Death of an Academic

By K.J. McFadyen

Nancy Sharpe’s retirement is an unassuming affair. She has her son’s laundry to clean, knitting to learn and volunteering to attend. So, her family is naturally concerned when they discover a letter from her old work. There’s been a murder at the university and the Royal City Police would like one of their best detectives to come out of retirement to help resolve the case.

Unfortunately, it seems, academics are not well loved on campus. The list of suspects grows ever longer as Nancy investigates a jealous wife, rebellious students, political extremists, violent gang members and even the highly competitive university staff themselves. Secrets abound within the ivy choked walls. The question quickly changes from who would kill the academic to who had killed him first.

With so much danger about, can the unassuming Nancy be able to wrestle the truth of Professor Gingrich’s murder from those involved? Or will the guilty grow more desperate as she narrows in on the culprit? Perhaps, in the end, it will be the police who are taught a lesson on committing the perfect crime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.J. McFadyen
• Release date: Jun 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781775313168

K.J. McFadyen

Kevin McFadyen is a world traveller, a poor eater, a happy napper and occasional writer. When not typing frivolously on a keyboard, he is forcing Kait to jump endlessly on her bum knees or attempting to sabotage Derek in the latest boardgame. He prefers Earl Gray to English Breakfast but has been considering whether or not he should adopt a crippling addiction to coffee instead.His love for stories started way back in his distant childhood when he enjoyed the classics: J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Robert Aspirin and Lynn Abbey, Ursula Le Guin, Stephen King, Piers Anthony, Clive Cussler, H.P. Lovecraft and a slew more that aren’t currently on the nearby bookshelf. While video and boardgames may have supplanted some of his reading time, Kevin has committed his life and sanity to the crafting of his own narratives.Having accumulated a number of short stories, this persistent scribbler has published his first book – a steampunk fantasy titled Thyre: City of Smoke and Shadow. His second full length novel – The Clockwork Caterpillar – is coming soon. Kevin continues to share his ideas on writing, media and life in the jointly own blog: Somewhere Post Culture (www.somewherepostculture.com).

Book preview

Prologue

Hello? Heeeeeeelllllloooooo!

Scott poked his head into the entryway. He heard neither a kettle boiling nor a game show jingle. He closed the front door behind him, kicking his shoes onto the empty plastic mat. He hung his jacket on the naked coat rack.

Mom? Are you home?

He shouldered the laundry bag with a grunt. He could still smell his rugby uniform inside. The powder room was dark as he tossed the bag on the tidy laundry room floor. The machines were quiet and the shelves empty of detergent bottles. Scott frowned when he saw the bright plastics in the garbage.

Hopefully there were more in the supply closet.

Hey, Mom! Just thought I would stop by and say hi!

Scott made his way to the kitchen. He filled the kettle. I’ll boil you a cup of tea!

He immediately fixed an instant coffee. He poked amongst the small collection of glass containers in the fridge. None of the leftover meals enticed him. An open package of hotdog weiners lay in one of the crispers but there were no signs of buns anywhere.

Scott thrummed his fingers against the open door while he considered his prospects.

I’ve got a break from work. Things are going pretty well. I was speaking with Karen from finance! You remember? I told you about her! She said she noted some changes in projected spending. She thinks they may be freeing more funds for full-time hires. So that could come about in the next quarter!

He settled for the meatloaf. He popped the lid and gave it a quick whiff. Frowning, he tossed it back and grabbed the stir fry. He took it to the microwave and gave it a good zap.

Oh, hey! How is that new Knitting and Novels Club going? You were supposed to start that last week, weren’t you? Scott looked at the small pile of envelopes on the counter. There were several bills, a letter from his cousin Katie, and an unmarked envelope. It was open and bore only his mother’s name.

Kim said Aunt Laurie was starting spin class. That’s something, right? It’s important to keep moving at your age. And it’s not too hard on the joints. I’m sure you’d do just fine.

While the microwave counted down, Scott picked up the envelope. Turning it over, he saw a sticker for the Police Associations Christmas Gala of 2018 on the back. A german shepherd in the middle bore a striking Santa hat while a bright green bauble hung from the O in police.

The microwave beeped. Scott retrieved his meal.

