The  Mystery  of  the  Missing  Professor

by

Joseph P. Rogers

 

 

Lieutenant Charles Valentine parked his blue Chevy on a roadway in Forest Park, the largest park in the St. Louis area. Located in the heart of the city, Forest Park contained numerous attractions such as a zoo, science center, and art museum.  On this Wednesday morning the park was coated with a thin layer of new-fallen snow.

Charlie got out of his car and walked toward two uniformed police officers and a detective who were intently examining an empty car.  Charlie's cowboy boats produced a crunching sound as he moved through the snow.

His fondness for country-western apparel was well-known throughout the St.  Louis Police Department.  Today he even wore his cowboy hat, which he usually did not wear while on duty.

Lieutenant Jennifer Halloran looked away from the car and smiled at her partner.  "Good morning, Charlie.  I see that you're sporting the Stetson today."

Jenny was a small woman with short, brown hair.  She and Charlie had been partners for two years.  Jenny was twenty-nine, while Charlie was forty-two.

"And I will not sell my hat to you no matter how much you offer me," Charlie replied good-naturedly, knowing that such an offer would never be made since Jenny did not share his enthusiasm for country-western apparel.

Charlie placed his hand on the roof of the grey sedan. "So this is the professor's car?"

"Yes, but there's no sign of him," one of the patrolmen said.

"At one o'clock this morning Mrs. Cindy Brecht reported that her husband, Dr. Eric Brecht, was missing," the other patrolman said, looking at his notepad.  "Yesterday he taught two classes in the morning at Fontbonne University.  Dr. Brecht was supposed to play golf at noon here at Forest Park, but he never showed up at the golf course.  After waiting for almost an hour, his two partners went ahead and played the round without him."

"Mrs. Brecht is very concerned about her husband," Jenny said.  "He's never previously disappeared like this, and he's very meticulous about his schedule."

"Tom and I have thoroughly searched the grounds in this vicinity," the first patrolman said.  "There's no sign of a body.  We're going to call in another unit to help us search more of the park."

Charlie pulled open the unlocked door on the driver's side of the car.  He took the keys out of the ignition.

"We're lucky that this car wasn't stolen last night," Jenny said.

"If any car thieves saw this expensive, unlocked car with the keys in the ignition, they must have thought that it was a police sting operation," Charlie said.

"There has been an increase in crime in Forest Park in the past year.  I hope that Dr. Brecht isn't another murder statistic."

Charlie used the keys to open the trunk.  "Well, there's no body in here.  His golf clubs are here, though."  Charlie pulled out the golf club bag.

Jenny examined the irons.  "These clubs are completely clean.  If he had played anytime yesterday, there would be some mud on them."

"Why would anyone want to play golf in this weather?" Charlie asked.

"Now, Charlie, you know that it was warmer yesterday, and there wasn't snow on the ground.  Besides, you can play golf with a little bit of snow on the ground.  Golf balls come in orange, blue, or any color that you like."

"Is this golf course open all winter?"

"It's open every day of the year except Christmas.  And I can assure you that there are a few golfers out on the course this morning.  A half-inch of snow will not deter a golf fanatic."

"It's too bad that we didn't get this snow yesterday," Charlie said.  "We might have some footprints that would give us some idea where the professor is."

"Mrs. Brecht gave us the names of the two golf partners," Jenny said.  "They both teach at Fontbonne University with Dr. Brecht. I've made an appointment to speak with them this afternoon in order to find out whether they have any idea why he disappeared."

"My brother teaches at that college.  I'll stop by his house and ask him about Dr. Brecht."  Charlie's eyes scanned the area.  It was lightly wooded with a small lake down the hill from the roadway.  The art museum could be seen on top of a hill about a half-mile away.

"The golf course is near this spot, isn't it?" Charlie asked.

"Of course," Jenny laughed.  "Don't you ever come to Forest Park, Charlie?"

"I go to the zoo sometimes," he said and added with a grin, "Fortunately, I have two nieces and a nephew.  Taking them to the zoo gives me an excuse to go myself.  I did play golf here once or twice about ten years ago."

