TUESDAY 12:17PM
Jerry powered off his phone and shoved it in his pocket. He returned to the sidewalk table where Fallon, Rachel, and Alan Berg were sitting.
Fallon set down her water glass. “I want to say thanks one more time, Mr. Berg, for helping us out.”
“Yeah, we appreciate the save.” Jerry offered his hand, and Berg shook it.
“Not at all. It is I who should be thanking you.” Berg removed his glasses, took out a handkerchief, and cleaned his lenses. “I can only defend crusaders for the First Amendment when someone is actually crusading. Fallon, Jerry, you are both to be applauded for your efforts at uncovering truths, fighting the system, and not backing down. I am honored that I could be of assistance.”
“Well said, Dad.” Rachel put her hand on his forearm.
“Wow, when you put it like that.” Jerry straightened up in his seat.
Fallon looked around like someone might be eavesdropping, then lowered her voice. “How long will this restraining order protect us?”
“Ms. Stepanian, the University’s Counsel, looks like she’s spoiling for a fight. I would guess we’ll be in court early next week. And now I really must run.” He gulped the last of his coffee. “I’m due at the courthouse in fifteen minutes. Rachel, your mother would like it if you could come for dinner on Sunday evening.”
She nodded. “I’ll be there.”
Berg stood, waved goodbye, and trundled to his car.
“Is your name really Rachel? Or did you give your dad a phony one too?” Fallon raised an eyebrow.
“Ha, ha. After your experience with the committee, I’d expect you’d have a greater appreciation for the benefits of anonymity.”
Jerry leaned forward. “Speaking of anonymity, who wrote The Underground exposés about Miranda Sanchez writing papers for the football team and Rick Tilden being drunk when he had his accident?”
Rachel’s eyes flicked to Fallon, then back to Jerry. “I can’t answer that. All my reporters’ identities are secret.”
“Could you at least confirm to my friends that I’m not the author? They feel like I betrayed them.”
Rachel sighed. “I don’t want to get into the habit—”
“I did it,” Fallon confessed. “Those articles are mine.”
“You? Thanks a bunch, Fallon!”
“What’s your problem, Jerry? Thursday night in The Chronicle’s break room, you told me that a good reporter goes where the story leads and doesn’t let their personal opinions or circumstances get in the way.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But when it looks bad for your friends, then getting the truth out isn’t so important, is it?”
Jerry looked at Rachel. “Fallon’s admitted to being the author. Can we please tell my friends and clear this up?”
“Actually, I’m thinking at this point our anonymity is shot. The chancellor isn’t stupid. She knows you two write for us. Now that my dad stepped in, they’ll figure out I’m involved. With the protection of the restraining order and the likely risk of bad PR to Van Buren if they move against us, it might make sense to reveal ourselves to the world at this point.”
Fallon beamed. “Like one big coming out party.”
“I’ll check with the other contributors, but you guys have no problems if I slap bylines on all your work?”
“I’m on board.” Jerry nodded.
“Go for it,” Fallon agreed.
The waitress dropped off their orders: a Greek salad with almond cheese instead of feta for Fallon, nine vegetable soup for Rachel, and a garden salad for Jerry.
Jerry picked through his lunch, eating all the tomatoes first. “You know, Fallon, we could have gone to Hot Dog King. They have tofu dogs.”
Fallon jabbed her fork at Jerry. “Which they would have cooked on the same rollers as your regular hot dog. Do you want me to explain in nauseating detail the manufacturing process for turning pink slime and meat slurry into what they claim is food?”
“Hey, I’m trying to eat here,” Rachel protested.
“Or how much energy and water are required to raise a pound of meat? A salad is much better for your health and the health of the world.”
Jerry held up his hands defensively. “Forget I mentioned it.”
Fallon checked her phone. “Huh, The Underground is back up.”
“It’s always been up.” Rachel set down her fork.
“Then why couldn’t I get it to load this morning at the committee meeting?”
“The U is blocking access via their network. Inserting their own DNS records so it redirects to The Chronicle. If you switch to your data plan while on campus, you’re good. My dad’s looking into a separate lawsuit. In the meantime, my nerds are executing a workaround.”
“Nerds?” Fallon picked at her salad.
“The Underground technical staff. A couple of guys, or rather one guy and one girl, who can out whiz whatever campus IT throws at them.”
“Gender equity.” Fallon grinned. “That’s excellent.”
Jerry dropped into his radio announcer’s voice. “Another blow against the patriarchy, but first, the stock report.” He raised a clenched fist. “We should focus on the bigger problem. The administration doesn’t believe me or what’s happening. Can I count on you two? I need all the help I can get if I’m going to stop this by Friday.”
“Friday?” Rachel repeated. “What’s so special about Friday?”
“Friday is the 13th. No one on campus will be safe.”
Fallon furrowed her brow. “Safe from what? I’m still not sure what’s happening.”
“Here’s what I know.” Jerry leaned forward. “Back in 1984, a justifiably angry and hurt student named Peggy Johnson sought out a witch who taught her how to tap into magic or bad luck, which she used for her revenge. But the power proved too great, spinning out of control. People died. The same thing is happening again.”
