Kenneth Salter, chairman of the math department at Marcus Rome State University, isn't a well-liked man; in fact, most people despise him. It's not surprising, therefore, when he ends up dead, slumped over in his office chair. All the animosity directed toward the professor makes this a challenging case for homicide detective Tom Warren. His list of possible suspects is long. Much to his chagrin, Warren finds himself teamed up with some law enforcement outsiders. Jim Albright is a math professor and detective wannabe, while his wife, Donna, is a sexy psychologist. Elmo Sherwin is a loveable math genius, but he's as clumsy as he is eccentric. How can these novices help Warren solve his case? He'll soon learn it takes more than crime scene know-how to catch a killer. It's going to take interviews, deduction, and reasoning to make sense of Salter's murder. Everyone sees things differently, and what one person observes could be missed by everyone else. Are you clever enough to follow the clues and construct the argument that points uniquely to the guilty party?
MATH IS MURDER
By ROBERT C. BRIGHAM JAMES B. REEDiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 Robert C. Brigham and James B. Reed
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4697-9728-1Chapter One
Late Sunday Afternoon and Evening
"Murder! Yes, MURDER!"
All stare with horror. One of the men screams, "My God! Look out." The standing Elmo Sherwin's massive right arm is aimed straight at the older woman who shouts, "No, please no!" The pleas have no impact. The offending limb, with increasing velocity, continues its downward arc while the miscreant's round cherubic face quivers and intelligent myopic eyes twinkle. The man who screamed and a young woman each grab their liqueur glass. The other man, Jim Albright, snatches both his and another's. Just in time! The gargantuan arm smacks the walnut table and only the hand-cut 24% lead crystal and expensive vessel in front of Elmo falls safely to the soft tablecloth.
All but Elmo sigh with relief. No damage has occurred, unless you count the expanding light orange stain on that cover. Theresa Bedlow, approaching 70, does seem to count it. She is not happy. Of course, it's her home, her glasses, her tablecloth. The others, again except for Elmo, know Theresa is capable of strict discipline to those who anger her. They await her reaction.
Theresa is Provost and Vice-President of Academic Affairs at Marcus Rome State University. Elmo is a mathematician at Sloane, a private university about 100 miles to the north. He's in a special class, absolutely brilliant! One of the best mathematicians in the world. It's strange, though, he's kind of a lost soul in most other areas of life. Like social situations.
The other three are faculty in the Mathematics Department. All are in their late thirties or early forties. They were hired within a couple of years of each other because their research interests matched an area the department wanted to build. Their collaboration has resulted in several papers in refereed mathematical journals. Of the three, Jim's relationship with Theresa is special. About twenty years ago, when he had no idea what he wanted to do with his life, he had enrolled in a criminal justice class she taught. She was the best teacher he had ever had.
There has been a conference at MRSU Wednesday through Saturday, attended by mathematicians from around the world, and Elmo gave the keynote talk. The research group prevailed on him to stay over to Sunday to discuss its work, which bears a relationship to some of his own activities. They had planned to invite him to dinner. Somehow Theresa learned about it and insisted everyone come to her home, said she had read about Elmo in the conference announcement and wanted to meet him. It's unusual for a provost to infringe on such an event. However, she always enjoys getting together with exceptional individuals and has maintained over the years a layman's interest in mathematics.
Theresa is questioning her interest in Elmo at the moment, but says nothing. Elmo breaks the silence. "Damn, oh, damn, damn, damn, damn! Why do these things keep happening to me? When I told my wife I was coming here, she reminded me not to get too excited," he whines like a child. He looks around, red-faced, and his eyes lock with Jim's, who nods toward Theresa. Thank God Elmo gets the signal. "Oh, right, right." A sheepish look engulfs his face as he glances at his host. Then, with eyes averted, "Terribly sorry. Tend to be a bit clumsy at times, you know." Now there's an understatement! He looks at her pleadingly.
So does the rest of the group. They know Theresa Bedlow does not suffer fools. Of course, Elmo's no fool. Just clumsy.
Jim has admired Theresa from the first day he walked into her class years ago. A dynamic instructor. Uses the Socratic method. Scared him to death, afraid he couldn't provide the deep analysis she demanded. And usually he didn't. But she found something in him, and has stayed in touch as he completed doctoral studies and wound up on the mathematics faculty. Before entering academe she'd been a lawyer, a chemist, and a homicide detective with the sheriff's department. Over the years she climbed the academic ladder at MRSU, serving as head of the Department of Forensic Science and Dean of the College of Science before assuming her present position. But to Jim and many of her other students she always will be a beloved and caring teacher.
Theresa eyes the penitent sternly, through steely gray eyes. She's not the slightest bit impressed with Elmo's mathematical pedigree. Intellectual dexterity is what she values. All hold their breath as she replies in a testy voice, "It's all right, Elmo. No real damage done. But perhaps it would be wise to curb your enthusiasm somewhat."
The mathematicians suppress sighs of relief. No storms for the moment. Jim looks at Elmo. My God, he seems to have no idea he's been gently rebuked, an impression he corroborates by jumping to his feet, sending his antique chair sprawling to the floor in the process. Oh boy, Jim thinks Theresa's really going to blow now. Her patience, never a strong point, seems to have diminished with advancing age.
Miraculously, there is no explosion. And, after another abject apology and terse acceptance, Elmo characteristically plunges ahead. "Well, of course I'm excited. Who wouldn't be after an evening like this? Fantastic food! Great discussion! God, what haven't we covered? Politics, religion, philosophy, literature, computers—even mathematics! The breadth of your knowledge amazes me, Theresa. And now murder! What on earth do you have in mind? Oh, this is so exciting!" As he resumes his seat, remembering to everyone's relief to set the chair upright first, he offers a beatific smile and with obvious glee rubs his hands.
Elmo looks at Theresa with interest. It's obvious he admires her razor sharp mind. But what is he seeing? No one would ever call him observant. An hour after he leaves her home he'll be incapable of recalling that she's tall—5'10"—and thin—barely 130 pounds. Nor that her face is long and angular, with a protruding jaw, slightly crooked teeth, and those gray eyes that miss nothing. Nor that her hair is fine, pure white, cut short, and straight. Nor that she's wearing an ivory pull-over blouse, navy blue slacks, dark comfortable low-heeled shoes, and no jewelry. Such details hold no importance for him.
Theresa Bedlow, on the other hand, misses nothing. Months from now she'll be able to describe every aspect of her guests' dress and demeanor. Take Elmo Sherwin, for example. Although Theresa probably wouldn't right now. Almost six and a half feet tall, easily 280 pounds, and a body having the firmness of a pillow. Brown eyes. Light brown hair. Mid 40s. And unbelievably brilliant. When Theresa phoned Jim to set up the dinner, he sang Elmo's praises. He told her about the 160 papers and 8 books Elmo's published, and that he was a consultant with the National Security Agency, the Department of Defense, and the National Science Foundation. Elmo's research has set the mathematical community on its ear. She listened, but she makes her own decisions about people. She'll base her opinion on personal observation, not on what Jim says. So far Elmo's receiving a failing grade.
Looking every bit the professor she is, Theresa stares directly at Elmo. "My secretary got me thinking last week. Tell me, Elmo, what do you think of Dexter?"
Elmo looks blank. "Er, I ... I don't know a Dexter. Well, I guess there's Dexter Williams, a topologist at the University of Illinois. Is that who ya mean?"
She says, "No, Elmo, I don't know him. Why on earth would I? It's a...