"My father used to take me here to play golf quite often when I was a teenager," Jenny said.

Her father, Walter Halloran, had been a city policeman for forty-three years before he had retired five years earlier.  Walter Halloran had retired as a sergeant and was now proud that his daughter had already surpassed his rank.

Jenny and Charlie went to help the two policemen search the area.

 

Shortly after noon, Charlie drove to the home of his younger brother, Gregory Valentine.  Greg was a 39-year-old history professor at Fontbonne University.  As Charlie walked up onto the porch, his sister-in-law opened the front door.

"I happened to glance out my study window as you pulled up, Charles," Violet Valentine said.  The 37-year-old woman was of average height and had curly, strawberry-blonde hair.

"It sounds to me like you were watching from the window, waiting for me to arrive," Charlie kidded her as he came into the living room.

Violet laughed.  "You keep telling yourself that story, Charlie. I'm going to turn you over to your brother so that I can get back to grading papers."

"Oh, I'm glad that Greg came home for lunch."

"Actually, he's home for the rest of the day.  He doesn't have any afternoon classes on Wednesdays and Fridays this semester."

"I have obviously chosen the wrong career," Charlie said.

Gregory Valentine came out of the kitchen.  His wife always insisted that he looked like Harrison Ford, but Greg thought that she was being too generous.

"I thought that I heard your voice, Charlie," Greg said. "Have you come for lunch?"

"If you can spare a few morsels for an honest cop."

"Sure.  Let me know when one gets here."

Charlie laughed heartily as he followed his brother back into the kitchen.  They sat down to a lunch of sandwiches, potato chips, and sodas.

"You are a fine host, but I came for more than lunch," Charlie said.  "I'm investigating the disappearance of one of your colleagues."

Greg was startled.  "Really?  Who?"

"Eric Brecht.  Do you know him?"

"Of course.  He's the head of the anthropology department. I saw him walking around on campus yesterday morning.  Why do you say that he's missing?"

"When he didn't come home last night, his wife called the police.  We don't usually consider someone to be a missing person so quickly, but his wife was persistent and thought that her husband had met with foul play.  A few hours ago some patrolmen found Dr. Brecht's car in Forest Park.  He was supposed to play golf there yesterday afternoon, but he never arrived.  Jenny and I went to the park this morning.  There's no sign of the professor, though.  What can you tell me about this guy?"

"Well, I know him fairly well.  However, since he's in the anthropology department and I'm in the history department, I don't see him every day or even every week.  I'd consider him to be a friendly acquaintance rather than a friend.  We should tell Violet that Eric Brecht is missing.  She's been doing some research for him."

"I could hear you from the study," Violet said, coming into the kitchen.  "That's awful news.  Poor Mrs. Brecht must be sick with worry."

"Have you ever met Mrs. Brecht?" Charlie asked.

"I've spoken to her a few times at college receptions," Violet said.  "She seemed quite pleasant."

"She's pleasant, but also a bit conceited about her standing in high society," Greg said.

Charlie glanced at his notepad.  "The two professors with whom Eric Brecht was supposed to play golf yesterday are named Robert Brenner and Henry Drake.  I suppose that you know them."

Greg nodded.  "They're both in the anthropology department.  Henry Drake has been at the university for many years.  Robert Brenner arrived about a year ago."

"Henry Drake co-authored many articles in scholarly journals with Eric Brecht," Violet said.  "Last week Dr. Brecht asked me to conduct a database search and give him a list of all his writings in the last twenty-five years.  Almost all his early writings were written with Dr. Drake."

"Didn't Brecht call you a couple of days ago?" Greg asked his wife.

"That's right.  He called on Monday afternoon.  I had gone to pick up the kids at school, so he left a voicemail message.  Charlie, I might still have that message if you'd like to hear it."

"Sure.  That might be helpful."

