John Fulghum, Private Investigator, pored over the latest racing form as he smoked his third Marlboro of the morning. The smoke from his cigarette spiraled up unevenly through the hovering dust motes lit by sunlight streaming through the small window high above the back of his desk. Outside it was going to be a gorgeous spring day with only a slight chance of rain. He thought he might take a drive just to brush the cobwebs off his mind and gain new perspective after one of the most intricate and bewildering cases he and Nigel Pounce had ever solved.
He looked up from his form to focus on the glass jar on the right side of his desk, and his face became set with his ironical smile. A ginseng root, looking like a long-legged miniature human, floated in a red liquid that might have been bright vermillion, or non-oxidized blood. A note had come with the gift - “With Love. Use this in good health. Sue.”
By now, he thought, Kim Su Baek might be the wealthiest woman I have ever known. Yet rather than stay in New England to shepherd her inheritance, she chose to return to Seoul to seek an impoverished poet as a husband. Well, maybe her inheritance was hollow, and her dream was only a cover story for her return to her chosen country to work with the KCIA.
Fulghum dwelled on that thought for a moment as he chain lit another cigarette. His cell phone rang. The caller ID indicated Molly Pounce, wife of Nigel Pounce of Boston Homicide. She often called the detective when her husband was stuck on a hard case and needed friendly assistance. Fulghum did not let her call go to his voicemail.
“Fulghum here. Is that you Molly?”
“John, I’m glad to hear your voice. Do you have a minute?” The worry in her voice was discernible across the line.
“I always have time for you, Molly. What’s on your mind? Are you all right? Is the family all right?”
“Nigel, Joseph, and Colleen are doing fine. I’m doing fine too. I’m calling about my sister Barbara. She may need your help. I want to put her in touch with you.”
“I’m relieved to know everyone’s fine. I don’t recall you ever mentioning your sister. Is she in some kind of trouble?”
“It’s a long story.” Molly sighed. “She’s not personally in trouble. She suspects foul play in something that’s been called a double suicide. Have you read about the killings at St. Paturnus College? They happened a week ago.”
“I recall a faculty member shot his wife with a deer rifle and then lay down beside her and shot himself. How does your sister figure in that?”
“Sister Barbara is on the faculty of the college. She teaches English. She was a very close friend of the woman who was shot. She was also a friend of the husband. Barbara’s convinced he would never have killed his wife or himself. Would you be willing to talk to her about this?”
“Molly, St. Paturnus is staffed almost exclusively by religious. Is your sister a nun?”
“Yes, Sister Barbara is a Visitante.”
“Do you want me to give her a call?”
“No. If you don’t mind, I’ll have her get in touch with you directly. The issues are sensitive, so she’ll probably want to discuss the situation face to face rather than over the phone. I told her you were always busy and your rates were expensive.”
“Molly, don’t worry. Give her my number and have her call me right away. If she wants to have me visit her at the college, let her know I can see her within forty-five minutes. It’s a great day for a drive in the country.”
“Oh, thank you, John. She’ll probably call you right away. I’ll get off now to let her know. Goodbye.” Molly terminated the call.
Fulghum now recalled something Molly had said during dinner at her home about having one brother and one sister in orders and seven siblings who were not. He had remarked on the size of her family, but she reminded him that Catholic families often are large because birth control is forbidden by the Church.
Since he had never met Molly’s sister, Fulghum tried to visualize her by imagining Molly in a nun’s habit with a wimple. It would not work. He thought of Molly as a saintly person but never as a nun. Her daughter Colleen had mentioned wanting to go into orders, but she was now on another track leading eventually to employment with the Central Intelligence Agency. Ironically, that was like being in orders with vows of service and secrecy. He shook his head and went back to his racing form.
Soon enough, he thought, I’ll meet Sister Barbara.
As if the thought was a conjuration, Fulghum heard a timid knock on his office door. “Use the glass knob. Just twist and push!” he said, loud enough to be heard outside.
The door opened, and a thirty-something blonde in a tweed pants suit entered, waving her hand in front of her face and squinting to see through the smoke. Fulghum could see that she was a vision. He did a double take because she was the image of Molly Pounce.
He sprang from his chair and asked her, “Do you want to be seated?”
“Are you John Fulghum, the private investigator?”
“For you, I’ll be anything you like. I hope you don’t mind the mess. It’s my maid’s day off.”
She smiled and sat in the captain’s chair reserved for clients.
“Molly said you’d be like this. She also warned me about your office. I’m Molly’s sister Barbara. I was in the area and decided to stop by rather than to call. I’m a little worried about using my cell phone. The matter I’d like to discuss is sensitive.”
“I fully understand. Do you smoke?” He offered her a Marlboro.
“Yes, I smoke. Thank you.” She took the cigarette and held his hand as he lit her cigarette. He closed the door and returned to his captain’s chair behind his desk.
“I expected you’d be wearing a habit. I also expected that you wouldn’t smoke.”
“Being in orders today doesn’t mean what it used to. Vatican II had happened before I was born. The pendulum swings slowly, though, so we never know when the old forms will resume. As my sister mentioned, I teach at St. Paturnus.” She took a long draft from her cigarette and blew the smoke, so it mingled with his and curled towards the ceiling.
“You’ve had an unfortunate incident there; a murder-suicide they say.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s what they say,” she said sarcastically. “Is that a ginseng root on your desk?” She pointed to the floating root.
“Indeed, it is. It’s a gift from a client.”
“It’s a very suggestive gift. Is your client Korean, by chance?”
“In fact, she is. A woman with a droll sense of humor.”
“I also see in that glass case behind you that you won three Bronze Stars. Thank you for your service.”
“You’re most welcome. Molly said you don’t believe the story about how things went with the murder-suicide.”
“The Lebetters were not an ordinary couple. They had a special relationship. Max could never have killed Amanda. He could never have killed himself either. Psychologically the whole setup in the official accounts was wrong.” She hesitated and exhaled, keeping her eyes focused on the ginseng root floating in the red elixir.
“You knew them well?”
“We were colleagues in a small college where everyone knows everyone else intimately. Amanda was my best friend. Max was a good friend.”
“Molly told me you’re an English teacher.”
She nodded and took a long draft on her cigarette, which was almost consumed.
“Is your word, ‘intimately,’ meant to suggest physical intimacy?”
“Mr. Fulghum, a small campus has its share of sexual affairs. My meaning is far more invasive than mere physicality. We on the faculty know each other’s minds, even souls.”
“Please have another cigarette and tell me what happened.”
“Thank you. I will.” She lit another cigarette from the first and stubbed the initial one out in the almost full glass ashtray sitting at the center of his desk.
“When I heard about the murders, I was on my way to my first class of the morning. A student ran up to me weeping uncontrollably. She asked me whether I knew Max and Mandy Lebetter were dead. I was stunned at the news. I didn’t go immediately to class but dropped by the college president’s office where pandemonium had broken out.”
