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When Fulghum arrived at the college later that morning, the campus was in an uproar. Newshounds and police were milling around the administration building. A prelate in crimson had just arrived and was talking with Father Malloy on the lawn in front of the administration building. The mime was doing his glass enclosure routine on the lawn, but no one looked at him. He winked at Fulghum but did not interrupt his mimicry. Everywhere Fulghum went, though, the students’ eyes followed him because overnight he had become a media hero.
Teddy Nonesuch, a News-at-Five reporter he knew, caught up with Fulghum, his cameraman in tow.
“Mr. Fulghum, you were at the apartment in Bedford last night when it burned to the ground. Will you comment about the explosion and fire?”
“Teddy, the apartment building where I used to live is now an ash pit. I’m now living in my Saab. I’m glad no one was killed or badly injured. The hero of the hour was the apartment manager, who saved fifty lives, including mine, with his adroit evacuation of the building just before the blast.”
“Do you know what caused the explosion?”
“That’s a question for the forensics team, Teddy. Goodbye.”
Nonesuch valiantly tried to get further comments but in vain. Fulghum disappeared into the theater building.
Fulghum did not remain on campus long. He checked by his office to see whether his students had left any notes for him. They had not. He posted a note that he was going to be off campus for the day. He taped the note to his door and included at the bottom his cell phone number with an underlined sub note: strictly for emergencies. He made a dash for his Saab.
With his head down and his hat brim pulled low, he was almost out of the main quad when a familiar female voice remarked, “I’m glad you survived the blast.”
Directly in his path stood Professor Meg Sturbridge, the English professor, looking worried.
“I was lucky,” Fulghum muttered gruffly.
“Would you mind if I tagged along with you for a chat? I have information you may need.”
Fulghum appraised her standing there with her notebook under her arm and her sunglasses hiding the enormous blue eyes he’d admired at dinner the night before.
“I don’t mind as long as you’ll put up with my smoking while I drive.”
“I’ll join you smoking. It’s always a bore on campus when I can’t light up. I don’t know but a half dozen faculty who don’t smoke off campus whenever they get the chance.”
Fulghum saw that Clancy was watching the two of them like a hawk. He shrugged at the mime as Sturbridge fell in beside him. The mime scowled and went back to being trapped in his invisible box.
“Don’t pay Hal any attention, or he’ll want to take revenge. I’m perfectly serious. He’s insanely jealous.”
“Let’s wait to talk until we’re in my Saab and off campus.”
When they exited the campus, Fulghum offered her a Marlboro, lit hers and another for himself.
She took a deep draft and exhaled. “That’s so much better.”
“You said you had information for me?”
“Let’s drive over to my place where we can get comfortable. Take the next right and the right just following that. It’s the second house on the right.”
Fulghum pulled up in front of a two-story McMansion in tasteful light blue with gray trim. The place was surrounded by trees on three sides and immaculately landscaped along with a three-car garage.
“This is a large house for a single woman,” the detective said.
“Believe it or not, I use every room of it for something or another.”
“Even the three car garage?”
“Looks can be deceptive.” She pulled a keychain from her purse and pushed a garage door opener on the chain. The right garage door opened revealing a fully finished area outfitted with large screen displays and computers. The detective noticed a large satellite dish firmly bolted to the roof of the main building.
“Let’s go in this way.” She led him through the garage into the house proper. Fulghum could see that a basement lay under the first floor. The stairway to the second floor was adjacent to the stairway that descended to the basement.
She led him into her designer kitchen with all the latest amenities. “Why don’t we talk at the kitchen table? Do you want a couple of inches of Jack Daniels whiskey? That’s what you like to drink, isn’t it?”
Fulghum nodded. She poured three inches of the brown, velvety liquid in each of two glasses, tossed her dark glasses on the table and sat down across from him. Ostentatiously, she raised her keychain and pressed the button to lower the outside garage door.
Sturbridge took a sip of her whiskey and savored it. She pulled an immaculate glass ashtray forward so they could share it as she lit another cigarette.
“I’ve got another class at two o’clock this afternoon. I’ll have to leave by quarter till. My story is long and boring, so I’ll try to economize.”
Fulghum chain lit a cigarette, stubbing the old one out in the ashtray. After exhaling, he said, “You have my full attention.”
“Hal came to my rescue at dinner last night. I’m glad he did because my story is complicated. It couldn’t have been told in the short time we had before the play. Besides, Sister Barbara was present. Anyway,” she said as she crossed her legs provocatively, “what Hal said was true. I come from money on both sides. This house is one of five that I own outright. I do have a doctorate in English literature. I specialized in Eighteenth-Century English poetry, specifically imitations of Classical Roman satire.”
She re-crossed her legs and took another tack in her story. “After I completed my doctorate, I was recruited by the CIA and spent six years doing field work in the Middle East.”
“That would mean you know Arabic fluently and possibly Hebrew.”
“Yes, to both. My mother was a Jewess, and my father was Islamic. I grew up bilingual in the Middle East because of my mother’s work.”
“Let me guess,” Fulghum asked, “Mossad?”
“Actually, she was Aman - Israeli military intelligence. She moved around a lot adapting to the forms of Arabic wherever she went. My father was vetted as a stringer. They worked as a team. As their daughter, I was identified early as Mossad material with the blessing of my parents. I got my first agent assignment when I was barely fifteen years old and not even an employee of the Institute.”
“Your transition from the secret world of the Middle East to the groves of academe in an American Catholic college seems remarkable.”
“You mean improbable. Looking back, I have to agree with you that it was odd. At the time, my life seemed mapped all the way from initial entry to retirement in Tel Aviv. The Mossad even had picked out the perfect husband for me. Naturally, he was an agent as well.”
She leaned forward and took another drink of JD. Then she sat back, aware that her physical charms were being admired by Fulghum. She crossed her legs again.
“Everything in my life was going smoothly until my mother was arrested in Syria on charges of espionage. My father tried to convince the Aman to barter her freedom. When they refused, he went on a self-initiated rescue mission that ended in his capture. It’s a long story, but the upshot was both he and my mother were tried and executed. At the time they were hanged, I was also on assignment in Egypt. The Mossad pulled me back and sent me to the United States to continue my education. I discovered after their deaths that my parents were both wealthy. As their sole heir, I was worth a fortune. So, I attended Brandeis and then Harvard, with an undergrad and graduate major in English and a graduate minor in Classical Latin.”
