the way he wanted to see himself. Still I decided to be blunt.
“Did you ever break into Monaghan’s office and go through his files?”
His hand which was reaching for his coffee mug froze in mid-air. But I could still see his eyes and his face, and they had not altered as a result of my question. He sipped at his coffee. He stared at me, but there was still a trace of a smile. “Well, we’re really getting down and dirty now, aren’t we! No,” he sighed,” I never did anything remotely like that.” I did not want to look at Stella but I could sense that she had tensed. I wondered why. “I never broke into Monaghan’s office,” he added categorically, “and the CIA never asked me to. As I’ve told you, I was never a full-time CIA employee. And I never received any special training. I just kept a watchful eye out, and filed reports upon request.”
“I have reason to believe someone broke into Monaghan’s office just prior to his murder.”
For a moment, an odd silence seemed to permeate the living room. For the first time I became aware of traffic outside. Finally Symansky just shrugged as if he were at a loss about what to say.
“Were you in the building that day?” I asked.
“Yes. But not in the evening. If I remember correctly, it was late in the evening when Monaghan was killed.”
I smiled. “In other words you have an iron-clad alibi covering that time period.”
He returned the smile. But he no longer looked quite as comfortable as he had when Gina and I had first arrived. “Fortunately, yes. I did have one. Not that anyone asked me of course. I was at a lecture downtown at McGill University. A heated discussion period followed which lasted quite late. I went out for coffee with the guest speaker and some other colleagues from McGill.”
“Was Stella with you?” Gina asked. The question startled Steve Symansky. It was as if he had forgotten Gina’s presence in the room. Or Stella’s for that matter. He shifted in his chair slightly in order to answer Gina directly. “No. She wasn’t.” He acknowledged. “If I remember correctly she was at home nursing a cold. Why do you ask?”
I was afraid that Gina was about to reveal not only what we knew about Stella’s relationship to the FBI, but that Stella might well have been better trained to go through Monaghan’s files than her husband. But Gina surprised me by suddenly producing an innocent, open-faced, smile that I had never seen before. “Well, after all, she’s your wife.” She observed. “I’m sure you shared information. And she did have an office in the same building as you and Professor Monaghan.” She turned to Stella. I watched Gina’s expression and tone suddenly shift gears, acquiring a kind of woman-to-woman intimacy I had not seen or heard from her before. “I was wondering whether you heard or saw anything unusual the day that Monaghan was killed? Something which might help to explain what happened.”
Stella responded in kind. “No. I’m afraid not.” She said softly, “I wish I could be more helpful.” She gave Gina a smile that, under different circumstances, one might have described as surprisingly demure for someone of her age and training. But there was no mistaking the carefully controlled discipline of her eyes which no amount of practice in genteel Burlington society could camouflage. “I was at home with a serious bout of the flu. I had, in fact, canceled my only class. I wasn’t in the building that day at all. Not that it would have made much difference. My office was on the main floor far away from the engineering department. And I would have had no reason to be in that area at all. Nor Steve for that matter.”
“And so the mystery remains,” Gina said with a defeated sigh. “Since my father didn’t murder Monaghan, who did? And why? I’m surprised that no one we’ve talked to so far has even the hint of a suggestion to offer. I’m sure that the two of you must have discussed it.
“Did you ever break into Monaghan’s office and go through his files?”
His hand which was reaching for his coffee mug froze in mid-air. But I could still see his eyes and his face, and they had not altered as a result of my question. He sipped at his coffee. He stared at me, but there was still a trace of a smile. “Well, we’re really getting down and dirty now, aren’t we! No,” he sighed,” I never did anything remotely like that.” I did not want to look at Stella but I could sense that she had tensed. I wondered why. “I never broke into Monaghan’s office,” he added categorically, “and the CIA never asked me to. As I’ve told you, I was never a full-time CIA employee. And I never received any special training. I just kept a watchful eye out, and filed reports upon request.”
“I have reason to believe someone broke into Monaghan’s office just prior to his murder.”
For a moment, an odd silence seemed to permeate the living room. For the first time I became aware of traffic outside. Finally Symansky just shrugged as if he were at a loss about what to say.
“Were you in the building that day?” I asked.
“Yes. But not in the evening. If I remember correctly, it was late in the evening when Monaghan was killed.”
I smiled. “In other words you have an iron-clad alibi covering that time period.”
He returned the smile. But he no longer looked quite as comfortable as he had when Gina and I had first arrived. “Fortunately, yes. I did have one. Not that anyone asked me of course. I was at a lecture downtown at McGill University. A heated discussion period followed which lasted quite late. I went out for coffee with the guest speaker and some other colleagues from McGill.”
“Was Stella with you?” Gina asked. The question startled Steve Symansky. It was as if he had forgotten Gina’s presence in the room. Or Stella’s for that matter. He shifted in his chair slightly in order to answer Gina directly. “No. She wasn’t.” He acknowledged. “If I remember correctly she was at home nursing a cold. Why do you ask?”
I was afraid that Gina was about to reveal not only what we knew about Stella’s relationship to the FBI, but that Stella might well have been better trained to go through Monaghan’s files than her husband. But Gina surprised me by suddenly producing an innocent, open-faced, smile that I had never seen before. “Well, after all, she’s your wife.” She observed. “I’m sure you shared information. And she did have an office in the same building as you and Professor Monaghan.” She turned to Stella. I watched Gina’s expression and tone suddenly shift gears, acquiring a kind of woman-to-woman intimacy I had not seen or heard from her before. “I was wondering whether you heard or saw anything unusual the day that Monaghan was killed? Something which might help to explain what happened.”
Stella responded in kind. “No. I’m afraid not.” She said softly, “I wish I could be more helpful.” She gave Gina a smile that, under different circumstances, one might have described as surprisingly demure for someone of her age and training. But there was no mistaking the carefully controlled discipline of her eyes which no amount of practice in genteel Burlington society could camouflage. “I was at home with a serious bout of the flu. I had, in fact, canceled my only class. I wasn’t in the building that day at all. Not that it would have made much difference. My office was on the main floor far away from the engineering department. And I would have had no reason to be in that area at all. Nor Steve for that matter.”
“And so the mystery remains,” Gina said with a defeated sigh. “Since my father didn’t murder Monaghan, who did? And why? I’m surprised that no one we’ve talked to so far has even the hint of a suggestion to offer. I’m sure that the two of you must have discussed it.
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