Free Deception by Randy Alcorn Page B

the north wall. It was blue and black. I scooted over, stared at it in disbelief, then picked it up.
    “What are you doing?” Kim Suda’s voice sounded accusing, but her voice usually does.
    I snapped my neck around. “Nothing.” I heard the nerves in my voice. Had she seen what I picked up? I hid it in my hand and stood.
    “What are you doing, Suda? It’s my crime scene.”
    “You sound like you did it.”
    “If I’d done it, it would’ve been between nine and five.”
    “What’s in your hand?”
    “Nothing. What’s in your brain?”
    “Find something?” the tech asked.
    “Nada,” I said, putting my hand in my coat pocket while my body ran interference. “Just a shadow. Bathroom done?”
    “Good to go. Nothing big. Hair samples with his brush. Follicles, presumably his. I left the toothbrushes for you to see. Two of them. We’ll take them for saliva.”
    I walked to the bathroom. One Sonicare electric toothbrush, plugged into the charger. The other was a Colgate, old and frayed. Clarence joined me.
    “Excuse me,” I said to Clarence. “I have some business.”
    I locked the bathroom door. I heard my heart pound as I took out the piece of paper. I stared at it. It was a gum wrapper.
    Black Jack.
    I left the bathroom, preoccupied with my discovery, but determined to finish my job undistracted and figure out the gum wrapper later.
    I examined the professor’s closet, filled with shirts, Dockers, sport coats and ties, and a dozen pairs of shoes. Men shouldn’t have that many shoes. On the left side of the closet was a red plastic storage box turned catawampus and with a crack in it, like something heavy had been on it. Everything else was neat and tidy, remarkably unlike my closet.
    I checked the spare bedroom, mainly used for storage. Nothing stood out. But I took pictures anyway in hopes that eventually the house would yield its secrets to me. Clarence and Carpenter periodically crowded me, nearly stepping on my heels. I was winsomely gracious, especially to the double cheese pizza girl.
    When I returned to the living room, the professor was still dead.
    I began to systematically examine the photographs on the wall. Vacations in Hawaii and Mexico and the Caribbean, judging by the locals. In one he was speaking behind the lectern in an academic environment. In several he was wearing robes and regalia.
    “The peacock displays his feathers,” I said. “Graduation?”
    Clarence nodded and pointed. “That one’s a formal lectureship.”
    I looked at a couple of hanging frames that displayed academic degrees. Doctorate from Princeton.
    I was about to examine the photos on the mantel when Dr. Hatch spoke.
    “Interesting,” he said, staring again at the computer screen. It reminded me I’d been distracted from the desk twenty minutes ago when Suda appeared. I hadn’t made my way back.
    “Mouse is on the left side,” Clarence said. “He was lefthanded?”
    Hatch was leaning over the desk, staring at the screen, his hand to the left of the monitor, inches from the mouse.
    “Don’t touch it,” I said.
    “Relax,” the criminalist chimed in from the dining room table. “It was wiped clean.”
    “Then somebody used it.”
    “Besides the professor?” Clarence asked. “How do you know?”
    “Do you wipe prints off your mouse?”
    I picked up the reading glasses sitting on the desk and read aloud the words on the screen. “I, Dr. William Palatine, do not deserve to live. I’ve crossed boundaries and forfeited my life. I admit my arrogance. I deserve judgement. I should be cast into a deep sea with a millstone around my neck.”
    “A suicide note?” Clarence asked.
    “Ever hear a suicide note that sounds like that? What’s the millstone mean?”
    Everybody looked at each other and shrugged.
    “It’s from the Bible,” Clarence said. “Millstones were large rocks used to grind grain. They might weigh a couple hundred pounds. Jesus said if anyone hurt one of His children, he’d be better