“Once the news came out, everyone would have wanted the details.”
“Yes. Police, reporters, hordes of onlookers and odd people who looked official were crowding the office and hallway. The college president, Father Malloy, told me to carry on with my normal routine. I went to my class and announced what I knew. Out of respect for the dead, I dismissed class and told my students I’d be in my office if anyone wanted to talk.”
“Sometimes when a shock occurs, it’s best to stop and think for a moment. And feel. Students aren’t robots.”
“That’s what I think too. As it turned out, three students dropped by to commiserate: two young men and a young woman. We had coffee and talked.”
“You had other classes?”
“That’s right. I dismissed each class and had small group discussions with students who wanted that all day long. I discovered from my students that on campus rumors were flying. All kinds of stories came out of the woodwork. Most of them were patently absurd.” She stopped, for a moment lost in her thoughts.
“What’s your scenario for the murders?”
“Someone planned the murders carefully. When the time came, he, she or they executed the plan and escaped without detection figuring the authorities would take the easiest way to their goal.”
“I understand that. I meant, who do you think killed them?”
“That, Mr. Fulghum, is what I’d like you to find out.”
“The police forensics people and coroner have investigated, and all concluded a murder-suicide?”
“They’re wrong! They jumped to the evident conclusion in the name of expediency. That was fine from the college’s point of view so things could quickly get back to abnormal, as we say.”
“Tell me a little about Max Lebetter.”
“Intelligent. Tall. Strong. Gentle. A hunter. Former soldier. Ph.D. Up for tenure. Taught film. Helped develop the SUCCESS night program. Loved his wife to distraction. A published poet. Light brown hair. Sensitive blue eyes flecked with gold. Long, slender hands. Always on the move. A dynamo.”
“What about Amanda Lebetter?”
“Intelligent. Medium build. Athletic. Directed. Also a Ph.D. like her husband, up for tenure. Taught journalism. Loved her husband to distraction. Deep brown, sensitive eyes. Red hair. Thin and wispy. Full of energy. Taught martial arts. Never fresh out of ideas.”
“Tell me about them as a couple.”
Sister Barbara frowned for a moment. “Their relationship was anything but orthodox.”
“Open marriage?”
“No, nothing of the kind. Please tell me what you felt like the first time you went into my sister Molly’s house.”
“I felt that in that home, love and trust existed in equal measure. It was a good place with good people in it. That was even before I met your sister. She is, in my estimation, a saint. She doesn’t belong to any order that I know of. She informed every aspect of the home.”
“Are you saying that because it’s what I want to hear?” Barbara’s penetrating gaze was searching for a hint of deception.
“Absolutely not. Did anyone ever tell you that you’re in equal measure the image of your sister Molly and your niece Colleen? You have your sister’s poise and penetration and your niece’s quiet vitality and good looks.”
Barbara looked away and blushed.
Fulghum noticed that she was graceful even in her bashfulness. She had the unstudied poise of someone who is truly centered and self-assured without being forward. He liked her in spite of himself. She was a nun, after all. His eyes went to the suspended ginseng root and lingered there. He remembered how he was importuned by Kim Su Baek, who spent an entire evening, disrobed, sitting naked on their shared hotel bed while unselfconsciously explicating complications that seemed to be profound at the time.
“You said Max was a soldier.”
“Yes. He had a medals cabinet like yours. Among his awards were a Silver Star, a Bronze Star, two Expeditionary Medals and three Purple Hearts. He told me about the medals, but he never bragged. Each medal had involved others who had died in action. He felt unworthy of any of the citations because so many dead men shared the awards, at least as he saw things. Do you understand what I mean?”
“I do. Was your name always Barbara?”
“Barbara was the name I chose when I was a novitiate. My birth name was Colleen. That’s why my sister named her first daughter Colleen, in remembrance of my former self.” Barbara sat back, and chain lit another Marlboro. She exhaled and watched Fulghum, assessing him in ways he could only surmise.
“I suspect Max Lebetter was in another life involved in military operations about which he could say very little. Did you get the impression that he was frightened of something or someone he hadn’t told you about?”
“I know he was frightened. I know what he was afraid of precisely.”
“Did Amanda know this?”
“Actually, not. It’s odd that you ask that. Max told me things he could not tell his wife. He wanted to protect her.”
“And why did he tell you those things?”
“He said he was looking for some kind of absolution.”
“And did you grant him that absolution?”
“I’m not a priest, detective. I don’t have the seal of confession. I told him to tell his priest, but he wasn’t a Catholic. He had nowhere else to turn but to me.”
“I thought everyone who taught at St. Paturnus had to be a Catholic.”
“Once upon a time, that was true. Now we’re one-third religious, one-third Catholic laity and one-third other. Two faculty members aren’t even Christian. One’s a Jew. The other’s a Muslim.”
“Yet the college is still Christian?”
“Specifically Catholic, yes. The current trend is reverting to the norms. By policy, those who aren’t Catholic will be excluded gradually.”
“And Max and Mandy were among those who were going to be excluded?”
“Alas, they were.”
“So, someone benefited from their demise?”
“Yes, again, Mr. Fulghum.”
“We may be dealing with some version of exclusion in these murders?”
“I didn’t say that, but I guess it could be so.”
“Barbara, do you suspect that the administration of your college or perhaps even the Catholic Church was instrumental in these murders?”
“Mr. Fulghum, I can’t be sure of anything. The reason I wanted to talk with you off campus is that I don’t know what to think. I suspect everyone. I also have evidence that powerful people are trying to stop any inquiry into the Lebetters’ deaths.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“How sure are you that your office isn’t bugged?”
Fulghum stood up and went to his safe behind his desk. He dialed the combination and opened the safe. He pulled out a Ziploc bag that held a small electronic device. He showed the device to Sister Barbara before he put the device back in the bag and put the bag into his safe. He closed the safe’s door and spun the dial.
“This office was swept for bugs within the last month. The sweeper knew what he was doing. He found that bug I showed you. Unless a new bug has been planted, this office is as safe as it can be under the circumstances.”
“And what are the circumstances?”
“My work requires an almost constant interface with our government’s clandestine agencies. They have no interest in secret discussions becoming widely known, even among themselves. I can request another sweep if you like before we go on.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I don’t think that will be necessary.”
Sister, you’ve captured my interest. Will you tell me what you know that might be so sensitive that others would conduct illegal surveillance on you to get it?”
“For several years, St. Paturnus has added former members of the CIA and Special Forces to the faculty. This has done wonders for the prestige of the college since those in question have been far more intelligent and driven than any of the customary faculty. For our students, these people have been inspirational. Our college has become a conduit into government service of many kinds, including the intelligence agencies.”
“What you’re saying—please correct me if I’m wrong—is that the one-third of your faculty who are neither Catholic nor laity are largely from the government side. They’re either being sheep-dipped prior to reassignment or sheltered from their enemies temporarily.”
