Wabashers

Wabashers: Murder Mysteries at Wabash College

The sound of a generic alarm emitting from the IPhone I kept charging under my pillow dragged me out of my dreams. I remember some years ago that there was once a problem with phones exploding underneath pillows when left to charge all night. Some combination of the confined heat and amount of time consuming currents of electricity was to blame. Fuck it. Maybe then, something would finally happen in this small place called Crawfordsville. Either way, my phone’s alarm read 11:00AM exactly. The snooze button was invented for occasions just like this. I immediately hit it. Ten more minutes could be spared and Crawfordsville would be no different.

My friend Josh called five minutes past lunch time: “Yo Sammy! Did you hear what happened!?

“Ughhhhh,” I mumble along some more incoherent words. Why was my classmate calling me so early, and why was he so loud?

“Pavlinich. I can’t believe it, he’s dead! They found him in his office. It’s just like what we’ve been reading in his class. Nobody knows what’s going on. Were you asleep? Check your email, and get up. There’s gonna be an emergency meeting in the chapel today at One.”

“Wait, what?” I think I’m still dreaming at this point.

Josh hung up and I finally got a view of my phone’s dashboard. The clock read 12:06PM. I think to myself, “damn, I must have hit stop instead of snooze.” My eyes skim under the huge header of time and I see more than the usual amount of email notifications I normally wake up to. I immediately unlock my phone and click on the email with the most compelling subject line, “EMERGENCY MEETING: Death of Professor.” Within the contents of the message, two things were made apparent: classes were cancelled and the meeting was mandatory.

I jumped out from my lofted, all-too-common Twin XL bed, the standard place of slumber for all men at the single-sex Wabash College. I hastily put on the clothes picked out the night before and placed above my desk. I forgot to make my bed but at least I remembered to brush my teeth amid the early afternoon chaos. I speed-walked back to my room, returned my toiletries, and slipped on my black jogging sneakers. Then, I rushed downstairs to join the rest.

There was a lot of chatter going on in the dining room, but everyone was talking about the same thing. One person uttered a sly remark about how he no longer had to take a chemistry exam and we all shot him a dirty look, to which he replied, “kidding.”

“I just made some coffee. Drink up boys! Today’s gonna be a long day,” my fraternity’s president said as he walked out from the kitchen. “I wanna see all of you in the Chapel. This is important.”

I skipped the coffee because I hate the bitter taste, but I ate the waffle fries and grilled cheese sandwich provided by our house cook. We all talked some more and made speculations as to what could have happened. Before we know it, the clock hits 12:45PM and we made the walk from our miniature mansion to the center of campus where the Chapel lies.

The Wabash College Chapel is used for more than just worship—actually I don’t think it's used for religion at all. Due to the spacious capacity, we normally use it to hold weekly talks and meetings. It felt weird being there for such a morbid cause. More and more people began filling the seats of the building. I’ve never seen it so packed. As the clock struck 1:00PM the president of Wabash took center stage at the podium.

“Students, faculty, friends of Wabash. It is with great pain and sorrow that I stand here before you today.” The President went on until he reached the part we’d all been waiting for, “the facts are, well, we have reason to believe this has been a plot of some sort… we think someone killed him!” The crowd burst into uproar, which was only then silenced by the communication of more information. “Professor Pavlinich seemed as healthy as a horse this morning. I actually saw him myself when he first drove in at around 9AM. We walked together and picked up some coffees. It wasn’t until he failed to show up to his 11:15AM course, that a student went to find him in his office. Instead, he found a body there. Now you might be asking yourself, how in the world do we immediately identify the late professor’s death as murder? Well that part is simple: a note was found at the scene of the crime. A note, can you believe that?

“What did it say!?” yelled someone from the audience.

“Huh, that’s the weird part. All it said was ‘I Win.’ The words were written in cursive on the white wooden desk on which the dead man’s head leaned. Now in light of the note, we have a list of suspects to follow up on. Thanks to Wabash being a liberal arts school, we have many professionals ready to dig into the case. Professor Benz who teaches a course in Calligraphy, has been dutifully analyzing and comparing signatures since 11:30 this morning. If you recall, you have all signed contracts to be admitted into this school; we keep those contracts are on file. While this might not bring the mystery to an end, it is at least a starting point. I will now dismiss everyone in attendance, that is except for a select three. Please do not make this any harder than it needs to be. May I please have Noah Archington, Oliver Young and Sammy Lebron. Remain seated.”

An immediate chill stretched up my spine and soon after, I felt a massive collection of eyes all pointed directly at me. The President then once again urged all to leave except for the lucky three. The rest of the audience departed in a quiet suspense and collective fear. I could sense the unanimous shivers between those who remained. I knew I was not to blame and that I had no reason to be scared but I couldn’t help it. One by one we were led into a small room in the back and individually questioned. I was the first.

“Hello Sammy,” said the officer, who appeared to be the lead detective. “If you’ve done nothing then you’ve nothing to fear. Relax. Though if you did do something, that’s another story entirely.”

“I promise it wasn’t me,” I speedily exclaimed. “I would never do anything like that. Like, even, actually, I was asleep this whole morning. I didn’t wake up until 12:06PM! I liked Pavlinich too. I thought he was a cool teacher. He taught my mystery fiction course.” Then something clicked. “I might even be able to help you out!”

“Help?” He uttered with a puzzled look.

“Let me help clear my name! I know a thing or two about these procedures and I think I’m alright with deduction. My class was basically trained how to pick up on clues. We talked about it everyday. Plus, I’m a student here. I know the ins and outs of Wabash. I might be able to detect something you guys missed. And solving this case will be like poetic justice or something.”

“Hmm.” The detective thought for a bit. “Sure, why not? I guess I’ll humor you for a couple minutes. We’ll probably just leave you alone though if your alibi holds up. It shouldn’t be that hard to prove. After all, we only have handwriting to go off of as of now. So what do you want to know?”

“Well, what was found at the scene of the crime? I mean, besides a note with similar handwriting to mine.”

“The room was furnished, just like what I assume most offices look like I guess. Nothing was in the small trash bin that he kept next to his desk. The chair he sat on functioned properly and nothing was wrong with that either. On the desk was a small pile of books and an empty coffee . . .” The detective went on, but my mind stuck with the word “coffee.”

I stopped him and asked, “was there anything visibly wrong with the body?”

“No, nothing. He was kind of in a weird position, but no wounds or anything wrong on the outside.”

“What about the toxicology report, what did that say?” I chimed.

“Kid, I don’t know what kind of shows you’ve been watching on T.V. but those things take about a month to be finished. Otherwise, we’d be in a better place right now.”

I was dumbfounded, but at least I had a route that was yet to be explored.

“Strychnine! In the coffee! It’s the most basic of basicness when it comes to mysteries,” I said.

“And what makes you assume Strychnine was involved?” the detective questioned.

“Well it’s just a hunch, but strychnine is noted to be very bitter. In fact I think I might have heard Pavlinich say so once in class. That’s why it’s commonly used as a tool for murder, it can blend in well with the taste of bitter coffee.”

“You don’t say, huh? Still, this proves nothing though. We need to hear from the postmortem exams. I’ll make sure to get that coffee cup examined once more too.”

“But here’s where it gets juicy. Oliver Young works at the campus coffee shop!” The detective’s eyes widened slightly. “I’ve seen him there multiple times. He’s another student in the same mystery class. Professor Pavlinich is also a frequent customer at that shop. My friend Josh, who works there too, told me Pavlinich comes everyday. What’s more, Oliver hasn’t been getting good grades. He never raises his hand, and whenever he is called on he just doesn’t know what to say. The Professor always kept him after class. It never seemed good.”

“This is all very interesting, Sammy. I will of course have to confirm everything, but you’ve pointed us in a direction at least. You are not detained for now, and you’ll be informed as the case develops. Feel free to go home and good luck with your studies. Oh, and here’s my number in case anything else comes up.”

I finally left the chapel after what seemed to be too long. I had the option to head straight back to my fraternity, but I knew I would just be bombarded with questions. Instead, I called my good friend Josh. He agreed to help me recuperate at a nearby park off campus.

“Dude, what a day this has been.” I tiredly exclaimed. “I can’t believe Pavlinich is dead. Not only that, but they seriously had me as a suspect. I mean, what does Professor Benz know anyways? Cursive is as looney as it is loopy! How can one person—I don't care who you are—say who wrote what from one little doodle of handwriting?”

“Yeah I feel so bad you got mixed up in all this. I know for a fact you’d never be a murderer,” says Josh. “Prof. Benz is pretty looney herself. On the first day she almost tripped in through the doorway to my calligraphy class.”

We shared a short laugh in response to Josh’s comment. Then, jolts of ideas directly struck my cranium; my mind was a lightning rod. I forgot that Josh took Calligraphy. He was also Professor Pavlinich’s favorite student.

“So hey Josh, what do you think that, ‘I Won’ stuff was all about anyways?”

“Hmm.” Josh paused. “I don't know, maybe there was a competition of some sort.”

“Haha I guess that makes sense. Oh, hey Josh, I think I’ve got to get back to my fraternity. Everyone’s probably worried and I should let them know I’m alright. I’ll see you later!”

“Huh? Um, okay. See you, Sammy.”

Never before this have I ever taken my phone out of my pocket and dialed a number with such speed and force. “Hey Detective, I’ve got something you’re gonna wanna to hear.”

It was a typical Wednesday morning in the office, sunlight poured in through the glass windows and onto the desks, secretaries chitter-chattered, and phones rang incessantly, echoing throughout the second floor of the Chicago Police Department. I had only been at the station for maybe 20 minutes before I was requested for a case. “Mr. Scheidt, there’s someone on line 3 for you!” I heard Dorthy shout half-asleep from across the room. I picked up the phone and before I could even start giving my usual introduction, I was being questioned by a hasty voice that asked, “Are you that one special detective guy with the books and stuff?” Through the phone I estimated that the caller was no older than 20, and he was clearly shaken up by something. “Yes, this is Detective Tyler Scheidt, is there a problem?”

“There has been a murder at Wabash College,” the kid said hastily. “You need to come quick, please it’s important!”

“Okay kid calm down, can you tell me what happened?”, I asked calmly.

“It is hard to explain over the phone, but a professor was murdered!”

“Did the police identify the victim?”

“Yes, it was Professor Pavlinich.”

“Alright, I will be there by 2pm,” I said calmly as I proceeded to hang up the phone. This is far from how I expected this day to go, as there was much work to be done here, but this strange phone call was pulling me back to a place I haven’t been in years. Someone murdered at my Alma Mater? It just couldn’t be true. On top of that, I had the professor that got murdered, and he was the one who inspired me to follow the career path I am on now. I have made up my mind, I will be going back to Wabash College.

I arrived on campus at about 1:50 and the college was a circus act, full of cop cars and ambulances, cops questioning students and faculty, and news anchors festering around everywhere. I found the nearest officer, introduced myself, and asked him what was going on. We then proceeded to walk over to the crime scene.

“We got the call from Campus Security at around 10pm Tuesday night, and when we got here we found the body in his office at Goodrich. The victim was beaten to death and there was little sign of a fight. It seems Professor Pavlinich was attacked by surprise.”

As the officer was speaking we arrived at the scene of the crime and my eyes darted around the office of my former professor. I was instantly transported back to my time here. I knew I had to find out who the murderer was, regardless of how long it took. But I also knew I had to not let personal feelings get in the way. Pavlinich’s office hadn’t changed much from when I attended Wabash—the only differences being from the the violence that occurred the night before. There were some blood stains on the floor from where Pavlinich was murdered, the computer on his desk was smashed to pieces, and his filing cabinets were obviously rummaged through.

“Did you find the murder weapon?”, I inquired.

“No, and it’s unclear what exactly was used as a weapon. Forensics suggest it was a blunt object of some kind, as there were multiple broken bones on the body, but no lacerations.”

“Is there anything else I need to know?” I asked, my eyes scanning the filing cabinets that were still left open.

“Yes, the murderer stole Pavlinich’s car and it was found a few miles away near Wabash River. There is something else too, Pavlinich has a sister named Laura who was in town visiting for a few days. She was found tied up and gagged in a janitors closet when police arrived on the scene.”

took my attention away from the filing cabinets and turned towards the officer. I never knew Pavlinich had any siblings.

“Where is she now? I would like to ask her a few questions.” With that, we headed out to the Crawfordsville Police Station. Before we left, I had grabbed a copy of Pavlinich’s grade book and a list of all the students he had taught this past semester. When we arrived, I noticed a young woman in her mid-to-late 20s that must have been Laura. She was sitting at a desk, her hair all messy and her wrists red from being bound. She was visibly distressed, with a pile of tissues rising up in the garbage can next to her.

“Hello Ms. Pavlinich, I am Detective Scheidt, I was a former student of your brother. I am so sorry for your loss.” As I said this she looked up, a little shocked, and a look of recognition swept her face.

“I know who you are, my brother would never shut up about you”, she said as she reached for more tissues.

“I know you must be tired of all the questions, but if you don’t mind, I would like for you to describe what happened last night.”

“I was waiting for my brother to finish grading some papers. I got bored and started walking around the building. I was on my way back to my brother’s office when the next thing I know, someone came up from behind me and put a rag up to my face. The next thing I remember is waking up in a dark room, my mouth taped shut and my hands tied behind my back!”

“Did you see anyone else in the building when you were walking around,” I asked.

“I saw two students at separate occasions, apparently they both had my brother as a teacher and were working on a final project for his class that night.”

“Do you think it could have been a student who killed your brother?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know who would want my brother dead, everyone loved him.”

I backed away from Laura and turned my attention back to the officer that brought me to the station.

“Is there any way I can talk to the two students who were in the building during the murder?”, I asked him.

“Yes, they both live in Delta Tau Delta, I can take you there now.”

“This just keeps getting more interesting”, I thought to myself as we were driving back to campus. I was Delt during my time at Wabash, so I looked forward to seeing the old house again. I just wish it was under better circumstances. The officer had informed me that the names of the two students were Kody and Ben, both of whom were current seniors at Wabash. When we arrived at the fraternity, I walked into the Chapter Room and set up a little desk space where I could question each student respectively. After looking through the grade book, I noticed that Ben had recently dropped Pavlinich’s class, and Kody was currently on the verge of failing the class—something that must have been new territory for this 4.0 student. I had Kody come in first for questioning.

“So Kody, tell me what you were doing in Goodrich last night.”, I questioned.

“I was studying for Pavlinich’s final actually. I am super stressed out with school right now, as I need to keep my 4.0 in order to get into medical school, so I was just trying to prepare as much as possible”, he responded instantly.

“Interesting, how was your relationship with Professor Pavlinich?”

“No different than my relationships with my other professors really, I mean you went here right? You know how close students and professors can get at a small school.”

“I know what you mean. Did you see anyone else in the building while you were studying?”

“I went there with Ben, but we studied in separate parts of the building, I didn’t think anything of it. A little later on, I also saw Laura walking around for a little.”

“Very well, thank you Kody, that is all for now.”

Next up was Ben, and he was asked the same questions: “Well Kody and I headed over to Goodrich to work on some homework and study, I went upstairs to the top floor, and Kody went to the basement. It’s what we always do. As for my relationship with Pavlinich, I always found him to be a great professor and never had any issues with him. I only dropped his class because it wasn’t really for me, it didn’t have anything to do with him as a teacher. The only other person I saw in the building besides Kody and I was Mrs. Pavili— ”

“Ms. Pavlinich”, I corrected him.

