Chapter 23

  

Walking back from the policy committee meeting, my thoughts returned to Jamie and I wondered if Shelby Vane could be involved. He matched the description of the man who’d gone into Jamie’s apartment.

He’d asked to be on the committee even though the topic would inevitably be painful for him. But the attorney said his brother had been ruined, devastating the family. Would it be possible for him to kidnap a female student after what happened to his brother? What would’ve been his motive?

I stopped on the path, realizing I was short of breath. Dr. Shelby Vane might be the least likely suspect. But then I remembered how I had been fooled before. After last year, someone I trusted, a person I would never have suspected of harming another human being, was now in prison.

Perhaps, after all, I should suspect a big man in boots and I should definitely talk to Joe about Shelby.

  

It was dark by the time I reached the journalism school. I was about to enter the building when I heard a shout from the direction of the parking lot behind the school.

“Damn you, George. Goddamn you.”

I rushed around to the back of the building and arrived in time to see two figures illuminated by the parking lot lights. The men were fighting, fists flailing, shouting at the top of their lungs.

“You miserable piece of shit. How dare you come to my house and bother my wife.’’ The larger man landed a punch on the shorter man’s face. The short man hit the ground, but bounded back up again and plunged head first into the larger man’s stomach. George and Larry. Oh, no.

George pushed Larry hard, and again, the smaller man hit the ground. George stepped back and shouted, “Don’t you ever come to my home and talk to my wife again, Coleman. I’ll put you in the hospital next time.”

Larry got to his feet unsteadily. “You destroyed my chances with the conference, you bastard. You knew how important it was to me and you wrecked it. For no reason except to make my life miserable. You’re a sadist, Weinstein, a fucking sadist. That’s what I said to your wife, and she didn’t seem to be a bit surprised.”

I started toward the two men, hoping to intervene. But George came at Larry again, fist raised. I heard the crack of bone against bone.

Larry Coleman lay on the ground, his ear bleeding, his chest heaving.

George glanced in my direction, then wiped spit from his chin. “You had no business saying any such thing to my wife. You’re done, Coleman. I don’t care what Red says, you’re done. I’m going to see you leave this university even if you have to go out feet first.” George turned on his heel and headed for his car.

Larry Coleman tried to get up but only made it to his knees. I hurried toward him to help. Larry swayed and struggled to get something from his pocket. A flash of metal and I saw the gun illuminated by the overhead lights. George Weinstein had reached his car a few feet away and opened the car door.

“Weinstein!” Larry came up on one knee and shouted as he raised his hand. George turned toward us. The sound of the gunshot deadened my hearing. We all froze in place. George’s eyes grew wide as a small bloodstain slowly formed under his collar. His fingers gripped the top of his car door, then slowly uncurled and let go. His massive body slid to the ground.

I reached Larry and grabbed his arm. He lowered the gun but did not drop it. “Jesus, Larry, what are you doing?”

“He tried to ruin my career too many times. He’s threatened me once too often. This time was the last straw.” Larry spoke to the asphalt without looking at me.

I hurried to George who was seated on the ground against the driver’s seat of his car, his head back, his hand over the hole in his chest. “George. I’m calling an ambulance. Stay still.”

But George didn’t respond, and as I dialed 911 on my cell phone, I realized he was losing consciousness.

Larry came up behind me. “Is he dead?”

I turned. Larry was white as paper and trembling, blood streaming from the side of his face where George’s last blow had landed. He still held the gun in his hand. “I don’t know. Why did you do this?”

Larry’s breathing was fast and shallow. “I went to his house to make him take back what he did. Get my paper reinstated in the conference. To make him promise to leave me alone. His wife said he wasn’t there. I went crazy. I screamed at her about George. She shut the door on me so I came back here to the school.” For the first time Larry looked directly at me. “To see you, Red. But you weren’t here either.”

“What happened?”