“I’m not sure exactly what you mean, but those are almost the terms that Max used when he assessed the situation.”
“For a moment, Sister, let’s get practical. As I understand it, the way things work in any Catholic context is by authority from the top. In order to do any investigations, I couldn’t just bolt in the front door and sit beneath a shingle that said, ‘Inform here.’”
She laughed. “You have a gift, Mr. Fulghum, for apt depiction.”
“Sister Barbara, just how should we proceed?”
“Does that mean that you’ll accept me as a client? Mind you; I have no money. I can promise you nothing for discovering the murderer.”
“Do you have one United States dollar on your person?”
“Yes, I do. Do you want to see it?”
“I want you to slide it across this desk right now.”
Barbara fumbled in her purse for her wallet. She retrieved a dollar bill and slid it across the desk.
Fulghum nodded. He picked up the dollar and placed it ostentatiously in his top desk drawer that lay just above his legs.
“Now you’re my client. I don’t expect any further remuneration whatsoever for this case. I need to know, however, how I’m to proceed, given what you know about the context.”
“Mr. Fulghum, have you ever done any teaching at the college level?”
“As a matter of fact, I have done that on a number of occasions, sometimes full time and sometimes as an adjunct professor.”
“Do you like films about noir detectives?”
“I feast on those films. I don’t just like them; I love them!”
“Do you like teaching elderly and mature adults as well as young adults?”
“I think I see where you’re heading. The answer is yes, on both counts.”
“Well, then, let me propose that you join the faculty of Paturnus for one semester while you accomplish your mission for me. That will give you faculty cover. It’ll also give you that access even I can’t obtain.”
“Specifically, what are you thinking?” He asked this as he sat back in his captain’s chair and chain lit another cigarette.
“Paturnus is looking for immediate replacements for Mr. Lebetter and his wife. I believe I can convince the college to hire you as the replacement for Max for one semester while they initiate a full search. Your rank and salary would be at the lecturer level. The pay’s not much, but it’ll defray some of your expenses.”
“What about the replacement for Mrs. Lebetter? She taught journalism, right?”
“A frantic search is underway right now to fill her position too. The college wants to hire a female who’s well established in the print media and also understands the shift to on-line news. It’s a tough search because the person also has to be willing to immerse herself fully in the life of the campus.”
“Sister Barbara, this might be your lucky day. What if I could provide a two-for deal?”
Sister Barbara smiled, but her eyes narrowed. “And what would that deal be?”
Fulghum leaned forward in his chair. “Let’s say I would take the offer of a position and offer as a condition the employment of the perfect journalism teacher as well?”
“Whoever took the journalism position would have to assume sponsorship of the college newspaper.”
“What if I told you that the person I have in mind has not one but two Pulitzer Prizes for investigative journalism and is currently the archivist for the Boston Globe?”
“If he’d be willing to serve, that might be possible.”
“Sister Barbara, my candidate is female, not male. In addition to being the perfect teacher for your purposes, she and I work closely together on solving major crimes. If she were for any reason not hired, I would not accept a position. Is that clear?”
“I’m going to leave you with my email and cell phone number.” She handed Fulghum her business card. He examined it carefully.
“It says here that you’re the Acting Vice President for Academic Affairs at St. Paturnus College.”
“Yes, Mr. Fulghum. I teach and also serve as an administrator. That’s what happens at a small college that’s always stressed for money. I give back one-quarter of my salary to the college and one-quarter to the Church. If I were in life for the money, I’d choose to work on Wall Street.” She smiled, and the room seemed brighter to Fulghum, for all the smoky haze.
“I do like your style, Barbara. Let’s say you get my friend and me hired to teach at the college. How would we three work together to find your murderer?”
“We’ll have to be careful how we orchestrate our meetings. I think we’d do well to meet right here in your office to coordinate our activities. We’d all have to go through the normal teaching routine at the college, including committee meetings and special functions. I’m hoping we can finish before this semester’s end. We’ll see. So, what do you say?”
“First, you’re already my client. Second, I’ll discuss the possibility with my candidate for the journalism position immediately. Third, if you call to signal me that you can hire us both, I’ll recommend that we start right away. The ball is back in your court.”
“Pardon me?”
“What do you need from me and my friend to make things happen? I’m aware of the red tape required for hires in any small college.”
“I’ll need letters of application and resumes from you and your recommended replacement for Dr. Amanda Lebetter, this afternoon if possible or at the latest by tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”
“It’s a deal. Do you have transportation back to the college, or shall I drive you there?”
“It’s kind of you to offer, but I drove. My car’s parked out front across the street. Thank you for offering to help us. I didn’t have a Plan B if you’d said you wouldn’t do that.” She stood up and extended her slender hand. Fulghum shook it.
The nun smiled slightly taking one last look at the ginseng root. Soon after, she turned and walked out of his office and down the stairs. Meanwhile, Fulghum dialed the cell phone number of his friend Silvia Blackwood. He was transferred to her voicemail.
“Silvia, this is John. Please give me a call when you get the chance. I’d like to meet at your place or another venue after you get off work tonight. I plan to bring chilled champagne. Best. John.”
Fulghum went back to his racing form. He took a brief break for two fingers of Jack Daniels whiskey. While he drank, he mused on the possibilities for his new gig.
So, I was approached by Molly’s sister, a nun who was nothing as I’d envisioned. In fact, she’s beautiful, poised and highly intelligent. She became my client, so I’m now obligated to find the murderer of the Lebetter couple if indeed they were murdered. I’ve made a deal whereby if I can convince Silvia to take the job at Paturnus, I’ll become a lecturer there so I can penetrate the depths I couldn’t approach from the outside. If everything works out, Silvia and I will work with Barbara to discover the truth. At the end of the semester, we’ll probably be free to return to our normal lives.
Fulghum was just reviewing his thoughts for the third time when he received a call from Sister Barbara.
“Mr. Fulghum, Father Malloy will be delighted to interview you this afternoon. Please come by his office at two o’clock. I’ll meet you right outside his office. The signs will show you the way there.”
The detective answered in kind. “I’ll be there with a copy of my resume at two p.m. sharp.”
Fulghum decided to go to his apartment to freshen up before he headed for Paturnus College. He stopped by FedEx Office to print a copy of his academic curriculum vitae on high-grade paper. At home, he shaved and showered. He put on his interview suit with the black oxfords and green silk tie. He set out for the college on the main roads, enjoying the spring day. Arriving on campus a half hour early, he wandered the grounds to get the feel of the place.
He thought, “Classes must be in session. No one’s in sight. This is a campus in a corn field. It looks so innocent and fresh. Of course, murder can happen anywhere, humans being what they are.”
At two o’clock he met Sister Barbara outside Father Malloy’s office. She ushered him into the office and introduced him before she departed while the president and the detective discussed their business.