It would probably be an excellent way for you to meet people! It’s early in the mornings. Ten o’clock, I think! So it shouldn’t interfere with your volunteering. Once or twice a week would be enough.

He grabbed a fork, took a mouthful of old stir fry and pulled out the letter. As he read, his chewing slowed. Once he got to the end, he spat out his rubbery chicken.

Well, shit.

He took another bite of the stir-fry before he pulled out his phone. He hit the first number on his speed dial. While it rang, he read the letter again to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood.

Kimberly Sharpe, Indigenous Affairs and Housing. How may I help you?

Kim, it’s Scott. I’m at mom’s. She’s at it again.

There was silence on the other end. He heard his sister clear her throat. How do you know?

Well, she doesn’t seem to be here and I’m talking to myself like a madman. Scott looked about the dark kitchen. I also have a letter from local PD in my hand and…

Shit! He heard her tapping on her keyboard. There was a long sigh. Alright. I’ll see what I can do.

Alright.

Oh and Scott?

Yes?

Stop going to mom’s for a free lunch.

The call died. Scott looked down at the unsatisfying meal in his hands. He took another bite and scoffed. What does she know anyway?

He tossed the letter back on the pile as he shuffled off to the laundry room and set the machine. It was clear his mom wasn’t going to be coming back soon enough to do it herself.

Chapter 1

Nancy Sharpe sat on the bus, crochet hook and single knitting needle in hand, and peered over the edge of her spectacles balanced on the tip of her nose. Her legs dangled from the end of the blue reserved seating and she kicked her worn shoes idly in the gap between sole and floor. Her tongue screwed out the corner of her mouth as she tried to loop the yarn over the hooked end. She pulled the needle, wrapping the thread about the other and through the weave. She held her work up.

It looked like she had fashioned a lovely mess. She sighed, checking the reference card next to her.

The line read: Ch 2. Dcfp around first st. Dcbp around next st. *Dcfp around next st. Dcbp around next st. Rep from * around. Join.

Who knows what the devil that means, she muttered as she pulled the yarn free.

She started hooping it haphazardly around the needles again. It was ineffective. But it looked like she knew what she was doing.

She didn’t but, at this point, looks were good enough.

The bus jumped as it hit the speed bump and rounded the corner into the university bus loop. Several students gathered up their bags and queued before the doors. Looking out the window, Nancy saw more youths as they chatted amongst themselves on their way to and from class. The autumn wind swayed the colourful maple trees as their leaves tumbled above the students’ heads.

Worn paths in the cobble between the limestone buildings were filled with excited first years. Campus maps were clutched in rosy fingers as the lost meandered amongst the ivy-draped institution. Meanwhile, experienced students chatted on their phones and cut through side doors into the numerous buildings wreathed with welcome banners.

The bus lurched to a halt beside a row of stops. The speakers crackled what, with some liberal interpretation, was the university loop.

The students stumbled from their seats and filed out the doors in a heaving mass.

This is it, lady! the driver called, holding a hand to keep the new load from flooding the vehicle.

Thank you, Nancy said, gathering her supplies into her little handbag.

University Road. The driver snorted back some phlegm.

You wouldn’t happen to have seen any police cruisers around, have you? As the driver blinked emptily back, she smiled. Well, thank you kindly for your assistance.

She reached into her purse and held out a small, wrapped strawberry candy. The driver looked at it.

Oh, thank you. Uh. Have a nice day, miss.

The bus beeped as it lowered and Nancy Sharpe hopped off. She looked around the University of Galt’s quad. The grey stone of the University Centre loomed over the bus loop. A wide banner snapped in the wind above the quadruple set of black bordered doors.

Conference for Psychographic Analytics and Data Processing. All Welcomed!

An image of two young individuals crowded a computer monitor. A black boy pointed over the shoulder of the white girl as they both grinned triumphantly at what was, no doubt, a blank screen.

Several papers on the walls bore thick arrows indicating the direction to the conference rooms. More advertisements plastered lamp posts or electrical boxes calling for tutors, offering tutoring, rooms looking for roommates, roommates looking for rooms, desperate needs for textbooks and those desperate to offload their old editions, along with a solitary call for a missing cat.

