Free Sounds of Murder by Patricia Rockwell

MacGregor, from the
Animal Lab," introduced Pamela. “Arliss, this is Kent Drummond, my
grad assistant.”
    "Hey, Miss MacGregor, I know you. The rat
lady—ooops--no offense," he stammered; his spiky hair edged in
purple remained rock solid as if his head had been dipped in
glue.
    "None taken," answered Arliss, laughing.
"You’re not the first to call me 'Rat Lady,' Kent.”
    “I’ll touch base with you later, Dr. B!”
announced Kent. Pamela waved to him as he disappeared down the
hallway.
    Pamela heard the sound of two sets of
footsteps coming down the hallway. Bob Goodman and Willard Swinton
came into view in her doorway.
    "Dr. Barnes," greeted Willard with a slight
bow. He was a large, rotund African-American man, dressed nattily
in a brown suit with an orange shirt and matching bow tie. He was
leaning on an ivory-handled cane. "Dr. Goodman and I thought we
should come and see how you’re doing," he said, his buttery voice
sonorous enough to be doing food commercials. Willard was a
departmental fixture, his warm, courtly demeanor always upbeat,
even though his physical health seemed to be deteriorating more and
more each year. His smiling face belied the pain he obviously felt
with every slow step he took. Pamela and Willard shared research
interests in linguistics and often conferred on various research
problems.
    "Yes, Pam," agreed Bob Goodman, a tall, slim,
even emaciated, man, his hands embedded tightly in the pockets of
his jacket, "We heard about your ordeal on the news and from Jane
Marie. My God, what a terrible thing for you, for the department,
for all of us." Pamela was surprised to see Bob on her side of the
building. He was typically ensconced in his animal lab or teaching
one of the several courses the department offered in animal
psychology. She kept up with his activities mostly from reports
from Arliss, who, as his laboratory director, worked closely with
him.
    "Absolutely," intoned Willard, "Absolutely
terrible for all of us." His bow tie wobbled as he spoke. Pamela
looked around at the small crowd that was beginning to form in her
office. She had nothing against popularity. In fact, she liked
being popular, but she surely didn't want to acquire popularity by
finding dead bodies--particularly the dead bodies of her
colleagues.
    "Thank you, everyone, really," she sighed,
"But, truly, what I need is...."
    Just then, the phone rang. She stood up and
went to her desk to answer it. After listening for a brief period,
she groaned, placed her hand over the receiver, and spoke to the
entire group, “It’s Jane Marie. Mitchell’s called an emergency
faculty meeting for tomorrow morning at seven a.m.!”
    Arliss threw up her arms and spun around on
Pamela’s desk chair. Willard sighed and leaned more heavily on his
cane. Bob groaned.
    Pamela turned back to the phone. She heard
Jane Marie then inform her that Detective Shoop was on his way up
to her office. He had a few more questions for her.
    "Wonderful," she replied, "Can this day get
any better?"
     
     
     

Chapter 8
     
    She didn't know how it happened but Shoop was
again seated in her office, his lanky body draped over the back of
her sofa. He had greeted her colleagues officially and then
requested some private time for additional questioning "if she
didn't mind." Of course not, she thought, I love being grilled
about a murdered colleague by the police. I love recalling every
ugly moment of finding Charlotte's body in the lab.
    She was seated on her desk chair, no longer
in her comfortable spot on her sofa. She felt robbed. This big
giant of a man was not only invading her privacy, he was invading
her space. She steeled herself for the onslaught of questions.
    "Now, Dr. Barnes," noted Shoop, as he pulled
out his trusty black notebook.
    At least he’s using my title today, thought
Pamela.
    "Let's go over your testimony from
yesterday." His lack of enthusiasm radiated from his droopy eye
lids to his slumped posture.
    Testimony, she thought. He