“Mr. Fulghum, I’m glad you could come so quickly. As you can imagine, we’ve been sorely pressed to fill a vacancy for a faculty member who has died.”
“Father Malloy, I’m pleased with the opportunity though the circumstances are unfortunate. I brought a copy of my resume.” Fulghum presented the document he had just printed. The president scanned the resume; then he got a crafty look in his eyes.
“Mr. Fulghum, things are not always what they appear to be.”
“Father Malloy, I know exactly what you mean. Right now, you’re asking yourself why I would apply for this position. Am I right?”
“Well, yes.”
“I’m applying for this position because I’ve always loved noir films about detectives. I don’t think anyone has a greater knowledge of those films than I do from the perspective of the street. I’ve been looking for the chance to engage others in an academic setting about those films. That was the main thrust of the deceased Mr. Lebetter’s position, wasn’t it?”
“Mr. Lebetter developed thirteen courses for this college over the last four and a half years. He slaved in summer programs and in our SUCCESS evening program to make this college a contender among other elite, small colleges in the area. The noir films series was the latest in a range of new offerings he developed. So, while we open a global search for his replacement, we’re looking for someone who can in the interim fill the unique niche he left.”
“What else was he required to do? Perhaps I can help there also.”
“He was teaching a senior integrating course in Law and Equity. He was also teaching a course in Private Investigations, a practicum leading to the acquisition of a private investigator license in the state of Massachusetts. I understand from your resume you could perform the latter. What would you do to satisfy the former?”
“Father Malloy, I’d take a practicum approach, with historical examples. For example, I’ve studied the Nuremberg Trials extensively. If I focused on the cases of former Nazis who’ve been apprehended and tried since the Nineteen Fifties, I’d have plenty to talk about with my students.”
“Yes, I imagine you would. I have one final question. I’ll start with my observation that you are not Catholic. How would you deal with questions that might arise that touch on Catholic doctrine and teachings?”
“Father, you are correct. I’m not Catholic. I would hope to be guided by you and other religious figures on this campus when I encounter questions of faith.”
“Mr. Fulghum, I’m going to hire you right now. Sister Barbara will take care of the paperwork and show you the schedule. Do you have any questions?”
“Only one. May I ask it now?”
“Of course. What do you need to know?”
“If I provide a candidate for the other open position, the position vacated by Mrs. Lebetter, would you hire her at once as well?”
“Hmm. That position is also in urgent need of filling. If your candidate has the proper credentials, yes, I’ll hire her at once.”
“She has two Pulitzer prizes for investigative journalism.”
The president’s brow furrowed as he glanced downward. As he looked Fulghum right in the eyes, a shadow of fear resided in his own.
“As long as she understands that issues of faith are resolved by the Church, I’ll agree. You’ll find Sister Barbara in her office to the left down the main hall. Tell her about your other candidate. Thank you for coming. I’ll look forward to you being a part of our faculty through at least the end of this semester.”
Fulghum found Sister Barbara in her office as Vice President for Academic Affairs.
“Hello, Sister, it looks like I’ve been hired. Tell me what to do next.”
“Mr. Fulghum, I’ve prepared a file with documents needing your signature. In the file, you’ll find a faculty identification badge to wear at all times while you’re on campus, starting now.” She opened the file and took out the badge, which hung from a lanyard with St. Paturnus College written on its neck strip. He put the lanyard around his neck. He then started reading and signing the documents. While he was doing that, Sister Barbara returned to her duties. A half hour later Fulghum received a call on his cell phone. The caller ID showed Silvia Blackwood.
“Hi Silvia, did you receive my voicemail message?”
“Hi, John. I did. Can we discuss it now?”
“I’m just finishing a few matters. Why don’t I drive over and talk? It’ll be at least an hour. When can you see me at your place?”
“John, make it two hours. Will that be all right?”
“Fine. I’ll bring something for us to eat. Is Chinese okay?”
“I’m famished. Chinese would be great. In your voicemail, you mentioned champagne. I could use that too if you’re still game.”
“Listen. Can you send your latest academic resume to an email address?”
“Sure. What’s the address?”
“It’s sisterbarbara@stpaturnus.org. Have you got that?”
“Yes. I’ll email the resume right away to that address.”
“Great. I’ll explain everything when I see you later today.”
Fulghum completed reading and signing the forms. By then Sister Barbara had gone to teach her final class of the day. The detective left the signed documents in the folder at the center of her desk with a sticky note on top. He drove back to Bedford, calling his order to Number One Chinese Restaurant for delivery to Silvia’s address at precisely six o’clock.
He stopped by his office briefly to pick up the ginseng. He received a call from Molly, who told him she deeply appreciated his helping her sister. He also received a call from the bursar at St. Paturnus College wanting him to verify the address to which his monthly checks should be mailed. By the time he’d stopped to pick up the champagne and reached Silvia’s apartment, he felt as if he had been holding up the world like Hercules. The Chinese food arrived simultaneously with Silvia.
“You look like you just came from an interview. I like your necklace too.”
Fulghum was not aware he had not taken off the lanyard with his St. Paturnus College identification badge attached. He quickly pulled the lanyard over his head and, after wrapping it around his badge, put it in the inside pocket of his suit.
“Take off your coat. Let’s set out this Chinese feast before it gets cold.” Silvia was always practical. “Put the champagne in the fridge. We’ll drink chablis with the Chinese. Maybe later we’ll drink the champagne.”
She pulled a bottle of chablis wine from her refrigerator and poured it into two wine glasses while he opened each item in the Chinese takeout. She brought out plates, bowls, her own chopsticks, serving spoons and napkins. He waited for her to signal that she was ready; then he said a brief grace. The two began to eat.
“All right, what’s up, John? From your lanyard, I’d guess you’re going back to teach at the college. Because you asked me to email my resume, you’ve got plans for me as well.” With her chopsticks, she picked up a broccoli spear and held it in the air while he responded.
“I’m on a case at St. Paturnus College. In order to find out what I need to know, I’ve become a faculty member there for the semester. My job is to discover who murdered Max and Mandy Lebetter. It’s pro bono.”
Silvia nodded. “That case has been closed. It was a murder-suicide. What’s your angle?”
“My client is Sister Barbara, the acting VP for Academic Affairs. She’s convinced the case is not a murder-suicide. She says it’s a double murder.”
“That would be major news, if so. I’m definitely interested.” She sat up then leaned forward.
“That’s why I recommended you become a teacher to replace Max Lebetter’s wife. What do you think?”
Silvia looked down as she worked some rice free from a carton and poured some cashew chicken over the rice. She smiled and picked up her chopsticks.
She raised her left brow. “Let me get this right. You’re replacing the deceased Max Lebetter. You want me to replace the deceased Manda Lebetter. While we teach at the college, we’ll collaborate to discover who the murderer is. You satisfy your client. I get my third Pulitzer. Does that about cover it?”