Like its own little bubble, Nancy nodded. The smells of autumn swirled through the air.

It was largely the scent of pumpkin spice and anxiety.

While the next tide of students surged upon the bus, eyes glued to their phones and iPads, Nancy mused at how things had both changed yet stayed the same. Then, she felt her bag vibrate.

Oh dear! She reached inside, rifling past the mangled yarn and useless needles until she felt the disgruntled phone. She checked the number, then held it close to her nose. She pressed several of the flashing buttons until a timer appeared and the screen changed from a pleasant daffodil to existentially challenging blackness.

Hello! she shouted at the thing. A number flashed in bright print. Hello? She waited. Then, she raised it to her ear.

—and Scott was just by and you weren’t home and if I’ve told you once then I’ve told you a thousand times—!

Oh, Kim, dear! What a pleasant surprise! Nancy turned around on the pavement looking for a sheltered nook from the wind. How nice it is to hear from you. Things are going well?

Mother! Are you there?!

Yes, I am here.

"Where? Exactly?"

Ah, Nancy paused for a moment. She adjusted her glasses and looked up at the pole. University Centre North Loop Platform Eleven.

And what are you doing there! Sanctimony dripped from each syllable.

Why, talking with you, my dear.

Are you working a case!

Oh, heavens no. I’m retired, Kim. Nancy smiled as students brushed past her to form another socialless queue beneath the shelter.

Scott is at your place.

Oh, he probably has dirty laundry.

Mother! You aren’t!

Aren’t what?

You spoil him! That’s why he hasn’t developed into a proper adult!

He’s just busy, Nancy said. And it’s nice to see him again. You know, he has been up north for so long. And he’s still got to finish his moving and—

He’s been there for four months!

Well, these things take time. Nancy adjusted her glasses. She spied a young man in a crisp police uniform walking down the sidewalk. She stepped from her post and waved. The officer took a moment to scout the tall students until he alighted on the diminutive Nancy. He smiled, waved back and quickened his step.

Look, mom. You are retired, as you just said. You are supposed to stay home, with your feet up and relax. Like a normal retiree. Don’t get involved in anything. Don’t go tracking down anybody. Just stick to watching reruns of the Wheel of Fortune and clipping coupons from old flyers. Also, aren’t you doing some volunteering at the school today?

Oh, no. They… told me it was unnecessary to come back.

What did you do?!

Nothing! Nancy insisted. The pregnant pause on the other end assured her that wasn’t enough explanation. Well, a few of the children asked me what I did. And you know, it’s not proper to deny young minds their curiosity. And some were eager to know what handcuffs were like. And it was all perfectly safe, you see, as I certainly had my spare keys and—

You didn’t!

I’ve got to go, Nancy said as the policeman drew near. It was so nice talking to you, Kim. We should call each other more often.

No! Don’t you dare hang up on—

Nancy smiled as she hung up on her. She made sure to bury the phone deep in her purse, well insulated amongst her yarn, so it was much easier to ignore the muted shaking from the insistent redial.

Nancy briefly wondered if there was a way to turn it off that didn’t involve completely draining the battery. Officer Pitman, what a pleasure it is to see you!

Missus Sharpe! Officer Jeremy exclaimed. He was a junior and his enthusiasm was immediately apparent. His uniform was starched to a military degree, each crease and fold crisp without a wrinkle to be seen. His buttons gleamed to match his belt and holster which were both secure and hung perfectly perpendicular about his waist. He held the rigid poise of a man used to daily drills but not quite yet accustomed to the bulletproof vest beneath his shirt.

Nancy took the man’s firm handshake as he greeted her a touch too enthusiastically.

Just Miss, if you would.

I must say what an honour this is to meet you. It really is such an honour. I can’t tell you how much this means.

Oh don’t be fussy, Nancy smiled, extracting her poor digits. I am but a little, old thing. I needn’t the affection of an RMC graduate.

His expression drooped in awe. How did you know?

Know what?

About my time at the Royal Military College?

Oh, Nancy smiled. Detective Beale must have mentioned it.

I don’t think I’ve ever told the detective, Officer Pitman muttered.

Well, where is this murder? Nancy asked, clapping her hands. The declaration caught a couple of the lingering students’ attention.

