“That’s not really the point is it, Dr. Keller?”
“It’s Cyp—” I was cut off by the preamble of a sucking click on his lips.
“You have put the university in an unfortunate position. As faculty members, we have a solemn responsibility to uphold the absolute highest standards of personal and professional conduct. Three Rivers University has always prided itself on being able to provide a first-class education and consistently attract the best professors and students. Being a part of the TRU family means putting aside your personal feelings regarding the lifestyles of others and accepting everyone for who they are. I have to say that I’m disappointed in your narrow-mindedness.”
I reached up to check if blood was coming out of my ears. Maybe I had suffered a stroke when I had to deal with the Queen of Darkness in the waiting area. If there was an upside to his insulting me, it was that it prevented tears of laughter from forming in my eyes after his acid-trip description of TRU.
Remembering Kaitlyn’s counsel to be on my best behavior, I unclenched my jaw and stated slowly, “Dean Silo, I don’t think you’re hearing me. I don’t care about Steven being gay. I wouldn’t care if he were straight. I wouldn’t care if he were a bisexual hermaphrodite nymphomaniac who enjoys cross-dressing and singing ‘Careless Whisper’ on Tuesday nights.” I managed to move myself to the front of the absurd chair and grip the ends of the arms. “I made an error in the heat of the moment and I’ll be happy to apologize to him.” Then I recalled that this entire exercise might be a moot point.
“Has Steven filed a complaint? Has he even heard about this?”
Silo leaned back smugly, and crossed one leg over the other.
He said, “Not yet. But as you know this is a small campus with a close-knit student body. I cannot imagine that this will remain quiet.”
Putting both feet back on the floor, he leaned forward and picked up a silver pen from his desk. Pointing to some marks in a small appointment book in front of him he explained, “In fact, rather than wait on anything official, I’ve spoken to Mr. Thacker and asked him to come here this afternoon. I will explain to him what happened, inform him of his options regarding filing an official grievance against you, and allow him time to choose a course of action.” The left lens of his glasses rose slightly along with that corner of his mouth. “If Mr. Thacker feels that there is some way the university can address this issue to his satisfaction, then of course I will have to take that into consideration.”
The translation was easy. Silo was going to make sure that Steven would say that he would pursue legal action against the school unless I was fired. He was going to portray me as a loudmouthed homophobe who had it in for Steven. Then, the dean could convince the Criminology department’s faculty members that they had no choice but to let me go. Silo would be rid of me, all consciences would be clear, and all involved could take credit for saving the university from being dragged through courtrooms for years to come. I was even willing to bet Silo would find some way to reward Steven for his understanding and cooperation. Perfect.
“Of course, I will let you know the outcome of my meeting with Mr. Thacker. In the meantime, I would advise you to refrain from having any contact with him. I believe your next Victimology class is not until late morning tomorrow, correct? So, I’ll be sure to call you or send you an email by the end of business today.” Silo said all of this while scrutinizing a loose thread that protruded from one of the buttons on his suit jacket.
“You can’t be serious about this. If I can just talk to Steven, I—”
“You are to have no contact with Mr. Thacker!” The lip smacking became deafening. “You have put the university in enough peril and you have proven that you cannot be prudent with your words, Dr. Keller.”
“Cyprus.”
“Stay away from Mr. Thacker and let the university handle this. This is not some back alley in Boston where you can try to strong-arm some witness into changing his testimony!”
“Baltimore.”
“I tried to warn the hiring panel when you first showed up on our radar. The top professionals in academia do not cut their teeth by writing speeding tickets and flying informants.”
“Running informants.”
“Whatever. You never had the pedigree or temperament for academia, and unfortunately for you it has finally come to light.”
Silo twirled the pen in his hand and his gaze fell to his calendar book. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have another meeting to attend to—Cyprus.” He pronounced my first name like it was an infection.
I slowly rose to leave.
“It’s Dr. Keller. And fuck you.”
Walking toward my office, I weighed my options. I could resign and try to cut my losses, but there were too many questions left unanswered. Had Steven heard about what I had done? Was he the vindictive type? I mean, I didn’t think he was ever going to want to be my best friend or anything, but I never felt as if he particularly disliked me. Would Steven let himself be manipulated by the dean? I could easily see Steven telling Silo to go stick it once he realized he was being used as a pawn.
No. I couldn’t quit. Not with this many uncertainties. The prospect of not having a paycheck was daunting as well. Kaitlyn and I do pretty well, but not that well. And sitting around and waiting was never my thing. A preemptive strike was in order, so I picked up my pace and made a beeline for my office door. As soon as I made it to my desk, I reached for my Blackberry. By my Blackberry I mean my desk drawer full of scraps of paper. Due to my exceptionally well-designed organizational system, in a matter of minutes I was able to find a handwritten note that had Steven’s name and phone number on it. As I stabbed the numbers on the phone’s keypad, I read the rest of what was on the piece of paper, and allowed myself an inner cheer for still having a valid coupon for the oil change and transmission place in the North Hills area.
