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guess?”
    Billy narrowed his eyes and said nothing.

Chapter 6
    Karl parked the cruiser in front of the Sheriff’s Department and waited for Ike to get out. “How about mistaken identity?” he asked.
    “What?”
    “Suppose the real victim was the guy who switched places with Grotz? If we track down that man, we may get a lead.”
    “It’s a possibility, I guess. Of course, the killer would have to know he was registered at Mrs. Antonelli’s. That’s a lot of information for one person to know. Who would?”
    “Mrs. Antonelli and anyone with access to her books.”
    “Yes, and that would rule her out as well because she would know about the change—the killer wouldn’t. We need to find out how she tracked her guests. If they were in a computer, for example, then they’d be available to anyone who could access it and the change might not show. But there is a more important question we need to answer first.”
    “What’s that?”
    Ike slid out of the door, stood and stretched. He bent over and peered back into the car. “ Cui bono? ”
    “Kwee what?”
    “Latin. Cui bono —who benefits? In books, mystery stories, the fascination for readers lies in the locked room. They rarely ask why in the world the corpse is in a locked room in the first place. But we should. What is the point of a locked room killing? Who benefits from all that manipulation? If you were going to kill Grotz or the other man, wouldn’t you just slip in and pop him? Why go to all the trouble to set up the locked room business?”
    “Kooey bono. Right, I got it. Okay, my first thought is, the killer benefits.”
    “Of course he does, but how? That’s the question. In what way does he benefit? If we knew the answer to that, we’d be at least halfway home.”
    “Well, suppose the motive to kill him was obvious or easy to figure out, wouldn’t that finger the perp right away? And then he’d be an easy arrest. But before we could bust him we’d have to be able to prove he did it and—”
    “He or she. We don’t know it was a he.”
    “Whatever. Even if we were positive we had him or her—if we can’t put him in the room—we have nothing. No matter how carefully we construct the case, it’s circumstantial. Unless we can show how it got done, he…she walks.”
    Ike straightened up. “So, that would mean that the killer believes he could be fingered and needs to set up the situation so that he can’t be convicted because we can’t prove he did it, even if we’re sure.”
    “Short of a confession, that’s right. Clever isn’t it.”
    “Yes, and then again,” Ike stared off in space for a moment, “it might involve something else entirely.”
    “Like what?”
    Ike shook his head. “I need to talk to Leon Weitz.”
    “Who’s he?”
    “Local historian.”
    ***
    “Is she in?”
    Agnes Ewalt took her duties as the personal secretary to the President of Callend College seriously. She looked up, started a smile, but seeing Ike in the doorway, let it fade.
    “I’ll see,” she mumbled, and pushed a button on the desk phone that served as an intercom. “Dr. Harris, there’s a man here to see you.”
    Ike could barely make out her reply.
    “Sorry, she’s busy right now. Perhaps you could come back later or make an appointment.”
    Agnes had never really taken to Ike and over the eleven months they had known each other, their relationship had worsened, just as the relationship between Ike and Ruth had bloomed. He never understood why. Today it seemed she had ramped up the enmity ten-fold. He sighed and strode across the room and pushed into Ruth’s office. Agnes started to protest and then looked away.
    “Hi there, Sheriff. What can I do for you? Make it quick, I have a meeting in a few minutes and there’s someone out there who wants to see me.”
    “Agnes said a man.”
    “Yes. I asked her to have him come back later.”
    “I’m the man.”
    “You? Why didn’t she…? Oh dear. I’m sorry Ike, she has a bee in