Free Failure is Fatal by Lesley A. Diehl

us solve a puzzle.”
    “Dr. Lionel Chaffee.” He smiled and took my outstretched hand, which he shook limply. It was like handling a dead eel.
    “You never told me you had a brother, Melvin,” I said to the first Dr. Chaffee, then turned quickly back to face Lionel Chaffee. “Would that be MD or PhD? Oh, wait, let me guess. PhD and your area is literature, the same as your brother’s.”
    “Not at all the same as my brother’s, Dr. Murphy. Mine is British, his American. Now, let’s see. I believe my brother has mentioned your name. You do work in some quaint little women’s area. Oh, forgive me. I believe I should call it gender studies or be thought a real cad.”
    You are a real cad. Perhaps, even worse than your brother. I wondered if that was possible.
    “And you teach where?” I said.
    “I’m rather in-between jobs just now. I’m working on a book at the moment and teaching a few courses as an adjunct at Shelley Junior College near Syracuse. And, of course, paying a few visits to my brother. We’re very close, you know.” Again he smiled, but pleasure didn’t seem to be behind the upturned lips. A glance at Melvin Chaffee told me his brother was lying about them being close.
    Lionel turned his attention to Der who was watching this exchange with a barely noticeable grin on his face as if he were content to have me ask questions and amused at Lionel’s answers.
    “Now that I know you’re a detective, I’m worried. Has my little brother gotten himself into difficulties?”
    “We’re here to talk with him about some issues associated with Dr. Murphy’s work, but we were just leaving. Don’t let us interrupt your visit,” Der said. He drew me out of the office and down the hall with him by pulling on my arm.
    “Very nice meeting both of you.” Lionel pushed his hair off his forehead in a move that mimicked his brother’s.
    “Lionel,” I could hear Melvin hiss, “get in here and don’t bother with those people. They’re just here to intimidate me.” The slamming of the office door cut off any reply Lionel offered.
    “I don’t like the brother any better than the original,” I said to Der.
    He turned to me and laughed. “Yeah, it’s a real toss up who’s the most arrogant.”
    We returned to the lab to puzzle again over the note written on the torn paper. Der insisted we put it back together once more so he could have a look at it. This time he stayed to help.
    “I don’t think he had a thing to do with it,” I said to Der.
    “Chaffee? No, you’re right. He’s a big phony. He’s malicious, but I doubt he’s more frat-boy malicious.”
    “No, I mean, I don’t think the student who wrote that story ending was its author. I think he carried this story with him and copied it onto the test packet provided in the research session. Then he threw away his ‘notes.’ Maybe none of the stories were created by students, although they may have been written down during the testing by students. As for Chaffee number one, perhaps you’re right. Maybe he’s not your murderer type. But there’s something there,” I said.
    “I think you’re wrong, Murphy. You dislike the guy so much that you’d love to see his ass in jail for something, anything.”
    “Yeah, well I’d have to stand in line behind all the others who find him a jerk—faculty, students, staff. Even his own department took five years to finally recommend him for promotion.”
    Der turned his attention to the scraps on the table, gathered them together and slipped them into an evidence envelope.
    “I’ll get the lab to lift fingerprints off these and see what we get. But so far we don’t even have a crime, just a segue to an earlier crime, and only maybe. But I think we need to track down the writers of these two most recent stories. It’s all we have. Let’s gather together all the subjects. Murphy? Murphy? You’ve gone off on me there.”
    I had gone off. I was thinking about Der’s comment about frat boys. I