If I could catch Steven before his meeting with Silo, then at least I could explain the situation. The Criminology faculty members didn’t exactly love Silo, so if he wanted to get me fired for disobeying his orders and contacting Steven, then he would have a tough climb.
The phone rang several times until a machine picked up. Steven’s voice told me to leave a message and he would call me back. I pressed down on the protruding square where the handset had been sitting and dialed the number again. Same number of rings, same result. Hanging up the phone, I sat atop my desk pondering my next move. Remembering that I had scheduled office hours starting in a few minutes, I jumped up, grabbed a blank sheet of paper from my printer tray and used a black marker to write a message announcing my office hours had been canceled. I snatched a roll of tape from the top of a cabinet, hung the sign up on the hallway side, then closed and locked my door.
The next ten minutes in my office were about as productive as my first five. I sat at my computer and searched the university’s phone directory hoping to find a cell phone number for Steven. No luck there. Eventually, I scrolled down the page and found that he had an apartment listed in the Mt. Washington neighborhood that overlooked the city. I jotted down the address on the same coupon with his phone number and stuffed it in my pocket. Determined not to stand around idly and watch my career become road kill, I propelled myself out of the office.
By the time I had walked to my car in the campus parking garage, beads of sweat had formed on my forehead. I stripped off my sport coat, threw it over the backseat of the dark green Jeep, and within seconds was winding my way down Ohio River Boulevard and eyeing the climb onto Mt. Washington. The Wrangler groaned as it pushed its way up onto the platform that presented an incredible panoramic view of most of the city. I cracked a window to let the early spring air dry my face, and thought about how I would explain things to Steven.
The apartment was set back from the edge of the ascent, and was concealed by a series of overrated and expensive restaurants that capitalized on the view. Steven’s building was a faded light blue, four-story structure that looked like a haven for wann
abe artists and musicians. It was easy to see why a graduate student would choose to live here. Steven was listed as the occupant of apartment 2G, so I passed by, trying to eyeball the second floor. Each apartment had a door opening up onto a walkway that was visible from the street.
On my second trip around the block, I found a parking space on the street. As I evened my rear bumper with the car positioned in front of the open space and shifted into reverse, I swiveled my body in order to parallel park. My foot had started to release the brake and move toward the gas pedal when I caught sight of them. The two men were standing on the second floor outside an apartment. Hartz was knocking on the door while Shand stood watch. The detectives were positioned on either side of the door and didn’t appear to be engaged in any unnecessary chatter. Any decent police academy hammers those two things into your brain when it comes to approaching a residence: 1) never stand directly in front of a door in case someone starts blowing holes in it; and 2) shut the hell up so you might hear what is going on inside.
Hartz knocked two more times, and the frustrated-looking detectives exchanged glances before walking toward an exterior stairwell. Deciding that I didn’t want to stick around and shoot the breeze with them again, I shifted the car back into drive and slowly pulled away. Not being a big believer in coincidence, I didn’t think it was too much of a stretch to conclude that they were looking for Steven and had come up empty. There was no way that they had let the entire weekend pass without trying to interview him. Not with a high-profile case like this one. They either hadn’t been able to find him during the past two days, or they were attempting a follow-up interview for some reason. Regardless, I realized it was highly unlikely I’d be able to speak with Steven prior to his meeting with the dean.
Back on campus, I pulled into my designated parking spot and sat listening to the radio. As I pondered my situation, Tom Petty was singing “Breakdown” in the background. I could wait outside the Whitlock Building in hopes of catching Steven on his way in, but I didn’t even know what time the meeting was. Silo said the meeting was scheduled for the afternoon, but I couldn’t make out a time in his appointment book.
Looking at my watch, I was surprised to see it was almost noon. I was supposed to meet the guys for our usual Monday run in half an hour. I initially dismissed the idea, finding a seven-mile run trivial at the moment; but considering my limited choices, I got out of the vehicle and started the trek over to the recreation building. A hard run usually clears my head, and at this point I had clutter piled up in every corner.
We met in our usual spot in front of the recreation building, and stretched our hamstrings, quads, and calves. The skies were clear and the thermometers were supposed to tease us today with a high of around sixty. Randy’s extreme exuberance for the unusually nice weather was evidenced by his wearing shorts and a T-shirt he had picked up at some 5K race a few years ago. He looked as if the weekend had recharged him: he was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet doing his best Rocky Balboa imitation. I hated it when he was in a good mood—it made him unbearable when he got on a roll. He had a temporary moment of panic when he noticed a small streak of dirt on his ankle that he must have gotten while stretching before I had come outside. The panic subsided when he brushed it off easily. If the man could run in a plastic bubble, I think he would. I could just see him rolling down the Boulevard of the Allies like a giant runaway hamster.
Aaron was more apprehensively attired in a long-sleeved shirt—made of something no human can pronounce, and similarly constructed long pants. He was wearing his Brooks. Wednesday, it would be his Adidas. He rotated shoes so the muscles in his feet and legs wouldn’t get used to the exact same movements. I know, it sounds crazy; but according to the modern literature on the subject, he was right to do so. The things we do to gain the tiniest advantage.