“And I suppose, you left your Mossad history behind you.”
She nodded and looked him in the eyes. She raised her brows and stuck her tongue in the inside of her cheek.
“Oh, I get it. You left the Mossad behind, but the Mossad never forgot you.”
“Very good, Mr. Fulghum.”
“If you’re as wealthy as you say, why did you initiate all the litigation against the college and the Church?”
“Mr. Fulghum, what would you guess are the odds of a Jew who had a Muslim father being given tenure at a Catholic college?”
“So, your lawsuits are a way of keeping yourself employed without tenure?”
“It’s worked so far.”
“And Hal Clancy knows your whole story?”
“He knows all that I’ve told you so far.”
“Do you intend to tell me the rest, or shall I guess?”
“I’d be amused at your guess, but we don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll tell you. The Mossad found me and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I didn’t have to go back to the Middle East. My assignment was to stay as an agent in place right here. My contact was supposed to be coming, a man named Father Sulpido Rivera.”
“The missing VP for Academic Affairs?”
“Just so. He was wearing the costume of a Catholic priest, but by his mother’s blood he was a Jew.”
“And he was also with Argentinean intelligence?”
“Yes, on both counts and when he came, I was his mistress in this house.”
“I see. And you said that Hal Clancy was a jealous man?”
“That was the least of my complications, Mr. Fulghum.”
“May I ask what your mission was for the Mossad?”
“Do you remember the synagogue bombing that Argentina denied being involved in?” She paused to let Fulghum remember the horrific details.
“It was all over the news when it happened. Since then conspiracy theories have abounded. No one has penetrated that mystery to date as far as I know.”
“For Argentina, it was not only a tragedy but a big embarrassment for many reasons.”
“How was an operation involving the bombing of a Jewish community center in Argentina going to be conducted from a college in the USA?”
“Don’t forget that the connections to the bombing were not only Islamic but also German. At first, I didn’t know about the American connection, but Mossad knew.”
“You’ve lost me. Will you clarify the situation as you saw it?”
“Terrorism is complex, Mr. Fulghum. You know this because of what you did in the military. Don’t ask me how I know about your past - I just know.” As she lit another cigarette, Fulghum saw in her facial features that the woman could be Semitic.
“Once Father Rivera came, how did you operate to complete your mission?”
“The mission isn’t yet over, Mr. Fulghum. I’ve temporarily lost my associate, but I’m carrying on, completing the mission alone.”
“Father Rivera came to the college wearing at least four hats. He was to be the college’s VP. He was working for Argentinean intelligence. He was an agent of the Mossad. And he was a practicing priest.”
She crossed her legs again and nodded. She frowned. “You have to add a fifth hat.”
All at once she smiled, waved her hand in the air and put her index finger to her lips to indicate her house was likely bugged.
“I see. Is that all you want to tell me?”
“Father Rivera was murdered.”
“Is that your conjecture or fact?”
“It’s my conjecture bordering on fact.”
“Who do you think killed him?”
“I don’t care who actually murdered him.”
“Hal thinks it was the Rhode Island Mob.”
“I’ll leave it to you and Hal to deal with that. I don’t care who paid them to do the job either. Instead, I’m interested in who gave the order to have Father Rivera killed. Knowing that will allow me to complete my mission for the Mossad. For that information, I’m willing to pay you one million dollars into the numbered offshore account of your choosing. Or, I could open such an account for you. What do you say to the deal?”
“I don’t want to become involved in a conflict of interest.”
“Are you trying to discover the person who ordered Father Rivera’s death already?”
“Actually, no. I have no client relationship for that.”
“Good, then it’s settled.”
“If you’re serious about this proposition, I’d like one-half of the money to be put in a numbered account whose details I’ll provide today. That earnest money will be mine whether I deliver what you want or not. The rest will be due on the day I deliver what you want. Further, I need to know two things right now as conditions of accepting you as my client.”
“What do you need to know?”
“Did you kill or did you order the killing of Father Rivera?”
She kept her eyes firmly fixed on his. “No, Mr. Fulghum, I neither hired anyone to kill him nor killed him myself. What else do you want to know?”
“Does your relationship with Hal Clancy have something to do with the fifth role that Father Rivera assumed when he came to the college?”
She smiled. “Mr. Fulghum, you are as good as they say you are. The answer is yes. Give me the name of your offshore bank and the number of your account.”
He pulled a card from his wallet and wrote a number at the bottom. He handed it to her.
She pressed her lips together as she read the card. “I’ll arrange the transfer of your money by nightfall. When it has been transferred, I’ll send you a message with the word ‘solicitor’ in it. I see by the clock that we’ve got just enough time for me to take a quick break before you drop me back on campus. Perhaps on your next visit, we won’t be so rushed.” He detected desire in her as she scanned him from head to toe.
She tossed her head as if to shake off a thought and got up from the table.
“I won’t be a minute.”
She went down the hall and entered what must have been a bathroom. When she emerged, she looked refreshed as if she had retouched her makeup. Fulghum and she left through the garage door. She closed the garage door remotely as he drove her back to the college in his Saab. As he drove off, through his rearview mirror, he saw Hal standing next to her while looking daggers at him over her shoulder.
Fulghum wasn’t sure he’d find the man he’d be looking for late in the afternoon, but he thought it was worth the chance. He drove to a small Italian restaurant in Providence, Rhode Island. There were plenty of parking spaces out front and three huge gorillas loitering outside on the pavement under the restaurant’s big, red awning. They seemed to pay no attention to Fulghum as he walked confidently into the eatery’s dark interior and wove his way to the table far in the back where, as he had hoped, an enormous Italian sat nursing a wine glass half full of red wine.
Fulghum stood in front of the table until the man looked up and gestured for him to sit down. He snapped his fingers, and a fat man with a white shirt and garters hustled over from behind the bar. Fulghum saw that the man’s hair was oily and his moustache was waxed.