“That son of a bitch came to my office. He went behind my desk and grabbed my arms and pulled me over my desk and through the door. I shouted for help but he dragged me down the stairs and out here. He punched me in the stomach, then again in the face. He said he was going to teach me a lesson.” Larry started to hyperventilate, then stopped, licked his lips and looked down at George who was now lying on his side. Larry gasped. “Hah! Looks like I’m the one who taught him a lesson.”

The sound of sirens caught his attention. “Red, you have to help me out on this. You of all people know what a bad guy Weinstein is. How he bullies and bullies, how he destroys.” Larry’s face was covered in sweat. He grabbed my arm. “Red. You gotta help me on this. Weinstein deserved it. He was going to beat me to death.”

He put the gun back in his jacket pocket and put his face in his hands, sobbing.

An ambulance pulled into the parking lot followed by a police car. The paramedics raced to George, who had toppled over and lay on his side.

“Is he alive?” I asked the medic nearest me.

“Barely,” said the man, working quickly over George’s body.

Another police car pulled into the lot. I saw Joe running toward me. An officer ahead of him wrenched the gun from Larry’s pocket and threw his hands behind his back. Then Joe’s hands were on my shoulders, his eyes searching me. “Are you all right? What in Christ’s name happened?” Then he released me and stepped back. “Did you get hurt?” His voice was low thunder.

“I’m fine, Joe. I’m not hurt. But I saw it. I got here just before Coleman fired the gun.”

“Tell him, Red,” Larry screamed as two police officers pulled him away and handcuffed him. “Tell them what a bastard Weinstein was and how he hit me first. Tell them about the threats he made. It was self-defense. You saw it. Tell them.”

Joe’s hand went into his pocket for his notebook. “Did you see it well enough to know if it was self-defense?”

I shook my head. “I’m not sure. They were fighting. George did hit Larry and knock him down. But...” I had to stop and catch my breath. Joe put one hand on my shoulder to steady me. I watched as Larry was put into the back of the first patrol car. Then the paramedics lifted George, put him on a gurney and wheeled him to the ambulance. “But George was walking away when Larry called out to him and fired the gun.”

“So you can’t say it was self-defense?”

“More like retaliation.”

Joe looked at the ambulance as the paramedics lifted George’s body up. We both watched the ambulance pull out of the parking lot, sirens whooping.

Joe moved closer. “You have always worried about those two, haven’t you? You said you were afraid something God-awful was going to happen.”

“And now it has.”

  

Jamie

  

Jamie was almost asleep when she heard the door at the other end of the hall close. Then his steps in the hallway and down the stairs. She got up and went to the window. She couldn’t see his car but she heard the engine start. For the first time, he’d left the house at night.

She dressed quickly and waited for what felt like an hour. When she didn’t hear the sound of his car on the gravel driveway, she crept downstairs and turned on the light in the front hallway. The front door was padlocked but the door to the empty room was still unlocked.

She grabbed the skillet, the spoon and a large flashlight and hurried to the closet. The ironing board was still in place concealing the hole in the wall. She pulled it away and braced it against the opposite wall and went to work on the hole in the plaster. It was almost large enough for her to squeeze through. The flashlight revealed the studs and bricks beyond. The uprights were close together but she thought she could squeeze through. She struck the brick with the skillet. It didn’t budge. She hit again and again, the clang of the skillet ringing in her ears with each strike. She stopped to rest her arm and catch her breath. She had been working for a long time. She ducked out of the closet to see if it was still nighttime. It was dark as pitch outside, so back she went to her work.

After what felt like an eternity she kneeled on the floor and scanned the brick wall with her flashlight. She found three bricks that had loosened enough to push out. She inhaled the fresh night air coming in through the hole. She was exhausted but worried if she stopped he would find the bricks on the grass outside and discover her escape plan. She bowed her head. Please, God, give me the strength to keep going. I have to get out of here. Her arms ached but she stood and lifted the skillet. It felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds. She struck the wall again. And again. And again. Tears streamed down her face. Two other bricks flew out. She struck again.