Free Honest Doubt by Amanda Cross Page B

know about it, but I do. Larry Petrillo told me; now there’s a nice guy, even though he keeps extending the medieval period well into the Renaissance. Anyway, it was certainly going to be Haycock; I don’t know who it will be now.”
    â€œLear syndrome?” I hated to ask, but I thought I’d better; it might be a clue. I could have waited and asked Kate—that might have been the sensible thing to do —but he seemed to welcome the question. Anyway, my instinct told me to keep away from the chairman question now; it sounded like a good motive, and I wanted to learn more about it before taking it up.
    â€œNo reason you should know about Lear. You’re a detective, not a scholar, my dear. I won’t ask what you majored in in college. Lear, whether through senility or the compassion of old age, gave his kingdom away to his nasty daughters. You see the relevance.”
    â€œOf course. And he didn’t give any part to his good daughter, because she wouldn’t tell him she loved him. Sorry to have been so slow in catching on.” I’d seen
Lear
once on television, just the beginning, but I didn’t see any point in mentioning that.
    â€œYou show promise; don’t apologize. They’re all afraid of nasty women taking over, all except David Lermann; it’s the new theoretical lingo he objects to. He thinks anyone who even mentions theory has defiled the language and should be shot. Neither Tony nor Catherine went in for theory in a big way, but they didn’t refuse to acknowledge it. Lermann called them illiterate; so did Haycock.”
    â€œBut I thought only tenured professors came to those faculty meetings.”
    â€œLermann is tenured, even though he’s an assistant professor. He got de facto tenure. Somebody in the administration was nodding, and he taught here long enough to get automatic tenure. The old boys were so outraged that they’ve never given him a promotion. He isn’t really stodgy, except about the English language; he hasn’t published anything, but the students love him. You’d think he might resent the other tenured men, but no —he’s really the sweetest guy in the world. He ought to have been promoted, but around here, no chance.”
    â€œIt all sounds, well, rather, well, not what you’d expect from college professors.” I was really getting nervous, and worrying if maybe the old boy was indeed losing his marbles.
    â€œDon’t take it from me,” he said cheerfully, reading my mind. “Ask around; find out for yourself. You’ll see I’m right.”
    â€œI’m sure I will. Who do you think killed Professor Haycock?”
    â€œJust about anybody, I’d say. Nobody around here is very lovable, but Charles took offensiveness to a new level. I’d say your problem in finding the murderer, if any, is going to be a challenging one. Everyone had the opportunity; everyone had a motive; perhaps getting the means wasn’t too hard.”
    â€œMight he have killed himself ?”
    â€œCharles? Never. Besides, if he’d decided to kill himself, he’d have done it so that someone was the obvious suspect. No, I think you can dismiss suicide; the police seem to have done so.”
    â€œWhat was your motive?”
    â€œEasy, my dear. He wanted to be chairman and so did I. I thought with him out of the way, they’d have to settle for me, Lear syndrome or not. I thought the chairmanship would be a nice way to end my long career.”
    He smiled saying this, and while I was trying to interpret his words, a student came to the door. I stood up and said my farewells.
    â€œCome again anytime, my dear,” he said. “Come in, Mr. Franklin; still puzzled by
Hamlet
, are we? What exactly do you find troublesome?”
    I left them to it, and went to ask Dawn if anyone else had come back to the office. She told me that Antonia Lansbury was probably still in her office,