“Tony, bring my friend Mr. Fulghum a wineglass and a carafe of wine. Mr. Fulghum, would you like something to eat? A cannoli? Bread with olives and garlic?”
“Bread, please, with olives.”
“Tony, you heard the man. Bring enough bread and olives for two.”
They waited in silence while Tony brought the wine, bread, and olives. He also brought two cloth napkins in solid silver napkin holders. When Tony had gone back to polishing the bar, the serious conversation began.
“Mr. Fulghum, it’s not often a genuine hero comes into my restaurant. I drink to you.” He touched his glass to Fulghum’s before the detective drank with him. Then he picked up a piece of bread and tore it in half.
Studiously avoiding the evident reference to his portrayal in the media, Fulghum said, “I’m sorry to barge in unannounced, but I wanted to tell you something you need to know.” He ate an olive and a piece of bread.
“Is this something that should trouble me?”
Fulghum considered this for a moment while studying the olives. “Since it touches on your territory, you may want to take precautions.”
The boss of the Rhode Island Mafia drank from his wineglass and selected an olive. He put the black morsel in his mouth and chewed it, spitting out the seed on the small plate that also held his bread. “Should I call my associates from out front to hear what you have to say?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary, but what I have to say will concern two of them.”
Fulghum saw the man’s brow knit and his fists contract slightly. The Italian raised his eyes and fixed them on the detective’s.
“I’m listening.”
“I saw some moving pictures recently of two men looking a lot like two of the three who are standing right outside the front door. The pictures are not just good likenesses; they are unmistakable. The pictures also show an automobile they drove with its Rhode Island plates clearly visible.”
“Those men are . . . what? Photogenic. Yeah. What of it?”
“Another car and a man who owned it were in the same picture. That man has disappeared.” Fulghum slowly chewed his bread and had a slow sip of wine.
“I think I’m getting the picture. Tell me more.”
“One of the men standing out front used a sap on the man who owned the car. He and the other one drove off with the unconscious man and his car.”
“And this is what you came to tell me? That you saw some pictures?” The Mob boss was reddening around the jowls. His teeth were grinding slowly though he had not eaten anything more. His eyes were focused on the middle distance at something Fulghum could not see.
“The Boston Police are interested in those images. That’s why I drove down to interrupt your solitude today.”
The Mob boss thought for a moment. He called over to his man, “Hey Tony, step outside and tell Carlo and Salvatore I need to see them now.”
They waited while the men were summoned. The two huge men stood before the table like supplicants, their massive hands by their sides.
“Mr. Fulghum tells me you guys are posing for police cameras, sapping people, kidnapping them and stealing their cars.”
The two goons’ hands exercised themselves as if they were independent of their owners.
“The question I have for you is simple. Who paid you to pose for those cameras? It certainly wasn’t me.”
The two goons never had a chance. The Mob boss lifted a revolver that lay in his lap and with two shots to the head, resolved all issues. The shots were deafening. The smoke was still rising, and the cordite smell was filling the room when the Mob boss called out, “Hey, Tony, why don’t you get someone to take out this garbage.”
Tony raced out the front door to get help from the third man who was still standing under the awning.
“Mr. Fulghum, did you have anything else for me today?” the Mob boss asked.
“No. I think that covers it on my end. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I have trouble reading the racing forms lately. I’d like to fix the Derby.”
“Bet on Nyquist. It’s a sure thing.” Fulghum advised as he finished his wine and reached for his wallet.
“Thanks, detective, for your advice. I’m glad you visited this afternoon. No, don’t leave your money. Your information was worth a fortune to me. As my nephew, Vinnie likes to say, have a nice day.”
Fulghum rose and went to the door while Tony and the goon dragged the two corpses out the back door.
As he drove back to Massachusetts, Fulghum thought about the English teacher’s story.
So, the English teacher’s really a Mossad agent, working with a shady Argentinean figure in priest’s garments who validated the deal for the paintings and prints currently housed but not owned explicitly by the college. The Vatican is in the story somewhere, but so are the Nazi escapees and Jews who want vengeance for the bombing of the community center in Buenos Aires in 1994.
Fulghum lit a Marlboro and tuned his radio to the Boston news channel. There he learned the Kardashians were up to their usual shenanigans, the weather was unseasonably cold in New England, and the explosion in Bedford was decidedly not the act of terrorists.
The noir detective laughed at the last item in spite of himself.
Excluding terrorism is as good as rendering the bombing case dead. Already it’s not the lead but the last listed story. Tomorrow it’ll be entirely forgotten. From the media perspective, probably we’ll never know who actually ordered the hit on Father Rivera, but rough justice has been done. I witnessed the deaths of the two murderers. Now, of course, I’ve got to answer the questions for which only the dead may have the answers.
Fulghum made it to his office in time for his meeting with Sister Barbara and Silvia Blackwood. He poured JD and lighted Marlboros. His dusty, smoke-filled office seemed a choice destination for a clandestine ritual.
“What do we have today?”
Sister Barbara led off. “The cardinal’s visit was successful. He surveyed the artworks at the retreat as well as the list of artifacts. He verified that all was in order for the transfer. At the end of the day, he received a phone call indicating all details regarding Father Rivera had been resolved with no further need to investigate his disappearance. At least that’s the Church’s point of view. Cardinal Angelus left today to take care of other matters in South America. The president is relieved about that but concerned about the police coming on campus to seize the imagery relating to the administrative parking spaces. Can you imagine their effrontery?”
“As long as the college complied with the requests, everything should be fine,” said Fulghum. “Dr. Blackwood, what did you discover today?”
“I met with the editor of The Clarion at noon. Robin Cavanaugh and I spoke for an hour. With her, I went over my findings from reading the students’ reportage of the Lebetters’ deaths.”
“What did you determine?” asked Sister Barbara as she took a long draft on her Marlboro.
“We agreed with the administration’s opinion that the matter of the Lebetters’ deaths was not deserving of coverage in The Clarion. Perhaps, though, some form of obituary is warranted for each. I told Robin she should analyze the students’ inputs and provide a synthesis of their findings in the shortest possible scope as the obits.”
“That sounds good to me,” Sister Barbara said.
The women looked expectantly at Fulghum.
