Free Murder as a Fine Art by John Ballem Page B

them from inside the television room. “The show’s about to start.”
    The program opened with a close-up of the host, Kate Lewis — a good-looking woman in her late thirties, with straight dark hair framing a pale complexioned face and lively blue eyes. In some ways, she reminded Laura of Erika. She glanced sideways at Erika to see if she had caught the resemblance too, but her friend’s face was expressionless as she watched the screen. Erika looked absolutely exhausted. She had told Laura that she had been writing in her studio since early that morning. To Laura’s surprise, Erika had come equipped with a clipboard and ballpoint pen.
    The talk show host began by introducing Norrington, describing him as a literary guru whose books of literary criticism and philosophy were required reading in every literature course in North America. The camera zoomed in for a close-up of Norrington’s face, dominated by that large nose, which seemed to lead his head around. The rest of his face looked as if it had been assembled from disparate parts. His small mouth was pursed in a deprecating smile, but behind his thick glasses his eyes glinted with self-satisfaction.
    The camera switched to Richard as Kate Lewis began to talk about his books. There was no hint of the reverential tone she had used to introduce Norrington as she described Richard as a writer of thrillers “that some reviewers have been known to call lurid.” The introduction was insultingly offhand, but Richard appeared completely unruffled. His good-natured smile never wavered.
    â€œNow, Dr. Norrington.” Kate Lewis paused and looked archly at Norrington. “It is ‘doctor’, isn’t it?”
    Norrington smiled with false modesty. “I do have a doctorate in literature, and two universities have been gracious enough to confer honorary doctorates on me, so, yes, I think I can fairly be called doctor.”
    â€œI think so, too. Can you tell us something about the project you’re currently working on?”
    Again Norrington smiled, but this time the false modesty was replaced by condescension. “It’s quite an ambitious undertaking. In fact, once it is completed, it will be my major opus. It has, I’m afraid, a rather formidable working title —
How The Post-Modern Novel Challenges The Boundaries Of Art
.”
    â€œI’m impressed,” smiled the TV host, leading him on. “What does it mean?”
    Norrington launched into a lengthy discourse, replete with words like “self-reflexivity”, “taxonomic categories”, “genre distinctions”, and similar jargon.
    Erika was scribbling furiously, like a college student taking notes at a lecture. Once or twice she made a small sound as if agreeing with a point Norrington was making. The two of them were in the same field, so what Henry was saying was probably fascinating to her, thought Laura.
    While Norrington droned on, the camera switched briefly to Richard. He appeared to be listening with keen interest. He was obviously following his game plan to stay on the “high road.”
    â€œI can understand why you have won so many awards for your scholarship,” said Kate Lewis when Norrington finally wound down. Trying to inject some life into the program, she turned to Richard.
    â€œI’ve heard people describe some of the sex scenes in your books as lurid.”
    Richard grinned. “Surely you don’t expect me to let all the research I’ve done go to waste, do you?”
    This brought a smile from the host and a hastily suppressed laugh from one of the camera operators on the floor.
    Still smiling, Kate Lewis asked, “Have you won any awards for your books, Richard?”
    Richard shook his head. “I don’t write to win awards. The only award I’m interested in is that my books are read and enjoyed by a lot of people. Being on the bestseller list is good enough for