He brightened. “We also get to be together more than usual. Our off-campus meeting place will be my office.”
“And, I suppose, the job’s going to be dangerous?”
“No more than usual.”
“Ouch. You’d better explain that.”
“Sister Barbara’s so afraid of the powers behind the cover-up of the murders that she won’t discuss the issues over the phone. You know how secretive and intrusive the Catholic Church can be. Anyhow, the flavor of this case is fraught with black operations and the usual suspects.”
“Are you working with the police on this?”
“This morning I received a call from Molly Pounce, wife of Nigel Pounce of Boston Homicide. She told me her sister Barbara wanted to talk privately. Sister Barbara, who is a nun in orders, knocked on my office door not fifteen minutes after that to talk. So we’re not exactly working with the police, but they’ll certainly be on call if we discover anything interesting in our investigations. By the way, I’ve arranged for you to be hired forthwith if you’ll take the job.”
“Now you’ve put me between my job in the archives and my third Pulitzer,” she smiled ruefully.
“I couldn’t have put it better myself. Look, Silvia, the victim was a clandestine operator just as I was. He and his wife had a dream relationship before the murders. I’d like to nail the bastards who killed them. Will you help?” He paused, waiting for her to answer. She ate a piece of chicken with her chopsticks and took a drink from her wine glass.
“John, you’ve made a lot of assumptions here. I’ve got heaven and earth to move to make this happen on my end. Do you really know what you’re asking me to do?”
“I’m merely presenting an opportunity for you. I mean, for us.”
“You’ve already got your college faculty ID. You’re fully aboard.”
Silvia’s cell phone rang. She checked the caller ID and saw the sender’s information was blocked.
“Silvia, perhaps you should field that call,” Fulghum said.
She nodded and answered. “This is Silvia Blackwood. Who’s calling?”
“Dr. Blackwood, this is Sister Barbara of St. Paturnus College. Thank you for your inquiry about the journalism position at the college. Do you have a moment to talk?”
“Yes.” She looked at Fulghum with a forced smile.
“I’m pleased to say that the president of our college has scheduled an interview with you for nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Will you be able to attend? If the interview is successful, your hire would be immediate. I have all the necessary paperwork in a file for your signature. Can I count on your attending the interview?”
Silvia hesitated for a moment. She looked at Fulghum and screwed up her face. Fulghum shrugged his shoulders as if to say that the call was entirely hers. She answered, “I’d be delighted to interview at nine o’clock.”
“Thank you for confirming. An email will follow shortly giving details including maps and directions. If it would not be an inconvenience, please bring along a hard copy of each of your Pulitzer awards. That will facilitate decision making on this side.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Thank you and good night.” Sister Barbara terminated the call.
Silvia took a deep breath as she squinted at her phone. She touched her wine glass to Fulghum’s and had another sip of wine while he drank too.
“Well, John, things do move swiftly when you set the wheels in motion.” She lifted a piece of broccoli with beef gravy to her mouth.
“You’re not smiling, but you’re not saying no.” Fulghum looked up from his chopsticks at her. “Think of it this way. You’ll be able to find some excellent interns for your archives internship program.”
“You have a point. You know, John, the last time I became involved in a college internship program, I ended up opening old graves and gaining world headlines. Are you sure you want me involved in this mess?”
“Let me fill you in on the details as I know them. If they don’t pique your interest as a newshound, I don’t know what will.”
While they finished their meal, Fulghum told her everything Sister Barbara had told him earlier in the day.
Silvia caught on fast. “You think Max Lebetter’s clandestine operations made him the target of some group that took both him and his wife out as well?”
“The murderers would have gotten away with their deed except that a nosy nun decided it just didn’t wash. She’s convinced the couple was murdered.”
“And you agree with her, against police forensics and the coroner’s report?”
“Let me put this bluntly. What would be the odds of my killing you and then myself with a rifle in your bed?”
“I can think of a lot of better things for us to do in my bed.”
“So can I.”
“Prove it.”
“Does that mean you’ll take the job if they offer it to you tomorrow?”
“It means that I’ll seriously think about it. Performance matters.” She said this with a slight smile and a raised eyebrow.
Fulghum sighed and took out two cigarettes, one for each of them. “Why don’t you relax in the bedroom with your wine and cigarette? I’ll follow with mine as soon as I’ve cleaned up.”
“That’s a deal. Tell me, John, what’s Sister Barbara like? She must be good to have convinced you to work for her in this way.”
“Silvia, she’s not your movie version of the saintly nun. She’s solid and moral, yes. But she doesn’t wear a habit, and she likes Marlboro cigarettes. She cuts right through the bullshit just as you do. I like her.”
“You liked your Korean client, Sue what's her name, the bitch, too.”
“That reminds me, I brought you a present from Sue. It’s out in my car. I’ll bring it in while you’re getting ready.”
“This I’ve got to see.” She took the glass and the bottle in one hand and her Marlboro in the other as she walked down the hall to her bedroom.
Fulghum fetched the glass cylinder with the ginseng root swimming in blood from his car and place it in the center of Silvia’s table. With a cigarette in his mouth, he quickly cleaned up the trash from their meal and took it out back to Silvia’s garbage can. After rinsing his hands in her sink and drying them off, he found his wineglass and a second bottle of chilled chablis and went back to find Silvia.
John and Silvia had been friends and lovers for years, ever since John had solved a critical case for her. As far as she was concerned, they were a couple. She was faintly jealous whenever she thought of him being with another woman. Yet she, like he, was fiercely independent also. She and John had talked about marriage, but they always returned to facts. Fulghum was a detective always getting himself into difficult fixes, some life-endangering. Silvia was the archivist for one of the world’s greatest newspapers. She was irreplaceable at her place of employment. She could only take outside opportunities that would not interfere with her duties at the newspaper.
Over time, the pair had agreed to come together as schedules permitted. They made the best of their opportunities. They never regretted their liaisons. She, particularly, enjoyed the transports of ecstasy that only Fulghum could arouse in her. Tonight, to her delight, was no exception.
In the morning, John shaved, showered, dressed and slipped away, leaving a message for Silvia under the glass container of the ginseng root - Last night was rapturous. See the benefits of our segueing to the groves of academe for a semester? Love, John. PS I hope to see you later today on campus.
Fulghum drove out to the college to make his first class. He plunged right into the lecture without notes for an hour about The Thin Man movies, enthralling his film noir aficionados and making them wonder how they deserved the upgrade from Lebetter to Fulghum. The clear difference was their sense of Fulghum as a man who had real experience as a gumshoe.
While the detective was already becoming a legend among his students, Silvia checked her email, dressed for her interview, swung by her Globe office to retrieve file hard copies of her Pulitzers and drove out to the college. There she met Sister Barbara in her office. The two women immediately liked each other. Sister Barbara took the two hardcopies of Silvia’s Pulitzers and ushered her to Father Malloy’s office.
“Ms. Blackwood, I’m pleased you could come on short notice.”
