Foster pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, mumbling, “Oh my God. This is unbelievable.”
“It’s routine procedure, Professor,” Taylor assured him. “We have to examine every possibility, even the far-fetched variety.”
“Ken Sato,” Foster said, looking through a file on his desk. Too nervous and flustered, he sat back again. “Ken is already on staff here. A very dedicated, innovative teacher. Dynamic. Popular with the students. Then we have a candidate currently teaching at the University of California–Los Angeles. Hanh Luu. Our interviews with her have been via Skype up to this point. She’s flying in this Friday.”
“And the fourth one?” Taylor asked, glancing up from his note taking. “You said there were four finalists. Chamberlain, Sato, Luu, and . . .”
“There were four. This is just all the more tragic . . .” He shook his head in disbelief. “Stuart Kaufman. Professor of East Asian art history. He passed away suddenly about two weeks ago. We’re all still reeling from his loss.”
“Passed away of what?” Kovac asked, on point.
“Pancreatitis and kidney failure. It was terrible. He went home with the stomach flu one day, and the next day he was dead. We were all so shocked.”
“Had he been ill prior to that?” Taylor asked.
“He had been hospitalized for pancreatitis once before several years ago. I understand once you’ve had it, you’re susceptible to it.”
“Was there an autopsy?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. He died of natural causes.”
Kovac just stared at him.
Foster blinked and looked away. “I can’t believe any of this is happening.”
“These three professors—Chamberlain, Sato, and Kaufman—how did they get along with each other?”
“They were professional acquaintances. Lucien and Ken Sato, being in the same department, had their differences, but they went to all the same functions and never tried to kill one another. That’s just absurd even to consider. Stuart ran with the Art History crowd. He didn’t have that much to do with either Lucien or Ken.”
“How long have the three of them worked here?”
“Stuart had been on the faculty for twenty-five years. Lucien came here from Macalester College in 2001. Ken has been with us only the last five years—”
“And he was being considered for head of this new department?” Taylor asked.
“He came to us highly recommended by one of our retired professors, Hiroshi Ito, whose brother had Ken as a student in the graduate program at the University of Washington. At thirty-eight, he’s already published two well-received books on Japanese history. Like I said, Ken is a very dynamic individual. He’s the face of the future for the department.”
“What did Lucien Chamberlain think of that idea?”
Foster’s mouth turned like he’d tasted something sour. “Lucien was predictably not happy about that. He felt Ken was jumping the food chain. But it wasn’t his decision to make. Hiroshi Ito is on the committee, so of course Ken would be considered for the position.”
“What was Professor Chamberlain like?” Kovac asked. “Was he a nice guy? Did he get along with his co-workers?”
“Lucien . . . was a very intelligent man,” Foster said, obviously choosing his words with the care of a man walking across a minefield. “Very professional.”
“You don’t have to be diplomatic with us,” Kovac said. “I’m sure you don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but we’re not the media. We’re investigating a double homicide here. Let’s call a spade a spade. If he was a pompous ass, then we need to know that.”
“He could be difficult,” Foster admitted. “He held his students and his peers to a high standard, and tended to put himself on a pedestal.”
“Did he have any enemies in particular?”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to call anyone an enemy.”
“But people didn’t like him.”
“He isn’t the kind of man who has friends. He has—had colleagues, rivals. He was a bit of a narcissist.”
“That’s like being a little pregnant,” Kovac said. “What you’re saying is people didn’t like the guy, and not without reason.”
Foster sighed. “This is so uncomfortable. Egos are a common commodity in the academic world, Detective. Lucien’s was bigger than some and smaller than others. We’re educators, not thugs.”
“And yet we have a dead professor.”
“I thought it was a burglary,” Foster said. “That’s what they were saying on the news: that Lucien and Sondra probably interrupted a burglar.”
“That very well might be,” Kovac said. “There appeared to be things missing from the house, including pieces from the professor’s collection. Do you know of anyone who can help us understand the significance of what we’re looking for?”
“Lucien’s collection is impressive.”
“You’ve seen it?”