Free The Paperback Show Murders by Robert Reginald

people, check their stories and alibis, and see what else we can find out about them. The same is true of you.”
    â€œ Me ? What do you mean?”
    â€œYou’ve read enough of those paperback novels of yours to know the drill: everyone’s a suspect, at least at first. If Brody was killed—and we’re not sure yet—then almost anyone here could have done it.”
    â€œYou think maybe he just tripped?” I asked.
    â€œWell, he, uh, did over-imbibe.” That was a word I hadn’t heard in ordinary conversation in a very long time.
    â€œYes,” I said, “but he almost never went anywhere without Gully, even when he was drinking.”
    â€œWell, she claims she was asleep, and didn’t know he was absent from their room.”
    â€œThen what was he doing out there in the middle of the night?”
    â€œWell, that’s the pertinent question, isn’t it?” Pfisch said. “By the way, I finished reading that book you sold me. I wondered about something.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œIn the first part of the book, Jezebel comes upon her father slumped in his great-chair. She asks him what’s wrong, and he admits that the imminent defeat of the South in the Civil War will destroy them financially, since the bonds he purchased are now nearly worthless. She climbs onto his lap—this supposed twenty-two-year-old woman—puts her arms around his neck, kisses him, and says that everything will be all right, that she’s been approached several times by Colonel Montragora to work for him as a governess. She says she’ll do anything to save him—anything!
    â€œEven without a detailed description of what was actually happening, the scene made me very uncomfortable, because it felt to me very much like some of the cases of child abuse that I used to investigate when I served with the Family Services Unit. I think that the author based this particular passage on something that happened to her in real life—it has that immediacy—and I just wondered if you knew anything about it.”
    To tell the truth, I didn’t remember that particular section, so many years after the fact, and I told him so—but I said I’d examine the passage again.
    â€œI’d appreciate it,” Pfisch said. “Oh, yeah, and I’d prefer you keeping this to yourself.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    â€œSOMETIME AFTER MIDNIGHT”
    Sunday, March 27
    â€œConsulting detective Émile Friand gazed around at the faces looking up at him. One of these individuals was a cold-blooded killer who’d systematically murdered sixteen members of the University community. He marveled again at the perversity of the human soul. These persons had done bad, bad things to their fellow humans.
    â€œBut who was it? There was the mild-mannered library cataloger, Ms. Figgit, who always appeared uncomfortable in social settings. Next to her sat Dr. Stürn, Professor of Judicial Science, known for his raspy nature and uncompromising standards. On the other side of the librarian was Dr. Holiday, Dean of Humanities; and beyond her Dr. Perryguard, Professor of Anthropography; and then Dr. Krikor, Head of Armenian Studies; and Dr. Offell, Provost of the University. And completing the circle on the other side, he saw Dr. Fribæse, Chair of the Faculty Senate; Dr. Tsingtsong, Chair of Arabian Studies; Mr. Dámaso, Head of Cafeteria Services; and Lieutenant Ynorr, Chief of the Campus Police. Standing behind them all were several of Ynorr’s armed officers.
    â€œâ€˜You must understand,’ Friand began, ‘that this was a very difficult case; and I do regret the loss of fifteen more lives while I was trying to unravel the first death—of the custodian of the Fifth Floor. As you may recall, Mr. Pëtr was found chopped into pieces and stuffed into his own refuse cart. I initially thought that his death was either an accident or suicide, but was forced