“While you both were working hard, I went to Rhode Island today to have lunch with an old friend. He thought we’d never find the killers of Father Rivera, and we may not find the victim’s body. We knew that already, but I have a feeling Father Rivera will be avenged.”
Sister Barbara nodded, but Silvia Blackwood’s eyes indicated she was now giving Fulghum her full attention.
“What’s our agenda tomorrow, John?” she inquired.
“Let’s just follow the course we have projected to see what turns up. I don’t think we’ll need to meet here again until something important is discovered and warrants a meeting. I suggest therefore that we cease our daily meetings until that happens. Is that all right with you?”
The two women agreed without discussion. Since everyone still had night work to do, they adjourned. Sister Barbara went to her apartment while John and Silvia went to hers.
When Fulghum was at Blackwood’s kitchen table, and both were enjoying their third JD of the night, Silvia asked, “What did you really do in Rhode Island today?”
“I saw a mob boss friend. He took care of business right before my eyes. It didn’t get us close to finding out who funded or ordered Father Rivera’s killing. It did, though, mete out justice to those who actually murdered him. Of that, I’m sure.”
“I don’t think I was getting all the truth from Robin at lunch today.”
“Somehow, Silvia, I don’t think we’ll ever know the truth that will set us free.” He smiled ruefully.
“I’d surely like to get close enough for comfort,” she added with intentional ambiguity.
“Let me rephrase that for you. Perhaps we’ll get close enough for discomfort, like having our apartments destroyed, for example.” He immediately regretted having said that because she recoiled and trembled at the thought.
“I shudder to think of that.”
“While you’re at it, let me give you something else to shudder about. But perhaps we should adjourn to the bedroom for some pillow talk.”
“That’s fine with me. I’ll take a rest stop on the way.”
They were finally under the covers of her bed. She rubbed her foot up and down his leg. They kissed. That might have ended their conversation except for the Girl Friday in Silvia came to full alert.
“Okay,” she said, leaning into his bare body. “You said you’d give me something to shudder about. What is it?”
“Today I went to the spacious home of Professor Meg Sturbridge, the English teacher we had dinner with last night.”
“Yes, and ...”
“She’s an agent with the Mossad. That’s not for print.”
“Egad! How convoluted is this whole thing becoming?”
“The short version is that she was working with Father Rivera, who has disappeared, on a number of issues including the Jewish community center bombing in Argentina.”
“Stop the presses! Good shit, this is tremendous.” Silvia was now sitting up in bed. She pushed Fulghum’s arm. “What did she say? I want the whole story.”
“The story’s still in the making, Silvia. Suffice to say - I’m on her case as well as Sister Barbara’s now.”
“Do you mean that you’re working for two clients as well as the college? I’m sure you’re not entangling yourself in conflicts of interest. At least I hope you’re not.”
“Worry not, my angel! I may, however, have to make a weekend trip or two to the Andes fairly soon.”
“Can I come too?”
“If you’re very good.”
“How good is that?”
“We’ll see. Keep your eye on your third Pulitzer.”
“At the rate we’re going, my entire backup will be tangled up with business propositions I don’t know anything about.”
“That’s what I love about you, Silvia.”
“What’s that, John?” she asked with a smile.
“You’re the only woman I know who can hold a half dozen contradictory thoughts in her mind without going totally crazy.”
“Now I know you’re thinking of Sue what’s-her-name, your Korean bitch client.”
“Ah, I’m glad you mentioned her. Do you realize that if I hadn’t brought her ginseng plant gift to your table, it would’ve been consumed in the fire that rendered the rest of my apartment into dust?”
“Speaking of which, I’d like to know what you’re going to do to establish a new home of your own.”
“Are you tired of me already?”
“It’s just that I know us, John. We like our independence and our privacy.”
“I’ve been thinking about things. I’m currently leaning towards buying a single family home in the People’s Republic of Cambridge somewhere near my office.”
“Isn’t that very expensive?”
“Think of it as an investment. I’d like you to help me pick it out. That way, if you ever want to come over for the night...” His hand moved over her body.
“Oh, John, I do like what you do to me.”
Encouraged, he pressed his advantage.
“How does that feel?” he asked.
“Mmm. I like the way you nibble at my ear.”
“As I was saying, Hal Clancy is insanely jealous of his significant other’s activities.”
“Does he know about her extracurricular activities?”
“Meg told me Hal doesn’t know as much as I do now.”
“Good grief. How long were you with the woman?”
“Believe me, not very long. We had to cover a lot of ground in a very short time before she went back to teach English Restoration Imitations of Juvenal’s Tenth Satire.”
“Did you say satyr?”
“It was something like that. Anyway, don’t get jealous. Hal Clancy is jealous enough for both of you.”
“Do you think Clancy’s jealousy of his significant other’s relationship with Father Rivera was a motive for murder?”
“That might be. Silvia, last month I helped Nigel Pounce solve a case where the butler actually did commit the crime, against all literary as well as historical precedent. Now you’re suggesting the mime did it in this case. While I’m not putting the idea entirely out of mind, I’m not making it the centerpiece in my analysis. It might cloud my judgment. Wait a minute—is that my cell phone ringing or yours?”
“My cell phone has been turned off. Do you mean you left yours on? Good Lord, John, how inconsiderate you are sometimes.”
He looked at the caller ID. “I think I should take this call.”
“While you take it, I’ll pour us some JD. What do you say?”
“I do like it when you talk dirty to me.” He winked and showed her three fingers’ measure.
She threw a pillow at him as he answered the call.
“Hello, this is John Fulghum, PI. It’s your nickel.”
Silvia took their glasses to the kitchen and refilled them. When she returned, she discovered Fulghum in deep conversation with someone about the Rivera case.
“I see. Did they get a positive ID on the body? ... Yes, DNA analysis will be essential. Where did you say they found the body? ... In the Charles River. I see. Nigel, it seems you have all you need for a homicide case. Given that, I hate to tell you this, but the two men who killed Father Rivera are now dead. ... Why? Let’s just say, I know for a fact that they’re dead. ... No, I can’t say anything else about it. I’ll have to deny having told you anything. ... Yes, I know you’re my friend. Look, I’ve gotta go now ... That’s right. We should go fishing on Pontoosuc Lake sometime soon. ... Right. Say hello to Molly, Joseph, and Colleen for me. Good night.”