“Sorry, Ms. Pavlinich. I was pretty surprised to see her there, as I didn’t know who she was and was shocked to see a woman on campus,” Ben stated. “Other than that, I didn’t see anyone until I got back to the house later that night around 11:30.”

“May I ask who you saw?”, I asked.

“Kody was walking out of this room actually, he was probably just doing more homework in there. Guys are always working in there during the week.”

After that, my questions were over and I was left to my notes alone in the chapter room. I took a short break and started pacing the room while running through all the facts. Pavlinich was beaten to death in his own office on Tuesday night. There were only three other known people in the building around the time of his death: his sister, Laura, Kody, and Ben. All of their alibis match up, and I felt like I was hitting a dead end. There was still no definitive murder weapon, and none of the three potential suspects stick out any more than the other. I took a seat in the presidents chair and stared at the Delt paddle hanging on the wall above the door, running through all the facts in my head again and again and again. That’s when I noticed something. I stood up quickly, grabbed the paddle from the wall, and walked out of the room. I had an officer bring Ben, Kody, and Laura into the main living room.

“I have brought you three here because I believe I have solved this mystery.”

“Wonderful! Who are your suspects detective?” Laura asked.

“Well, I believe it is actually two of you here in front of me. Allow me to explain. All three of you were in the building when Pavlinich was murdered. Your alibis all matched up for the most part, but there were a few key details that gave it away. First, the murderer proceeded to access the computer in Pavlinich’s office. I believe this was done to make some changes to a few grades. It is nearing the end of the semester, and stress levels are at an all time high, especially if you are trying to get into medical school. Isn’t that right Kody?”

“What, me? What makes you think it was me?!” Kody exclaimed.

“Let me continue. You were mad at Pavlinich for the grade you had in his class, since as you had explained earlier, you needed to keep your 4.0 in order to get into medical school. So I think you snuck into his office, weapon in hand, to try and change your grade. You murdered the professor, attempted to change your grade, and when you couldn’t, you destroyed the computer in a fit of rage.”

Kody said nothing, and I could see the gears in his head starting to go into overdrive.

“Is this true Kody?” Ben asked as he sat up from his seat.

“I believe it is,” I said before Kody could answer. “And I don’t think he worked alone. You see, when Ben described seeing Professor Pavlinich’s sister, he was clearly shocked at seeing a random woman at an all-male school, especially that late on a weekday. Ben also referred to Laura as ‘Mrs. Pavlinich’ which informs me that not only had he never met Laura before, he didn’t even know much about her. Kody however, referred to her as ‘Laura,’ which leads me to believe that you two have met before.” I said as I turned my attention to Laura. "My theory is that Laura and Kody have been in a relationship for some time now, and when Kody informed Laura that he was failing her brothers class, and thus potentially ruining his chances at medical school, they devised a plan. After all, who wouldn’t want their significant other to go on and have a career that will bring them wealth and happiness?”

Laura’s face said it all for me, I had got them red handed.

“But what about the murder weapon?” the officer next to me asked.

It was then that I lifted the hefty wooden Delt paddle.

“Kody used this to murder Pavlinich. I had noticed that the back and sides of the paddle have recently been repainted, and there are slight dents around the sides as well. Ben had reported seeing Kody walk out of the chapter room around 11:30, which would have given you plenty of time to go and take the professor’s vehicle off campus, where you probably tried to get rid of the murder weapon before realizing it had to be placed back in the chapter room to avoid suspicion. It was then that Laura came and picked you up, after which she took her position in the janitors' closet, and Kody went back to the house to put the paddle in place after hastily repainting it.”

I turned around to the three individuals sitting in front of me and saw various reactions. Ben was looking incredulously at the two suspects next to him, and Laura and Kody were looking dead at me, clearly defeated.

“If there is nothing else to be said, officer you make take them away.”

The year is 1931; the stock market crash was two years ago now, and there seemed to be no relief in sight. The city had been struggling with crime since. There was enough crime and lack of government funding for the police to keep me very busy. But there was not enough money in the community to make a decent dollar solving cases. I was almost ready to pack up the agency to find more lucrative work somewhere else, until I received one case.

It was just another rainy October day in the city of Crawfordsville. It was later in the afternoon, and I was staring out the window of my office, waiting for another case to walk through the door. "I feel like all it does is rain anymore," I said to the empty desk where my secretary used to sit. It had been six months since I had to let her go, but I still talked to the desk like she was sitting there. I listened to the mice in the walls for a while, when I noticed a small figure standing in the doorway. “What do you want?” I called out.

The figure stepped forward. He appeared to be young; I would say eighteen at the most, and he could not have been more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. "I-I-I'm Jacob," he stuttered.

“What do you want?” I repeated.

"Oh, right, sorry," he struggles. "I need you to look into something."

"Look, kid, the sign on the door makes that clear. I am going to ask you one more time, and then I am going to kick you out."

A look of fear shot across his face, and he quickly blurted out, "He's dead!" With that, I grabbed my jacket and started making my way toward the door. He stood there once again frozen.

"Are you going to lead the way?" With a few words of encouragement, we were on our way across town. "So, do you want to tell me what is going on, or am I supposed to solve that mystery as well?"

"Okay, okay!" He stopped walking and looked at me with the same scared look he has had since I met him. "My professor has been murdered." The expression on my face told him all he needed to know, so he continued with the story, "I was in Center Hall late today, and I was getting ready to leave when I noticed that one of the offices was left slightly open. I thought that someone had just forgotten to shut the door, so I was going to close it when I saw the body on the ground. I did not know what to do, and I had heard of you, and now we are here."

"So, you decided to come to me rather than going to the police?" His face looked like I had just revealed the meaning of life to him. "Dammit, kid! They are half a mile up the street from my office!"

He started to shake a little, “There was no one in there,” he struggled. This should not have surprised me with how things had been going, but I could not bring myself to believe things had gotten that desperate.

“Okay,” I started slowly, “you are going to write down where you live, and then you are going to stay there until I come for you, is that understood?" He responded with a quick nod. Finally, after getting that kid out of my hair, I could start working. I made it to the college and stood outside of the building when I realized I did not ask where the office was. I had found myself lucky as a woman was walking out of the building at the same time. "Excuse me, ma'am, do you know where I could find a professor," I struggle to remember, "Pav-Pavli."

“Pavlinich?” she finished for me.

“Yes, I am supposed to be meeting him today.”

She gave me a strange look. “It is awfully late for a meeting.”

"Right," I hesitated, "well, I am, uh, a busy man, so this was the only option."

“Mhmm, well, it is your loss, but he is on the second floor,” she said as she began to walk away.

What a strange thing to say. "Excuse me, ma'am," I called after her, "what did you mean by that?"

“Well, it really is not my place to tell, but let’s just say he could rub people the wrong way,” she says, quickly turning away.

“Great,” I say to myself, “just what I needed, a guy with plenty of people who wanted to kill him.” As I make my way up to the second floor, I notice that each step I take sounds like the stairs are screaming at me. “How do these people deal with this on a daily basis?” I think to myself. Each office on the floor has an identical door, so I have no choice but to just start trying every office, hoping that no one catches me snooping. Locked. Locked. Locked. Then the doorknob turns. "Well, I hope this is it."

I opened the door, turned the lights on, and I was not disappointed. I was greeted by the corpse of who I hoped was professor Pavlinich. His body was sprawled on the floor, sitting in a puddle of blood. Leaning in for a closer look, I could see multiple stab wounds, obviously the cause of death. Before I could get any closer, a black blur shoots out of the room. Startled, I drew my sidearm, ready to shoot whatever it was. I made my way out of the office, trying to find whatever it was I saw. Then at the end of the hall, I saw a set of unmistakable yellow eyes hiding under a chair. I approached slowly, hoping not to startle the cat and to sit in the chair across from it.

"Come here, buddy," I call with a smooth hand motion. The cat’s little black head pokes out from under the chair. "Come on," I continue, "it's okay." After a few minutes of persuasion and smooth-talking, I manage to convince the feline to come investigate me. Then without warning, it decides to jump into my lap, giving me a chance to see what I had missed the first time, dried blood on its whiskers and claws. I did not think much of it; I assumed he got hungry. I decided, however, that cat sitting was not going to be advantageous for my investigation and went to drop it off with Jacob.

“What is that?” he inquired.

“A tiger,” I replied.

Obviously unamused, he continued, “I meant why did you bring it here?”

“I found it in his office, and I didn’t know whether it would be useful or not. Look, just take care of it until I am done. And don’t clean it off yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“The blood kid,” Jacob quickly jumped away from the cat. “Easy there,” I said, “I doubt it is the killer.”

“I know that, but it has his blood on it.”

"Look, I don't have time for this. You are going to do what I say, so enjoy your new friend," I said, making my way out of his room.

“Wait,” he said, “do you think you are going to be able to figure out who did it?”

"Well," I said, still walking out, "look at it this way; I already am one suspect down,” motioning to the cat then shutting the door.

Back at the crime scene, I started digging through some of his files for any clue as to why professor Pavlinich is dead. There were plenty of grades for a student or two to be a little upset and a few letters from other professors that were less than kindly worded, but nothing that seemed worth killing over. Then I came across a scribbled note on a torn sheet of paper. It appeared to be in professor Pavlinich’s handwriting, but it was hard to tell what it said. It read something like, “B.S. Cheat. Sen comp. Meet with the prez.” It is an interesting find. It does not confirm anything, but it gives a good starting spot to create a suspect list. I began combing through the rosters. I could deduce quickly that the “Sen comp.” was the senior comprehensive exam, so it would probably be a senior struggling with their grade. Suddenly I realize that it was no longer light out, and I began to think it would be suspicious for the lights to be on still. I decided to leave the office and return tomorrow to follow up on my suspect list. As I was leaving the campus, I could see a figure following me. I pretended not to notice them but decided it would be safer to spend the night in my office rather than risk going home. An uneventful walk home left me unsure whether it was just a curious student that wanted to see who was still there. All of my doubts faded, though, when I received a rock through my office window late into the night. In a sort of cliché, the rock was wrapped in a poorly written note that simply read, "Stay away from Wabash.”

“Well, I guess I am on the right track,” I said to myself. “Too bad the killer knows I am looking for him.”

The next morning, I decided that it was time to start checking out the suspect pool. I had put together a list of about five names of potential seniors who may have had motives, but I would need help finding them. I returned to Jacob’s room only to discover I was not the only one who had a rough night. The kid was covered in scratches from the cat. “Rough night?” I asked.

“Real funny,” he replied, wincing as the cat moves towards me.

“Well, I need you today. I have a list of names I need you to help me identify.” He gave me one of his famous scared looks. “You will be fine,” I assured him. “We are going to do this discretely." I decided to omit the part about the rock through my window last night. I thought it would scare him off completely.

We decided to stake out during lunch; the story was that I was a visiting uncle from Indianapolis. It seemed believable enough, though no one really wanted to question who I was, to begin with. “That is Joel,” Jacob whispers to me as we work our way down the list. “And over there are Aiden and Kyle. And the guy with the white hat is Bailey.”

Bailey immediately caught my eye. He was a large build, athletic, had bags under his eyes, and was the only person wearing a long sleeve shirt even on an oddly warm October afternoon. After Jacob had identified the final suspect, John, I decided it was time for him to leave so I could investigate without him hindering me. “Are you sure you won’t need me?” he begs. “Or need me to do anything else besides watch that cat?” At that, I couldn't help but crack a smile. "Look, I don't care what you do; just don’t stay here.” His face lights up as he can avoid getting scratched again.

I waited for Jacob to be gone for a few minutes and then decided it was time to try and wrap up this case. I stood up in the middle of the dining hall and made it clear I was speaking to the room. “Hello, my name is Detective Scurlock.” Everyone in the room immediately had a guilty look on their faces. I guess everyone has something they would like to hide. “I am here investigating a crime, and I was hoping one of you could point me toward… Oh, where did I put that name?" I reached into my pockets, pulling out blank slips of paper, searching. “One moment.” I could feel the tension building in the room. "Ah, here it is. I am looking for," and then somebody bolted out of the door. “Thank you all for your cooperation; I think that is who I was looking for.” I bust through the doors, trying to figure out where he went off to. I quickly spotted him between two buildings and realized I had quite the chase on my hands. With no choice but to run, I followed. As I made it to the spot where I last saw him, a shot rang out, and a sudden pain filled my shoulder. I quickly ducked behind the building and grabbed my own bloody shoulder. "I thought he was a knife guy," I say to myself, drawing my own weapon. “Look,” I call out, “we can end this peacefully still.”

“You’re right,” he responds, “I can go peacefully when you’re dead.”

“Now that seems a little dramatic,” I reply trying to diffuse the situation.

"Maybe, but it's what is going to happen." He fired two more times shooting dust from the bricks that were next to my head. I decided to take a break for the other end of the building, ducking back into cover from shots once more, but this time he shot towards the dining hall. I know that more people are in danger, and I make the tough call. I lunged out from behind the building and fired two shots, hitting him square in the chest.

“I’m sorry," I say to him, lying face down on the ground, “I couldn’t let you shoot anyone else,” I continued trying to justify myself to him. After a few moments, I decided that I needed final confirmation of one thing. I rolled up his sleeve to uncover multiple claw marks. "I guess that settles it then," I say to myself; B.S. stood for Bailey.

There was plenty of paperwork and explaining that I had to do when the police finally arrived, but they sided with me at the end of it. With the shocked looks from the crowd that had gathered, and my official statement given, I decided that there was only one thing left to do. I knocked on Jacob’s door one last time. He answered nervously, unsure of what to say. “So-I-uh…”

"Look, kid," I interrupt, "I get it. I am just here to collect the five dollars you owe me.”

“Right. About that.”

“How much do you have?” I press, trying not to lose whatever cool I had remaining.

“Two,” he quietly replies.

Then I was greeted by a happy little fuzzball once more. "I'll tell you what," I say, bending down to pet the cat, "I will take this little guy as a fee and hopefully get him to eat the mice in my office."

“Yes!” Jacob replies. He could not reply fast enough to the offer to get that cat out of there.

"Alright, then it's settled," I said, stuffing the two dollars into my pocket and picking up the cat. I look down to the creature now in my arms, “Maybe I can teach you to be my secretary too.”

*Fredrick’s eyes pop open he gasps sitting up aggressively*

*Reaches for his phone*

Fredrick: Shit shit shit…NINE THIRTY Pavlinich is going to kill me! Class started at 9:15!

*He jumps out of bed, grabs a pair of black and yellow pinstripe sweats out his dirty clothes hamper, pairs it with a white T-shirt, grabs his bookbag, and sprints out the door*

Fred: *Sarcastically* I hope he isn’t too mad. I’ve only been late 5 times this week.

*He runs up the loud creaking steps, each stomp sounding louder than the last*

*He gets to the door of the classroom*

Fred: Hey Dr. Pavlinich sorry I’m . . . Where’s everybody at?

*The classroom is bare, with only one student sitting in the top corner of the room. Fred doesn’t recognize him at first until he takes a closer look*

Fred: Oh, hey Ahmaud! I didn’t know you had this class? Where’s everyone?