Charlie and Greg followed Violet into the study.  She began checking the messages and soon found the voicemail message that they wanted.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Valentine," the erudite voice said in the voicemail message.  "This is Eric Brecht.  I want to thank you for obtaining for me that research information.  Next week I am receiving an award from my professional association, and I want to mention that research when I give my acceptance speech at the awards banquet.  I have another project for you.  I need to know what scholars are currently writing in my areas of interest. Thanks again.  Good day."  The message ended.

"Very interesting," Charlie said.  "Now the missing man is more than just a name to me."

Everyone jumped when the telephone rang.  Violet laughed at her own startled reaction and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"  She listened for a few seconds, then said, "Yes, he's right here." She lowered the phone.  "Charlie, it's your partner."

"Thanks." Charlie took the phone from her. "Hi, Jenny, what's up?"

"We found Dr. Brecht's body.  He was in the lake at the bottom of the hill.  It looks like he was shot twice in the chest.  The coroner is taking the body away right now."

"Okay.  Wait there for me.  I'll be there in ten minutes."

"All right.  Bye."

As Charlie hung up, his brother said, "Judging from your reaction, I'm guessing that Eric Brecht is dead."

"I'm afraid so."  Charlie repeated for them what Jenny had told him.

"How tragic!" Violet declared.  "Was robbery the motive?"

"Possibly.  We don't know yet." Charlie walked to the front door.  "I'll call you this evening," he told Greg and Violet.

 

By the time Charlie arrived in Forest Park, the coroner had already departed with Brecht's body.  Jenny and three policemen searched for clues along the sidewalk that bordered the small lake.

"His body was in about three feet of water right at the edge here," Jenny told Charlie, pointing at the spot.  "His wallet was missing, and he wasn't wearing either a wedding ring or a watch."

"Tom Adams has gone to get a snorkel and wetsuit so that he can search underwater," Jenny said. "This lake is shallow, but that water is mighty cold."

"I 'm glad that I won't be the one snorkeling in the cold water," Charlie said with a wry grin and then added more somberly, "We'll need to ask Dr. Brecht's wife whether he would have been wearing a watch or a wedding ring.  I'd assume that he carried a wallet."

"Two patrolmen have gone to inform Mrs. Brecht about her husband's death," Jenny said.  "Before we talk to her, we have the appointment to meet with the two professors with whom Dr. Brecht was supposed to play golf yesterday."

"I see that Brecht's car is gone," Charlie said as they walked up the hill toward their own cars.

"Yes, and even though we had his car keys, we needed to have the car towed away because the transmission is malfunctioning," Jenny said.

"That explains why he stopped on this roadway.  Car trouble cost him his life.  Is there any chance that the transmission was sabotaged back at the university on Tuesday morning so that the car would stall before Brecht got to the golf course?"

"There's no apparent sabotage, but a mechanic will give the car a thorough inspection."

Jenny and Charlie drove to Fontbonne University.  They walked across an attractively-landscaped campus and entered the building where the faculty lounge was located.  Robert Brenner and Henry Drake were waiting for them inside the lounge.

Drake, a thin man about fifty years old, was dressed in a suit and tie.  Brenner, who appeared to be in his early forties, was casually dressed in a turtleneck shirt.

After introductions had been completed, the detectives informed the professors about the fate of Eric Brecht.  Both professors expressed shock at the news.

"Was robbery the motive?" Drake asked.

"It appears that he might have been robbed," Charlie said. "However, there are some unusual aspects to this case."

"Such as?" Brenner asked.

"It's somewhat unusual for a robber to shoot a victim who does not resist," Charlie said.  "It's even more unusual for a robber to dump his victim's body into a lake."

"You knew the man," Jenny said to the professors.  "Would he have resisted an armed robber?"

"I'd be surprised that Eric would be so foolish, but he never allowed anyone to take advantage of him," Henry Drake said. "Eric was an assertive man.  If he saw a chance of overpowering the robber, he might have taken that chance."

"Anyone can make a bad decision on the spur-of-the-moment," Brenner agreed.

"Did Dr. Brecht have any enemies?" Charlie asked.

"Heavens, no!" Drake exclaimed.  "Like me, he was just a middle-aged scholar.  I'm sure that he occasionally gave a student a failing grade, but I can't imagine an enraged student tracking him down and killing him."