Fulghum accepted the glass with the three fingers of JD that Silvia handed him. She curled back in bed naked beside him and rubbed against him, making him uncomfortably large.
“Silvia, you know just what you do to me.”
“That has absolutely nothing to do with what we need to talk about. Who were you talking to, Officer Nigel Pounce?”
“Yes, that was Nigel.”
“And I suppose he’s found the body of Father Rivera.”
“He thinks so. He’s also found the car with the Rhode Island plates in the Charles River.”
“You sounded so convinced when you told him the murderers were already dead. How do you know these things?”
“Do you know about protecting news sources?”
“Give me a break. All right, you go to Rhode Island to see your mob friends. They take care of business. You come back here and drive me wild. Mmm. Let me take another sip of JD. No? Well, then. Mmm.”
The next morning it was Fulghum who rose first and drove to the campus ahead of Silvia. He had a great day teaching and avoided all contact with administrators. During his office hours, Benny appeared at his door looking sheepish.
“Professor Fulghum, the police raided the campus police command center. They asked for and seized imagery that corresponded exactly with the imagery I gave you on that thumb drive.” He winked conspiratorially.
“Well, Benny, coincidences do happen. What’ve you been up to lately?”
“I just finished a job for Professor Clancy.”
“What was that? Building a mime cage made of glass?”
“Very funny. No. He wanted me to plant a camera to observe the third garage of a friend of his, an English teacher.”
“And is the work completed?”
“I finished it an hour ago. It’s amazing what folks will do to gain intelligence on their neighbors.”
“Tell me, Benny, why did he want to do surveillance on this target?”
“He claims he’s interested in Professor Sturbridge’s security, but I think he smells a rival.”
“A rival?”
“Everyone knows he and his target are lovers.”
“Who’s everyone?” Fulghum asked.
Benny rolled his eyes. “Everyone in the student body who has eyes and ears. Professor Clancy has been banging her forever. She’s been doing other faculty as well—and administrators too, like Father Rivera.”
Fulghum told Benny, “I’ve got to see other students now.”
Benny, who was always busy with dozens of projects, disappeared.
The first person who entered Fulghum’s office after Benny left was Robin Cavanaugh.
“Good morning. May I come in?”
“Come right in. Do I know you?” He winked at her conspiratorially.
“No, Professor Fulghum, you don’t.” She held out her hand. “I’m Robin Cavanaugh, editor of The Clarion, the college newspaper. I’d like to interview you about the explosion and fire that consumed your apartment in Bedford. I think it would make a good article. Everyone on campus is talking about what appeared on the Boston news channels. I thought there might be more to the story. Will you let me interview you now?”
Fulghum shook her hand and invited Robin to take a seat opposite his at the table. She put her cell phone on the table with its recorder on.
“Mr. Fulghum, what happened at your apartment last night?”
“My apartment manager cleared everyone out of the apartment building. When all the occupants were safe across the street, city emergency vehicles and police arrived. The apartment complex exploded and burst into flames. After that, the emergency personnel took over.” He sat back waiting for her next question.
“Was the bomb—or whatever caused the explosion—aimed at any particular person, or was it random?”
“Robin, that’s for the forensic analysis to determine. I understand the analysis is underway right now.”
“What was your role in the events of last night?”
“I helped the apartment manager shepherd the other apartment residents during the evacuation. I stood with the others across the street as the emergency teams arrived. I witnessed the blast. When I had given my statement to the on-scene commander, I left.” Fulghum smiled at the editor.
She frowned and turned off her recorder.
“Now that we’re off the record, Professor Fulghum, please level with me. I know you were the one who raised the alarm. I know you were the first to inform your apartment manager about the possibility of a bomb. I also know you were the one who called 911. In fact, I have the recording of your voice making the call. I heard what you said to the dispatcher. You specifically talked about the technical nature of the bomb. That was a full fifteen minutes before the blast went off.”
“Yes, and it was five minutes after the residents of the building had cleared out. So what’s the problem? Why do you need to interview me to obtain the information you already know from other sources?”
“You’re exasperating, just like Professor Blackwood said you’d be.”
“Did she send you to interview me?”
“I asked her about it, and she said it would be okay by her.”
“I’ve got a deal for you.”
She sat on the edge of her seat with wide eyes. “Okay, what’s the deal?”
“I’ll give you a scoop if you’ll tell me everything you know about a certain English professor named Margaret Sturbridge, who’s the significant other of a certain theater professor, Harold Clancy.”
Robin sat back and looked Fulghum in the eye appraisingly. “You’re asking the same question Dr. Max asked under similar circumstances not long before he died.”
Fulghum was intrigued. “All right. Tell me what you told him. Then I want you to tell me what he told you in exchange for that.”
“This is going to take some time.”
“I’ve got a couple of hours before my next class. Give it a try.”
“Well, a lot of what I know is rumor, and some of it is conjecture. I’ll tell the story. If you want to know what the firm facts are, I can sort them out for you afterward. Is that fair enough?”
“For starters, yes. Go ahead.” Instead of leaning forward and intimidating Robin, Fulghum sat back and relaxed.
Robin took a deep breath. “From the time they both arrived on campus, Clancy and Sturbridge were an item.”
“They arrived at about the same time?”
“Yes. Professor Hal Clancy and Professor Meg Sturbridge started teaching the same semester eight years ago. I wasn’t here then, but I did the research and discovered it was so. She was the subject of rumor because of the big house she’d bought for cash. He was the subject of rumor because he was so strange. Since then, she kept hanging on because she initiated eight lawsuits against the college. He got tenure by selling his soul—that’s what he says. Actually, he converted to Catholicism. It wasn’t hard to find out he spent many nights at her house. She spent time at his apartment also. I mean all-nighters.”
“Their characters seem so different. What do you suppose was the attraction on both sides?”
“At first I thought it was literature. He loves to read and produce plays. She has a long suit in writing scholarly articles on abstruse topics, mainly about Classical Latin satirists.”
“What made you think about other possibilities?”
“I found out Clancy was former CIA.”
“How did you learn that?”