Ahmaud: Yeah, bro. I been here all semester. How’d you forget that? Well I guess you sleep through most of the classes anyways. So maybe if you wake up you’ll understand what’s going on.

*Fred, now insulted, becomes even more confused*

Fred: Whoa. Take it easy *Aside* I guess he’s not lying *To Ahmaud* So you don’t know what’s going on?

Ahmaud: Not sure what you mean by that. I’ve been here all semester. Not sure how you forget that.

*Fred starts to feel he won’t get any answers wasting time here*

Fred: Ok, yea. Hey Ahmaud, I’m going to head out. Class must not have met today or something . . .

Ahmaud: WAIT! Dr. Pavlinich said we were meeting in the library today. Don’t step on the seal. I’m not sure how you forget that.

Fred: Why didn’t you tell me that? Never mind. Thank for the information.

*Fred leaves before anymore further conversation can take place*

*Now outside running towards the library*

Fred: I don’t remember Ahmaud being that weird and what was that about the seal I only stepped on it…1..2…3…4… A few times whatever… At least I got the location. Maybe he won’t be too mad. What time is it anyway *Checks Watch* 9:30 . . . must need new batteries

*Fred hurries into the library, up the steps, past the Eli Lilly figure and into the Goodrich meeting room*

*He stops in the doorway stunned*

Fred: DR. PAVLINICH! What’s going on?

*Dr.Pavelinch is in a fetal position unresponsive in the middle of the room*

*Fred begins to panic running up to Dr. Pavlinich*

Fred: I have get him help . . . I have to do something . . . I wish I knew what happened (Breathing increases) . . . Where are all the chairs . . . Wheres everyone else . . . This can’t be real . . . I— I— I don’t know what . . . (Hyperventilating)

*Fred kneeled over Dr. Pavlinich*

Ahmaud: Oooooo, what’d you do?

*He turns to Ahmaud’s direction*

Fred: What? Ahmaud! Help! Something happened to Dr. Pavlinich and I’m not sure why he’s not breathing, moving nothing!

Ahmaud: I know who did it.

Fred: Who?... THAT REALLY DOESN’T MATTER RIGHT NOW WE GOT TO GET HIM HELP!

Ahmaud: He’s dead. There’s no helping him and it’s all your fault

Fred: WHAT? Me? How did I do THIS?!

Ahmaud: Oh, poor Fredrick, if only you woke up.

Fred: Why do you keep saying that? I DIDN’T DO THIS I’D NEVER DO THIS!

*Fred looks back to check on Dr. Pavlinich. He’s Gone*

Fred: What, where’d he go? What the hell is happening!?

*Fred turns to Ahmaud. He’s gone too but his voice echoes around the names along the Goodrich walls*

*Fred tries to run out the glass doors but they are locked and only display his fear*

Ahmaud: WAKE UP FREDRICK YOU KNOW YOU DID IT! ALL THE SIGNS POINT TO YOU!

*Fred begins looking around the ceilings and walls searching for answers*

Fred: LET ME OUT I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS!

Ahmaud: WALKING UNDER THE ARCH, STEPPING ON THE SEAL OF THE COLLEGE, NOT TOUCHING ELI LILLY’S HEAD WHEN YOU GO UP AND DOWN THE STEPS, AND THE MURDER OF DR. PAVLINICH. THESE ARE YOUR CHARGES. HOW DO YOU PLEAD?

*Fred begins to recollect his offenses to the campus culture*

Fred: Yeah okay so, I broke a couple of superstitions here and there BUT I DID NOT MURDER DR. PAVLINIOCH, HE’S A PROFESSOR! I DON’T WANT TO GO TO JAIL FOR SOMETHING I DIDN’T DO!

Ahmaud: YOUR FATE IS WAY WORSE THAN JAIL COULD EVER BE FREDRICK! YOU'RE ROTTEN TO THE CORE. JUST LOOK AT YOUR APPAREL! YOU ADMITTED TO THE GREATEST SINS THAT COULD BE COMMITTED ON THIS CAMPUS AND AS A DIRECT RESULT OF YOUR ACTIONS YOU’VE CAUSED YOUR PROFESSOR TO LOSE HIS LIFE.

Fred: NO WAY! I made a few mistakes but none of them could’ve caused this! *To himself* Could they have? *Back to his surroundings* No! No way this was all caused by some superstitions!

Ahmaud: You still haven’t woken up but I’m sure you’ll understand the severity of your crimes very soon *His voice fades*

Fred: What do you mean?! Hello? Hello?

*Fred backs into the middle of the room almost like he’s retreating*

*The room lights are shut off and nothing can be seen*

Fred: HEYYYYY!

*After the brief darkness, red light brightens the room in a scarlet red coating*

*All of Fred’s classmates are in their seats but they have no expressions*

*Dr. Pavlinich is standing at the front with no expression as well*

Fred: *Timidly* everybody wh—what’s going on? This has to be a dream or something. Nothing is making sense.

Students: GULITY GULITY GULITY GULITY GULITY GULITY! (Repeating remainder of the scene)

Fred: No. I’m not. Stop! Stop! Dr. Pavlinich, say something. Make them stop. I didn’t kill you! I didn’t cause this!

Dr. Pavlinich: You did kill me. You did cause this. This is YOUR FAULT! GUILTY! GUILTY! GUILTY! GUILTY! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! (Repeating remainder of the scene)

*Fred starts to sink into the ground now understanding why he’s in this position*

Fred: Please no no no. What have I done. I did all those things they said but I thought it wasn’t that big a deal. I just thought maybe . . . No! there’s nothing I can do. It’s over for me.

*The room darkens with the repeated echos of the students and Professor*

*After the echos stop*

*Fred wake up in his bed to the TV blaring, he aggressively breathes in deep*

*The TV is on Judge Judy. She’s yelling at a criminal about how he’s obviously guilty*

Fred: *Still breathing heavily* Oh my goodness. I can’t believe that just happened. It all seemed so real: the day, the students, the body everything. How could it be so vivid?

*Fred falls back into his bed and releases a sigh of relief*

*He reaches for his phone to check the time*

Fred: NINE THIRTY… NO WAY I GOTTA GO NOW!

*Fred hops out of bed reaches over for the black and yellow pair of pinstripe sweats and elects for his plain red sweats, he pairs it with a white T-shirt, rushes to grab his bookbag and runs towards the door*

*Fred, now outside, bumps into Ahmaud on the way into the library*

Fred: *Nervously* AHMAUD! Hey what’s going on?

Ahmaud: Nothing, bro. You good?

Fred: Yea, yea, just late for class that’s all. I’ll see you 'round!

*Walks around Ahmaud*

Ahmaud: HEY!

*Fred freezes*

Ahmaud: Wake up on time from now on and watch your step bud. Don’t want any bad luck do you. *Chuckles*

Fred: Yea. Ha. No bad luck.

The wind was howling as I trudged through the snow on my way to Center Hall. It was December, and a cold north wind whipped up that day to leave the air brisk. I was packing up my truck hoping I would be able to go home before the snow accumulated anymore, but before I left, I needed to see Professor Baer. As I climbed the steps over Center Hall, I noticed the building seemed dead. It was quieter than usual, and the only sound to be heard was the creaking of the stairs under my weight, a typical response from the old wood for anyone going up them. I rounded the last stair and noticed Professor Baer’s door was closed and the lights were on. Breathing out a sigh of relief, I starting to crack a smile as I anticipated the jape I normally receive from the professor. I knocked on the door. To my surprise, no answer came. Waiting was not one of my virtues, so after thirty seconds or so I knocked again, but still no answer came. As I steeped in my anger for walking all the way to Center Hall for nothing, I started to rationalize that I should just open the door. In my mind, the worst thing that he could be doing is sleeping, or maybe he just left his lights on, and currently sitting at home with his wife drinking a hot toddy not thinking about Wabash College in any way. I checked the door handle, which proved to be unlocked, so I gave it a twist and started edging my way into the room. Professor Baer was in his office. I had just stepped into a horror scene.

He sat in his chair. At first I thought he might be sleeping, but I deemed that was false from the pencil protruding from his neck, and the fact that his eyes were wide open. I was taken aback at first and thought it might be better for me to just call the police, but something took over me. I needed to know more information about what happened. Maybe I would have insights into who was the killer of one of my favorite professors. Walking up to the body, I noticed no defensive wounds. The professor did not even seem to react to the pencil being placed in his jugular. The amount and color of blood on the floor told me the pencil had punctured his jugular. I know the amount and color of jugular blood not because I routinely look upon this gore, but because I was raised on a farm, and we butcher pigs by shooting them in the head and then slicing jugulars. The other thing that stood out more than anything else was the smell. That much blood leaves a very distinct odor, and it can only be summed up as metallic and gross. As I made my way around the body, I realized why the bleeding was so profuse. As I looked, I noticed three holes in his neck where the pencil had entered before the last one lodged in it for good. Each hole lined up perfectly with the other, and a shudder went through me as I admired the precision and grimness of what I was looking upon. Who on campus would be able to cleanly place a simple #2 pencil in a strong middle-aged man’s neck four times and not even get a struggle out of the man? The only additional sign of disturbance in this office was his knocked-over coffee cup, but that could have just happened naturally, right? As I was looking upon the body about to give up my childlike fantasy of solving a murder and calling the police, I finally noticed something substantial.

Professor Baer’s hand was closed tight, and it was almost as if he had been clutching something when he perished in such a dismal way. So many ideas started rushing through my head, but the easiest one was that someone did not want the professor to show anyone else what he had in his hand. Rigor mortis had already begun, but I was able to pry open the professor’s hand, and the tiniest piece of paper fell out. On the paper was a bit of handwriting with three letters. The letters were ams—but what does that mean? I started to deduce what word or acronym ams could be, but then I came to the realization that ams is the ending of a name, and the culprit could be this ams person. Thinking back to Professor Baer's classes, I specifically remember him making every student write down their names for attendance. This would be where I would find ams. Scanning his attendance lists, I found that only one student fit the -ams last name. A friend of mine: Isiah McWilliams. I had seen him leave campus yesterday. No way it was him. He also held no grudges against the professor, and even claimed he was one of his favorites. Back to square one, but I was not out of steam yet. That coffee cup looked more and more suspicious.

I grabbed the coffee cup and spun it in my hands. It was nothing out of the ordinary. It looked like most travel mugs a person on the run would carry. This one showed its age; Professor Baer had been using this one religiously for the past few years. As I began to set it down, I started to yawn and drew a big breath in through my nose, and the strangest thing happened. I caught the slight hint of almond. Coffee could have almond creamer or some such flavoring—but then I specifically remember Professor Baer telling me that drinking coffee black is the only way to drink coffee. I grabbed my phone and looked up "almond scent." The first thing that came up was cyanide. I threw the cup when the realization hit me that cyanide was in the coffee, and I wanted to be nowhere near something as deadly as that poison. Who was able to get their hands on cyanide? What even is cyanide? With my phone already in my hand, I started to research cyanide, and found out quite a bit about it.

I ended up finding out that cyanide was in a lot of things, and it is a common poison, but only in high concentrations can it be deadly as fast as it killed poor professor Baer. As I was scrolling through the uses of cyanide, when I came upon an article talking about how it was used in the paper making industry. Paper is such a niche market, and I decided I would see if any of my Wabash brothers' parents owned paper businesses. Bingo! I found one student whose family owned a paper business: Kyle Davis. He was an Indiana kid, lived in independent housing, was a senior, and he was in a Baer class this past semester. I began to investigate exactly where he lived and called my friend Jack for some help. I made sure not to mention the body I was in the presence of, and simply asked where Kyle Davis lived. Jack ended up finding me his dormroom, which was a single on the fourth floor of Martindale. I started to make my way towards Martindale, but first I made sure my knife was in my pocket. I did not want to be surprised by anything.

I decided to take the elevator up to the fourth floor of Martindale, because I wanted to have all the energy I could possibly have when I confronted the suspected killer of Professor Baer. I did not knock on the door. Instead, I thrust myself inside to catch the culprit unknowingly. To my surprise he was laying on his floor as dead as Professor Baer. In the air hung the faint aroma of almond. I was taken aback at first, and it was hard for me to process what I was seeing. I have seen two dead bodies tonight, and that was two more than I see on a normal day. I did not know what to do now, but I ended up deciding that I should find the cause of Kyle’s death as well. I began by examining the scene, and I once again noticed no struggle. My mind traveled to the thought that he had somehow poisoned himself, but I was not sure yet. I flipped the body over, and when he rolled I saw that his right hand was bloody and out of that same hand a vial fell out of his hand. I walked closer to the vial, and the smell of almond grew stronger. It had to be the vial filled with cyanide that Kyle used to kill Professor Baer. It was a bigger vial, and from what the internet told me, a portion 1/4 of that size would kill any person. The blood on his hand had to be Professor Baer’s. Kyle had repeatedly stabbed Baer’s neck with a pencil, and I began to realize that the only reason he would have done that was to make the authorities think that was the cause of death. Kyle was trying to kill and get away with it, but here he lay dead on his floor. I was not sure why, but I was determined to find out.

As I began to study the vial from afar, I saw that the cap was not on it. I rationalized that maybe Jack left the cap back at Baer’s office, but I remember that he was trying to elude the authorities, so that made no sense. I scanned the floor and saw nothing. I began to think that Kyle did leave the cap in Baer’s office, until I decided to investigate Kyle’s pockets. Within Kyle’s back left pocket I found the cap. Maybe he had just put the vial cap into his pocket while he slipped the cyanide into Baer’s coffee. But as I thought about the placement of the cap that made no sense. To put something in your back pocket you would have to be standing up, or at least make a motion while sitting that would have been noticeable to Baer. The cap must have been taken off while Jack was standing, and he himself drank cyanide. I deduced that he must have been overcome with grief, and that he had to have killed himself, but why did he kill Professor Baer in the first place.

I saw that Kyle’s computer was open and unlocked. Among his emails, I found a chain of correspondence that Kyle was having with Professor Baer. Baer was failing Kyle because he was not going to class at all. Kyle was begging the Professor to pass him and said that if he did not, then Kyle was not going to graduate. Kyle, in his rage, must have killed Professor Baer because he was not going to graduate without passing the class. After killing the professor, Kyle was overcome with grief and decided to take his own life. Kyle will never graduate. Professor Baer is done teaching classes.

“Hey Dr. Pavlinich, this is my friend Curtis, he’s a chemistry major from Indiana University,” chimed in John.

Pavlinich replied, “How nice to meet you Curtis, John. This is my little sister Mia. She is attending Depauw University.”

Curtis starts the conversation, “How are you doing? Did you get to meet Rutherford?”

“Yea I’m doing fine, I have only heard stories about Rutherford. From what I’ve heard, he was a staple of the Wabash tradition,” said Mia.

Curtis questioned, “Will you be attending the funeral at the cemetery down the road?”

“No, we are going shopping for me in Indianapolis,” cheered Mia.

“Hey Curtis, I am going to wait by the podium to give my speech. If you want, you can either stay here or come up there and stand by me,” said John.

Curtis explained, “I will just stay here with Pavlinich and Mia, they are the only people that I know here. Good luck! Break a leg.”

When John left to go up to wait by the podium, he left an awkward silence. Mia and Pavlinich began to converse while Curtis just stood there.

