to cut diagonally across the grass.

Roughly sixty yards from his destination, he observed an odd-looking mound by a thick grouping of bushes on his left. It could be most anything… trash, grass and twigs, newspapers.

Curiosity drew him to within maybe fifteen, twenty feet of it. Close enough for him to form a distinct impression about what it was.

Before doing anything else he thought it necessary to find out if he was alone. Several minutes spent walking into and around bushes and small trees in the darkness persuaded him he was in all likelihood alone.

In all likelihood wasn’t good enough for him, though. But fumbling around in the dark hadn’t accomplished very much. He’d either have to make his way back to the mound… or beat a hasty retreat in the direction of the parking lot.

So which is it going to be?

Head toward the mound, he decided… without being altogether sure why.

Back there now, he took in a series of slow deep breaths. A couple of nervous gulps followed. Straddling the mound he bent to inspect the motionless body of a young, well-built naked female sprawled on her back. Considering the twisted position of her neck, he believed it likely she was dead.

A chill ran through him.

He straightened up and stepped over the body. His initial inclination was to run. Only an idiot would even think about reporting this. For a while he stood there, drawing a blank. At the moment he felt unsure about practically everything.

Calm down, Larry. Grab hold of yourself, he advised in a shaky voice.

His thoughts soon began pulling him back and forth between protecting his ass and getting into step with long-held feelings about the importance of an individual’s civic responsibilities: beliefs he was putting to the test tonight… . like never before.

His choice all at once became clear. He would do the right thing. He would report it.

It was time for him to get going.

At a run, stumbling twice, he made his way toward the safety of the library. From there his unsteady hand dialed campus security.

Sergeant Falsone of the Campus Security Office accompanied by a recently-hired security intern had Larry direct them in a school Jeep to the young lady’s body. The sergeant suggested he remain in the car while they cordoned off the area with the TV-made-familiar yellow crime-scene tape.

Their taping procedure completed, Larry listened to the sergeant on the phone talking with someone named Ferguson from the Philadelphia police.

We’re heading back to the office right now, he could hear the sergeant reply.

Larry watched as the sergeant turned on the motor, released the brake, put the Jeep in gear. But he could hardly believe his eyes when they pulled away leaving the intern standing there, armed only with a portable lantern and an unloaded pistol.

On their return to the Campus Security Office, Sergeant Falsone had Larry take a seat beside him. The sergeant reached for a student knapsack discovered by the intern a short distance from where the body was located. He removed from it a wallet containing thirty-seven dollars and change, a charge card and a picture-ID. He also took note of an empty but well-worn cell phone pouch.

The university’s administrative database revealed Beverly Vasquez was a twenty-two-year-old senior accounting major who lived in an apartment in the nearby Chestnut Hill section of the city.

Lieutenant Ferguson of the 92nd Police District made his entrance; the intern, who had been replaced by city crime-scene personnel, along for the ride. Ferguson’s I’m-a-real-cop attitude was not lost on the sergeant or for that matter Larry. Judging by the reactions of the intern and a nightshift clerk-typist, it provided a good measure of entertainment value as well.

Dressed in a standard dark blue Philadelphia Police Department uniform, the real cop did most of the talking while the officers put their heads together to set ground rules for questioning the teacher. Once the huddle broke, the campus cop escorted Larry into the vacant campus security commander’s office and pointed to a chair.

Larry remembered he hadn’t said anything to Bella about being late. Calling now, though, would create other concerns for her. Besides, it shouldn’t be long before he was on his way home. At least he hoped so.

The session began with the door closed, Lieutenant Ferguson in a chair facing Larry, the campus cop off to the side. Three men crammed into a small office, each understanding this was to be a one-man show.

Ferguson spoke first. We’re recording this, Dr. Kellington. I want you to tell me everything you did from the time you arrived on campus today. I won’t interrupt.

Larry felt tense, but did all he could to comply with the lieutenant’s request. He ended his story at the place where he had called from the library.

More detail, Doctor. I want detail about anything and everything you saw and heard tonight. This time take it from when you decided on the shortcut.

I already told you everything that happened.

Okay. Let’s approach things differently. The lieutenant switched to a sequence of rapid-fire questions. They sustained this pace for nearly seven minutes, according to the tireless ticking of the clock mounted above the doorway.

Larry seldom wavered from his story.

An obviously frustrated Lieutenant Ferguson learned little additional. He shifted focus. Tell me, Dr. Kellington, did you know Beverly Vasquez?

I didn’t recognize her in the darkness tonight, but, yes, I knew her.

You’re telling me you couldn’t see her face when she was found stretched out on her back by Sergeant Falsone here?

It wasn’t I couldn’t see it. I didn’t see it. I told you earlier, her neck was angled funny and I was pretty nervous. It never occurred to me to look at her face. Not until Sergeant Falsone mentioned her name, he went on, glancing over at the sergeant, did I realize she’d been enrolled in one of my introductory finance classes the first semester last year.

You’re asking me to believe you didn’t recognize her tonight?

I can explain, Lieutenant.

His voice and expression filled with doubt, the lieutenant glared at him. Well, suppose you tell me about it.