“He told a former editor of The Clarion who passed down the knowledge that eventually was told to me. When I asked him about it, he did not deny the fact.”
“What did you make of his being former CIA?”
“Don’t get me wrong, but for me, CIA means double or even triple lives. I began to examine what Clancy did, looking specifically for evidence of other lives.”
“I take it you found such evidence?”
“I did, but I didn’t find it directly. I remember witnessing a meeting of Professor Clancy and Father Rivera back of the theater building. I was making a circuit of the building just to see what I could see. What I saw was a terrific argument. No, it was more. It was a fight the like of which I’ve never seen on campus. Here was an administrator and a department head trying to kill each other with martial arts.”
“Who won?”
“It was a draw. They stopped when they noticed I was present observing them. They both came up to me to be sure I understood their fighting was merely an exercise in martial arts. I let that pass, but I never forgot it. Close examination of Meg Sturbridge’s house indicated that both men were visiting her for overnight stays, never on the same night.”
“They were rival lovers?”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Did anything change your mind about that?”
“There were other men who visited Professor Sturbridge’s house overnight.”
“How many men, Robin?”
“One came each night that the other two men stayed away.”
“Have you documented this?”
“I have dates, times, pictures, the works.”
“Okay. What did you deduce from this?”
“Because Professor Sturbridge seemed to have a lot of money, prostitution didn’t fit. The men who stayed at her place looked affluent, and some looked foreign. It occurred to me that she was into something very big. Since Professor Clancy was ex-CIA, I thought her game might be espionage. I could have kicked myself because it seemed at the time like some conspiracy theory. I backed off on my surveillance. Oddly, at about that time I was solicited to become the editor of The Clarion.”
“Do you think there was a connection?”
“Between my stopping my surveillance on Professor Sturbridge and my getting the nod to be the editor? Mr. Fulghum, I don’t believe in coincidences. Of course, I suspected a connection. In effect, I was being rewarded for backing off. In my present state of mind, I might have pressed harder to discover what was really happening.”
“You didn’t collect the data on Professor Sturbridge all by yourself, did you?”
“No. A great many students make it their business to dig up dirt on all the administrators and faculty. They’ve amassed files on each personality. It includes profiles, attitudes, old tests, family data, the works. It’s called The Big Book of Secrets among the campus underground. Listen, I hope you won’t repeat any of this. I’d be in big trouble if this came out and anyone knew the information came from me.”
“I keep hearing that refrain around this campus.”
“Secrets are what make this campus interesting.”
“If you say so, Robin.”
“Please don’t patronize me, Mr. Fulghum. I happen to know that after you had left the scene of your building’s demise, you drove to the apartment of Professor Blackwood and stayed what was left of the night.”
Fulghum nodded and waited for Robin to continue. He wanted to know where she was going to take her argument.
As if she read his mind, she said, “Look, Mr. Fulghum, your personal life is of no concern to me. What I’m interested in is the news. Have I told you enough to get my story? Mr. Fulghum, I’d like to be able to print at least one article containing substance, not bullshit, okay?”
Fulghum wished he had a cigarette. He knew exactly what Robin wanted, and he knew she had not completely ruled out blackmailing him to get it.
He shrugged and told her, “Turn on your recorder, and may God bless us both.”
Fulghum gave Robin all the details about his coming to his apartment, having a hunch about the bomb, alerting the apartment manager and helping his neighbors get across the street to safety.
“You didn’t see a bomb before you did all that?”
“No. I just had a strong feeling that something was not right.”
“Did you discover later what didn’t feel right? Or was it intuition?”
“I’m sure something triggered my internal systems to be alerted. Perhaps it was a subliminal scent. Perhaps it was something about the atmosphere in the hallway. I don’t really know. All I know is that I’ve had the same feeling before when I was in the Army. In uniform in a hostile environment, I never doubted my instincts. I think that’s why I’m still alive to talk about it today.”
“This time you helped fifty people survive an attack that would have killed them all. You must have some satisfaction in having done that. I think it was noble of you.”
“I wasn’t noble. I was lucky, and so were they. I could just as easily have opened my door and unleashed hell. Or I might have opened the door and found nothing unusual. Who knew there was a bomb for sure until the event occurred?”
“You lived alone in that apartment?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And you have no other home right now?”
“I have my Saab.”
“Your car?”
“Yes. My powder blue Saab. It’s out in the parking lot now if you want to see it.”
“My dorm has a few vacant rooms. Some doubles have only one occupant. We’ve been talking. Do you need a place to stay?”
“I’m grateful for your thoughtfulness, Robin, but I’ll have to pass on the offer.”
“Is that because you’re going to move in with Professor Blackwood?”
“Robin, please turn off the recorder now.”
She turned it off, clearly miffed by his insistence.
“Some things should remain private. Don’t you think that’s true? What if I told the world that you and Professor Max Lebetter had had a flaming affair? How would you feel?”
Robin turned even redder than her complexion. She teared up and gritted her teeth. She hissed, “How did you know about that? How could you possibly know?”
Fulghum reached into his pocket and handed her a handkerchief. She sobbed then she tried to recover and blew her nose.
“I miss him so much. Why did he have to die?”
Fulghum let her grieve for a few minutes. They were interrupted by someone pounding on his door. Robin did her best to recover. She picked up her cell phone and handed Fulghum his handkerchief. She put on a brave face and said, “Thank you, Professor Fulghum, for your time.” Robin exited the room with her head down and to the side, passing the line of students waiting at the door. All eyes followed her out of the building.
“Come in, Benny, and close the door. We’ll have to make it fast because you saw the line of people waiting.”
“Robin looked upset. I hope she’s okay.”
“She’ll be fine, Benny. I was just telling her about the explosion at my apartment. She has a vivid imagination. Things could have been so much worse that they turned out. What’s on your mind?”
After Benny’s visit, Fulghum made it through his office hours and his class. He emerged on the quad in the late afternoon sunshine and saw Robin and Benny having a heated exchange under a rowan tree. They were so absorbed in their conversation that they did not look up as he walked by them. He continued through the parking lot, past the administrative parking spaces where Sister Barbara’s car was parked in the slot labeled VP for Academic Affairs, to the back of the lot he had parked his powder-blue Saab.