“Hey where is the bathroom at this place?” snapped Mia.

Pavlinich replied, “It’s right upstairs in Sparks, do you want to take you there? We must wait until after John talks, because I want to see how he does. I could use a coffee too.”

“I can’t wait,” nagged Mia.

“Hey, I know where it is. While you’re going to the bathroom, I can get you your coffee. You won’t have to miss John’s speech and she can use the bathroom,” assured Curtis.

“Oh my, you are such a gentleman. Are you sure you don’t go to Wabash?” jested Pavlinich.

Mia and Curtis began to walk to Sparks. Mia seethed, “I can’t wait to get out of here, I just want to go try on new shoes already.”

“Yea, do you plan on coming to Wabash anytime soon? We could hang out at John’s fraternity if you’d like,” questioned Curtis.

Mia huffed, “No I don’t think I will be up here anytime soon. There is nothing to do, and nowhere to shop.”

The two enter the Sparks Center. Curtis pointed to the stairs and explained, “If you follow those up and turn to the right, you will see the women’s bathroom. I will get his coffee and wait for you.” Mia did not respond and continued to the bathroom.

With the coffees in hand, Curtis waited for Mia. They walked back to Professor Pavlinich and John as the funeral was coming to an end.

“Here ya go,” said Curtis.

Pavlinich proclaimed, “Man, oh man, John! This guy right here is the closest thing to a Wabash man.”

Pavlinich and Mia began talking to President Hunter near the podium. Standing nearby was Professor Meyers of the bio department, Feltz of the economics department, and Stockton of the religion department. All of them laughing and having a good time, telling stories about Rutherford. While they were conversing, Mia sat staring at her phone. She clearly had no reason to be there. Hunter, Meyers, Feltz, Stockton, Pavlinich, and Mia all began to walk to the gravel parking lot. As they passed by the arch gaping at the periphery of Wabash College campus, Hunter, Mia, and Pavlinich passed underneath it.

Everybody gasped and Mia belted out, “Oh my god, shut up. I am so sick of this school I never want to come back.”

Pavlinich did now know about the sacred arch, so Hunter and the professors explained to him the ritual. While explaining to him that only Wabash graduates can walk underneath the arch, he fell down. Everybody rushed around him. President Hunter called an ambulance to get him to the hospital. Before they could arrive, he was pronounced dead. Pavlinich was in perfect health, he was young, healthy, and showed no signs of aging. This couldn’t have been a coincidence. He just walked under the arch, fell down, and died.

This got students and faculty talking immediately. It was hard to believe that the arch was just a hoax anymore, this was the real deal. President Hunter knew that this arch idea wasn’t real because he walked underneath it his freshman year. Being a graduate from Wabash, President Hunter knew some important individuals. Everybody thought this was of natural causes and did not think anything of it, but Hunter thought there was somebody behind all of it.

Hunter dialed his fraternity brother AJ Reid, now known as Detective Reid. Reid answered and coaxed, “Is this Five-head Hunter?”

“Not now Reid. I have a case that I would like you to look into,” begged Hunter.

Reid debated, “Now I would love to, but you know I’m not supposed to be detecting outside of my case in my job.”

“I know, but it is one of my professors, he collapsed today walking while me and some others after a wake. He was young and healthy. People think that it was a coincidence, but I know there is more too it,” said Hunter.

“Are you flirting with me right now Five-head, because you’re tempting me right now. I will be there tomorrow morning. I need all of the information that you have and anybody that you or others may suspect,” said Reid.

The next day Hunter and Reid get to breaking down the case. Reid challenged Hunter, “What do you know? Who are our suspects?”

Hunter began, “It all took place on campus by the arch. He walked underneath it right before it happened. Now, people think that the arch has some type of higher power now because of it, but I know that is not it. It’s impossible. He just fell; his family and friends believe that it’s just a heart attack or stroke. His father had a heart attack a few years back, but Pavlinich doesn’t have any heath problems. Somebody must have had a motive to do this. So, I got to digging and found a few possible suspects. Pavlinich and Feltz the economics professor have always had a love-hate relationship. He may have some information we do not know about, or at least he could inform us about their relationship. Next, his sister Mia was being rude to Pavlinich every time I heard her talk to him. But there is one person who raises my suspicion more than anybody else, and that is my assistant: Eric Murphy. At Sparks I heard him and Feltz talking about both Rutherford and Pavlinich. Feltz was talking about how sad the campus is, and how professors and deans need to step up to cheer up the students and continue the semester. Then, Feltz went on to talk about how sweet it was for Pavlinich to set up the small gathering around the flagpole, because it allowed students that were not comfortable talking in front of the huge group to say what they wanted to. Murphy seemed disgusted and said, ‘you really think that Pavlinich came up with that. He heard me and Amy talking about this in Center Hall after lunch. All Pavlinich did was send out the email first and took all the credit that I was supposed to get.’ Feltz then said something like, 'it’s not about credit. It’s about Rutherford. He is a staple of Wabash and wouldn’t act selfish like you right now.’”

Reid paused to take in all the information. He asked Hunter if there is a white board around, and after a few minutes Hunter rolled one in. Reid replied, “Okay so we have Feltz. He doesn’t have a motive, but always goes back-and-forth with Pavlinich. We have Mia, she seems like a spoiled brat, with no motive. She is family and from what you’re telling me, there is no benefit for her murdering her brother. That brings me to Murphy. Pavlinich took all his credit for the flagpole gathering. He was upset about it. Everybody supposedly knew that Pavlinich was the one that put it together and he was praised for it. Feltz called him selfish. So, if it was Murphy, he would be thinking, if he is going to continue to take all of my credit, I will not be leaving a Wabash legacy, like Rutherford did. I agree with you Hunter, I think that Murphy is more of a suspect than the others, but we should question the other two before moving to Murphy.”

Hunter began to call the three suspects, as well as Meyers and Stockton.

Mia, Feltz, Murphy, Meyers, and Stockton all entered the chapel. Both Hunter and Reid wanted there to be no disturbances. Reid and Hunter took Mia upstairs to the top of the chapel. Reid began to question Mia.

“What do you remember about the day your brother died,” inquired Reid?

Mia answered, “Well he fell down. I thought he was just being dramatic, but then he died. I told him that we should have went to the mall sooner. But nope! He didn’t want to listen to me. He might be a college professor, but mom and dad still tell me that I have the brains.”

Reid protested, “So you’re telling me that you were mad at your brother to the point where you would hurt him. Everybody is talking about how angry you looked at the wake, like everything was bothering you.”

“No, why would I want my brother gone? He was going to buy me new outfits. It takes a while to shop for the perfect fits; I just didn’t want to be rushed. Did I want to be there? No. Did I want to shop? Yes. I didn’t even know Rutherford, everybody seemed to be up his butt by what they were saying,” asserted Mia.

Hunter took Mia back down to the first floor, to grab Feltz. Feltz sat down in front of Hunter and Reid and said, “Why am I up here. I have nothing to do with this.”

“Tell us about your relationship with Pavlinich.” Hunter insisted.

“We get along sometimes. Some days he gets under my skin, other days I feel like I can go to dinner with the guy. I don’t know, he is sometimes nice and others I think he is big headed,” informed Feltz.

Reid asked, “So you have no reason to hurt Pavlinich, and his he was here still he wouldn’t have any more information about your relationship? You know you are a Wabash man, and you are supposed to abide by the gentleman’s rule all of the time, correct?”

Feltz fumed, “Yes I know, but I would not hurt him. Sometimes the best part of my day was being rude to him. It’s kind of our thing.”

Next Hunter brings in both Meyers and Stockton at the same time.

Reid began, “Well, Hunter tells me that you two are new professors. You both went to big schools. Meyers, you went to Miami University, and Stockton, you went to Florida University. You guys don’t know the Wabash community as well as others, or do you? Well, you’re both here because you were both at the scene firsthand with Hunter here. Most importantly, I want to know if you guys have any other information that might be beneficial for this case.”

Meyers answered, “I don’t really have anything to say. Hunter, you saw it, he just fell. My guess was that Mia did it because he seemed so mad. When somebody kills somebody, they usually don’t seem too upset, and she hasn’t even shed a tear.”

Stockton continued, “Yea I don’t know either. I think he was drunk though. He was talking a little funny, but I couldn’t smell any alcohol on him. When I looked at his coffee, I think that there was a shot of Bombay in it because of the blue hue. He always asked me to go to Creekside with him to get a gin espresso martini.”

Reid answered, “Meyers, Stockton, thanks for the input, but I don’t care how drunk he was. If I’m at a wake, I could use a drink too.”

Next entered Murphy.

Hunter accused Murphy, “I have reason to believe that you have something to do with the death of Pavlinich. Don’t say a word. Reid will take it from here.”

“Murphy, Pavlinich did a great job with the flagpole service didn’t he? You would have loved to take all the credit wouldn’t you have? Please tell me, how did you do it? We all now here that you did not like Pavlinich because you wanted to be viewed as such a great person, but Pavlinich took your glory,” said Reid.

Murphy explained, “Yea I never liked Pavlinich. I don’t care that he is gone at all. I will be at his wake, not because I liked him, but because I want people to think I care. But there is one thing for certain: I wouldn’t kill him though. I can’t put my career on the line. I’m making six figures right now and the worst part of my day is proof reading Hunter’s emails. Unless I’m under arrest, I’m going to leave.”

Reid and Hunter looked at each other simultaneously. They didn’t know what to do. They both went back to the drawing board and had no other suspects.

Reid turned to Hunter, “I am going to need more time to break this case down. I need to spend some time on campus to see if I see anything suspicious. I need you to continue to be on the lookout as well. Rome wasn't built in a day and that magic that comes from my work doesn’t either.”

Hunter, “Well his funeral is tomorrow, the burial is in Indy. The family did not want it on campus. They didn’t want this to happen to anybody else. They think it is Wabash’s fault right now. They might be getting a lawyer.”

Reid replied, “Yea I will go. Good thing I always have an extra suit in the car.”

The next day, detective Reid and President Hunter arrive at the funeral. They say hello to the family and make their way to the back of the crowd. There is a lot of people there, but not nearly as much as at Rutherford’s. It is big, but you can see everybody’s faces in the crowd. Some students are in the crowd, but not many.

Reid turned to Hunter, “Who is that?”

“Are you talking about Mia,” asked Hunter.

Reid said, “No, are you stupid? The dude next to her.”

Hunter answered, “I have no idea. It’s not one of my students. You know how Wabash is. Everybody knows everybody.”

“Let’s go talk to him, he might be of assistance in this case. You never know. I’ve seen crazier things,” insisted Reid.

On the way to talk to this mysterious person, John runs into Hunter and Reid. “President Hunter, how are you doing? This is a crazy two weeks for Wabash. My two favorite professors are now gone. First Rutherford, and now Pavlinich,” said John, as he broke into tears.

“Yea, so tragic. Do you know who that guy is? The one talking to Mia,” hurried Reid?

John replied, “Of course, that is my best friend, Curtis. He has been staying with me for a few weeks. Pavlinich liked him a lot. Pavlinich said that he was the closest thing to a Wabash man.”

Hunter turned to Reid, “I figured it out. I got it from here. I didn’t need your help after all.”

Hunter moved to the center of the circle. Standing next to Pavlinich’s casket he belted out, “Curtis, you must be so upset about the passing of Pavlinich. You guys must have had a close relationship. Apparently, you guys must have hit it off if you only met one time. We caught you red handed, or shall we say blue handed. It all makes sense now. You are the reason why Pavlinich is not here with us today. You really wanted to get to know Mia. She must have told you that she wasn’t interested, because—let’s be honest—she’s stuck up. She was too good for Rutherford’s funeral, so it’s obvious she wanted nothing to do with Wabash or anybody there. You wanted to be a gentleman and show her where the bathroom was. I thought nothing of it, until now. When you entered Sparks, you had nothing in your hand, but when you left you had a cup of coffee. Inside that cup of coffee, you put hydrogen cyanide. Stockton said that the coffee had a hint of blue. Since hydrogen cyanide is blue at room temperature, the coffee was not hot. Instead of taking your rejection like a normal person, you thought that since Mia was a family member of a Wabash professor that the students would know when the funeral was. You stayed on campus to see if John would want to come. Since he wanted to come, you were able to try again with Mia. You took the life of Pavlinich so you could try to flirt with his sister one more time to see if she was into you.”

Curtis looked at Mia and cried, “I’m sorry, but this is what you get for rejecting me.”

It was a cloudy and misty Monday April morning. It was too cold to not wear a jacket, but warm enough that after a while the dampness of the sweat starts to become uncomfortable. I made my way up to the top of the Wabash Chapel where the large bell was located, I met the man who called me here.

“Mornin’ John,” he greeted me with two coffees, one for himself and the other for me.

“Thanks,” I said as I grabbed the coffee from his plump hand, with little sausages connected to them that he manipulates like fingers. His name is Colbey Watts, a middle-aged man who turned his life around from a garbage man to a police officer around 4 years ago. I suppose he loves working with trash. He was shorter than me, around 5 foot 8, and eerily resembled a panda, overweight with a nice beachball sized belly and dark circles under his eyes.

“What have you got for me this time?” I asked as we approached the body, wet from the rain and directly under the large bell at the top of the chapel.

“We have ID’d him as Dr. Elan Justice Pavlinich,” he said, “A professor here at Wabash who teaches different English classes from topics about the medieval era and detective fiction. Forensics puts his time of death at around midnight last night, with the current cause of death being ruled a stabbing as you can see, but we will have an autopsy report soon.”

I knelt down closer to get a better look at him.

“Detective fiction and Justice huh,” I remarked as I leaned a few inches away from his face. A Ticonderoga number 2 pencil was pressed deep inside his eye, clearly deep enough to penetrate his brain. The pencil had been used before. The eraser was half gone, and the metal bit attached to it seemed to be pinched in more than normal, like the person using it had tried to squeeze the eraser out.

I stood up. There did not seem to be any more visible cues as to what else could have been the cause of death. He was wearing what one would expect a professor to wear. Making my way down his body, he sported a navy-blue button-down shirt with a pink bow tie and gray slacks. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, just a bit of mud on his brown shoes. And something else. Squatting down for a second time I stared intensely at the doctor's shoes. A yellowish color with a distinct smell that anyone would recognize, especially during a party at a college. I was centimeters away, and I must have been looking too long. I was in a trance. Suddenly, Watts cleared his throat loudly, shaking me out of it.

“Do you have any information about who has seen him last, or what he was doing last night?” I asked Officer Watts as I turned and stood to face him, almost hitting my head on 2 tons of iron bell dangling above me.

“A student named Quinn Moore. He is a sophomore and has a class with Dr. Pavlinich and he was seen talking to him last night in the next building over: Baxter Hall,” he informed me, talking in between puffs of a cigarette he had lit during my inspection of the body. “The boy is sitting in the Chapel if you want to talk to 'em.”

Quinn was sitting at the back of the Chapel, he was slender, with an athletic build, most likely a runner. He had shoulder length brown hair that desperately needed shaping and he was wearing a Wabash wind breaker and jeans.

“Quinn, this is John Nooley,” I shook hands with the student as Officer Watts introduced me, “he will be helping us with this case. He has some questions that we would like to ask you.”

“How are you doing Quinn?” I asked.

