Authors: Susan Conant
Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Women dog owners, #Women Sleuths, #Winter; Holly (Fictitious character), #Dog trainers, #Dogs, #Maine, #Massachusetts, #Indian captivities, #Women journalists
Animal Appetite (28 page)
“Uh, yes. Oh, you know who it was? Carey’s advisor was George Foley. That makes sense. Colonial historian.”
“I know. Leah, flip through, would you? See if you can find the section where he actually describes what Hannah did. Somewhere, there’s got to be a . . . No! I just thought of something better. See if you can find where he talks about Timothy Dwight. Dwight was the president of Yale. He wrote a book called
Travels in New England and New York
. He discusses Hannah. And Thomas. Is there an index?”
Travels in New England and New York
. He discusses Hannah. And Thomas. Is there an index?”
“No, of course not.”
Rapidly leafing through my photocopy of Lewis Clark’s obscure book, I came to a chapter called “In Every View Honorable: The Conduct of Thomas Duston.’”
“Leah,” I commanded, “look in the table of contents. There is one, isn’t there?”
“Of course. Hang on. Here we are.”
“Does there happen to be chapter called anything like ‘In Every View Honorable’?”
“Yes,” she said. “‘In Every View Honorable: The Conduct of Thomas Duston.’”
“Turn to it. Read me the beginning.”
“Uh, here we go.
‘Beneath the pointing finger of Hannah Duston on the Haverhill statue, a relief depicts Thomas Duston on horseback, his gun aimed at an Indian, his children
—’”
‘Beneath the pointing finger of Hannah Duston on the Haverhill statue, a relief depicts Thomas Duston on horseback, his gun aimed at an Indian, his children
—’”
I interrupted her.
“‘—his children clustered behind. The inscription reads: HER HUSBAND’S DEFENSE OF THEIR, CHILDREN
.’”
“‘—his children clustered behind. The inscription reads: HER HUSBAND’S DEFENSE OF THEIR, CHILDREN
.’”
“How did you . . . ?”
“Because I’m reading the same words.”
Together, we cross-checked other sections. Some passages in Carey’s dissertation were obviously his own. We found references in the dissertation that didn’t appear in Lewis Clark’s book. Many phrases, sentences, and paragraphs from
And One Fought Back
had, however, been rewritten, paraphrased, or lifted in their entirety.
And One Fought Back
had, however, been rewritten, paraphrased, or lifted in their entirety.
Leah was aghast. “He
plagiarized
it? Well, when Harvard finds out—”
plagiarized
it? Well, when Harvard finds out—”
I did tell you, didn’t I, that in the eyes of Harvard, nearly all serious crimes are, in one way or another, abuses of the printed word? And in Cambridge, the eyes of Harvard are the eyes of God.
“Leah, would they really . . . What do you call it? Expunge him? After all this time?”
“I think so. At a minimum, they’d strip him of his degree.”
Dr. Randall Carey:
the name in the phone book, the name on that shabby mailbox, the name by the doorbell. Doctor no more. The back window of my kitchen gave me a view of Kevin’s driveway. It was dark out now, and his mother had put on the outside lights. Her car was in its usual spot. Kevin still wasn’t home.
the name in the phone book, the name on that shabby mailbox, the name by the doorbell. Doctor no more. The back window of my kitchen gave me a view of Kevin’s driveway. It was dark out now, and his mother had put on the outside lights. Her car was in its usual spot. Kevin still wasn’t home.
“Look,” I told Leah. “This is really important. Say
nothing
to anyone about this. Not a word. Don’t even photocopy that dissertation, okay? Just give it back. Turn it in. I want it out of your hands
right now
. Until I tell you otherwise, you’ve never seen the thing in your life.”
nothing
to anyone about this. Not a word. Don’t even photocopy that dissertation, okay? Just give it back. Turn it in. I want it out of your hands
right now
. Until I tell you otherwise, you’ve never seen the thing in your life.”
