“And then he embarked on A Helical God. You imply that he hadn’t known Davina before it?”
“If he had met her, it would have been socially only, maybe a dinner. But A Helical God — Davina was in her element! Instead of having to reproduce diagrams and graphs, she had to find ways to illustrate cellular goings-on for laymen, and to gain the knowledge to do that she had to huddle with Jim. How they huddled! They got on like a house on fire.”
“Affair-type fire, sir?”
Dr. Carter blinked, then giggled. “She should hope! I do know the lady well, Captain, but I know Jim Hunter far better, and I don’t think she got to first base. Besides, she’s a cock teaser, not a man eater. I’d be willing to take a bet that Max has the only key can open Davina’s chastity belt.”
“I see. Tell me about the unauthorized print run.”
“I thought it was a good ploy, actually, in dealing with Tom Tinkerman. Pah! What a poseur! I’ve already told you that a small university press concentrates on the more unpublishable scholars, but in 1969 no university press can ignore the sciences. Which is what Tinkerman intended to do. The man was such an unscrupulous liar that he even convinced Roger Parson Junior that C.U.P. never published treatises upon obscure philosophies and medieval Christianity. While I held the imprimatur, it did — often! I can forgive a man confabulations based in hunger to see his own pet projects favored above all others, Captain, but I cannot forgive a man who lies to achieve the suppression of other forms of knowledge. That was Tinkerman. Like Hitler, he was by nature a burner of books and ideas.” Dr. Carter’s face screwed up. “However, he had the Parson ears — all of them.”
“But the print run, sir?” Carmine persisted.
“As I said, a good ploy. Tinkerman wouldn’t have sued, he was too careful of his public image, and I dropped a little word in his ear about how the public Press could make a bigot look. I said I’d told Max to go ahead and print.”
“And had you?”
“No!”
Carmine rose to go. “Thank you, Dr. Carter.”
“Oh, one more thing,” said Dr. Carter as Carmine donned his coat. “One very important thing.”
“Sir?”
“Talk to Edith Tinkerman. A man’s widow is more honest than his wife can ever be.”
Carmine started the engine of his beloved cop Fairlane, but did not put the car in Drive. His notebook … Mrs. Edith Tinkerman, in that limbo of widowhood without a body to bury until the Coroner deigned to release it … Yes, there it was. Dover Street in Busquash. Admittedly not the beachfront or the real heights of the peninsula, but a very good neighborhood even so.
The house was exactly what one might have expected Thomas Tarleton Tinkerman to inhabit: medium in size and price range, dove-grey aluminum siding that looked like board but kept the heat in during winter and the heat out during summer. It would have three bedrooms, a living room, dining room, kitchen, and a family room that undoubtedly functioned as a large study for the late Dr. Tinkerman.
Edith Tinkerman lived in the kitchen, which some merciful architect had made large enough to hold a dining table and chairs for everyday use; this was Edith’s personal property, littered with fabrics, spools, and an electric sewing machine.
“I take in dressmaking,” she explained, more comfortable when Carmine elected to sit at her work area rather than in the living room, which looked as if it were never used.
“For interest or income, Mrs. Tinkerman?”
“Income,” she answered immediately. “Tom was parsimonious, Captain, unless to spend money could enhance his position.”
Jesus! thought Carmine, this case is replete with poor little put-upon women! All neglected for the husband’s career! Don’t these guys realize that it’s like amputating a limb, to put the wife on an outer orbit, deny her a share of the spoils?
“Did he make a will?” he asked, refusing refreshments.
“Yes. It was in his desk, which he kept locked. Once I was sure he was really dead, I busted the lock and found it.” She looked smug. “I get three-quarters of everything, though I’m sure Tom thought of it as an interim will only. He was sure he was going to live forever. I thought he would too.”
“Do you have children?”
“Two girls, one twenty, one twenty-two. Tom was very disappointed, but his budget didn’t allow for more children, so he has no son. On the other hand,” she went on dreamily, “having girls was good for his billfold. Education is for men, he said, so the girls went to secretarial college and are working.”
“Were you educated, ma’am?”