“I already told the other officer what I know. Why do I have to do this again?” he complained, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs and struggling to make eye contact with me.

“I know, but I would like to hear it from you directly, it's always best to hear things from the source, don’t want anything to get lost in translation”, I replied, trying to find his eyes, but they would only lock onto my own for a second at a time. “When was the last time you saw Dr. Pavlinich”, I asked.

“It was last night, around 9 pm.”

“What were you doing together?”

“Talking about class.”

“Did he seem distressed at all?”

“Nothing unusual.”

“Wasn’t nervous or fidgety?”

“Not that I could tell.”

“What about last week, when did you see him then?”

“I had class with him on Friday, and then later that day I saw him at the club event?”

“What event? What club?”

“For the Tea Tasters Club. It's where we make and drink tea and just talk about things.”

“And did there seem like anything was wrong during the event?”

“Well, he left a little early because he said that he wasn’t feeling well?”

“You aren’t sure?”

“He didn’t tell me. I heard it from Miss Mullen. She is another sponsor for our club.”

“Did she seem at all out of the ordinary?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Quinn.” I turned and faced Officer Watts. “I will need to have a list of everyone who is involved with the Tea Tasters Club and talk to each one of them.”

“Are you thinkin’ one of them is behind all this?” he asked.

“I am not sure yet, but it is a good place to start.”

Later that same day, after classes and sporting events were over, all the members of the Tea Tasters Club were gathered inside of the chapel with me and Officer Watts. I did not quite understand why the college did not cancel class for the day. After the news of Dr. Pavlinich’s death reached the ears of administration early that morning I would have expected students to stay in their living units until the heat died down. But I heard that only once in Wabash’s lifetime has class been canceled and that was during the assassination of a president, so I suppose an English professor would not cause them to break tradition. I had asked Officer Watts to prepare a glass of water for the club members so that they could have something to drink during my meetings with each of them. The first person that I talked to was Lennart Hochberg, a junior art major. He was a squirrely brat who just would not shut up, making me think he should be a rhetoric major instead.

“...and then you must slowly and very carefully, like this, are you listening? You have to take your paint brush using this exact stroke...,” he continued while imitating some type of technique he used to create his so-called masterpiece. I was already tired of listening to him. I reached into my pocket and pulled out two Aleve, swallowing them dry. This was only the first one I had to talk to.

“Alright,” I said, cutting off his intriguing demonstration, "back to what I was asking you. What was special about the event last Friday?”

“Well, this was the first time that we had a blind tea taste test. We were split up into groups and we tallied the guesses of each team who correctly guessed the tea they were drinking to determine the winner.”

“Uh huh, I see, and who made the teas?”

“We all made them of course. Everyone in the club knows how to make tea, did you think that a tea club wouldn’t be able to make tea?”

“Okay,” I said rubbing my forehead with my thumb and index fingers. “What can you tell me about Quinn and Dr. Pavlinich?”

“I hear that Quinn and him don’t get along very well.”

“Really? And why is that?”

“That’s because Quinn never has goods grades in his class, he says it's because Dr. Pavlinich doesn’t like him, but I think it's because Quinn is just lazy.”

“Are Quinn’s grades bad?”

“No, it's only in Dr. Pavlinich’s classes. He is not a super tough professor, so it must be something else that makes them mix like water and oil.”

I continued talking with Lennart for a little while longer and then sent him away. The next person to talk to me was Shrivasta Mullen, the other sponsor for the club. She was in her 50’s, tall for a woman, skinny, with brown hair with light brown highlights. She had perfect teeth that I only saw briefly from her forced smile as she approached me. She was quite attractive, having an 80’s hourglass figure that would have driven young men crazy 20 or 30 years ago. Today, she looked like a retired actress, one that would have won awards for her appearance on the big screen.

“Miss Mullen, is it? I would like to ask you about last night. Did you see or hear from Dr. Pavlinich the night of his death?”

“No,” she said firmly. I could tell that the death of the professor was a real shock to her. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her nose had to constantly be wiped by the tissue she had clutched in her hand.

“And on Friday during the Tea Club’s event, were you there?’

“Yes, I was.” She was visibly shaking as she took a sip of water.

“Was there anything unusual about Dr. Pavlinich that day?”

“Not at first, no. But later, when things were starting to wind down, he left early, saying that his stomach was upsetting him.”

“Has he ever left an event early before?”

“No, that was the first time.”

“What can you tell me about the other club members?”

“They are all good students. Hector got an internship last summer with Dr. Briggs at a greenhouse. Quinn is very involved outside of the tea club. And Islay just got an award.”

“Thank you, Miss Mullen,” I said and prepared to talk to the next club member. This time it was freshman Islay Lowry, who had an outstanding academic record. He even received the academic excellence award. He was very short, around 5 foot 4, with medium length black hair that was parted down the middle. He was carrying his book bag and had a pencil in his left hand.

“What can you tell me about the club event Friday Mr. Lowry?”

“It was a little different than past events because we did a blind taste testing game. It was pretty fun. My team won of course. And . . . that is about it.”

“Who all was on your team?”

“It was me, Lennart, and Quinn, but Dr. P stepped in for me when I used the restroom during the second round.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about Quinn or Lennart?”

“Well, I heard that Quinn doesn’t like Dr. P very much. Apparently, Lennart had an outburst last week in class.”

“What was it about?”

“As I understand it, because I am not in their class, Lennart got really upset during a debate that got heated really fast when someone brought up some controversial political topic. He and Dr. P got into a bit, and Lennart took it too far, even cussing him out. They eventually made up though, but I could tell that Lennart was still fuming about it during the Tea club event.” Lennart then started to chew on the end of his pencil.

“Can you not tell Lennart I said this,” he asked squeamishly, “I don’t really like gossiping about people, and if anyone found out it could hurt my reputation.”

“Sure,” I said, and thanked him for his time.

After I was done interviewing Islay, all that was left was Hector Nakai, another outstanding student, who, just like Islay, had won the award for academic excellence—only he had won it three years in a row. He was tall and sturdy, with broad shoulders, and short blonde hair.

“Hi Hector, can you tell me about the event on Friday for the tea club?”

“Sure, we held a blind taste test of different types of tea. Islay suggested it after the last event because he felt it would be fun. My team lost, but we all still enjoyed the event.”

“Do you know why Dr. Pavlinich left early?”

“Not really, something about a stomachache maybe?”

“Tell me about the other members, how about Isaly?”

His eye twitched.

"I like most of the guys, Isaly is a little—"

“Hey Nooley,” said Officer Watts cutting off what Hector was saying, “I need to tell you something.”

I thanked Hector for his time and then went to see what Officer Watts had to say.

“The autopsy report came in. We gotta head down to the morgue to hear what the coroner has to say.”

“Alright, you can tell the students and Miss Mullen that we are done questioning them for now.”

We arrived at the precinct at around 8pm that same Monday. By now the sun was getting low, and so was my energy. I needed more coffee. I had asked to stop by the precinct first so that I could ask some of the officers on the case to get some information about Dr. Briggs, and some information about the pencil found in the professor’s eye. We then left for the morgue that was just around the block. Officer Watts escorted me towards the coroner’s office. I was starting to feel an itch on the back of my knee, something that I had developed over the years being a private investigator. Something that tells me there was more to this case than what meets the eye. I opened the door and was greeted by a man around the age of 70 years. He had short gray hair neatly combed and parted, reminding me of a Baptist preacher, and a gray moustache. He stood at around 5 feet and 11 inches, with a little bit of a belly.

“Mr. Nooley,” he said as he went in for a handshake, “how have you been? You haven’t been on a case for a few months now.”

“I am doing well,” I replied while shaking his hand. “How’s the autopsy report?”

“Well, it’s clear that there was a pencil lodged in the right eye of our victim. Someone would have to use a considerable amount of strength to get it that far deep into the brain.”

“So that’s our cause of death then.”

“Well, no, interestingly enough the cause of death seems to be a heart attack, and the pencil to the eye happened afterwards.”

“That is interesting. It seems rare for a man as young as Dr. Pavlinich to die from a heart attack. Did you check to see if there was anything in his system?”

“Yes, but we have not found anything yet. I’m afraid it might have just been a heart attack, it’s rare but it does happen to men of his age.”

“But then how did the pencil get in his eye?”

“I think I might know,” chimed in Officer Watts, “could it be he was walking back from his meeting with Quinn when he had the heart attack, and with a pencil in his hand fell onto it, sticking himself in the eye when he fell?”

“That would not explain why he was in the bell tower of the Chapel.” I paced quickly about the Coroner’s office as both him and Officers Watts silently stared at me, as if they could see the gears inside of my head turning. I smacked my lips in frustration. I told the officer and the coroner good night as I took the time to walk back home. A good night’s rest should help.

The next morning, I got a call from the precinct. My eyes widened, I quickly thanked the man on the phone and called Officer Watts.

“Hello? Yes, good morning to you as well, can you get the club members inside the chapel again? In 30 minutes? Okay, thank you. What’s that? Yes, I believe I have.” I hung up the phone and quickly made my way back to Wabash College. When I arrived it was raining, I didn’t bring a jacket, so I jogged up the steps of the old building and made my way inside. All five of the members of the Tea Tasters Club were all sitting on the stage.

“Why are we here again?” Quinn asked. I noted that he was eyeing me carefully as I walked up to them.

“You are all here,” I began, getting into my monologue mode, “to witness the unraveling of this most heinous crime. This was a difficult one. One that has given me more headaches than I’d like to admit,” I said sneaking a glance at Lennart. “I believe that the killer of Dr. Pavlinich is sitting here on this stage.” I stopped and looked each of them in the eye individually. “Let’s go back to the night of the Tea Club event. You were all there, including our most unfortunate friend, Dr. Pavlinich, and he had begun the blind taste test of the tea that you all had made, only one of the teas had poison in it. How do I know this? It’s of course because Dr. Pavlinich was reportedly not feeling well and left early. Well, that hardly means that he was poisoned, however, I found an interesting residue on the bottom of his shoe the morning his body was found. It was vomit. Hard to catch because it had been raining, washing away any signs that he might have vomited, including the smell.” I was really hitting my stride now. “But I thought he died from a pencil in his eye, you might be thinking to yourselves. This was to drive the attention away from the poison coursing through his veins. This poison, however, is a very rare type, something that will not show up on the autopsy report, as it has only been used once in history. Its symptoms include nausea, vomiting, and finally death 2 days later. This precisely lines up with the time of death and was mistaken as a heart attack the first time it happened. The poison used was Oleander a type of flower, that was brewed into a tea. And the person who administered this poison was”—pause for dramatic effect—“Hector Nakai!” I said pointing directly at him. All heads turned towards him, disbelief across all their faces.

“Me? How could it have been me? I love Dr. Pavlinich. I always get good grades. I’m the model student. And he was on my team the night of the event!” he protested.

“Yes, you are a good student. Very good in fact. However, your jealously of Islay for winning the academic excellence award this year is your motivation for the murder.”

“Islay? Who cares about him? He’s still alive!”

“Indeed. But you did not expect him to be after that night. You made your devious concoction, obtaining your knowledge of the oleander flower, as well as stealing the flower itself during your internship with Dr. Briggs, an herbalist, who happens to grow oleander in his greenhouse. You placed on the table the deadly brewed flower tea during Isaly’s turn, however he had Dr. Pavlinich step in for him, as he left to use the restroom. Dr. Pavlinich drank the tea, saving his young student’s life at the cost of his own. You then tried to frame him by using one of Islay’s pencils to stab the professor in the eye. You caught him Sunday night after the meeting with Quinn, and brought him up to the bell tower to hide his body.”

Two weeks later, I got a call from Officer Watts asking me to meet him for some coffee and talk about the finalizations of the Dr. Pavlinich case. We sat down on a bench and watched the traffic go by.

“There's something I don’t get,” said Officer Watts. “How did you know that it was Islay’s pencil in the eye and not Hector’s?”

“That’s easy. I noticed the pencil had chew marks on the end of it, and when I asked to interview the club members, I requested that you bring them all a glass of water. I then asked forensics to see if the DNA on the pencil matched any glasses that I brought in.”

“I see,” he said, “but wouldn’t that cause you to think it was Islay and not Hector then?”

“He might be smart, but he’s a philosophy major. Hector is chemistry. He also had access to the flower. Those philosophy guys tend to stick to one type of flower bud.”

Elan Pavlinich worked at Wabash College, a college for men. His lavish office was on the second floor of Center Hall, within the English department. A neat space where he had meetings with students to talk about their papers, grade, and final projects. He worked along with other faculty members that have been at Wabash for more than three years. When the clock struck 4:30 pm, Elan grabbed his ebony bag, next to his desk filled with scholarly papers. He was ready to leave a busy day at Wabash behind. As Elan rapidly went out the door, he suddenly was stopped by Professor Shirley Homes.

She was another English professor with an office on the third floor, above. She was a wise woman in her early thirties. Her hair was long blonde, past her shoulders. Often students assume she is American, but Shirley is Polish. Homes always wanted things completed to perfection by students in her classes. She hates when school work is hastily submitted.

The spike of her voice made Elan stop in his tracks at the door. “Are you leaving for the day Elan?” She said, curiously.

“Yes, I am leaving Shirley. Did you need something before I head out?” Elan said as he brushed his back to see her face.

“I need to talk to you about a research event for students. Can I come into your office and sit” Shirley said.

"Yes, come in,” Elan said.

Shirley walked in with her hands crossed on top. Her legs did the same with each step she made. Elan sat down in a scarlet chair where students usually sat when they came to talk about class. Shirley stood over him as she discussed the research event. The words flowed like a bathroom sink out her mouth. Elan ignored her speech. He focused on why she did not sit down.

“Shirley you can have a seat in the gray chair behind you.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Shirley sat back in the chair, and a short kitchen knife shot out the desk and into her heart. Her face registered confusion. First, it was sad, bewildered. She died right in front of Elan. Her blood splashed onto his right cheek. He was puzzled by the immediate death she experienced. His arm started to shake as if he had hemophobia. The air in the office felt hot, heavy, and cold. Blood streaked the desk and walls.

An hour later, the paramedics showed up at the scene. A car pulled up next to the mall. It was the center of the campus, an open field of emerald grass. Students around the campus rushed over. Professors and faculty saw the crime scene where Shirley’s body was placed in a body bag. Elan sat behind a red truck. He did not have any idea of what to do. Elan stood there in the crossfire of everything as another car drove into the mall. The car was a 2012 Honda CR-V turquoise.

A man dressed in a black and royal blue suit and tie stepped one foot out of the car. Detective Eugene Gray showed up along with his assistant Jack Summers. Gray’s face was identical to that of African American Oscar winner Denzel Washington with a Latino heritage. His voice was vivid and would switch between English and Spanish. Both sides of his jaw features appeared narrow and thin.

“Seems like this was an unexpected event,” said Summers.

“Well, we deal with this all the time. Deaths are unexpected,” said Gray as squints his eyes.

Gray and Summer had worked with one another for about seven months. Gray walked towards the crime scene with Summers to investigate. They entered Center Hall and went upstairs to search the office.

“Should you work this case Summers? Today is your day off. Right?”

“Yes,” said Summers.

“How would your husband feel about this,” asked Gray, curiously.

“Well I think he would be fine today,” said Summers.

