Medieval Murders by Aaron Stander

“Today was a hard day. I’m trying to figure it all out.”
    “Any conclusions?” asked Ray.
    “No, more questions than answers. I’m tired of thinking about it. I need to talk about something else and let it rest a while.” He pushed his feet out and slid down his chair. He surveyed the scene in silence for a long moment, then sipped his drink and looked over at Ray. “It’s very pleasant up here, isn’t it, the nicest place in town. The only bit of terrain in the whole region.” They sat in silence for a while, then Chesterton said, “You know, we’ve been neighbors for a good while. Our women were the best of friends. I think their schedules were more open. They spent time together during the day when we were off doing other things. We’ve never really gotten to know one another. I was thinking about that after our talk at the hospital, that we have never talked much other than the mostly empty chatter at social gatherings.” He finished his drink and set the tumbler on the table. “Ready for another?”
    “I haven’t finished this one,” said Ray.
    “Let me top it up for you,” responded Chesterton as he mixed a drink for himself. “How did you end up here, out on this vast prairie?”
    “Like most people,” answered Ray. “I completed my graduate degree, and there was a job here. I initially thought I would move on after a few years.”
    “Didn’t we all,” laughed Chesterton. “What were you doing before that?”
    “The short history. I was in graduate school, before that I was a cop in Detroit for a few years. It was interesting work, but I couldn’t imagine spending my life there. And before that the army. I was inthe military police, mostly in Europe. How about you?”
    “Not quite ditto, the particulars differ, but a variation on the same story. I was finishing graduate school in Chicago. I had been sort of a wunderkind, three articles in the Shakespeare Quarterly before I even finished my dissertation. I thought I was on my way to a major school. My dissertation became a well-reviewed book. I was here by then. But I thought some large school would pick me up. Even then, the market in English was lousy, but I was sure I would get recruited to a pretty good place.”
    “But how did you end up here in the first place,” asked Ray.
    “Well, my dissertation advisor was a friend of Keith Beckner, who chaired this department back then. Keith was extremely entrepreneurial. He really knew how to work foundations: Ford, Carnegie, Rockefeller. I think I mentioned this earlier today when we were at the hospital. Beckner had this dream about making this university the preeminent center for the study of English literature in America. Don’t ask me where that came from. But he had sold his dream to the grant officers from several major foundations and the university administration. The department was awash in cash. So my chair, looking around at the bleak job market for new PhDs, counseled me to come here. He thought it was an up-and-coming department, and that I could use it as a stepping-stone to my next job. And once I got here, Beckner mentored me like crazy. I got tenure and promotion quickly and became the associate chair within a few years. When he moved on to Provost, he paved the way for me to follow him as chair.
    “How about the Center for the Study of….”
    “It didn’t succeed. We built it, and they didn’t come. We were never able to attract the large number of graduate students that he anticipated. The money and the enthusiasm quickly went away.” Chesterton tossed the ice cubes from his now empty glass onto the lawn and retrieved several fresh ones from the cooler. He poured more whiskey into the glass and added a bit of soda, stirring the mixture with his index finger. He looked over at Ray. “Are you ready for another?”
    “I shouldn’t. I’m already feeling smashed.”
    “Then you should have another,” said Chesterton. He refilled Ray’s glass and pushed it