Officer Pitman looked at the screeching bus as it pulled from the port. You didn’t take that here, did you?

Of course.

You should have called! he exclaimed. I would have picked you up personally.

Oh, that isn’t necessary, Nancy insisted. You are a busy lawman and I couldn’t tie up the department’s resources on such trivialities.

But you’ve been requested by the detective himself!

Yes, Nancy nodded. But I’m just here to give a few thoughts. Maybe an observation or two. It’s you boys and girls that do all the busy work. I’m happy to support the municipality, anyway.

No, no. Here, let me give you my number, Officer Pitman said, retrieving his phone. He looked at Nancy with green, expectant eyes. You do have a phone, right?

I barely know how the old things work, Nancy laughed as she pulled it out. It was still ringing with Kim’s name flashing angrily on the display.

The two watched it for a moment until the call died.

Is this a bad time?

Just my daughter, Nancy smiled. She poked the device several times until it lit up. So… how does one receive a number?

You can just put it into your contacts.

Nancy adjusted her spectacles and looked over the display. There were a multitude of little pictures nestled in cute, rounded frames. None of them looked like a contact. She cleared her throat. Of course.

I… ah… could do it for you.

That’s awfully sweet of you, Nancy smiled. She handed him the device then reached inside her bag and pulled out a small notepad. It was an unassuming thing with a black and white striped cardboard front and a large $1 stamp in the corner. She flipped to a free page. What is your number, by the way?

It’ll have my name with it, Officer Pitman said. When he looked from the screen and saw Nancy poised with pencil, he listed it off.

She scribbled it and thanked him. Her phone began to shake in his hand. That’ll still be her. Bless her persistence. I have no idea where she gets it. Nancy plucked the phone from his palm and buried it beneath the mangled remains of her toque. Or socks. She wasn’t sure what the instructions meant. Now you were going to take me to the body?

Yes, Officer Pitman said, clearing his voice as he looked sidelong at some lingering students. Best not to keep the detective waiting. Right. This way.

Chapter 2

The MacKinnon Building lay along Trent Lane. It was a large structure, near encompassing the MacKinnon Green like an engorging white blood cell. But this phagocytosis was for the best since, without that cut of green, the massive cement slab would have given the block the appearance of a strip-mining pit. A new red plastic awning did its best to provide much needed texture and colour but otherwise it was a large block chock full of windows and little else. Nancy was never one for architectural movements. And when the university had its first big expansion, it just happened to coincide with the nation’s love for Brutalism and giant squares.

At least the university was pushing greener initiatives by allowing ivy to crawl over its surfaces.

As they approached the building, the stone lined paths turned lively as groups of students gathered before the silent but flashing campus cruisers blocking the lanes. Police tape fluttered in the wind, holding the throng of onlookers at bay. A few students with their cellphones tried to grab pictures of the building’s entrance over the meagre barricade. Loitering officers offered them little more than their backs. One student with a peculiar piercing through her nose engaged in optimistic conversation with the attending officer. Though if she was angling for a scoop for the university’s gazette, she would be sorely disappointed.

Officer Pitman politely requested the students give way as he led Nancy to the cordoned exterior. He had to bend awkwardly to get beneath the tape without ripping it. Nancy popped underneath with ease.

The attending officer gaped.

Missus Sharpe?!

Nancy smiled. Just Miss, if you would.

I can’t believe you’re here! he exclaimed. She grinned and endured the strikingly similar meeting that Officer Pitman offered just moments before.

I must say I’m quite flattered by all this attention boys, Nancy said. But I really could not take up so much of your time in good conscience. You have such work to do that you shouldn’t be wasting it on me.

It’s no problem! I just want to say how big of a fan I am!

Oh, that’s too kind, Nancy said. She looked at Officer Pitman. But I think the detective is waiting and we really shouldn’t hold him up.

There were a few more lauded adorations before Nancy saw herself through the front door.

The inside, however, was an even larger quagmire to navigate than the exterior.

A coterie of officers marched the halls while staff stood in lounge areas looking particularly distressed. Some gave official statements to muted listeners. Officer Pitman explained the incident occurred on the third floor. But there was no passing this number of officers without Nancy drawing attention.

The