In the office, Gray spied the dried blood on the desk and around the floor. Drops of red had sprayed bookshelves and papers. He looked at the center of the desk and noticed the knife had been propelled from a hole. A string was connected to the bottom of the chair. If anyone sat in the chair, the trap goes off immediately.

“Summers, come here. A student on campus must have done this,” said Gray.

“What about a Professor, sir? You don’t think a professor would do this?” Summers replied.

“I assume this must be a student because I know professors on this campus would never pull a trick like this,” said Gray.

“What if a professor installed this to seem like a student could have arranged it?” Summers with his brunette hair, weighed about 170 pounds and was about the same height as Detective Gray. Five feet and eleven inches.

“Good point Summers. But we cannot figure out who did it by determining the killer based on a what-if” said Gray.

“Students’ hands aren’t always as clean as they might be. We need to talk to Elan.”

Both went outside and saw Elan sitting behind a truck. Gray hovered over Elan and as he asked him some questions.

“Did you have anything against Mrs. Homes, Elan?” asked Gray.

“No, she was a delicate lady,” Elan responded.

“Let me ask the bigger question. Why was she in your office?”

“I was leaving for the day, and my last class ended at 3:55 pm. I ran to the library, then stayed there until 4:20 pm. I went back to pack my bags” said Elan.

Gray wanted to believe he lied, but it seems Elan was telling the truth. After he told his part of the story, Gray had one more question: “How many people met with you in your office, ” Gray said.

“I saw three students and one faculty member,” said Elan.

“Could you identify those four individuals for me?

“Their names were James Lewis, Sam Hansen, and Harry Pride,” said Elan

“Who was the fourth?” said Summers.

“Professor Jallel Smith.” Said Elan

Gray and Summers wanted to talk to the students that day, but following the death of Shirley, the whole campus needed to calm down for a night.

The next day, it was 11:15 am, and Jallel Smith's class ended. He wore an azure collar shirt and beige pants. Gray and Summers stood outside his office in Center Hall. Smith did not appear phased when he saw them. His head tilted to the right as he tried to remember the events of the preceding day.

“I was in my office early yesterday at about 8:00 am,” said Smith. He used his index finger to tap the front of his lip. “Then, I teach from 10:00 am until 2:00 pm”

“What happened between 3:55 and 4:20 pm?” asked Gray.

“Well, I went to the theater department around that time, so I didn't hear anything until the ambulance sirens,” said Smith.

“Why did you go to Elan’s office?”

“I went to give him some papers for a class,” said Smith.

“Do you think Elan could have killed Shirley Smith?”

“Elan could not do that. It’s his first year as a teacher.”

“Thank you, that’s all,” dismissed Gray.

At noon, Detective Gray and Summers went to have a conversation with the students Elan had identified. The first student Gray talked to was James Lewis. He lived in one of the new dorms on campus. When Gray and Summers showed up outside the dorms, James was walking out of the dorm with a bag on his back. He was on his way to class. James was a heavy African American kid who worked out. His football padded shoulders made it clear that he was at least over the age of twenty-one. Gray stopped James in the middle of the doorway and pulled him over into a corner to discuss his whereabouts yesterday.

“James, can you tell us what time you were in Elan’s office yesterday and why you were there?”

“Yeah, I can. I went to his office at about 9:00 am to discuss a paper. It was one of the first papers I received from him” said James, as he scratched his head.

“So this is your first time having Elan as a professor?” asked Summers.

“Yes,” said James

“Where were you between the time of 3:55 pm and 4:20 pm,” said Gray.

“Oh, that’s easy, I was at practice. All sports practices on campus start at 4:20 pm.”

“Ok James, have a great day, sir.”

Gray saw that James had nothing to hide from him. Instead, the clue that sports started at 4:20 pm helped Gray figure out what students did around the time. The scholars at Wabash had at least three choices. First, students could work out in the Allen Center or go to practice. Second, students go to the library and do homework. Finally, students had time to meet with a professor. As he figured out the students' options for their time at the end of the day, Gray and Summers decided to talk to Sam Hansen.

At 1:00 pm, Gray and Summers saw a chance to speak with Sam. Sam was dressed in gloomy sweatpants and had worn a bright red Wabash wrestling shirt. His hair was like Summers, slightly more brown and puffy. It seemed Sam wanted to grow an afro.

“Sam Hansen, before you leave class may we have a word?” asked Gray.

“Yeah, I can speak with you for a second,” said Sam. He looked shocked because he didn’t have any idea what was going on.

“Could you tell us why you met with Professor Elan Pavlinch yesterday?

“Well, I went to his office at 11:00 because he wanted to discuss some papers we did for his class. He told me I did great on my paper and pointed out some key points,” said Sam.

“What do you mean by key points?" said Detective Gray.

“Just some ideas I had on my paper,” said Sam. He paced up and down, indicating his anxiousness because he was late for his next class.

“Yep, where were you around 3:55 pm and 4:20 pm?”

“I went to practice around that time. I had to hurry because I was running late.”

“Is either James or Harry one of your teammates?

“James is my teammate. But Harry Pride? I assume he is always doing homework in the library.”

Gray and Summers crossed off James and Sam. The only student left was Harry. The next stop Gray and Summers made was the library. When Gray and Summers arrived at the library, it was silent. There were about three or four students around. He asked one of the workers at the desk which student was Harry. The desk clerk said, “look for a kid with dark hair and an arrow chain.” As Gray and Summers walked further into the Library, Harry was sitting in the far back on a computer. Summers noticed he was intently focused on the computer.

“You can handle this kid, Summers,” said Gray.

“Harry Pride, may we have a word with you son,” said Summers. He made his voice deep to appear serious.

“Yes Sir, I ca-ca-can talk,” said Harry, in a slow stutter.

“When were you in Elan's office yesterday?” asked Summers.

Harry hesitated to say anything. Both men frightened him. Harry sensed his heart race and barely had enough time to remember. “I was in Elan’s office at 2:15 pm yesterday to discuss a paper. I did poorly so I’m wanted to revise it.”

“What around the time of 3:55 pm and 4:20 pm?” asked Summers.

“I went back to my room to sleep,” said Henry as he scratched his elbow.

“Ok, thank you for the answers,” said Summers

Detective Gray felt something was wrong about the kid. He asked him to turn around before they exited the library. Gray saw that Harry did not wear his arrow chain. He whispered to Summers, "the crime scene needs to be checked again." When Gray and Summers rushed back to Center Hall, there was a janitor in the middle of the hallway. Summers stop to talk to the Janitor while Gray went back to the crime scene

“How often do you clean this building,” asked Summers.

“I clean after four all the time.”

“Did you see any student come in around this time?” said Summers

“No, I saw someone about five feet . . . seven or eight-inches tall leave from the second. The student’s hair was black. He was kind of slim too. He had enormous biceps and fit legs.”

“Thank you for all that,” said Summers as went upstairs to detective Gray.

While Summers finished his conversation with the janitor, Gray searched for evidence. He looked on the floor and under the desk. There was nothing else but the dried blood. When Detective Gray got back on his feet, he saw Elan’s calendar. Gray realized it was marked 2:15 pm class. He looked over each statement again, he figured the one suspect lied about that day.

At 4:00 pm, Harry Pride had an email to him so he could go to the Dean of Students office. When Harry arrived, he saw Gray and Summers. Elan sat in the chair behind them to listen. Gray and Summers found out the trap was supposed to kill Elan. Instead, it backfired and killed Shirley. Harry said he was at the office at 2:15 pm. Elan had class at 2:15 pm. He went to the office twice: once was in the morning, and the other was between 3:55 pm and 4:20 pm. Harry had enough time to set the trap for Elan. However, when he left the building, a janitor saw him. Gray and Summers know how, but they didn't know why.

"We know it was you who set the trap, Harry. You’re bad at covering up evidence. What's your motive?" asked Gray.

"It was not me detectives,” said Harry, his voicing growing higher in pitch.

“Just spit it out. You're to prison anyway,” Summers replied.

“Fine. It was because of the F I received on my paper. I had a low grade already, and the paper ruined me.”

“By setting the trap, you broke your arrow chain too. Huh?”

“Yes.” Harry responded.

"That’s how I knew you were there. I heard you wear a chain every day. Once I saw you didn’t have one on, it gave you away."

“We are done here Summers,” Gray said.

Summers went to grab Harry and take him into custody. But Harry had one more trick up his sleeve. He grabbed a knife from his right pocket and threw it at Elan. The knife went through the left side of his chest. Detective Gray tried to jump in front of Elan, but he didn't make it in time. Elan spit blood on the floor as Gray called the ambulance.

"Stay with me, Elan, stay with me . . ."

As we reached the doors to Salter Hall, we peered through the large windows of Littel Lounge and saw Wabash men packed in clumps of five or six chattering amongst themselves like patrons waiting for service to start. They filled the lounge with these groupings, leaving barely any room for passage. Looking closer, we saw Ted swimming upstream with a trail of tangled cords, clearly in a hurry and frustrated with the number of people stepping on his lines. He checked the band on his wrist and hurried off in response. I reached to grab the door handle, but Owen beat me to it, gracefully sliding the door open.

“After you,” he said, with a smile and an exaggerated gesture.

“Why, thank you, my good sir. You are a gentleman and a scholar,” I replied, making my way into the stream myself. Owen followed soon after, but he surpassed me due to his large muscle mass and charming ability to convince people they wanted to move for him. He soon made his way to the intersection where we saw Ted go down before I had even made my way halfway through the lounge. A massive track player, Jonothan McMillin, whom I recognized from Psych 201, passed through my view and Owen disappeared.

“Ope, excuse me,” I reacted as I attempted to pick up my speed through the crowd.

“Ope, my bad,” he replied in classic midwestern colloquialism. “Oh, Martin, what’s up? Have you done the psych assignment yet?”

“Not yet, it isn’t due until Friday, so I’ll probably end up doing it Thursday night.”

He furrowed his brow with worry, to which I replied, “There's a system there. You have to trust me. I'm assuming that you haven't done it either?"

He smiled, "I don't see how that's relevant." We chuckled, and he said, "Thank you so much for coming. As part of the Environmental Concerns Committee, it means a lot to have the campus's input on such a significant development."

"For sure, though I heard it was going to be controversial. I'm honestly surprised we don't have old Alumni protesting out front."

"Me too," he sighed with relief. "Selling this presentation was so difficult to the ECC that I honestly don't even know if I am in support of it. I mean, we would be sacrificing a lot of Wabash history for the sake of progress, not to mention ruining how our campus looks for the next decade."

"Then, why did you push so hard to bring Thomas Quint back to campus? I've been getting your emails for weeks, and they won't stop talking about it at Chapel."

"Mr. Quint, despite his faults, sold me on the fact that Wabash needs to lead the charge into the future and that he could convince us with a single presentation. He is quite convincing when he needs to be."

"Okay, sure. You'll have to tell me how Mr. Quint did afterwards. It was great talking to you, but I have to go," I remarked as I turned to squeeze my way back into the horde.

Jonothan grabbed my shoulder and asked me, "Wait, where are you going? The presentation is this way," gesturing towards the jammed open doors that penguin audience members were waddling through to their seats.

"I'll be there; I've just got to check on O an' O,"

Owens and Owen, aka O an' O, was a running nickname among the Martindale Boys. Ever since move-in, Owen has looked up to Ted as a mentor and a friend. Ted was annoyed at first but grew to respect Owen and love his sense of humor. Now, the two are inseparable in their downtime. If anything is happening on campus, they go together, and they always leave together.

"Cool, sounds like a blast," he said sarcastically. "Let me give you a hand."

He turns his large body in the direction I was headed, cups his hands around his mouth to let out a loud, "EVERYBODY MOVE!" A small path opens up towards my destination.

"Thank you!" I said, with a pat on the back as I hurried through the gap of people.

As I turned the long-awaited corner, I saw nothing. I was sure that Ted and Owen walked down this way, but all the doors were closed, and the lights were off. All signs pointed to this hallway as off-limits, but I rebelled against the social norms and pressed on. I cautiously approached an unlocked green room and slowly opened the door with a slight creak. The lights in here were off too, leaving it even darker. I tried to let my eyes adjust as I reached for the light switch. My left hand maneuvered its way across the wall, but as it got closer to the switch, the air got warmer. Something warm and wet oozed across my left hand right as it reached the light switch. I flinched back and yelped when from my right, a huge body came crashing towards me and nearly sent me to the ground. My screams drown under the sound of laughter as Owen flicks the lights. The large body holding me in the air was Ted, chuckling heartily. His whole body bounced with his laugh, and his trampoline of a stomach was launching me into his tight grip, causing me to shake like a bottle of ranch dressing. Ted gained most of his body mass in college through the dreaded freshman fifteen and a lazy first year. Then, his R.A. convinced him to play lacrosse, and the workouts converted that mass to muscle, creating a beast of a man with no gauge on his strength.

"Let me go!" I yelp as another impact from his stomach crushes my ribs.

"Oh shoot, my bad," Ted exclaimed as he dropped me to my feet.

I took a second to catch my breath and assess the damage. I rubbed my aching ribs, then reached above my head to stretch the pain away. O an' O was still cracking up.

"That got my heart rate going!" Ted blurted through laughter after checking his FitBit. He turned to show it to Owen.

"Imagine what he is going at!" Owen responded, reigniting their laughter.

I turn and shoot at them, "That was terrifying!"

"Yeah, that was the point," replies Owen, with a mischievous smile.

My ears get very hot, and I almost shouted at them before a single thought invaded my mind. "Did you fucking lick me?"

Laughter erupts again; this time, I laughed too. We were so busy laughing that we did not notice another larger man enter the room. He came from the stage door and quietly watched us, arms crossed. He had an air of seriousness around him, despite having a silly appearance of a shiny, bald head and a big, bushy mustache that covered his entire mouth. I was the first to notice his presence, and I gave him a small wave in acknowledgment. The man responded with a short, respectful nod and nodded towards Ted. He then went to the right side of the room to a laptop cart and started clicking away at the keys. I gave Ted a quick tap on the arm and directed his attention to the man at the laptop. Ted and Owen both went quiet in unison, leaving the clicking of the keys to fill the room.

Ted broke the short but still awkward silence, "Hey, Mr. Suftlift. What can I do for you?" As always, Ted was straight back to work at a moment's notice.

"I was just back here to check that everything was ready for the presentation. You got the new light sequence and protection program I received from Mr. Quint, correct? It's going to be the biggest show Wabash has ever seen," he stated.

"Yes, sir, I set it up this morning. I also realigned the musical cues to the lighting cues since there was a slight delay in the lighting program. Plus, we ran the mic check already, and everything is working perfectly; we shouldn't have any feedback."

"Nicely done," Mr. Suftlift replied, and that was all the praise Ted was getting from him.

"Are you excited to see the presentation?" I asked, attempting to rejoin the conversation.

"No, Arboritration is a terrible business designed to help trees, but in fact, will decimate their biodiversity and stunt genetic evolution. I wrote all the thoughts I have and will have in my blog post on MyBash. You didn't receive my email outlining all of the dangers and calling the campus to action?" He looked at me expectantly.

"I’m sorry, it must’ve gotten lost in my inbox. I’ll try to find it when I have a chance,” I retreated.