On the Saab’s filthy windshield was a spattering of bird shit and, under his windshield wiper, a note. He climbed into the car to read the note while squirting water on the soiled windshield and working the wipers to clear the smearing mess.
The note was from Professor Sturbridge. Written in fluid cursive, it was terse and to the point.
“You bastard! My solicitor will be in touch. Professor Margaret Sturbridge.”
A telephone number was included below the note. Fulghum called the number. It rang four times and went to voicemail. At the tone, the detective left his message, “Hello, Meg. I got your message. Everyone says you’re looking well today, considering. John.”
Fulghum was uncertain about his next move. He sat in the Saab, brooding. He received a call with unidentified as the caller ID. He let the call go to voicemail. When he checked whether a message had been left, he heard Meg Sturbridge’s voice say four words, “Patriot Park, two hours.” He checked the time. It was four thirty which meant six thirty for their meeting. He figured he’d have time to check into a motel, grab a shower, shave and meet her at the appointed time. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed for New Hampshire. After he had made a quick stop to buy toiletries, he checked into a quiet motel across from the Big One ice cream shop. The motel advertised available wi-fi.
In his room, before he did anything else, he opened his laptop, connected to the Internet and checked the balance in the offshore account whose number he had given Professor Sturbridge. His account had been incremented by $500,000 as Sturbridge said it would be. Reassured, he took a long, warm shower and shaved. He checked his messages.
He had a short text message from Silvia, “IMOK, RU?”
He responded, “IMOK. CU@9?”
She texted back immediately, “K!”
He also found a voicemail from Benny. “Professor Fulghum, if you want the latest, meet me at the Dunkin’ Donuts nearest campus at midnight. Later, Benny.”
Fulghum texted Benny, “K.”
Realizing that his dance card for the evening was getting full, he walked across the street to buy a large Moose Tracks cone. Then he drove down to Patriot Park, eating his cone and smoking a Marlboro. The park had no food concessions, and smoking was frowned on.
At the first park turnout, he saw Meg Sturbridge standing by her car, looking into the woods. He pulled in next to her. As he climbed out, she turned. In the twilight, he saw that her face had been badly battered and bruised.
“Hello. Do you care to tell me what happened?”
“You don’t need to know. Did you discover the money in your account?”
“Yes. You’re my client now.”
“I’m greatly relieved about that. What progress can you report?”
“First, your place has a new surveillance camera trained on it.”
“Benny’s work?”
“Yes.”
“That’s first. What’s second?”
“Second, the two men who actually kidnapped and killed Father Rivera were working freelance. They were hit men for the Rhode Island mob and are now dead. I saw them killed myself. Things happened fast. I missed the opportunity to question them.” Fulghum paused.
“All right. They probably didn’t know much about who gave the order anyway.”
“I agree. Do you want to hear my third item?”
“I’ve paid you well enough. What else do you have for me?”
“Have you heard of something called The Big Book of Secrets?”
“It’s an underground students-only compendium of mostly junk stuff.”
“It allegedly includes a complete list with pictures of your house guests from the time you moved in, to the present.”
“I see.”
“Have you ever had your house swept for bugs professionally, perhaps by one of your Mossad friends?”
“No.”
“I suppose all the surveillance is why you asked to meet here in Patriot Park?”
“Let’s walk into the woods so I can show you why we’re meeting here.”
She stepped right off the gravel onto the grass, maneuvered around the wooden fence and headed at a forty-five-degree angle to the road. She stopped in front of a stone historical marker with a bronze plate bolted to the top. Beside the marker was a wooden box with a hinged lid.
“In an emergency, I’ll leave you a message in this box. It won’t matter what the text is. It will contain a number that corresponds to another of these historical markers where I’ll place an ordinary tie-top trash bag with your real message or parcel. That’s all I have for you tonight. Thank you for the information. If you need to use my system to communicate with me, just text the word ‘patriot.’ I’ll come as soon as possible to this box and find your message about where to look for your item.”
Fulghum nodded and accompanied her back to their parking area. She took him by the arm and pulled his head down to kiss him on the lips.
“You’re a pretty good kisser, Mr. Fulghum. Of course, you know that kiss was for our cover. The watchers will know the most lecherous member of the faculty of our college has a new potential conquest.” She smiled through her battered face.
“You might want someone to look at that face.”
“You’d be surprised what a little makeup and aviator sunglasses can do for a woman’s pride, detective.”
He let her drive away first. He drove to Silvia’s place and on the way picked up a pizza en route. He arrived at her door at nine o’clock sharp. She answered his knock immediately and motioned him into the apartment. In one hand, she was holding a cigarette while the other held her cell phone to which she was listening intently.
“Yes, Robin, I know. Write the article tonight. I’ll review it tomorrow with you. We’ll get it published somehow. I promise. Don’t you have other homework tonight? Well, I won’t take more of your valuable time. Ciao.” She terminated the call.
“A pizza! Super. I’ll pour us some wine. Meanwhile, catch me up on what’s been happening in your life. I’ve been swamped with classes and meetings all day with no food or cigarettes—and no you.” While she spoke, she laid out wine glasses, plates, knives and forks, along with napkins, a container of parmesan cheese and a dish of black olives.
“I just had a covert meeting with Meg Sturbridge.”
“There has to be a story about that,” Silvia said cheerfully.
“It’s not a good story. Her face had been beaten badly. I don’t think she was cut, but she was bruised and swollen.”
“Did she tell you how it happened?” She paused in the middle of pouring the wine to hear his answer.
“She claimed I didn’t need to know.”
“What did you talk about?” Silvia asked as she lifted a slice of pizza from the box and, juggling it so the cheese separated from the rest of the pie, placed it on her plate. While she shook cheese and hot pepper on her slice, Fulghum answered her question—to a point.
“I told her Benny had just finished installing a security camera to record everything that happened outside her house.”
“Eyes are everywhere.”
“Yes, and history walks back the cat to the time she arrived. She’s fully documented with pictures in The Big Book of Secrets. It appears her working assumption is that her life is an open book.”
“So now you’re in her open book?”
“That’s right.” Fulghum took a slice of pizza and folded it lengthwise so he could eat it without cutting it on his plate. He discovered the slice was extremely hot, so he decided to surrender his first attack and cut the slice on his plate after shaking cheese and peppers over it.