"Dr. Brecht was the head of the anthropology department," Jenny said.  "How did he get along with the other professors?"

"As far as I know, Eric got along well with everyone," Robert Brenner said.  "Eric would have been a good politician; he knew how to win support for his viewpoints and how to build coalitions."

"You're one of the more recent additions to the faculty, aren't you, Dr. Brenner?" Charlie inquired.

"Yes.  I met Eric at a national meeting two years ago.  At that time I was an instructor at Ohio State.  Last year, when an anthropology professor retired at this university, Eric called me and offered me an associate professorship.  So here I am."

"Dr. Drake, I know that you've given this college many years of fine service," Charlie said, turning his attention toward the other professor.  "I understand that you and Dr. Brecht wrote many articles together.  This must be an especially difficult day for you.  Did you and Dr. Brecht play golf often?"

"No, not often.  We'd played golf together three or four times.  Eric, Bob, and Tony Fitzgerald would play every Tuesday afternoon.  Tony has the flu this week, so Eric asked me to be a substitute player."

"Does Tony Fitzgerald teach here at this university?" Charlie asked, writing on his notepad.

"Yes.  He's in our department."

"How long has he been at the college?" Jenny asked.

"About four years," Drake said.

"How long have you taught here, Dr. Drake?"

"Twenty-six years.  I earned my doctorate here and joined the faculty immediately afterwards."

"I see."  Jenny paused to look at her notes.  "In all likelihood, Dr.  Brecht was killed by a stranger who robbed him, but we need to explore all the possibilities.  Did Dr. Brecht have a happy marriage?"

"As far as I know, his marriage was fine," Drake said.

"Yes, Eric and Lenora had a happy marriage," Brenner agreed.  "I often had dinner at their house, and I never saw them argue."

"Do the Brechts keep any guns in the house?" Charlie asked.

"I don't know," Drake said.

"Neither do I," Brenner said.  "They never mentioned owning a gun."

"Did Professor Tony Fitzgerald ever have any disagreements with Dr.  Brecht?" Jenny asked.

"No," Brenner said.  "They were good friends."

"Does Professor Fitzgerald own a gun?" Charlie inquired.

Neither man knew.

"Do either of you gentlemen own a gun?" Jenny asked.

"I have a shotgun in a closet at home," Brenner said.  "I went hunting a few times in Ohio, but I haven't done any hunting since I came here."

"I don't own a gun, but I'm thinking about purchasing one," Drake said.  "The crime in this city is constantly increasing, and now Eric has been murdered.  Forest Park used to be a safe place to visit."

"That's all the questions that I have for now," Jenny said.  "Do you have any other questions, Charlie?"

"No, not today," he said, walking toward the door with Jenny.  "Dr.  Drake and Dr. Brenner, I'd like to thank you both for your time.  Your answers have been quite helpful."

The professors said good-bye, and the detectives went outside.

"I'm going to go see Mrs. Brecht," Jenny said.  "Do you want to come with me?"

"No, thanks.  Our chat with those professors has given me an idea that I want to pursue.  I'll call you this evening, Jenny."

"Okay.  Talk to you later."

Charlie went into the administration building where he had a short conversation with the university's president.  He then walked around to various offices where he spoke briefly to secretaries, professors, and administrators.  At five o'clock he departed from the campus, confident that he was on the correct trail.

That evening Charlie warmed up a frozen macaroni-and-cheesedinner, which he ate while watching a game show on television.  At eight o'clock he called Jenny.

"Howdy, partner.  Did our intrepid underwater explorer complete his mission?" Charlie asked.

"Yes," Jenny said.  "Tom searched the lake for a half-hour before he got too cold and had to quit.  He put his time underwater to good use, though.  About twenty yards from shore Tom found a .22 caliber handgun; it's almost certainly the murder weapon."

"Bingo!" Charlie declared.  "Our young Jacques Cousteau did well."