“Witches? Magic? That’s wild.” Rachel shook her head in disbelief.
“Not at all.” Fallon leaned forward. “It’s a natural result of marginalized women trying to fight back against their oppressors.”
“Can we put a hold on the politics until after the crisis is averted?” Jerry stabbed a piece of lettuce.
Fallon poked a banana pepper with her fork. “Funny how there’s always a reason the fight for justice has to be delayed.”
“Let’s focus.” Rachel dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Jerry, what did Peggy want revenge for?”
“She was raped by three football players. The team, the school, and the Sheriff’s Department all covered it up.”
Fallon huffed. “Why am I not surprised?”
“And now?” Rachel pointed. “Peggy Johnson is back?”
Jerry shook his head. “No, she died back in ‘84, but the pattern is the same. We have to figure out who it is. I’m thinking it’s someone who has a grudge against the football team. Everyone who’s died so far has a connection to the team.”
“Someone who hates football?” Fallon rolled her eyes. “That will really narrow down the list.”
“Another angle, but a long shot, is Peggy’s younger brother Mark. I’d like to track him down and see what he can tell me about his sister.”
“There’s a Professor Mark Johnson here at VBU.” Fallon’s eyes filled with excitement.
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah, he teaches geology. My girlfriend is in his class, and she told me that yesterday he did this big production with superstitions in class. Black cat, broken mirrors, the whole bit.”
Jerry scribbled in his notebook. “That’s too much of a coincidence.”
“And get this. At the end of the class, no one would volunteer to walk under a ladder. So, he did it himself. Lights went out. There was a gigantic crash and when the lights came back on: No professor.”
“What do you mean, no professor?” Rachel furrowed her brow.
“The lights came back on and like that...he’s gone.” Fallon raised her fingers to her lips and blew.
“Really, Kevin Spacey?” Jerry rolled his eyes.
“Then what happened?” Rachel leaned forward.
Fallon shrugged. “She said it was the end of class. Most of the students shuffled out like the drones that they are.”
Rachel stared at Fallon and sighed.
“Let’s be real, that’s what most of them are. The only reason Vicky’s in that class is ‘cause she needs three science credits.”
Jerry pointed at Fallon. “What do you think happened to Professor Johnson?”
“To be honest, when I heard about this, I thought it was a gag. I sat in for a lecture once. Professor Johnson is a real eccentric. Overexaggerated pronunciation. Overworked vocabulary. The whole bit. But now, I’m not so sure. Class is Mondays and Thursdays. Guess, we’ll find out in two days.”
Rachel tapped on her phone. “According to his Van Buren bio, this is Professor Johnson’s first semester teaching here. Before that, he was at Oregon State and Central Oklahoma University. Did his undergrad and got his doctorate at McGill.” She showed Fallon and Jerry a photo of the professor, an average looking white man in his fifties with a touch of gray in his thinning dark hair.
“Doesn’t prove if it’s him one way or the other.” Jerry said.
“No, it is him.” Rachel tapped away at her phone. “This Mark Johnson. Mark C. Johnson to be exact, was born in Stuyvesant and had an older sister named Margaret, or Peggy. And he lives in East Stuyvesant.”
Fallon pointed at Rachel’s phone. “You figured all that out just sitting here?”
“Databases. The world’s full of them. Why do think I’m so paranoid about privacy? The professor lives at 226 Wolfe Street.”
Jerry gulped the rest of his Coke. “Let’s finish up lunch, then we can swing by and do some investigating.”
Fallon shook her head. “It will have to be the two of you in the Mystery Mobile. I’ve got Gender, Power, and International Development class at one.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t want to miss that.”
Rachel typed the address into Waze. “That actually works. We can drop you off. The U is on the way to the professor’s place.
* * *
Jerry pulled his car into the Student Center parking lot.
Fallon opened the rear door. “Thanks for the lift. After class, I’ll swing by Professor Johnson’s office, then text you anything I learn.”
“Good luck.” Rachel waved bye.
Fallon slipped out of the car and walked toward East Campus.
Rachel turned to Jerry. “What about your other theory? Someone who hates the football team?”
“The problem is where can we find a list of s—Damn!” Jerry reached for his backpack.
“What?”
“The list! I forgot that Professor Harding gave me this list of students who signed up for her class.”
“Who’s Professor Harding?”
“Didn’t I tell you? She’s the witch. She gave me the info about Peggy and introduced her to magic.”
Rachel shook her head. “You skipped where you got the information.”
“Anyway, this past spring, Professor Harding taught A Survey of Magic Systems. One student, a girl, asked her about learning about luck and real magic. The professor didn’t remember her name but gave me a list of students who took the class. Maybe between your nerds and your databases, you can narrow it down. Cross off anyone who graduated, dropped out, transferred, or is studying abroad.” Jerry fished the paper out of his backpack and handed it to Rachel.
“There’s got to be fifty names here.”
“We can knock out the half who are guys.”
Rachel scanned the list. “More like a quarter. Looks like interest in magic skews female.”
“Fallon would be pleased.”
“You can say that again.”
“What do you mean?”
Rachel held up the list and pointed to the first name.
AHERN, FALLON G. - SID #247-91-9715