“As you probably overheard, I was on the phone with Robin when you came in. She’s writing that article about what really happened at your apartment building. She wants top cover, so I’m helping her with the politics of the piece.”
“Robin seems to be a pretty smooth operator. She’s talented beyond her years.”
“She’s still grieving for the Lebetters.”
“Has she given you any inklings of what she thought happened to them?”
“For some reason, she blames herself for what happened.”
“Did she tell you why? Hey, what happened to your floating ginseng root? It was right here on this table, and now it’s gone.”
“I moved it to the kitchen. I’ve been surfing the net to figure how to eat it. And, no, she didn’t tell me why just yet. She’ll get to it.”
“I’m not so sure of that.”
“What’s your theory about Robin?”
“Did you know she was sleeping with Max Lebetter?”
“What! Did she tell you that?”
“I played a dirty trick on her and guessed. She was playing hardball with the information she had about us. I turned the tables on her, and unfortunately probed an open wound.”
“I don’t like it when faculty and students have sexual relationships.”
“It happens all the time. People are people. I don’t like it as a practice either, but I’m old fashioned.”
“Unless you’re dealing with clients?” Silvia asked with a raised eyebrow.
“What did you learn today? By the way, I checked into a motel in New Hampshire.”
“Chicken!” she said with a sly smile. “Today I learned that the visiting cardinal and the bishop have the same male friend, a brother in orders who happens to be the college librarian. I also learned that the art collection in the retreat house is one of five such compilations that are scattered around the country on properties owned and curated by the college.”
“Are the contents of the other collections like those of the one here?”
“I don’t have the lists of their holdings yet, but I have a source who can get them for us.”
“Do you happen to know whether their negotiation in the Vatican deal includes all five of the collections or only the one on the local campus?”
“Everything points to the negotiations being focused on only the one collection on the campus.” She worked another slice of pizza free and seasoned it on her plate.
“I wonder whether we can get a list of Father Rivera’s peregrinations since he arrived. Surely, Professor Sturbridge must have that information since she accompanied him on some, if not all, of his journeys. I’ll ask her about that tomorrow. We’ll have to remember Gino Calibresi’s Pizza. This pizza is terrific. I’ll take the rest to my next rendezvous at midnight.”
“May I ask whom you’re meeting so late?”
“Benny called for a crash meeting. He didn’t give details, only that he had information for me.”
“Do you want a witness along for the ride?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Why don’t you come back here after your meeting?”
“Consider that a date. I’ll knock twice, then twice again, then once. Don’t open until the whole sequence has occurred. Keep the door locked and latched.”
Fulghum arrived at the rendezvous ten minutes prior to midnight. That gave him time to scope out the area for fleas. He detected none.
Benny drove up in his Volkswagen right on time. Fulghum asked him to slip into the Saab where he gave Benny the rest of the pizza. Even cold, the pizza hit the spot with the surveillance expert. While he ate, he talked almost nonstop in his stentorian voice.
“Mr. Fulghum, I told you I’d just finished installing the monitoring system for Professor Clancy. Well, I got some interesting footage right away. I brought you a thumb drive with the imagery. It includes a car with its license plate visible, recognizable people and a few events that probably ought to be reported to the police.”
“I brought my laptop. Let’s take a look.” Fulghum reached over the seat and grabbed his laptop. He opened it and stuck Benny’s thumb drive in the USB port. The file that seemed interesting was labeled “Sturbridge.” Fulghum opened the file and reviewed its streaming images. Benny commented as he watched the silent procession.
“See how those three men drove right up to the garage door and opened it. Two went inside while the third drove away. Now a couple of hours elapsed. The record automatically went dormant and activated when motion occurred. That happened when Professor Sturbridge arrived. She parked her car in the driveway and entered through the garage door, similar to the others. She didn’t close the door, so we can see everything that happened. Here she’s being grabbed by one of the men who entered earlier. The other man seems to be questioning her. Now watch. He hit her not once but numerous times. He pointed his finger at her and shoved her to the floor. He kicked her repeatedly in the stomach. He used his cell phone, probably to call the man in their car. See how the man in the car approached only minutes after the call. Professor Sturbridge is still on the floor while the men closed the garage door with their remote and drove away.”
“Benny, did you recognize any of the three men in the imagery?”
“I’ve never seen them before.”
“In your experience, did Professor Sturbridge ever leave her garage door open as she did this time?”
“Never. She was - what’s the correct word? - punctilious about always closing the garage door after she entered.”
“What if this time she wanted to leave the door open to reveal what was going to happen?”
Benny thought about that possibility for a moment. “Whether she intended to do that, or not, it had the same effect. We harvested the imagery.”
“Who else could have harvested it?”
“Well, Professor Clancy is my customer. He’d have been able to view the whole thing. He’d have the original of the recording you saw. No one else could have seen it without penetrating my security software.”
“Great work. You’ll get more extra credit for this. Do you have anything else for me tonight, Benny?”
Benny was licking his fingers and closing the pizza box. He shook his head. “Nothing more tonight. Look, if you’ve no questions, Professor Fulghum, I’ve got to be moving on. This phantom surveillance hound never sleeps.”
Before he drove off, Benny dropped the empty pizza box in the trash receptacle.
Fulghum sat for a long while thinking about what to do next. On a hunch, he forwarded Benny’s email with its attachment to his friend Ken Mander of the CIA with a cryptic note in the covering email. “If you like what you see in the attached, meet me in front of the Big One in Nashua at eight o’clock this morning. John.”
Fulghum lit a Marlboro and took a deep draft. He exhaled and rolled down his window an inch. It had been a long day.
He drove back to Silvia’s apartment, gave the secret knock sequence and was admitted. Silvia yawned when Fulghum kissed her. After she locked and latched the door, they wandered back to her bedroom, but they didn’t go to sleep right away.
Fulghum told Silvia about the imagery Benny had given him. He told her he forwarded it to a friend before he kissed Silvia and she kissed him back.
One thing led to another. Before either of them knew it, her alarm was ringing. They had just enough time for their morning routine and a bite of breakfast before they had to race to campus for another busy day.