"Yeah, he did.  We might be able to get a report from ballistics tomorrow.  Tom didn't find either a watch or a ring.  He did find Dr.  Brecht's wallet, minus the money.  Mrs. Brecht said that her husband always carried at least a hundred dollars in the wallet."

"How'd your visit with Mrs. Brecht go?"

"By the time I got to her house, she had regained her composure," Jenny said.  "I told Mrs. Brecht that my questions could wait for a day or two, but she seemed anxious to talk. She said that the transmission on her husband's car malfunctioned last week.  Dr. Brecht planned to take the car to the shop this week to get the transmission either repaired or replaced.  Mrs. Brecht also said that her husband always wore a gold wedding ring and an expensive watch, so it does appear that the professor was robbed."

"He was robbed all right, but I doubt that robbery was the primary motive for the murder," Charlie said.

"So do I," Jenny agreed.  "However, I don't think that Mrs. Brecht killed her husband or that she hired a hit man to kill him."

"Did you ask her whether Dr. Brecht had any enemies?"

"She said that neither she nor her husband had any enemies."

"They might have had one enemy of whom they were not aware," Charlie said.  They spoke for several more minutes, making plans for the next day.

 

In the morning Jenny and Charlie stopped by three local gunshops.  They showed the gun dealers several photos that they had obtained from the college personnel office.  At their third stop, the gun dealer recognized one of the photos. The two detectives went to the courts downtown and applied for a search warrant, which was promptly granted.  By early afternoon they had all the evidence that they needed to bring the case to a conclusion.

Charlie and Jenny stood at the entrance to the cafeteria in the student activities building.  In a few seconds they spotted Henry Drake seated alone as he finished his lunch. They approached him.

"Dr. Drake, we need to speak with you," Jenny said as she and Charlie sat down at the table.

"Do you have some additional questions for me, detectives?" Drake asked.

"I'm sorry to say that we've come to arrest you for the murder of Eric Brecht.  Now I need to read you your rights." Jenny proceeded to do so.  "Do you understand all these rights?"

"Yes."  Henry Drake looked stunned.  "But this is ridiculous!  I had no reason to kill Eric."

"Dr. Drake, a philosopher once said that the heart has its reasons that reason knows not of," Charlie said.  "You were always a superior scholar to Eric Brecht, yet he gained renown in your field.  You had the knowledge, while he had the political savvy.  Brecht had connections in the publishing field.  In order to get your scholarly articles published, you needed to give Brecht credit as co-author.  To your shock, we won most of the recognition even though he did only a fraction of the writing.  When Brecht was appointment to be the head of the anthropology department at this college, you must have been outraged.  You deserved the honor.

"Brecht went on to secure his power base by hiring professors loyal to him, persons like Robert Brenner and Tony Fitzgerald.  Brecht played golf with them and invited them to his house for dinner.  When Fitzgerald was sick this week, Brecht asked you to substitute.  As you were driving to the Forest Park golf course on Tuesday, you were probably seething mad about being a mere substitute.  You were only asked to play when Brecht's toady got sick.  And you were surely even more furious that Brecht was going to receive an award next month from your professional association.  The thought gnawed at you because you knew that you were the one who deserved that award."

Henry Drake laughed nervously.  "I commend your research, detective.  Much of what you say is true, but I did not kill anyone.  If professional jealousy were sufficient reason for murder, college professors would be murdered every day."

"You didn't plan to murder Brecht," Jenny took up the narrative.  "While you were driving along the roadway leading to the golf course, you spotted Brecht's stalled car.  Brecht probably waved for you to stop.  Then you decided to act upon a murderous impulse.  You could see that no one else was in sight.  There had been an increase in crime in Forest Park, including homicide.  Your fear of crime was why you were carrying a handgun in the glove compartment of your car.  And it was an unregistered gun.  The opportunity was too good to allow it to pass.

"You got out of your car and shot Brecht twice in the chest.  He fell backwards and rolled down the hill toward the lake.  You went down the hill and threw your gun into the lake. Then, knowing that Brecht's body would be found eventually, you stole his watch, wedding ring, and money.  After taking the bills out of the wallet, you threw it into the lake.

