Chapter 24

  

I knew I would have to call the university president, Philip Lewis, even though he was ill and probably in bed. He would call the head of campus security, the provost, the university attorney, and heaven knows who else, and they would all likely converge on the school.

Joe arrived five minutes before the others after taking George’s wife to the hospital to be with her husband.

“How is she? Hysterical?” I asked.

“Not at all. In fact, remarkably calm for a woman whose husband has just been shot in the chest.”

“I should call her.”

“I told her we’d go to the hospital later tonight after you met with the administration.” Joe put his arms around me and held me silently for a moment. “Remember, you’re strong, Red. You’ll get through this mess too.”

Noise in the outer hallway sent me to the door and Joe into Nell’s office to make phone calls.

We gathered around the table in my office. Philip Lewis looked awful. Pale and shaky, he had gone from thin to skeletal. His disease was wasting him. I felt so sorry to drag him out. He reached out a thin hand and put it over mine. “Well, my dear, I guess our troubles continue after all.”

I put my hand over his. “President Lewis, I can’t tell you how sorry I am this happened. I have been trying so hard to keep the old quarrel between Coleman and Weinstein tamped down. I’m afraid I have failed you, the school, and the university.”

Philip Lewis gave my hand a squeeze. “Red, you can’t take responsibility for this. It’s not your fault at all. You’ve made great progress pulling this faculty together. But sometimes the animus between individuals erupts into violence, no matter how hard we try to prevent it. It’s not the first time for this campus, and, I regret to say, probably not the last.” He withdrew his hand from mine to cover his mouth as a wracking cough shook his frail shoulders.

The university attorney took out a notebook. “We will probably see national media coverage on this. I should prepare a statement.”

The provost sat silent, hands folded on the table. I could hardly look at him.

This would be the last straw. There would be no doubt in his mind I was unqualified to lead, to manage the problems of a group of faculty, to prevent scandal and protect my school. After this, there was no way he would give me the chance to be dean of journalism.

The chief of campus security turned to me. “Please tell us what you know from the beginning.”

When I finished with the details of what I knew, Ezra McCready spoke. “Dr. Solaris, you say that Coleman went to Weinstein’s house and then returned here when Weinstein’s wife said her husband was not at home.”

“Yes. That’s what he told me, and my assistant had told me earlier that Larry had gone to George’s.”

McCready stretched his arms and massaged his hands. “And then Coleman told you that Weinstein had come to his office, grabbed him by the arms and dragged him downstairs and out to the parking lot?”

“That’s what Larry said.”

Without looking up from his notes, the attorney said, “And you saw Weinstein strike Coleman and knock him to the ground?”

“Twice.”

McCready flashed a look of irritation at the attorney. “Please don’t interrupt.” Then back to me: “Dr. Solaris, did Coleman tell you how he got hold of the gun before being dragged outside?”

The security chief’s chin lifted. “Good question, Dr. McCready. How did Coleman have time to get the gun?”

I shook my head.

McCready looked at me, his eyes dark, steady, and unreadable. “Perhaps Coleman had the gun with him the entire time.”

“Took it with him to Weinstein’s house and then kept it on him,” said the chief.

McCready looked steadily at the chief. “There’s really no way for any of us to know that, chief. And we shouldn’t speculate.” He turned to me. “You’ve had a rough time with these two, haven’t you?” The look in his eyes was borderline sympathetic. “The president’s right. You have no reason to apologize, Dean Solaris. This was a deplorable incident, but the fault lies entirely with Weinstein and Coleman.”

I felt a twinge of gratitude to finally get McCready’s support, quickly followed by a pain in my stomach. If Larry had the gun the whole time, perhaps he’d intended to kill George when he went to the Weinstein’s house. If George died, Larry would be charged with premeditated murder.

Philip Lewis had recovered his breath. “The detective we saw in the outer office. Is he on the case?”

I nodded. Joe was always on the case when it came to my university. He was chief of detectives, and Mountain West was the biggest institution in Landry.

As if summoned by the mention of his presence, Joe knocked on the door and came in. “Sorry to interrupt, but I just spoke to the doctor at the hospital. George Weinstein is alive but critical. He’s been taken into surgery.”

  

Jamie

  

She smelled the liquor before she sensed him standing behind her. His hands slammed down on her shoulders. Jamie was frozen in place, still facing the hole in the plaster wall.

“Put the skillet down very carefully,” he said, his voice almost a whisper in her ear, the smell of liquor close to her face. “You have been a very disobedient girl, Jamie Congers.” His hands still on her shoulders, he turned her around and led her out of the closet. Then he grabbed the back of her neck and pushed her back upstairs. He opened her bedroom door and continued pushing her through the door of her bedroom. His hand was tight and painful around her neck. Jamie was sure he meant to hurt her. He shoved her hard. She fell across the middle of the bed on her stomach, arms outstretched, legs hanging over the edge. She closed her eyes listening to his labored breathing.

Several minutes passed. Then she heard the scuff of his shoes on her floor, the closing of her door, the click of the dead bolt being locked.

Silence.

Then she heard the thud of his steps going down the hall to his room.

Minutes later, she emerged from a daze of relief to the rhythmic banging of a hammer pounding nails into wood, the sound muted but coming from the empty room downstairs.