“Holly—”
“Do it! I am not joking! Leah, Jack Andrews read Clark’s book when he was a kid. It was in the Haverhill Public Library. He must’ve used it for his report. For whatever reason, he also read Carey’s dissertation. He made the connection. But he didn’t tell Professor Foley. Maybe he didn’t have a chance. He was murdered first. Professor Foley didn’t make the connection, either. And when he finally did . . . ?”
“I get the picture. And you can sort of see why Professor Foley missed it to begin with, because advisors aren’t necessarily all that expert in whatever esoteric topics their students are doing research on. But how did Foley find out now? Why all of a sudden, after all these years?”
“For one thing, one reason he missed it back then and for a long time is what you said yourself: ‘Widener has everything.’ That was probably his mentality, too.”
“Correctly so.”
“Almost. And that attitude is what Randall Carey took into account. He plagiarized a book that
wasn’t
in Widener and that academic types didn’t even know existed. Also, there’s something Professor Foley told me himself. He said that captivity is
in
these days. There are books, and there are conferences.
Now
there’s a field called ‘captivity studies. ’ Professor Foley hadn’t read Clark’s book because it wasn’t an academic book—it was just a local curiosity—and because, eighteen years ago, captivity studies wasn’t his specialty, anyway, because it really wasn’t anyone’s. It practically didn’t exist.”
wasn’t
in Widener and that academic types didn’t even know existed. Also, there’s something Professor Foley told me himself. He said that captivity is
in
these days. There are books, and there are conferences.
Now
there’s a field called ‘captivity studies. ’ Professor Foley hadn’t read Clark’s book because it wasn’t an academic book—it was just a local curiosity—and because, eighteen years ago, captivity studies wasn’t his specialty, anyway, because it really wasn’t anyone’s. It practically didn’t exist.”
“So why did Professor Foley read the book now?”
“You never met him, Leah. He was interested in everything, I think. He was a like a kid. He sparkled. Anyway, he’d just been to a conference where he’d been discussing Indian captivity with someone. That’s where he heard that there
was
a privately printed book about Hannah Duston. This is awful to think about, but, in a way, maybe it was partly my fault. After I asked him about Hannah, he must’ve called up whoever had mentioned the book to him and borrowed it from another historian or from a library somewhere.”
was
a privately printed book about Hannah Duston. This is awful to think about, but, in a way, maybe it was partly my fault. After I asked him about Hannah, he must’ve called up whoever had mentioned the book to him and borrowed it from another historian or from a library somewhere.”
“But if it wasn’t in
Widener
—”
Widener
—”
“Then, miracle of miracles, it might still have been somewhere else. In fact, it
was
somewhere else until Randall Carey removed it. It was in the Haverhill Public Library and at the Haverhill Historical Society. But it must have been other places, too. Maybe Widener located it for him. Or another historian let him borrow it. Leah, if Foley was Randall Carey’s advisor, wouldn’t he have had a copy of the dissertation?”
was
somewhere else until Randall Carey removed it. It was in the Haverhill Public Library and at the Haverhill Historical Society. But it must have been other places, too. Maybe Widener located it for him. Or another historian let him borrow it. Leah, if Foley was Randall Carey’s advisor, wouldn’t he have had a copy of the dissertation?”
“Probably. He’d’ve been given one. Whether he kept it is another matter.”
“Obviously, he did. Or he got it just the way you did, from the archives. And he compared. He reached the same conclusion we have.”
“Definitely about the plagiarism. About Jack Andrews’s murder?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. In either case, I think Foley called up Randall Carey and invited him over to discuss the matter. Instead of blowing the whistle, he gave Randall Carey a chance to turn himself in. Professor Foley was a gentleman himself, and I think he offered Randall Carey a gentleman’s way out. Jack Andrews must’ve made the same mistake. It was fatal for him, and it was fatal for Professor Foley. Leah, Randall Carey has killed twice to keep his doctorate and his pride, and the second time to keep his freedom. He’s like Hannah Duston. He’s like the people who took her captive. His motives are just as practical as theirs, and he’s just as desperate. Promise me that the second you hang up, you’ll take that dissertation and return it instantly. And say nothing whatsoever to anyone.”