He scoffed and turned back to the computer. “Anyways, based on the hours Ted and I put into the technicalities behind it, this presentation will be far too flashy to provide any real, quantitative information.”

Reaching for any straws to make a connection and save the conversation, Owen remarked, “I like your background, Mr. Suftlift! The Lorax was one of my favorite books growing up.” He immediately winced at how ridiculous he must’ve sounded.

My eyes darted to the laptop. I also felt some nostalgia seeing the original cover of Dr. Suess’s classic children’s book as his background, with the folders and application hanging like fruit on the Truffula trees. A warm smile grew across my face, and I felt Mr. Suftlift notice. His bushy mustache rose into a small smile towards Owen.

“Thank you very much. It was one of my favorites too. The Lorax is an inspiration for me to do all I can for the conservation of the Earth and its living beings,” he said.

A soft chuckle came from behind us, and we heard, “It’s undeniable he’s an inspiration.” The voice laughed a bit more at their joke.

Mr. Suftlift’s bushy stache dropped like a broken drop tower at that remark. We all turned to see the man of the hour, Mr. Thomas Quint. He was a tall, board-like man. If he turned sideways, he would be a vertical line.

“I’m sorry, I just saw the opportunity, and I couldn’t pass it up. You know I didn’t mean any offense by it. I love the look Connor,” Mr. Quint defended, trying to prevent conflict.

“Of course I understand. I’m glad you think so,” Mr. Suftlift replied, behind a straight expression.

“I am here to check that everything is ready and that you have prevented any disasters from occurring. Give me an update.” Mr. Quint requested.

“I was ensuring the same thing myself, Mr. Quint. Ted just assured me the presentation would be seamless and as useful as you need. He will be just offstage with his cart to run the cues. I will also be back here to troubleshoot, should anything go wrong.”

Ted interjected, “You won’t be in the audience watching the presentation? At least one of us should be able to enjoy all our hard work.”

“No, I should be back here to run certain parts of the program and make sure you don’t screw anything up,” Mr. Suftlift said undoubtedly.

“Ha, like I could screw up,” Ted replied confidently, “I know this program like the back of my hand, and I will be right on the stage to respond to any disaster that might occur. Plus, I am the one who prepared the new lights and music, so probably actually know it best.” He rolled his shoulders out and puffed his chest like a bird in a mating dance, causing Owen and me to chuckle.

“Still, I don’t— ” Mr. Suftlift started.

“Sounds like Theodore has everything under control. You should watch the presentation, Connor, and you might learn something new.” Thomas interrupted, giving his friendliest salesman smile.

Mr. Suftlift’s eyes narrowed, and he surrendered, “Fine, Ted will take care, and I will enjoy the show.”

He closed the laptop and went to exit the room. Mr. Quint took off his velvet burgundy jacket, laid it on the chair, crossed the room, and took a seat with a heavy sigh.

He turned to Ted and demanded, “Coffee, please.”

Ted took a swig from his cup and got moving towards the coffee machine, sliding behind Mr. Quint to the station by the entrance of the room. Mr. Quint’s attention turned to Owen and me as we watched the engine back in action. When we turned to look at him, he raised his eyebrows questioningly. We stared blankly at him, not sure what he wanted from us, so I go to shake his hand.

“Martin Watson, sir, I am a freshman independent who is undecided. I’m excited about your presentation.”

Owen followed suit, “Owen Evans, also a freshman independent. I’m studying History with a minor in Business.”

“Great,” he replied, “I am so happy that you could come to the presentation. However, there is a lot to do beforehand, so please get out so we can get to work.”

Ted broke Mr. Quint’s attention with the coffee. Our eyes looked to him to defend our presence, but all he could give was a short shrug as he mouthed, ‘I’m sorry.’ Defeated, we turned and left the room.

“What a jerk,” Owen remarked on our walk back to the lobby.

“A part of me kind of wishes something would happen now,” I joked.

“Honestly, me too,” he said, “It’d be what he deserved.”

The crowded lobby had emptied during our adventures in the green room, with the noise of chatter coming from the doors of Salter Hall. We made our way through the door, and in classic Wabash fashion, the music hall was filled from back to front so those in the back could have the anonymity to chatter amongst themselves. Owen and I filed towards the front, finding seats in the third row to the show. I filed in because I knew that Owen liked the aisle seats.

I sat down, and I heard, “Oh shoot, one sec hold my seat. Nature calls,”

Before I could reply, Owen rushed off back the way we came. I shook my head and turned to entertain myself on my phone. As I was looking around, I made eye contact with Jonothan, who smiled and waved at me from across the hall. I waved back and then went back to my phone. Not a second after I unlocked my home screen, the lights shut off, and a loud, deep voice boomed, “Please silence your cell phones now.” I rolled my eyes and shut my phone off. I looked back but saw no sign of Owen. ‘Of course, he’s going to miss it since it was his idea to come,’ I thought to myself.

Music began, and lights on either side of the stage rose, blinding the crowd, as a bright spot shone directly on Mr. Quint. He smiled that same as he did towards Mr. Suftlift as applause rose from the group and strobe lights flashing behind him. As the music swelled, Mr. Quint raised his hands like a messiah to his people, perfectly cut off the music and lights, leaving his arms extended to embrace the remaining applause.

Once the applause died down, he began, “Ladies and gentleman, thank you for having me on your lovely campus today. I am Thomas Quint and on behalf of Arbortration, welcome to the future!” More applause. “We represent a new revolutionary conservation technology that improves the intake of carbon dioxide and output of oxygen in trees. Finally, we can create efficient ways to combat carbon emissions and protect what parts of the ozone layer we still have left. By using our patented Tree Band, we can engineer the tree to take in 82.4% more carbon dioxide as well as expel up to the same amount in oxygen.”

Behind him, a picture flashed on the screen of a large maple fitted with a metal ring at its base. The Arbortration logo printed across the metal band, with a small control panel fitted right next to it. It reminded me of an ankle monitor criminals under house arrest would be forced to wear.

He continued, “Wabash and Arbortration have partnered up to bring Wabash into the future of conservation by fitting your Arboretum with our customized Tree Bands. Crawfordsville will be leading the world in reducing carbon emissions, and we will all be a part of that story. As an Alumnus of Wabash, I feel I must bring this college the best opportunities and prepare it for the future in any way I can. And what better way to test if Wabash always fights than to have us lead the—”

A loud, piercing ring cut Mr. Quint off as the screen behind him became fuzzy and distorted. Words appeared in the haze reading:

THOMAS QUINT IS KILLING THE TREES

HIS CREATION CHOKES AND TORMENTS US

HE STOPS AT NOTHING AND THUS

WE BEG THE REST, STOP HIM, PLEASE

The lights strobe lights kick up again, creating chaos in the room. People begin to shout amongst themselves and go straight to their phones to get to the bottom of this. As more information is found, the shouts get louder and angrier. I do my best to make out any shapes or faces around me. I reach to my left and tap Owen’s arm, and his arm quickly moves away. He raised his hand for a fist bump, which I confusingly supplied. Surveying the room, I look towards Jonothan’s seat only to see flashing outlines of an empty chair. Taking my attention back to the stage, I saw an outraged and terrified Thomas staring at the words on the screen, figuring a way to save the sale with this ruinous interruption. Through the flashing, I saw a dark figure begin to approach Thomas from the stage left door. The figure began to run when my eyes were shrouded in darkness again. We heard a loud thud from center stage, and the music hall erupts with screams.

A few moments later, the lights were back, and everyone winced at the sudden adjustment. Like a deer in headlights, Thomas Quint was motionless on centerstage. His eyes were wide as he stared down at the dead body of Theodore Owens.

The hall became a chorus of expletives as well as causing a massive rush of individuals towards the doors. The doors were once again jam-packed with penguins frantically bumbling into each other and creating mass chaos.

The booming voice of Dean Redding came over the speakers ordering, “Please quickly and calmly make your way to the emergency exits and regroup in the Ball Theatre. Remember, the Gentleman’s Rule asks you to be a responsible citizen and not flee the scene of a crime. Once again, please go to Ball Theatre and wait for further instructions.”

Once there was a destination and a purpose, the chaos of the evacuation died down, and the march began. After a quick look around, Owen grabbed my arm and pulled me up the stage stairs through the door the fatal figure appeared. As we reentered the green room, I shook myself out of his grasp.

“What? I thought we’d skip the wait,” he defended.

“We can’t be back here. This is where Ted came out, and then…you know,” I hissed.

“We’ll be in and out,” he assured me.

Owen moved to the door on the opposite side of the room and snuck out to check the coast was clear. I made sure both doors closed behind us and wiped off the handle Owen contaminated. As I turned back in the room, I was surprised to see Mr. Quint’s jacket had moved to the laptop stand. The orange guardian of the trees was peering at me in shock as if he knew the atrocity Wabash currently faced. My eyes looked to where Ted was sitting just ten minutes earlier. He was an amazingly hard worker and a true Wabash man, straight on the path to greatness, and now he was gone. Before my mind fully wallowed, Ted’s spilled coffee distracted me. I glanced over to notice that Mr. Quint’s up remained untouched.

“Are you coming?” Owen whispered, peeking through the door. He didn’t wait for a response, ducking out as fast as he came in.

I moved to meet him, and we made our way to join the masses. Everyone naturally sits in pretty much the same seats as Salter, only this time Dean Redding joined Mr. Quint on a fully lit stage.

“Thank you all very much for your cooperation during this tragedy. We understand that many emotions and ideas are flying through your heads, rest assured, we are doing everything we can to solve this crisis. Mr. Quint would like to say a few words, and I think it might be appropriate,” Dean Redding addressed to the now quiet group.

Mr. Quint walked up in front of Dean Redding and stated, “First of all, I would like to apologize for any trauma or shock you might’ve experienced from the massive interruption or the terrible scene. A presentation meant to inform and lift the campus to new heights has now been sullied by the terrible work of vandals and murderers. I have already contacted the authorities. We will get to the bottom of this and bring this criminal to justice. Then, we show this perpetrator they do not choose for Wabash or Arbortration. Hand-in-hand we will boldly step into the future!”

Dean Redding lightly grabbed Mr. Quint’s shoulder and stepped forward to say, “We will need to reschedule this deliberation for another time after this crisis has been solved. I know that you must have a lot of questions, so please, now is the time to ask.”

Hands throughout the theatre shot up, people asking, “What happened? Was this an accident? Who would want to kill Ted? What was the cause of death?” Dean Redding listened carefully to each question and jotted it down in a notebook. He then responded thoughtfully and as best he could to each response.

When Dean Redding’s gaze shifted over to my raised hand, I asked, “Have you considered poisoning?”

A shot of silence went through the room. No one wanted things to escalate that quickly.

“Well, not yet, but I suppose we could be sure the authorities take a blood toxicology report,” Dean Redding dismissed.

I persisted, “Or we could test the coffee he was drinking right before the presentation. It should still be in the green room.”

The crowd responded to that comment with a shock of whispers raising their suspicion towards my insider knowledge. Dean Redding shot me a glance of warning to stop spreading panic.

“We will also look into that, Mr. Watson. Thank you for your concern,” he responded, “We will try to keep all speculation out of the conversation for right now and focus on what we can do. The authorities have just arrived and have begun surveying the scene. Please stay in your seats, and we will be back with any updates.”

Dean Redding shot another glance at me and subtly motioned for me to follow him. He then escorted Mr. Quint off the stage left. I grabbed Owen’s arm, and together we made our way to the right exit of Ball Theatre. We ran into Dean Redding and Mr. Quint on our way up the stairs and quietly followed them to Korb Theatre. Lined up around a large, wooden desk in the back of the theatre were two police officers and a normal-looking, bald man I did not recognize.

“Officers, thank you so much for coming,” Dean Redding said, extending his hand towards the non-uniformed man.

“Yes, thank you very much,” Mr. Quint cut in, furiously shaking their hands after Dean Redding, “I am Thomas Quint, the man who called you here. You must help us solve who sabotaged my presentation and murdered my assistant.”

The bald man frowned at that statement, responding, “What makes you so sure it was murder, Mr. Quint?”

“Well, how else could someone possibly stop the future than by murdering its chance to sprout?” he defended.

“Right. My name is Detective Madsen, and this is Officer West and Officer Dickinson. They’re here to help in the investigation, and in any other regard, they’re needed. We have two more officers setting up the crime scene. I organized this meeting because I need your knowledge of the situation. Who’s starting?”

Dean Redding turned and beckoned me forward. He reported, “Mr. Watson has some leads and information on Mr. Owens’ activities before the presentation. However, I don’t know why he brought his friend along.”

“I panicked at the thought of going with the dean alone, so he’s here as support,” I informed the group, much to Owen’s disappointment, “I do have a lead, however. Owen and I were backstage, and we witnessed Ted drinking from a cup of coffee right before the presentation. If we test that liquid for poisons, we will already have a murder weapon and a time frame for his murder. To me, it seemed like the next logical step to take in the investigation.”

The detective ponders the validity of my statement and replies, “Alright, I’ll bite. Officer West, go run to collect samples of each coffee for evidence. Please make sure to take extreme care in labeling evidence this time” The cop directly to his right sheepishly nods and escapes past us out the door. “Mr. Watson, tell me exactly what you were doing in the green room and who all was there.”

I explained the relevant events to the detective, with Owen jumping in to fill some of the parts I missed. This time I included our trip back through the green room when I noticed the tipped cup. The detective, the industry leader, and the dean quietly listened took note of the relevant people in the case.

“Officer Dickinson, go retrieve Mr. Suftlift and tell the other officers to please start taking reports from all the students Dean Redding moved to Ball Theatre.” Detective Madsen barked. A quick nod, and Officer Dickinson was also out the door. “Thank you very much for your lead, Mr. Watson. Unfortunately, we cannot run the kind of toxicology test you described. The techs know more about it, but essentially we can only test for specific poisons like we’re playing twenty-questions, but we can only ask, ‘Am I blank?’ You understand?”

I paused before responding, “So you just wanted to gather all the potential suspects in one room.”

As if on cue, the door opened to Mr. Suftlift being escorted by Officer Dickinson.

“You got it, and now we can try to find a motive while we wait to hear a cause of death. Who’s up first?”

Thomas Quint stepped forward and demanded, “I am the second-worse victim in this situation. I’ll be going first.”

“Great,” the detective remarked, “Please have a seat and make yourselves comfortable. We will be with you shortly.” We obliged.

The detective gestured for Mr. Quint to exit, which Mr. Quint obliges. Detective Madsen and Officer Dickinson followed close behind. All three of us waited for the door to close and looked around the theatre. Three murder suspects were unsupervised in a room; it sounds like the start of a joke, not an actual event on Wabash’s campus. Any thoughts of action or movement ceased when a quiet click from behind us indicated we weren’t alone anymore. A new police officer was standing at the back door, silently watching like infamous Dr. T.J. Eckleburg.

A light, panicking grab of my forearm took me out of my thoughts. I turned to see Owen’s worried face.

“Hey, you’re going to say I was in the bathroom before the presentation, right? Because that is where I went, and I want our stories to be straight,” Owen insisted, under his breath.

“I mean, that’s what you told me, so yeah, I was going to say you were in the bathroom,” I responded, confused. Weight was taken off of Owen’s shoulders, causing me to press, “Wait, what were you doing?”