“The pleasure’s mine, Father. I’ve looked forward to the chance to get back into the classroom.”
“I hope you realize that the open position includes being the advisor to the college newspaper called The Clarion and to mentoring our seniors so they can become employed in media?”
“I’m delighted on both counts. I was editor of my college paper for my last two years at Wellesley, and I’m currently the head archivist at the Boston Globe, where our internship program is among the best in the world.”
The president could hardly contain his excitement when he heard this. He calmed down enough to focus on his chief concern - Silvia’s controllability.
“We’re a Catholic college with a strict adherence to the doctrine and discipline of the Church. Can you abide with that?”
“In matters of fact, we are all equal, Father. In matters of doctrine and discipline, I’ll defer to the judgment of you and others in the direct line to the Papacy.”
“Facts can be slippery,” he said with an uneasy smile.
“I agree totally. Both my Pulitzers were based entirely on facts. I didn’t start with an agenda or ideology. I built arguments based on facts. Those arguments weren’t in accord with arguments not similarly based on facts but on mere opinions.” She smiled, quite aware that she had made Father Malloy very uncomfortable. She noticed that his neck was turning red beneath his clerical collar. She wondered whether this was the epitome of being “hot under the collar.”
“Well,” he said with a pained expression, “I hope we can agree to disagree. After all, your appointment will only be for this semester.”
“We’ll see, Father. In the meantime, how shall we proceed?”
“Sister Barbara has all your paperwork and your lanyard with a badge. You’ll be starting today as soon as you complete your signatures. Welcome aboard. I’ll look forward to observing how you help us cultivate our young minds.”
He extended his hand, and she shook it firmly. She then turned to find Sister Barbara waiting for her in the entrance. Reading and signing the documents took fifteen minutes. Silvia put on her lanyard with her badge.
Sister Barbara escorted Silvia to The Clarion’s editorial offices, which were adjacent to one of the lecture halls and the seminar room where she would be teaching. Her other lecture hall was located in the theater building.
The editor and assistant editor of the newspaper were waiting for their newspaper sponsor apprehensively in the seminar space. They stood when Sister Barbara brought Silvia into the room.
“Robin Cavanaugh and Marcie Malloy, this is Professor Silvia Blackwood. She’ll be the new sponsor for The Clarion for the rest of this semester. She’ll also be teaching the journalism classes that Professor Amanda Lebetter taught. Professor Blackwood, Robin is the editor of the newspaper. Marcie is her assistant editor. I’ll leave you alone so you can get right to work. Oh, Professor Blackwood, drop by my office before your class. Goodbye for now.”
“Hello, Robin and Marcie. I want you to call me Silvia. Since I’m new, you’ll have to tell me what the news is.” She shook their hands and gestured for them to sit down at the seminar table.
Robin, a thin, red-haired young woman dressed in a thin smock, looked at Silvia appraisingly. Quietly she asked, “Will you tell us something about your background?”
Silvia said, “I used to sit in your chair as editor when I went to college. I won an internship at the Globe that led to a stint as a reporter. I went investigative, and now I’m the archivist there. I’m taking a little time off to shake off the cobwebs and get some inspiration from fresh minds like yours.”
Robin looked at Silvia with open distrust. “Have you ever taught or been the sponsor for a college newspaper before?”
“Yes, on both counts. I tend to get into trouble, though, when I do this sort of thing.”
“Will you be specific?” Marcie asked with a deadpan expression. She had light brown hair and blue eyes with flecks of green.
“How specific do you want me to be?” Silvia asked, her brow furrowing.
“Give us an example of your getting into trouble.”
“Well, I’ll make a long story very short. This is not for publication. I taught at a small college where I uncovered a series of murders.”
The two young women gasped and sat up straight. Silvia paused for effect before she continued. “I began digging and found who was behind the killings. I discovered why they’d murdered all those people, and my stories for the Globe about the facts won me my first Pulitzer Prize.”
Now Robin and Marcie were sitting on the edge of their chairs, giving Silvia their entire attention.
“Did you say your first Pulitzer?” Robin asked, with her mouth wide open.
“Later I was lucky enough to have been awarded a second.”
“How do you do reporting to win that kind of prize?” asked Marcie, who was star struck.
“You start with facts, not theories. You let the facts build upon themselves. You don’t rush to conclusions. You don’t stop digging. You don’t accept ‘no comment’ as an answer. When you have doubts, ask questions. When you get answers, ask more questions. Don’t ever forget who you’re really working for.”
“Wait a minute. What do you mean by that?” Robin asked.
“Most reporters think they’re writing for their editor or their paper. Some have a special person in mind as their reader. My articles have the most difficult audience in the world--me. I always write for myself. I had a mentor when I sat in your chair. She taught me that if I wasn’t the toughest audience in the world already, I should become it. She said that was the only way to remain aloof from cloying opinions and influence peddlers.”
“Well, we’ve always got to think of our students, our college, and our church. What do you think of that?”
“As long as you start with the facts and build on those, you should be fine.”
“We’re constantly being censored,” Robin said.
“My stories were always being spiked,” Silvia countered. “Some still are. I’ve always stood firmly on the accuracy of my reporting. Eventually every spiked story I wrote found its way into print somewhere. I would not let them die.”
“Well, I’ve written a piece that the college president spiked,” Marcie said.
“May I see it?”
Marcie left the room and returned in a few minutes with her typescript. Silvia read it through, not once but twice.
“This is a strong Op-Ed piece.”
“And your point is?” Marcie asked defensively.
“Have you thought about sending this piece to an off-campus newspaper?”
“I can do that?”
“You’re a newspaper reader, aren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Pick your targets and send it for consideration as a letter or opinion piece. Do it today. Let me know what happens.”
She handed the typescript back to Marcie, who nodded and left the room.
“You came at an odd time,” Robin said.
“Why do you say that?” Silvia asked.
“Losing the Lebetters has been hard for everyone on campus, especially for us at The Clarion.”
“Do you want to talk about that with me?”
“What’s the use? They’re gone. We can’t bring them back. There’s nothing we can do now but go on. It seems like such a waste.”
“They were special people, from what I’ve read.”
“They were both truth speakers, always challenging students about what they thought. They were relentless. They didn’t care what the administration said or thought. Both published prolifically and went to conferences. They were better than most other faculty here. I miss them.” Robin brought out a handkerchief and blew her nose.
“Can you give me an example of how they challenged you?”
“They were both driven. No one could keep up with their energy.”
“Did they force others to do what they did?”
“No, not at all. You wanted to keep up with them, but you knew you never could. I’ve never worked as hard for anyone else. The Lebetters made energy seem like a touchstone for life. The administrators and faculty resented their drive and enthusiasm. More than everything, the administrators resented their happiness.”
“Do you think they were, truly?”
“They were always happy around me.”
“Were they happy with each other?”