“But what about you? What—”
“Kevin will be home any second. I’m going to lock my doors and wait for him. I’m going to sit here and play the damsel in distress.”
Reversing our roles, Leah warned, “Don’t open the door for anyone.”
“Of course not. Not for anyone.”
CHAPTER 31
I thought you meant your dissertation on Hannah
Duston, I’d told Randall Carey.
If it’s a copy of Lewis Clark’s book, I already have one,
I’d also said. Now, as I waited for Kevin, I’d have given anything to take back those words. At least I hadn’t mentioned Leah. Or had I? No, I was pretty sure I hadn’t. Unless Randall Carey had suddenly decided to go to Pusey Library and, by wild coincidence, happened to see Leah returning his dissertation, she was safe. I suppressed the impulse to call her number. If she’d followed my instructions by promptly returning Randall Carey’s plagiarized ticket to his doctorate, she’d still have had to sprint across the Yard to reach her room by now. I had no reason to believe that she was even headed there. The chances were good that she’d gone directly to the dining hall. I could imagine her surrounded by friends, swearing about chemistry, and, with a grin, insisting that the mystery meat was substandard dog food. I wished I’d made her promise to call me back.
Duston, I’d told Randall Carey.
If it’s a copy of Lewis Clark’s book, I already have one,
I’d also said. Now, as I waited for Kevin, I’d have given anything to take back those words. At least I hadn’t mentioned Leah. Or had I? No, I was pretty sure I hadn’t. Unless Randall Carey had suddenly decided to go to Pusey Library and, by wild coincidence, happened to see Leah returning his dissertation, she was safe. I suppressed the impulse to call her number. If she’d followed my instructions by promptly returning Randall Carey’s plagiarized ticket to his doctorate, she’d still have had to sprint across the Yard to reach her room by now. I had no reason to believe that she was even headed there. The chances were good that she’d gone directly to the dining hall. I could imagine her surrounded by friends, swearing about chemistry, and, with a grin, insisting that the mystery meat was substandard dog food. I wished I’d made her promise to call me back.
I picked up the phone and, instead of running next door as I’d ordinarily have done, dialed Kevin’s number. His mother answered. I asked when she expected Kevin home.
“Any minute now,” she replied.
“Have you heard from him this week?”
“Not until an hour ago. He called to say not to worry.” She again assured me that Kevin would be back any minute.
“Well, the second he gets there, would you tell him that I have to see him? Right away.” Feeling foolish, I added, “It’s police business.”
“Police business,” she repeated. “I’m writing it down.” Before I hung up, she said “God bless!”
By now, Rowdy and Kimi were nosing around and
woo-wooing
in expectation of dinner. “If I feed you,” I informed them, “you’ll need to go out, and I would really rather not leave here until Kevin’s back. So just hang on another few minutes.”
woo-wooing
in expectation of dinner. “If I feed you,” I informed them, “you’ll need to go out, and I would really rather not leave here until Kevin’s back. So just hang on another few minutes.”
Keeping Kevin’s driveway in the periphery of my vision, I looked up Tracy Littlefield’s number and dialed it.
She answered. “Tracy’s Doggone Salon!”
“Holly Winter,” I said. “Tracy, I have a question that’s probably going to sound off the wall, but . . . Tracy, are you alone? Is Drew there?”
“Yes indeed!”
“Yes he is?”
“Yes.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Maybe you could just answer yes or no? It’s not about . . . Well, okay, here it is. Shortly before Jack, uh, died . . . Let me backtrack. Did Jack ever use the Haverhill library? Did he ever take a book out or go there to look anything up?”
“Funny you should mention it.”
“Shortly before he died?”
“Very.”
“Sunday?”
“No.”
“Saturday?”
“Keep going.”
I worked backward to the Thursday before the murder.
“You got it. Could we make this quick?”
“I’ll try. What he wanted was an old book about Hannah Duston.
And One Fought Back
. It was in some kind of special collection.”
And One Fought Back
. It was in some kind of special collection.”
“Yes.”
“And did he find it?”