Jacob had a thick, plush-looking, purple hooded sweatshirt cloaking his torso. For some reason the comfortable sight of it made me want to take a nap. His black cotton shorts had the letters TRU printed on the left side and carried a small depiction of the school mascot on the right—“The Railer.” This made-up term, and the accompanying logo, were intended to represent a railroad worker pounding a steel spike into the ground with a ferocious-looking sledgehammer. I actually thought it more closely resembled a man in the middle of a backswing with a golf club preparing to strike a slightly misshapen penis.
The four of us made small talk as we finished warming up.
“No, no, no . . . Cimitrex is going to get bought out; it’s just a matter of time,” Randy rambled about his latest stock tip.
“I never invest heavily in tech stocks,” said Aaron. “Sure, I missed out on a lot during the early nineties, but when the bubble burst, I stayed nice and dry.”
“Cyprus, did you take my advice on that mutual fund?” Aaron asked as he paid extra attention to a troublesome calf muscle.
I distractedly told him that I hadn’t, but I would look into it.
Randy and Aaron continued ranting about the market, while Jacob and I continued limbering up.
Jacob spoke quietly, “How did things go with Silo?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
Aaron and Randy weren’t listening, but I didn’t want to get into it with them around. It seemed that word of my blowup during the police interview hadn’t reached them yet.
Changing the subject, I asked, “Aren’t you supposed to have a meeting this week with the federal guys about some grant money?”
“Spent two hours with them at WVU this morning. I just got back here on campus. It’s looking pretty good, but there is still some finagling to do.”
I slipped into the bitchy cynicism that cops have sometimes. “So they made you spend ninety minutes driving to Morgantown for a two-hour meeting, just so you could turn around and drive ninety minutes back? How courteous of them.”
Shrugging it off, Jacob said, “They have the money for research and TRU wants me to do the research. That’s the way the game is played.”
I didn’t care about any of this. I was just trying to act normal. Trying to feel normal. I started feeling foolish for engaging in what Jacob had to know was a weak effort at self-distraction.
I got quiet and pulled a leg back behind me to loosen a quad muscle.
“You don’t look well, my friend. You have to relax. Even if Steven does find out about it, perhaps he won’t be upset.” Jacob consoled.
“Steven is just part of it,” I admitted. “I don’t think I told you, the murdered girl had come to my office on the day she was killed.”
I had a short inward debate about telling Jacob about why she had come to see me, and opted to keep that information to myself.
I changed course with, “I’m no stranger to seeing death, but it’s never easy to see somebody alive one minute and know they were gone a short while later.”
Jacob nodded his understanding.
“I’ve been here a long time, Cyprus. Unfortunately, this happens from time to time. Usually it’s an accident—a car crash or overdose—but it’s always hard to take when it happens to a student you had in class. For most of the city, it’s just some blonde girl who had a future snuffed out like the flame on a candle. But for anybody who was in the classroom with her, they’ll be stuck with an empty seat to remind them of the loss. I know it’s weird. Even when you don’t know your students well, you still feel responsible for them. It’s like their parents, whom you never met, entrusted their child to you. You illogically think it is your job to protect them, but you can’t.”
The four of us finished stretching, ran out of small talk, and set out southward toward the Allegheny River. Lindsay’s murder didn’t come up in conversation until the third mile, and even then it mostly consisted of typically empathetic comments about how the parents must be devastated and how young she was. The only one who didn’t seem to have gotten the memo on appropriate emotional responses after a death was Randy. He chugged away in front of me, and tried to move u
s away from the subject of Lindsay’s death by talking about how too many people were going to be allowed to enter the Pittsburgh Marathon this year, and what a travesty it was that the route was changed. I actually agreed with him on both points, but we were barely halfway through March and May was still weeks away. There would be plenty of time to bitch about it when a coed hadn’t been murdered the previous Friday.
We raced down a trail that parallels the river, to the sounds of barges hauling coal and traffic creeping over the multitude of bridges. Pittsburgh has more bridges than Venice, which is great for scenery, but lousy for traffic. By the time we reached our turnaround point at Washington’s Landing, Randy was less hyper than when we began and his face was showing signs of impatience.
“The paper said she was from Clearview,” Aaron puffed while moving to the left side of the path to avoid a protective looking goose standing watch over her goslings.
Or is it geeslings? Or ganders? I would have to look that up along with the finch thing.
“I think it was Clarion,” Jacob corrected. “And she was planning on becoming a journalist, according to the story.”
I had avoided the news, so I was a little behind.
I inquired, “Was that what her degree would have been in?”
Aaron responded, “Yep. Scheduled to graduate this spring. Heather Braun over in the Journalism department told me that the girl seemed a little wild, but she was anything but flighty. She was actually very focused during class. Coming from Braun, that’s high praise.”
“Gentlemen, can we move on?” Randy’s dam finally cracked. “You act as if you’re shocked that this stuff happens!” His pace picked up to compete with his anger. “Most of us have been in this business for at least twenty years and you know that students die sometimes! You know this! Let’s not make a saint out of the girl!”
Randy paused as a cyclist passed by.
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