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him in the picture. Roger returned to the viewing room and walked slowly up to the casket and stared at Fred with far different emotions than he had prayed for him earlier. He had been poisoned. When the report was given to him, Jimmy Stewart had gone to Fred’s apartment, which was untouched although of course it had not yet been declared a crime scene. The Nevilles had postponed visiting their son’s apartment until after the funeral, before they planned to return to Phoenix. There was no one else to clean up the place. Jimmy Stewart had taken the coffee mug from the table beside the bed downtown to the lab. In it were traces of the poison that had sent Fred into the next world. A dreadful thought had occurred to Roger. Had Fred administered the poison to himself?
    â€œThere wasn’t a note?” Roger asked.
    â€œI didn’t really look. The apartment is sealed now of course and we will be going over it thoroughly.”
    Nothing Roger knew of Fred suggested that he would kill himself but the events of the evening had made Roger wonder how well he knew his friend. He had been revealed to have a fiancée, whom he had never mentioned, Mary Shuster had appointed herself principal mourner, and there were indications that there had indeed been something between her and Fred. How little we know others, even those to whom we are close. He and Fred had spent so many happy hours talking, and he had sensed that Fred could be open with him about his non-athletic interests; there was an implicit confidentiality clause in all their conversations. It seemed impossible that Fred would not at least have hinted at his feelings, whatever they had been, for Mary. Griselda had certainly no doubt what they were; she was sure Fred and Mary had been in love.
    But Roger thought of the evening when Fred had come to the apartment after dining with Griselda, to enlist Roger in the campaign to prevent her from leaving the basketball team, and Mary and her mother were there. There was little indication the two had even known one another. Indeed, Mary had all but snubbed Fred. Jealousy? The vast mystery of every human person struck Roger forcibly, as it often had before. What we say and do reveals who we are, up to a point, but one is a mystery to himself so how can we expect to penetrate the soul of another? The investigation that was about to begin would uncover many facts hitherto unknown—investigations always did—but they would only deepen the mystery, not dissolve it.
    When he and Phil returned to their apartment, they sat up late discussing this surprising turn of events.
    â€œHe give you any clue he might do this, Roger?”
    â€œDoes Jimmy Stewart think it was suicide?”
    â€œWhy would anyone else kill him?”
    â€œWhy would he kill himself, Phil?”
    Phil assumed his professional persona. “Whether or not he did has to be established before we ask why.”
    It was nearly eleven when Father Carmody showed up unannounced. They had acknowledged one another at the funeral home but that was all. Now it was clear that Father Carmody had learned how Fred had died.
    â€œYou have to be our liaison with the police, Phil. We can’t have a scandal.”
    â€œJimmy Stewart is the investigating officer.”
    â€œIs that good?”
    â€œVery good.”
    Father Carmody looked relieved. The old priest was the unofficial custodian of the university’s reputation, a man whose whole life had been lived here. He had come to Notre Dame as a teenager, when there was a preparatory seminary on campus, and lived his whole life at the university. So many things that had been personal experiences of Father Carmody were matters of history to others. He had been instrumental in Roger’s being appointed the Huneker Professor of Catholic Studies, making him a free variable on campus, able to cross-list the courses he chose to give in several departments.
    â€œYou two knew him, didn’t