April followed him up the stairs to where the three big officers hung out in the hall.

"Did something happen?" he asked anxiously.

April didn't answer. She took the lead as they went into the alumni office, where Mike was sitting in Al Frayme's only guest chair.

"Oops, getting crowded in here," Mike said cheerfully. "Mr. Baldwin, I presume. I'm Lieutenant Sanchez, Homicide."

Marty nodded again. His eyes slid over to Al. "What's happening?" he asked again.

"Just clearing up a few details about Wednesday night. Al, let's give your boss some privacy here."

"Where are we going?" Al asked.

"To the station."

Al made a farting sound with his lips. "Sorry, Marty, looks like I'll be out of the office for a while." He glanced down, then carefully started wrapping his half-eaten sandwich to take with him.

"You won't need that," Mike jerked his head at April. She went out into the hall and beckoned the officers. They filed into the office.

"It cost nine bucks," Al protested.

Mike tossed it in the trash, and Al's gray eyes grew stormy.

"Sir, would you go into your office, please," April directed Baldwin. He complied without a word.

When Mike, Frayme, and the three officers were gone, April sat down in Baldwin's office and took out her notebook.

"Is this about Birdie Bassett?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, it is, Mr. Baldwin. On the tenth of this month you went to a meeting in the School of Social Work. Do you want to tell me about that?"

"Huh?" He was startled. He glanced up as Woody Baum came into the room.

April nodded and Woody took a seat next to her. "This is Detective Baum."

"Sir," Woody said.

He looked from one to the other.

"What was the nature of the meeting?" April asked.

Baldwin cleared his throat. "That was a while ago. I'm not sure. We've been meeting in all the schools. There are fourteen of them at the university." He made a face. "President Warmsley read the riot act when he took over, so each school has to stand on its own financially now, raise its own money." He licked his lips. "How is this relevant?"

"What time was the meeting?"

"Ah, I don't recollect much about that week, much less that day. It's the end of the school year. We're pretty pressured right now. I'd have to look it up."

"That would be good."

He didn't move. "Ah, I think the one you're talking about was pretty much a meet-and-greet. The dean there is new. Her alumni traditionally give little to nothing, so she has a problem. Going into the social services, as you know, is not the way to make money in this world."

"What was discussed in the meeting?"

"We were trying to come up with some alternative fund-raising strategies. Going to private foundations interested in vulnerable populations, to the state, and so forth."

"Is that part of your job description?"

"No. It was a waste of our time."

"Did you stay all the way through it?"

"Of course."

"How about bathroom breaks?"

Baldwin blinked. "Everybody takes bathroom breaks. What is this about?"

"What about Al; was he there?" She scribbled some notes.

"Oh, Al is everywhere."

"Does he take bathroom breaks?"

"He's in and out. I don't know why you're asking this. He's terrific. I don't know what I would do without him. He does most of the writing for the magazine. That's a quarterly. And he's great on outreach. He answers the phone, never gets annoyed."

"Mm-hmm." April wrote that down. "Tell me about the outreach."

Baldwin hesitated. "He does the reunions, follows up on careers. Thousands of them. He was very upset to hear about Birdie's death. She was an undergrad classmate of his."

That was news. So that was the reason for their lunches and talks. They went way back. Frayme hadn't mentioned it. "Did he come in on Thursday, seem normal?"

"He was upset. We all were."

"Was she one of his targets?"

Baldwin stared. "I don't know what you mean."

"As a giver."

"Oh. Yes, I guess so." He looked down as the phone rang. April shook her head.

"Did you talk about her?"

"Well, sure. We talk about everybody. They all promise to come up with the big bucks as soon as they have something to spare. With her husband out of the way, Al thought the time was now with Birdie. He's not a violent man, if that's what you're asking. Once a mouse got in his desk. He couldn't even kill that. He caught it and gave it to Maintenance."

"Thanks for the anecdote. But maybe he didn't hate the mouse," April remarked.

"I don't think he hated anyone," Baldwin said angrily.

"How long has he been with you?"

"Well, let's see. I've been here for three years. He started here after college, a decade before that."

"How come he didn't get your job?"

Baldwin checked the ceiling. "I wouldn't know that."

"Take a guess."

He lifted a shoulder. "He's great at what he does, but he's not a closer. He oversells, and that makes people nervous."

"That must be death in the getting world." April made a note of it. "Tell me about Wednesday night."

On safer ground, Baldwin exhaled and began describing the dinner. He'd left the office at four-thirty to set up the cocktail hour and talk place cards with Wendy Vivendi. It took forty-five minutes to get through it. Except for the president, they were the very last ones to leave. He was not able to verify Frayme's whereabouts on Wednesday after four.

"Thank you, Mr. Baldwin. You've been very helpful. If you think of anything else about that night, would you give me a call?" She left him a card with all her numbers. On the way downstairs Woody spoke.

"When the maintenance man came by to lock up the building Wednesday night, Al was in his office. They close down at eleven," he said.

"Anybody see him between eight and ten-thirty?" April asked.

"Not yet. Where to?"

"Wendy Vivendi," April said.

"She's on the fourth floor," he said.

Forty-five

Ever since April's visit, Jason Frank had been thinking about Max Bassett's first wife. Cornelia had been a spoiled narcissist with an arctic temperament and a scorched-earth policy toward her husband and children. She'd frozen them out of her heart, then ignited their jealous rage with her other passionate relationships. Brenda's and Burton's characters had been formed in the cradle of their mother's volatility. Neither had ever worked or ever wanted to. Neither could love or connect with anyone. And Birdie, his second wife, who'd come from a loving middle-class family and had made their father happy for the first time in his life, had been their nemesis.

One thing about Birdie's murder was crystal-clear to Jason: Her killer was organized, and the two siblings were not able to plan anything. Burton had been missing doorways and walking into walls all his life. Burton couldn't remember his own phone number and was too pickled most of the time to keep track of movable objects like his wallet and credit cards. For Burton, optimism, not regrets and rage, lived in the bottle. Drinking had never made him want to kill. For Brenda, happiness could come only in the form of a wealthy man who would love and tolerate her as her daddy had loved and tolerated his wives. Her revenge would be in making such a match. So far she hadn't been able to do it, but she was an aggressive seeker. She didn't have time to kill her stepmother.

Jason was screening his calls when April phoned late in the afternoon. "Do you want to meet someone?" she asked when he picked up.

"I haven't even located my notes yet," he said. He had his opinion, but he wasn't ready to make pronouncements. He wanted to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

"Are you free?"

"For ten minutes. What's the story on Birdie's will?"