“They were the model couple. They never spoke a harsh word to each other. They never lost their tempers. They had students coming to their home almost constantly. They kept long office hours. They never turned anyone away. I wondered if they ever slept.”
“They were both coming up for tenure.”
“Yes, that’s true. And that was trouble.”
“Why?”
“Neither of them was Catholic. They knew that might be a barrier.”
“Did they resent the Church for wanting to set the rules?”
“It was nothing like that. They said the Church had the right to set the rules. Professor Max told me the Church was right and everyone else was wrong.”
“I don’t think the administration could argue against that position.”
“You may underestimate the complexity of the administration’s position.”
Just then Marcie came back into the room with three glasses of lemonade. Robin shook her head at Silvia to indicate they should pursue another line of conversation in Marcie’s presence.
“Thank you, Marcie,” Silvia said after Marcie handed her one of the drinks.
“Thanks, Marsh,” said Robin. “Did you send out your piece?”
“Yes. I emailed it to three newspapers. We’ll see what happens. I’m glad I sent it. It’s been gnawing at me ever since it was spiked.”
Silvia took the pause to switch the subject. “Will you tell me what you’ve planned for the next issue of The Clarion? I assure you, I’m not a censor or a snitch. I may challenge facts or logic. I’ll definitely challenge bad grammar and poor diction. Anyway, show me what you’ve got. I only have about half an hour more today before I go to teach my next class, so let’s be efficient, shall we?”
Robin and Marcie laid out their plan for the next number of the newspaper. Silvia noticed that not a single word was planned to be published about the Lebetters. She didn’t ask the editors about that. Instead, she planned to ask Sister Barbara about it later. By the time she had been fully briefed, her watch alarm went off. Silvia shook hands with the two young women and strode off across campus towards the administrative offices, leaving two new acolytes behind her.
Silvia found Sister Barbara at her office desk on the telephone. Sister motioned for her to enter and take the seat across the desk from her.
“Yes. I understand, Your Excellency. . . Yes. Right away. Thank you, Your Excellency. Goodbye.” She hung up and shook her head. She looked up at Silvia and said, “That was Bishop Le Grande. We have Cardinal Angelus coming, a papal legate in full crimson display. The reason I wanted you to touch base before your class was in case we missed a signature. All your paperwork seems to be in order. Thanks for that. What do you think of The Clarion?”
“Robin and Marcie are terrific. I can’t wait to meet the rest of their staff.”
“Marcie is the president’s niece.” She paused significantly. “I wanted you to be aware of that.”
“Thank you. I gathered she was something special. Anyway, we went through the plan for the next number of The Clarion. It looks good. I’m a little concerned that the Lebetters are not mentioned in the planned stories.”
“Father Malloy thought that, under the circumstances, the less we put in print about it, the better. After all, the Catholic Church frowns on suicide.”
“I see. Well, I guess I’d better run to my first class now.”
“Yes. It’s in the big lecture room across the quad in the theater building. If you like, we can walk there together. I have a few issues to discuss with the theater people, so it’s no trouble.”
“Can you tell me about the theater program?”
“We’ll talk while we walk.” She stood up and motioned for Silvia to walk with her. Silvia was again impressed with Sister Barbara’s natural authority and grace of movement. She was a beautiful woman, and she knew it, but she was careful to avoid the appearance of being prideful about her appearance.
Outside the building, Sister Barbara answered Silvia’s question. “Our program is strong. Theater majors comprise one-third of the student body. One-third are nursing majors. The last third major in other studies. In the theater department, we have three professors, all with strong acting credentials. Two of them are priests. We also have adjuncts, including the librarian, Brother Masters, who is an expert in theater lighting. The non-religious member of the department is quite a character. Blunt, outspoken, a tyrant in the classroom and in rehearsals, definitely not politically correct.”
“He sounds more interesting than troubling.”
“It’s a good thing he’s not as litigious as his lady love in the English department. When she’s not doing the London Times crossword puzzles letter perfect, she’s always got a dozen lawsuits going against the college.”
“Dear me.”
“You’ll find as you dig that each member of our faculty is colorful, but they’re harmless, really.” Sister Barbara stopped to talk with a bearded priest wearing a threadbare cassock. She introduced Silvia.
“Dr. Silvia Blackwood, this is Father Ignatius. He has a special mission in the local prison trying to service the most hardened criminals. He teaches sociology and theology.”
Father Ignatius shook Silvia’s hand. “We’ll find the time to talk, soon I hope. You’re taking Mandy’s load, I presume?”
“That’s right.”
He smiled and nodded. then hurried off to teach his class.
“Dr. Ignatius will one day be declared a saint,” Sister Barbara said. “He’s got stomach cancer. We don’t know how much longer he’ll be with us. He smokes like a stack just as I do when I’m off campus. We spend a lot of time together. Perhaps too much.”
At the theater building, Silvia went to her lecture room while Sister Barbara went to meet the theater faculty.
Silvia saw that the lecture room was filled to capacity. One hundred students who had been talking all at once now fell entirely silent and watched Silvia mount the podium. She had been in the same position before, so she knew just what to do.
“Good afternoon.”
The class echoed, “Good afternoon,” with one voice.
“I’m your new lecturer, Dr. Silvia Blackwood. I’m replacing Dr. Amanda Lebetter. I want you to address me as Silvia. There are a hundred of you, but I assure you I’ll learn every one of your names in short order. I want to meet each of you individually in my office within the next two weeks. Until I know your names, if you have questions, just raise your hands. When I recognize you, please stand and give your name then ask your question. Before I begin, I can take three quick questions, so fire away. You with your hand up in the back, please stand and state your name.”
“My name is Kathy Sullivan. I’d like to know what background you have in media.”
“Kathy, I’m the archivist for the Boston Globe. I’ve been in newspapers since I was your age. I’ve won two Pulitzer Prizes for investigative reporting. Will that do? Thank you. You on the side, what do you want to ask?”
“My name’s Robin Cavanaugh. We met in The Clarion offices a short time ago. How does a woman make it in the media?”
“Hello again, Robin. As editor of The Clarion, you know what a byline is. A woman makes it in the media with bylines. Write something for print every single day. The bylines will mount up to a reputation. A reputation is neither male nor female. It is priceless. Next question, please? Yes, you in the front row with the aviator glasses?”
“My name is Clark Kent.” Everyone laughed. Silvia smiled. “No, my name really is Clark Kent.” The man was turning sunburn red from embarrassment.
“Okay, Clark, what’s your question?”
“In a very few words, what is journalism?”
“That question is perfect because it leads me to why I’m here today. I believe journalism is a moral quest for truth. I want you to write that down, but not so you can memorize it. I want you to wrestle with it. I want you to question it. I want you to find your own alternative expression. If all journalists asked the question you just posed—and kept asking it every single day—we’d have a genuine Fifth Estate. We’d have a readership with questions rather than glib rejoinders and sound bites, post-truths and alternative facts.