The tension came right back to Owen’s shoulders as he realized he made himself even more suspicious. Backtracking, he said, “Oh, no reason. Just trying to prevent a slip-up.”

I stared at him hard. He thought he could or should lie to me in a situation like this. His eyes darted back to the officer standing guard, who was now leaning on the door, looking at his phone and glancing up from time to time. Eyes wide, he looked back to me, performed a mental opportunity cost analysis, finally deciding he needed it off his chest.

He whispered in an even more hushed tone, “Okay, so I know this is super suspicious of me and, shit, maybe I did play a part in his death, but it wasn’t on purpose. I just had to do something.” Pause, deep breath. “I was the one who disrupted the presentation.”

My stomach flipped. Owen was the vandal and potentially a murderer? My train of thought was interrupted by Mr. Quint reentering the room. He quietly walked to the opposite side of the theatre and began frantically sending messages in his phone as he sat down. Detective Madsen entered after, pointed to Mr. Suftlift, and gestured to follow him. Mr. Suftlift quietly left the room.

“A month ago, I was agitated after an ECC meeting, and I think I accidentally joined an online radical conservation group. This group called War for our World, and I thought it was going to be an informational campaign with a few peaceful protests. They convinced me that the fight was just though, and a week ago, I got this crazy text message. He showed me this online chat room on his phone:

It is a winter night, cold and frigid. The air is so cold that a smoker could not enjoy a cigarette fully without feeling their hands and knees go completely numb. I am sitting at the Lilly Library studying for multiple exams I have due for my first semester of classes. My eyes glued to the computer screen reading over the material of my chemistry class. Periodically, my eyes detach from the glow of the screen and begin to wander, observing my surroundings and thinking about other things I could do besides sitting here and boring myself till my hair turns grey.

I look down at the bottom right corner of my screen: 10:17. I begin to think I should probably head back to the dorms around 11:30. My mother called me earlier in the night warning me of a horrible winter storm that is supposed to cause power outages with record low temperatures. She said it was to hit around midnight. I still got time. I am exhausted and I have probably been at this for a couple hours now. My eyes begin to feel heavy, and I fight to keep them open. I end up falling asleep but as my head gives way and falls to the desk, but the momentum wakes me up again. I always study on the second floor at the back of the building. It is eerily quiet. You could hear a fly flapping its wings.

The silence and solitude are all my body needed before I fall asleep while writing my notes. It feels like two seconds but when I opened my eyes, I am standing between two book shelfs. I cannot even read the books because it is pitch black. What the hell? I do not recognize where I am, how I got here, or what I even did to end up in this spot I am in. I hear what I think is a loud air conditioner but after a moment, I realize that it is not the air conditioning, but the wind. The realization hits me. Shit! The Snowstorm! I need to get back to my things. I take a moment to calm myself down. I realize that my hands are somehow wet. Then I conclude that I sleepwalked here. I sleepwalk from time to time, but I always am in shock when I wake up in a place where I did not fall asleep. I reach into my right pocket where I usually keep my phone to realize that it is not there, or on me at all. I remember I set it next to me while I was working. I use a trick that I used as a kid when I found myself in a dark place. I closed my eyes tightly for 30 seconds letting my eyes dilate. I open my eyes to see that it is easier to see but not easy by any means.

I realize I am on the first floor towards the back. I fumble my way to the lobby and reach the stairs to go up towards Goodrich where my math class is. I take a glance outside to see that the campus has become a winter wonderland, beautiful and harsh at the same time. How long was I out? I begin to move up the stairs and take each step one at a time feeling it with my feet to make sure I do not trip. When I reach the top, I began to wrap around to the left side. Where is everyone? I reach the desk, my things still right where I left them. I take my phone and check the time: 1:32!? Holy Shit I am screwed. I then check the weather on my phone. -14 degrees feels like -41. I ain’t ever seen temperatures like that before. I cannot leave I am stuck here. The weather is too cold not to mention I would not even be able to make it through that snow. My hoodie and sock hat with my coat would not be enough to combat those temperature’s. Jeez it is cold in here. I decide it is best that my coat was on to keep warm. There has got to be people here no way I am here alone.

I never go above the second floor, but I figured it was best to start at the top and go down to the bottom. I have my phone now that I can now use as a flashlight of some sorts. I skip past the third floor and go to the top floor. I give out a loud “Hello?” and circle the entire floor just to find no one. I figured I would not find anyone up here. No one ever comes up here, however I thought it would at least be worth a shot. It is a lot warmer here. I want to stay. Being cold, the top floor felt like I was sitting right by a campfire. I understand that it would probably be wise to continue searching for people.

I move to the third floor and give another loud “Hello?” just to hear only the wind responding back at me with a steady roar. There are bathrooms on this floor. No one is staying in a bathroom, right? I feel stupid even asking myself that question I check the bathroom and find nobody. Still pitch black, as I begin to leave my light shines over the sink and out of the corner of my eye, I see red. I turn back to the sink to see spots of blood all over the sink. I begin to get a small sense of fear, my mind wandering to the worst of things. Then I think; Someone probably got a bloody nose and did not want to clean it up. Yea… Yea that is what it is. I leave the bathroom cautiously, still holding on to that little bit of fear that I cannot shake away. I begin make my lap as I did on the top floor. I round the corner toward the front to see my light shining on a pair of shoes. Not empty shoes. Shoes tilted upward as if someone is laying on the ground and a pool of blood coming from around the corner. Realizing what I am looking at, my vision tunnels and I start to panic. I dip to the right and sit between two book shelfs and wait until my skin regains color and my breath returns to normal.

My mind along with my heart begins to race. What the fuck is this? Is this real? I do not want to move from my spot. Is there a killer in the building with me? What do I do? Do I sit and wait for sunrise? Do I try to find other people? What if I find the killer? I try my best to think rationally about all this. No way I am here alone completely. There must be people here. Do I take my chance with the winter storm? I can barely see out there. I think, in a storm you are supposed to go to the lowest level maybe that is where the people are. How do I get there without running into the killer? Do I sneak or sprint?

I sprint to the staircase and open the door. In the staircase, I pause for a moment. No footsteps, no noise, we are good. I then descend the stairs making as little noise as possible. I make it down to the basement. I open the door and enter this time not giving a loud “Hello?” Like I did previously. I need to make a lap. On my feet, I am as light as a feather. I cannot make noise I do not know who is on this floor it could be the killer. I begin to explore finding nothing for a while. I get more and more fearful as I go longer without finding anyone. I finally come across a door to a study room and a feint glow comes from the crack under the door. I am hesitant to knock. I hear voices and a conversation I can only make out pieces of. “Power… Murdered… Killer” Killer is all I needed to hear. They are talking about a killer meaning that it is safe to enter because none of them are said killer.

I opened the door with haste. They look at me astonished and have more questions for me than I had of them. The only thing I could think to say was the elephant in my mind. “There is a dead body! On the third floor! There is a body!” none of the kids I really recognized but I could tell that they were all students.

“Yes, we already know that,” one kid said. “We have been talking about it for around and hour now.”

I have no clue who this guy is, but I could tell that he was in charge for sure. There were 3 other guys in the room too. All four of the men were bundled up in their warmest clothing to keep as much body heat as possible. The light was from a little lantern on the table that was powered by batteries.

One of the men spoke to me from the table “We found out about the body awhile ago. We are trying to figure out who killed him. It was someone that had to be in the building no way anyone is leaving.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank God.” I said out loud in relief. I am glad that none of these guys are the killers. Then I realized that one of them is the killer the group just has not figured it out yet. Then I was not so relieved anymore.

“Speaking of which...” the man in charge said to me with his eyes squinting, “where have you been this entire time?”

I can tell that I was instantly being suspicious which is understandable, but I know I did not kill this man. “I was studying and fell asleep, and I wake up and it is dark, and I have no clue where anyone is. I checked to see if anyone is here, and I ran into the body and decided that this floor would have the best odds of having people.” I said nervously.

I could see that he pondered this for a moment and then all he gave me was an “Okay.” He then said, “Take a seat and join this discussion. Please.”

I complied sitting down next to the man that talked to me from the table. I looked at all four of the men and could not believe I did not recognize them considering how small the college is. I asked them “What your guy’s names?”

They told me their names one by one. Jackson was the one in charge. He had big round glasses and was tall and skinny. I could tell that this dude probably got picked on a little in high school. I could also tell that this man is a genius. The others knew too as they all listened to what he had to say and trusted his opinions on things. He was the one in charge of this “investigation”. On the wall next to him was a whiteboard where he was taking notes and clues.

The guy I am sitting next to who talked to me from the table was William. William was short but seemed to be very friendly and sociable. He had a ton of books in his bag and always had a smile on his face. He was charismatic for sure.

Joe and Ryan were the other two men that sat on the opposite side of the table from William and I. They were both similar in appearance and did not talk much. They wore sock hats and had long hair. I got the impression that they were stoners of some sort from the way they talked in such monotone.

Jackson reviewed the notes to fill me in on certain details. The person killed was an English professor named Professor Pavlinich. He was here late giving William some extra help that he needed in class. During the time, the power first went out Jackson was in the room we are in now (or so he claims) Joe and Ryan were studying on the first floor towards the back and showed up 10 minutes later. William was on the third floor with Pavlinich and came down to the lower floor 15 minutes after the power outage without professor Pavlinich. Joe and Ryan said that they were together the entire time and after a few minutes of the power being off decided to explore a bit and see if anyone is still in the library. William claims that he was on the third floor and came down to the basement to find a book when the power went out. After he said he went back to regroup with his professor and that is when he found his body and he ran back to the basement where he knew there were people. Joe and Ryan both say that they heard zombie like groaning through the halls and saw someone with their hood up. But have no clue who it was. The group decided to investigate the crime scene once people calmed down and got settled down, they saw the blood in the sink and the body. Pavlinich died from a pencil stab in the neck. They then said that they saw my stuff on the second floor but did not know where I was. They noticed my notes were cut off mid sentence.

Jackson was the most suspicious of William. William was the last person with Pavlinich, and he did not seem upset about the situation at all. William also apparently carried his pencils like he was about to stab someone. Jackson looked at me and said, “Tell me your story again. Every single detail. We need everyone’s perspective.” I told him the long version. I felt like I talked for hours trying to give every detail I could. I told him about the sleep walking, the hands, the heat on the top floor and even my thoughts at certain moments. While I was rambling, he was writing on his white board. When I was done, he thanked me. William, Joe, Ryan and I began to small talk about the cold and the blizzard. Jackson decided to sit and ponder on his work to see which one of us it is. I personally think it is William and as I convince myself it is him is smile gets more and more peculiar and creepy. How does someone smile in a situation like this?

Out of no where Jackson says that he thinks he knows who the killer is. We stop talking and give Jackson our full attention. We all wait with anticipation on who Jackson thinks it is. We all trust that he will be correct. I start to think to myself; What is William going to do once we know it is him? Will he try to attack us? I look around the room in a moment to see if there is anything I can use for a weapon just in case.

As I turn, I hear Jackson say, “It is you!” I turn back to see who it is, just to see the finger of Jackson pointing at me.

My instant reaction is “You are stupid.”

Jackson responded saying, “I do not think you meant to kill him. You killed him while you were asleep.”

“What!?”

Jackson explained, “You woke up from sleeping in the middle of the library. Your hands were wet meaning you just washed them. That would explain the blood in the sink from you washing it off your hand. Joe and Ryan heard groans which is the sound a sleepwalker makes when they are in the act. Also, your notes were out, and you were mid-sentence writing something then stopped. There was no pencil there on the desk and no pencil on you, meaning the one you wrote with was the one you stuck in the neck of Pavlinich. Not to mention you are wearing a hoodie. Matches the description perfectly.”

At this point I do not know what to think. I struggle to come to terms that I murdered someone, and I begin to panic again worse than when I saw the body. I remember when I fell asleep for a brief second, I envisioned bumping into someone, and I swing my arm backwards with a fist and hit the person on the neck. I am in disbelief. I have heard of killed in their sleep but never killing in their sleep.

As the cop stood there at the basement door, hesitant to open it, he soon regret not entering it. On a Monday night, Imari had received an email from his boss. He had earned the yearly bonus. Every year, it is like Imari to taunt the bonus amongst close friends and family. No one every thought someone would make a move on the family. They had no quarrels with anyone. His wife was sweet. She had not spoken to many people. They had a lovely daughter who everyone seemed to like. The family would sometimes throw small barbeques and invite the neighbors over.

Two days past and only 7 hours earlier Yvonne just only found the ransom note left in her daughter Hayven’s room. While reading the note, Yvonne did not take notice that it was written on her pad. As any family would do, they alerted the authorities. Imari, the father, pointed out that the amount asked for was similar to his Christmas bonus. Whoever had access to that information would be involved in the crime. It was hard to determine since the deceives found out that he would “flex” the money.

The family being traumatized, called all their friends and family over before the police arrived. Doing this they could roam the house feely and do as they please. This possibly widening the search for who could have been involved with the abduction. The police seen that the family was going through a lot and decided not to want to bother them. This would go to ruin the investigation for the police.

The first search was a disaster. The cops decided to just do a little sweep through the house. They had saw no signs of forced entry. Next, Officer Jim comes to a door with a wooden latch on the outside. Jim stares and just walks away. The family later finds out that Jim said he was looking for an exit and did not feel the need to check the door. The o[J8] fficers job is to secure the crime scene and the opposite. Yvonne in distraught, called over friends and family. The police thought it was only convenient for them to corner off Hayven’s room. The only piece of evidence they had was found in Hayven’s room. Officers get cases like this all the time and it is usually the parents involved and responsible. The visitors were able to roam through the house contaminating and losing any further possible evidence.

Imari went to search the house for himself. Checking basement first, there he found Hayven. She was covered in a white sheet, wire and duct tape. The 6-year-old had been beaten, molested and garroted. Instead of leaving the body, Imari picked her up and took her upstairs. He destroyed any possible evidence the police could have found. There was a small window for as an entrance in the basement Detectives believed the window was too small for someone to get in. The cops also pointed out that there were cobwebs in the window. If someone were to get through the window. How so without disturbing the cobwebs?

There was a famous private investigator interested in the case. Detective Jones, he was just a middle-aged white-haired man. So, stern his natural face was a mean mug. When he arrived, he climbed through the window himself to prove that anyone could have gotten in. The question of cobwebs was brought up. Spiders reproduce web extremely fast said Det. Jones. The web could have been recreated within the time frame. The detective was well respected, and the police did not take Det. Jones tips and evidence into consideration. They found their suspect in the parents.

Imari had an older son named Armani that Imari did not speak to. Armani was the half-brother to Hayven and was also suspected of committing but was eventually ruled out. He had an alibi the night of the kidnapping. He did not speak to his father because of the relationship between him and his mother. Armani, hated that his dad left his mother alone with him. Imari was not there and some ways Armani was even jealous with Hayven. The police main focus was on trying to close the case on the parents being the murders even with the lack of evidence. They ignored the clues of it being an intruder. Preventing the case from being solved.

The police ruled out the chance of it being an intruder and directed all their attention to the parents. Parents kill their children all the time by disguising it as an abduction. The police was mainly focus on trying to close the case on the parents being the murders even with the lack of evidence. They ignored the clues of it being an intruder. Preventing the case from being solved. In some ways it was like the police did not care.