She transferred out after the first day of class.

I’m not following you.

Students can change classes or courses during the first week without the teacher’s permission. It’s called the add-drop period.

She give a reason for wanting out?

No, she didn’t.

I’ll bet you didn’t bother asking.

She wasn’t interested in discussing it.

You remember anything about her from your class?

She was one of, maybe, thirty-five students taking a required course. She sat quietly, took notes… nothing out of the ordinary.

She come by your office to see you later?

Not that I remember.

The real cop pulled his chair closer. In a raspy, barely audible tone he remarked, You don’t seem to know very much, do you, Doctor?

It was evident Ferguson wasn’t overly pleased with either him or his story. But it didn’t matter because he wasn’t going to be intimidated.

I already told you the little I know.

I think I ought to have you go back to the beginning and tell us all about it again.

You must be kidding.

I don’t play around during a murder investigation.

Lieutenant, you don’t understand. I was alone when I found her. It would have been easy for me to duck out but, no, I came here. Since then I’ve been doing everything I can to cooperate with both you and the Sergeant. Be kind enough to tell me, Lieutenant, what the hell is it you want?

The law enforcer paused, emphasizing his unhappiness. The entire story… all I want from you is the entire story. His words softened unexpectedly. It’s been a long day for both of us, Doctor. Suppose we call it quits for now. I expect you’ll wait out there in the large room long enough to sign a statement.

Emotionally drained, Larry sipped from a cold can of Dr Pepper and mulled over the time he had just spent with his newly found buddy from the Philadelphia Police Department. The lieutenant undoubtedly felt he was withholding something of importance. No sense in worrying about it, though. He’d know where he stood soon enough. Might not like it, but he’d know.

Sooner than Larry expected, the clerk-typist placed two copies of his four-page double-spaced statement on the table in front of where he was sitting. He read it carefully, several times, then inked in and initialed mostly minor changes. Without uttering a word he left the marked-up copy on the table, put the other copy in his briefcase and started for the door, relieved.

The lieutenant moved into his path and motioned him aside. The sergeant, the intern, and the clerk-typist leaned toward them in anticipation.

Larry couldn’t find a single thing to like about the man in a neatly-pressed uniform, standing an arm’s length away, trying his best to stare him down. In his late forties, the balding detective was broad-shouldered and stood around an inch taller than his own six-foot one, a notch on the belt heavier than his 185. Not to be overlooked, he had been gifted with an ideal temperament for the job.

Ferguson announced loud enough for everyone to hear. Dr. Kellington, you will be seeing more of the Philadelphia Police… a lot more.

Larry turned down a ride to the faculty lot, before stepping into the chilly night air. He found a bench a short distance away and stopped to call Bella, who picked up on the first ring. He gave her a shortened version of his story, told her he was on the way home.

He now believed that as long as the lieutenant felt he was holding back and until someone better to pick on came along, the spotlight would stay centered on him. It was as simple as that… unfortunately.

For the second time tonight he set out for his car. This time a troubled expression etched into his face.

It was still there when an understandably anxious Bella greeted him at the door with a hug that would not quit.

Still At Square One

Classes had been in session for less than a week when Lieutenant Ferguson paid a visit to Larry’s office.

Have a little time, Professor?

I’m getting ready for class.

It’s only nine. Your class isn’t until eleven.

Things still to get done. I can give you forty-five minutes, at the most.

Might not take that long.

Ferguson handed him the corrected copy of his statement and suggested he look it over. Larry reviewed it, nodded his approval, dated and initialed each page and signed at the bottom of the last page.

Okay. Suppose we touch on a couple of things you reported there.

Following some calm questioning, the lawman gave the impression he wasn’t in a hurry. Checked around and found you once spent some time on the payroll of a private detective.

A long time ago… more than twenty years, Larry commented, a distant look in his eyes. "Usually they handed me the marital-surveillance cases. Little more of interest than sitting in my car at 1:30 in the A.M., waiting for somebody’s spouse to slink away from their playmate-of-the-month’s place. Hardly any money in it… and it wasn’t my idea of fun.

One night an angry woman took a shot at me. The next day I stopped by the company office, handed in my uniform and badge, and told them I was packing it in.

Before joining the force, did some private work myself. My experience was a wee bit less eventful than yours. Tell me what you did next.

I sold Guinsu knives, door-to-door. It didn’t work out either. From there, I decided on returning to school. A month later I enrolled in my first graduate courses at Rutgers, New Brunswick. I really can’t see why any of this is of interest to you, Lieutenant.

Wanted to set the record straight, is all.

Now that it’s straight, is there anything else?

We’re done for the day, Professor. Tell me the best times for catching you here during the school week?

From eight to nine on days I teach should be alright. Try giving me a call first.

Ferguson, amused, got to his feet. You’re pushing your luck, he said good-naturedly. In an instant, he was gone.

Larry settled back in his chair to consider what had just occurred. To his astonishment the antagonism which had percolated and threatened to spill over during their introductory get-together was for some reason… gone.

He pondered why a veteran city detective might be persuaded to become, well… a kinder, gentler guy. Was this his way of offering an apology? No, he doesn’t seem