“I’m here to encourage you to question. And since the jour in journalism is French for the day, we’re going to question every day. You’ll learn that in my classes, there are no bad questions, except those that remain unasked. In my classes, I don’t have all the answers. When you’re done with me, you’ll only just have begun.
“Now everyone take out a sheet of paper. Write your name and the date at the top of the page. Leave room for a title, which you’ll provide when you’re ready. For the next half hour, I want you to write one tight paragraph about why you’re here today in this class. I want what you write to be, in your opinion, publishable. When you’re done, please place your papers on my desk. Meanwhile, I’m going to join you in writing. I’m going to write why I’m here in this room with you. I’ll share that with you at the opening of our next class. So, write, already!”
After the shuffling and the sounds of desk surfaces being raised and locked in place, the students bent over their pristine white pages and before long, they wrote. Silvia took out a sheet and wrote at her podium. One by one as the students finished their paragraphs; they placed them on Silvia’s desk before they departed. The last to finish her paragraph was Robin Cavanaugh.
“Some say the last shall be as the first. I sincerely hope that’s true.”
“Robin, I guessed we might be the last ones standing. I’ve got a job for you. I want you to take all of these papers to The Clarion’s office and have your staff read through them with you. I want you to place them in three ranked folders designated, “Publish,” “Publish with Revisions,” and “Spiked.” I’ll drop by tomorrow morning at nine o’clock to pick them up. Okay?”
“Yikes! All right, then. I’ll do it.” She picked up the papers cheerfully, aligned them, placed them in a fat pile in her notebook and departed with her bulging notebook under her arm.
When Silvia was about to exit, she saw standing outside the lecture room door a short, middle-aged man with a clown’s expression, clapping silently at her.
“Hello. I don’t think we’ve met.”
“You must be Dr. Silvia Blackwood, Dr. Amanda Lebetter’s replacement. I’m Professor Hal Clancy. I’m in the Theater Department. I stood outside your door to hear your opening remarks, and I must say I’m impressed. That’s why I was silently applauding you just now. Call me Hal.” He extended his hand and got a very serious look in his eyes.
Silvia shook his hand firmly. He drew her towards him and whispered in her ear, “We must talk, and soon.” Slowly, he stood back, looked down the hall to the left and right, then like a pantomime clown, pretended he was trapped in a glass enclosure while she walked out of the building and into the late afternoon sunshine.
Under a rowan tree just outside the theater building, she found John Fulghum, fidgeting because he hadn’t smoked since early morning.
As she approached him, he said, “Do you know that rowan trees like this one are good for keeping witches at bay? There are enough rowans in this quad to keep a coven away. Why don’t we take a drive, unless you’ve got other classes today? I’m dying for a smoke. How about you?”
“I’m finished for the day. Let’s go. I could use a smoke.”
“I noticed you met Clancy.”
“Yes. He’s still back there pretending he’s in a big glass box. He’s quite the mime and clown. If he hadn’t fixed me with a scary stare, I might have thought him mad.”
Fulghum looked around. In a whisper, he said, “That’s because he’s former CIA.”
Silvia turned back to look at Clancy, who was now waving like a maniac and making odd faces at passersby. His antics were evidently a fixture of the campus because no one seemed to take much notice of him.
“We’re meeting him for coffee tonight after sundown at Starbucks. So, let’s drive. We’ll take my car for now. I’ll circle around for half an hour while we compare notes. Then I’ll drop you off, and we can drive to Starbucks separately in our two cars. Okay?”
She nodded, and the two new lecturers walked side by side through the campus to the back of the parking lot by the tree line. There they climbed into Fulghum’s powder blue Saab. They decided to wait to light up until they were well off campus.
On the main highway, with great relief, he handed her a box of Marlboros. They rolled down their windows two inches. At that point, they both lit up and took deep drafts on their cigarettes before they shared the events of the day.
Fulghum summarized their discussion. “Today we’ve discovered nothing we hadn’t figured on in advance. You found out that censorship is the modus operandi in a Catholic school. I discovered that the students are dying for a whiff of fresh air. Father Ignatius and Professor Clancy look like our best prospects for information so far because they approached us.”
Silvia thought about that summary. “I don’t think we should underestimate what the students know. I was certainly informed that some students, like Marcie Malloy, are likely to be spies for the administration. The students seem to know who reports secretly to whom. I may be able to get close enough to Robin Cavanaugh to find out what she suspects. We’ll see.”
When they returned to campus, it was time to drive to Starbucks to meet Clancy. He was not present when they arrived there, so they ordered lattes and waited for him. He didn’t just appear. Later Fulghum said the man had materialized out of thin air. He and Silvia were talking, and suddenly Clancy was there sitting at their small table with them.
“Do you always enter with such a fanfare?” Fulghum asked him ironically.
Clancy smiled, yet became very serious. “Do you know how many lawsuits the college is facing right now?”
Silvia, who had played such guessing games at the Globe, smiled sweetly and asked him, “Let me see, how many of those lawsuits do you suppose were initiated by your lover in the English department?”
Clancy nodded, his eyes narrowing. He was clearly reappraising Silvia. He didn’t ask her how she knew what she evidently knew. He laughed and sat back, wagging a finger at her.
“Clancy, it’s your dime. We’re here to hear what you have to say.”
“I suppose it’s common knowledge that the Lebetters’ deaths are murders most foul.”
“Except,” Fulghum said, “the public record says otherwise.”
“So much the worse for all of us,” Clancy said. He craned his neck and looked over the clientele of Starbucks. Once he was certain that no prying eyes were observing them, he said, “Max Lebetter was one of the good guys. A lot of people would like to know what really happened to him and his wife. I won’t ask unanswerable questions, but I hope you nail the bastards that killed them.”
“Look, Clancy, you said you were former Agency. I don’t believe you. No one is former Agency.” Fulghum might have thrown the man through a glass window, but Clancy recovered from his initial shock.
“What I am is not your concern. If you’re both here to solve two murders, I might be able to help you. If you’re interested, come to dinner at my place tomorrow night. My special friend will be on hand to help with the cooking. We’ll look for you at six o’clock. After that, we’ll all go to the college production of The Seagull. How does that sound?”
Fulghum looked at Silvia, who nodded. “That’ll be fine with us. We don’t have tickets. Are there available seats?”
Clancy dropped two front-row tickets on the table along with his professional card with his address. “See you at six p.m. tomorrow sharp at my place. Is that the editor of The Clarion coming through the door?” Fulghum and Blackwood both turned their heads. When they turned back, Clancy had vanished.
Fulghum picked up the tickets and the business card. He noticed that on the obverse it showed,
Professor Henry Clancy,
Chairman, Theater Department,
St. Paturnus College
Needham, Massachusetts.
On the reverse, an address and telephone number were written by hand. At the bottom, six o’clock sharp was added in a different ink, followed by a smiley face.