"You then dragged Brecht's body a few yards and shoved him into the lake.  The water is murky, so you hoped that he might not be discovered for a while.  With some luck, the lake would freeze and hide his body beneath the ice until early spring. But, unfortunately for you, he was found the day after the murder."

"These wild speculations are without substance," Drake said and glanced at the time on his cell phone.  "I can't indulge you much longer; I have to teach a class in fifteen minutes."

"You'll need to cancel that class, professor," Charlie said.  "We have more than enough evidence to arrest you.  After speaking with many of your acquaintances yesterday, I found out that you lied to us when you said that you didn't own a gun. In fact, you've had a handgun for many years.  In recent months, because of the city's increased crime rate, you began carrying this gun in the glove compartment of your car, and you began to take shooting practice at a pistol range.  When you mentioned these facts to at least two persons, you never imagined that you would one day use that gun to commit a homicide.

"After we found the gun dealer from whom you purchased ammunition, we obtained a search warrant for your apartment. We found Dr. Brecht's watch and his wedding ring hidden in a shoebox in your bedroom closet."

Drake's shoulders slumped.  "Yesterday I had to deny that I owned a gun because I no longer had it and could not explain why I no longer had it.  I suppose that I was foolish to keep Brecht's ring and watch in my apartment, but I didn't expect you to search my apartment.  I planned to pawn his stuff this weekend.  That jerk's watch was worth over three thousand dollars."

"Dr. Drake, you should not say anything else until you've consulted an attorney," Jenny reminded him.

"Oh, it doesn't matter.  I probably would have confessed to the murder eventually.  I hated Brecht, but I'm sorry that I killed him.  How long will I be in prison?"

"If you plead guilty to second-degree murder, you might get out in ten to twelve years," Charlie said.  "This is your first offense, and I assume that you'll get out early for good behavior."

"Prison might not be as bad as you expect, Dr. Drake," Jenny consoled him.  "Every prison has a library, so you'll be able to continue your scholarly pursuits."

Drake managed a slight smile.  "You're both very kind. Allow me to ask one more favor of you.  Several of my students are in the cafeteria at the moment.  I would be grateful if you did not embarrass me by handcuffing me now.  Can you wait until we get outside?"

"We'll wait until we get in the car to put on the handcuffs," Jenny assured him as they stood up and began walking across the cafeteria.

Drake paused by one table.  "Heather, I'm going to need to cancel class this afternoon.  Please tell the students that their assignment is to read the next three chapters in the textbook."

"Okay, Dr. Drake," the young woman said.

The two detectives and their prisoner went out onto the parking lot.

"Thank you for allowing me to leave this campus in a dignified fashion," Drake said as he got into the car.

That evening Charlie and Jenny had dinner together at a seafood restaurant.

"I know that he is a murderer, but I can't help feeling sorry for Dr.  Drake," Jenny said.

"I feel sorry for him, too," Charlie said.  "Perhaps being able to empathize with the criminal makes us better cops."

"You remind me a bit of Father Brown, the little priest who solves crimes in G.K. Chesterton's detective stories."

Charlie smiled.  "That's a nice compliment.  How do I remind you of Father Brown?"

"His methods tend to be intuitive rather than deductive.  Father Brown imagines himself as the murderer and thinks out how a crime could be done.  When he understands the murderer's state of mind and feels like the murderer himself, then he knows who the murderer is."

Charlie nodded.  "He can empathize with the murderer.  We are all sinners wounded by original sin.  Any person is capable of terrible evil or wonderful good.  In fact, I recall a quote from Chesterton that I always liked: 'The sane man knows that he has a touch of the beast, a touch of the devil, a touch of the saint ... Nay, the really sane man knows that he has a touch of the madman.'"

"Charlie Valentine -- cowboy philosopher," Jenny said, glancing at his Stetson hat.

"You've got that right.  I'm glad that you introduced me to Chesterton's writings.  He has some truly profound insights.  Another quotation that I like is 'Not only are we all in the same boat, but we are all seasick.'"

Jenny laughed and threw one of her shrimp at Charlie.

 

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