the vote, always marching in one demonstration or another,” he said. “Last month she led the group that demonstrated on the president’s steps for granting women admission to the undergraduate program.”
I happened to glance at Isabella. For an instant so brief I was convinced I must have imagined it, I saw disapproval in her eyes as she looked toward Horace—who was by now again seated immediately to her right. Once more, I had not noticed him move.
“Horace, isn’t your fiancée a member of one of those feminist groups?” Isabella asked. “You’ll have to change your tune once you’re married next summer!”
“She’s not in that kind of feminist group,” Horace snapped, flushing with embarrassment.
“Enough of this,” Tom interrupted. “It’s not what got Sarah Wingate murdered, after all.”
“Actually, we can’t know that yet,” I said. “We don’t know what her connection with Michael Fromley was—if indeed that’s what led to her murder. And until we’ve solved her murder, nothing about her life is unimportant.”
“Ziele is right,” Alistair said, his expression unreadable. “Horace, please continue.”
“Yes, well,” Horace continued, “Sarah was determined to get her doctorate in mathematics, and had just started her fourth year of graduate work this fall. According to Professor Bonham, she was in good academic standing and performing well. He also mentioned that she had a part-time job at the dean’s office. Just some filing, simple clerical work.”
“Thank you, Horace,” Alistair said. “Perhaps some of Sarah Wingate’s friends can offer more detail about these matters.”
“I actually have a list of Sarah Wingate’s friends,” Horace said, producing a grimy, wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket. “Do you want me to follow up?”
“I would like to,” I said, and he handed me the list wordlessly. While the extra efforts of these people were well intended, the success or failure of this investigation was ultimately mine—and I disliked relying on the opinions of others. This was especially true in interviews, where I had to evaluate the information I learned in light of the credibility of the person speaking.
Alistair must have understood, because he immediately delegated other assignments—but all entailing simple background research. Tom and Fred, as senior faculty, would visit the registrar’s office to get a list of Sarah Wingate’s courses and talk with the faculty about her performance. They would also visit the dean’s office to determine the length of her employment there and the scope of her duties. Horace would visit the offices of the student paper, The Spectator, to view back issues and gather any past articles mentioning Sarah Wingate. Alistair would try to reach Fromley’s family, the Wallingfords, to arrange an immediate meeting. Meanwhile, I would interview the Bonham family as well as Caleb Muller, her academic advisor. Alistair promised to meet me at 113th Street and Broadway at one o’clock; he was confident he would have reached the Wallingfords by then. Then, he took me aside to offer an additional suggestion.
“You may want to take Isabella with you to the Bonhams. She will be able to put Miss Bonham at ease—and that will enable your interview to proceed more smoothly.”
“Understood. But first, I need to check in with the office; may I use your telephone?” I asked.
He directed me to his private office next door, where I closed the door and dialed Joe. It was some moments before Charlie, our secretary, brought Joe to the telephone. I filled him in, omitting nothing.
“You trust everything this professor says?” he asked. After hearing my tale, he sounded incredulous.
“Not for a moment,” I said. “But it bears looking into, wouldn’t you say?”
Joe’s answer was a loud grunt.
He went on to tell me that Peter Voyt had scored a breakthrough of sorts. His calls to a number of the more successful—and thus expensive—photographers in the city had yielded results. After discovering a photographer who promised to be the right match on the telephone, Peter had straightaway gone to examine the photographer’s files. The tiny photographs in Sarah’s locket were indeed part of a larger series of portraits, completed in December 1899, and paid for by an A. MacDonald. The photographer barely remembered the couple, since almost six years had passed. But he was able to confirm Peter’s suspicion that the photographs were part of a larger series, typical of couples sitting for engagement pictures.
“It was very unusual to have photographs like that reduced for a tiny locket,” Joe explained.
But Sarah had wanted to keep the photographs secret—and that would have been impossible with a large photograph. The other photographs were no