Part 11 (2/2)

”Perhaps nothing,” I said, Investigator de Ratour now, professional to my fingertips. I paused for effect. ”And perhaps everything.”

Sitting across the table from me, she in a chair and he in his wheelchair, they exchanged glances at my words then looked to their attorney.

I thought this curious, as curious as their insistence that they meet with me together.

”What are you saying?” asked Mr. Jones.

I shook my head. ”I don't want to prejudice any answers you might have to my questions.”

”They are not prepared to answer any questions until they know what they are.” Mr. Dearth spoke with great solemnity.

I kept the obvious rejoinder to myself, as I know Lieutenant Tracy would have. I nodded sagely. ”It's quite simple,” I said. ”First, as you stated in your statement to the subcommittee, you ate lunch together on the day of the incident.”

”You don't need to answer that,” Mr. Dearth put in.

”That's true,” I said, ”since it has already been established. ”What I need to know is what food or drink you shared just prior to the incident that you brought before the Subcommittee on Appropriateness.”

”You don't need to answer that,” Mr. Dearth said.

I started to gather up my notes, making as though to rise. ”In that case, I am turning the entire matter over to the police.” I turned to the disputants. ”That, of course, will be to Mr. Dearth's advantage as he will be able to bill you for the hours of interrogation that are sure to ensue and at which he will insist on being present. And that may well adversely affect your quote unquote case against the university.”

They glanced at each other. ”We shared your rice, Bobba,” Mr. Jones said.

”As your attorney...,” Mr. Dearth began.

Ms. Sp.r.o.nger waved him off with a frown. ”I don't see what harm there is in the truth.” She turned to me. ”I'm like on a whole-rice diet. I had plenty for both of us.”

”And you had a half of one of my tuna fish sandwiches,” the wheelchair marathoner said.

”That's right. My diet allows for like a small amount of wheat gluten.”

”Did you cook the rice yourself, Ms. Sp.r.o.nger?”

”Oh, yes. I use only organic rice.”

”And none of it came from a Chinese restaurant, from a takeout place?”

”No.”

”And the tuna fish sandwich?” I asked, turning to Mr. Jones.

”Ditto. My wife made them for me. Right out of the can.” He shrugged. ”I mean with mayo, salt, pepper, and some chopped chard.”

I winced. I had begun to get the empty feeling of drawing a blank. I took one last stab. ”In your preparation of your respective lunches, did you at any time leave them unattended?”

Ms. Sp.r.o.nger shrugged. ”I like put my rice in the microwave. But I wasn't gone more than a few minutes.”

”And there were other people in the area?”

”Lots of them.”

”Any strangers?”

”None that I recognized.”

I frowned. ”You mean you saw no one you didn't recognize.”

”Yes.”

”And what did you have to drink?”

”I got a c.o.ke from the machine in the staff room,” Mr. Jones said.

”And I like have my water.” Ms. Sp.r.o.nger held up the quart-sized bottle I had seen her drinking from at the subcommittee meeting. Apparently she's one of those people who carries a nippled container with her everywhere, like a child still on the bottle.

”How soon after you shared your lunch did the incident occur?” I asked.

”Actually, we hadn't quite finished,” Ms. Sp.r.o.nger replied.

”But almost.”

”Mr. de Ratour,” Mr. Dearth said with an ominous voice, ”I am going to report your behavior to the university authorities.”

”Feel welcome to, sir,” I responded and turned back to the library employees. ”Can you tell me exactly how the feeling came over both of you?”

They were both clearly embarra.s.sed. ”It just came over us,” Mr. Jones said. ”Big time.”

”Me, too,” Ms. Sp.r.o.nger said. ”It was like a compulsion.”

”Who first suggested that you retire to the closet?”

”You really don't have to answer that question. In fact, I advise against it very strongly.” Mr. Dearth had grown visibly agitated during this time.

For my part, my irritation at what Mr. Dearth was attempting to do with these two young people had grown to indignation. But I kept my voice calm. ”Actually, that's not really a question pertinent to my purposes. What's really important is that I ascertain that the only food you ate during that shared lunch came from home.”

They both nodded. Mr. Jones asked, ”What are your purposes?”

”Very good question,” I said. ”It's one your attorney should have brought up at the beginning.” I paused to let that register. ”It's possible that somehow, somewhere, you ate food that had been doctored with a very powerful aphrodisiac. We're not sure, but it may have been a mild form of whatever it was that killed Professor Ossmann and Dr. Woodley.”

Ms. Sp.r.o.nger grew pensive. ”Actually...”

”We doubt very much anything like that happened,” Mr. Dearth said forcefully.

”Because that would exculpate the university.” I turned to Ms. Sp.r.o.nger. ”You were about to say something?”

<script>