“Sure did!” Then she said she had to go. I thanked her and hung up. So Jack hadn’t trusted his memory. Once something had jogged it, he’d gone to the trouble of taking a new look at the old book. Sometime before Thursday, he’d seen Randall’s dissertation. His suspicions had been aroused. He had, however, written his report on Hannah as a schoolboy; he probably hadn’t so much as seen Lewis Clark’s book since then. And the charge of plagiarism was not one Jack would have made lightly. Jack had gone to Harvard. He’d have been fully aware of the extreme seriousness of the crime within the university and of the consequences of discovery for the scholar who’d stolen another’s words. On Thursday, Jack had gone to Haverhill to compare the two texts, Lewis Clark’s and Randall Carey’s. By Thursday night, he’d had proof of Randall Carey’s guilt. Four days later—two workdays later—at sometime after five o’clock on Monday afternoon, when he’d been in his office, he’d drunk coffee that Randall Carey had somehow laced with the sodium fluoroacetate that Jack himself had ob tained to poison rats and had carelessly tossed in the trash.
And, unbelievably, Kevin Dennehy
still
wasn’t home. “Damn!” I told the dogs, whose restlessness was increasing by the minute. “Damn! I really am sorry. One more quick phone call, and he’ll be here, and then I’ll feed you.”
still
wasn’t home. “Damn!” I told the dogs, whose restlessness was increasing by the minute. “Damn! I really am sorry. One more quick phone call, and he’ll be here, and then I’ll feed you.”
As the words left my mouth, I heard a soft metallic jingling and a muffled bang. My heart pounded. The dogs silently moved to the kitchen door. Even more eagerly than usual, they stood there wagging their tails. Rita’s high heels clicked reassuringly on the floor of the back hallway. The jingling: her keys. The bang: the opening of the outer door. Rita’s heels tapped up the stairs. Overhead, Willie, her Scottie, barked a welcome.
“Truly, guys, I’m sorry,” I said. “Any minute now.”
Rita informs me that a moderate level of anxiety has a beneficial effect on intellectual performance but that terror makes you stupid. In retrospect, it’s clear that I should have called Rita and Cecily to warn them to stay inside and, above all else, to let no one into the building. Instead, I phoned Estelle Grant and got stuck listening to her blather about some New York literary agent’s supposed interest in
Multitudes in the Valley of Decision
. I tried to be patient. Estelle’s dreadful novel was, after all, what had precipitated my call. What was it she’d said? Something about how vital it was to start with what you know. One of her characters had obviously been based on Jack Andrews, another on Shaun McGrath. The house of prostitution was a transformation of the publishing house. In the novel, the house was raided by the police. The real rats appeared, as did the poison. If Jack, Shaun, the press, the police, the rats, and the poison, why not Randall Carey?
Multitudes in the Valley of Decision
. I tried to be patient. Estelle’s dreadful novel was, after all, what had precipitated my call. What was it she’d said? Something about how vital it was to start with what you know. One of her characters had obviously been based on Jack Andrews, another on Shaun McGrath. The house of prostitution was a transformation of the publishing house. In the novel, the house was raided by the police. The real rats appeared, as did the poison. If Jack, Shaun, the press, the police, the rats, and the poison, why not Randall Carey?
Multitudes in the Valley of Decision
. The material Estelle had gathered. The preponderant
material
in the book?
Leather
.
. The material Estelle had gathered. The preponderant
material
in the book?
Leather
.
Breaking in recklessly, I demanded, “Estelle, have you ever happened to run into a guy named Randall Carey?”
“Oh, him! Hey, let me give you some advice. Stay away from him. He’s really . . . Well,
chacun à son goût
”—she paused to translate—“to each his own and all that, and if that’s what appeals to you, I don’t have a problem with it, but if you ask me, he’s . . . Well, of course, the literary act is one thing, and it’s certainly necessary to
connect
the passion to the prose and so forth, and if that’s what
you
—”
chacun à son goût
”—she paused to translate—“to each his own and all that, and if that’s what appeals to you, I don’t have a problem with it, but if you ask me, he’s . . . Well, of course, the literary act is one thing, and it’s certainly necessary to
connect
the passion to the prose and so forth, and if that’s what
you
—”
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