Ricochet

by Paula Gosling

  ‘We’re here talking to Professor Torrance at his home. He’s not a very happy person, you know, dear. He couldn’t control his impulse to call people. I understand that now. He’s sorry. But he wants to explain more. He doesn’t want us to leave. We can’t leave, Jack.’ The brightness dimmed a little as her voice faltered.

  ‘What are you saying?’ Stryker demanded.

  ‘Well – he has a big gun,’ Kate said, as if explaining to a child. ‘And he says if we try to leave before he explains—’

  ‘He’ll shoot you?’ Stryker was horrified.

  ‘No, not exactly. He says if we leave he’ll shoot himself. So, you see, Jack . . . we can’t leave him, can we?’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Professor Torrance sat at ease in a rocking chair. He gazed at Liz and Kate, who sat across from him, side by side on the sofa. His eyes were icy and a little wild, almost glittering as they darted from woman to woman in a kind of rabid satisfaction.

  When they had first arrived he had seemed merely uncivil. He spoke through a slightly opened door, but Liz leaned on it and her sheer weight gradually overcame him. They went inside.

  Kate faced him with her hands on her hips. ‘What is all this crap about Michael Deeds?’ she demanded in what was, at the least, a very confrontational attitude. Her challenge had not gone down well.

  ‘Sit down!’ he had thundered and they had – perhaps unwisely.

  He’d glared down at them. ‘Michael was one of my best students. Then he was flattered into thinking he could be a writer.’

  ‘He is very gifted,’ Kate said. ‘But—’

  ‘Do you know where I found him after you had thrown him out? Working in a car wash. In a car wash! It was disgraceful. He said it gave him time to think.’

  ‘Good for him,’ Kate said. ‘He really should consider his options.’

  ‘He has a responsibility to his abilities. When you had discarded him so cruelly—’

  ‘I asked him to leave because—’

  ‘Because you had become bored with him,’ Torrance snapped.

  ‘No – because he had become over familiar and taken advantage of her kindness,’ Liz contradicted.

  ‘Pah,’ Torrance said and began pacing around the room. ‘I told him that if he returned to his science studies I would aid him financially.’

  ‘A bribe?’ Kate asked. ‘Very professional.’

  ‘I can afford it,’ Torrance said dismissively. ‘Promising students get scholarships and sponsors all the time.’

  ‘They earn them,’ Liz put in. ‘They don’t beg for them.’

  ‘You underestimate the boy,’ Torrance said. ‘When I reminded him that many physicians have been famous writers – from Conan Doyle to Michael Crichton – he realized he could achieve both goals. And he realized also that all Miss Trevorne’s encouragement had been purely for her personal gratification—’

  ‘That’s a damn lie!’ Kate shouted.

  He ignored her and kept his eyes on Liz. ‘Once he realized that, he agreed to my terms,’ he finished triumphantly.

  ‘Which were?’ Liz asked through gritted teeth.

  Torrance smiled. If he’d had a moustache he would have twirled it. As it was, he merely looked smug. ‘I personally cashed the cheque Miss Trevorne had given him. I have it safely put away. He is now settling in to new accommodation and in the spring term will be resuming his studies. As a science major.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Kate asked. ‘And perhaps I should go to the Dean and say that you have an unhealthy relationship with Michael Deeds.’

  He stared at her. ‘What?’

  ‘I could put the same interpretation on your interest that you put on mine.’ Kate’s anger overcame her common sense. ‘He is a very pretty boy, after all.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Torrance gasped.

  ‘How dare you?’ Kate responded. ‘If we want to have a foot race, I think I could get to the Dean before you, Professor Torrance. We’re pretty even on slurs, I’d say.’

  ‘He is losing time,’ Torrance growled. ‘When I saw that, I saw what you had done to him. And that is why people like you should not be teaching in a decent university.’

  ‘I think the shoe is on the other foot, Professor Torrance,’ Kate said. ‘You are unbalanced. You have been calling me, harassing me, threatening me . . .’ She paused as he chuckled to himself, apparently relishing the thought of what he had done. ‘And you have no place teaching in even a poor university, much less a good one. You are an evil and a wicked man, and I am going to make it my business to see that everyone knows what you are really like.’

  That was when he had crossed to the desk and taken out the gun.

  Stryker stood outside the house. It had begun to rain but he paid no attention. Slowly, steadily, his clothes became sodden as he paced and stared at the house. All was quiet on the street, but he had seen curtains stirring. The sight of police cars and uniformed men was better than daytime television. He had to assume Kate was still inside and possibly Liz, too. He knew Liz and so did Tos. She wouldn’t have let Kate go alone, no matter how insane the situation.

  One of the uniformed officers came over. ‘There’s a call for you, Lieutenant Stryker. It’s Sergeant Pinsky.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll call him back,’ Stryker said, his mind on Kate and whatever might be happening inside the house. He had to decide whether to rush in or wait it out.

  Either way could be wrong.

  Things had been pretty quiet since Kate had talked to Stryker on her cellphone. Torrance had kept the gun at his temple, grinning, and they had sat there watching him. Nobody moved. Nobody said anything.

  ‘You don’t belong here,’ Torrance suddenly said to Liz. ‘Get out.’

  ‘No,’ Liz said. ‘I stay.’

  ‘Go, Liz,’ Kate instructed. ‘Go right out. Please.’

  ‘No,’ Liz repeated firmly. ‘I’m not leaving you here alone with this loony.’

  ‘I am not a “loony” as you put it,’ Torrance snapped. ‘How dare you?’

  ‘How dare I? How dare you threaten Kate, torment her with phone calls?’ Liz demanded. ‘If that isn’t loony behaviour, what is?’

  ‘I was making a point.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘There is too much poaching of students from serious studies to easy ones,’ Torrance said. ‘Michael Deeds, Janet Linley, Ricky Sanchez – they were all students with wonderful careers ahead of them, careers that would have brought benefit to the world. Instead, they were lured away to silly pursuits, poetry, archaeology and so on. It is a disgrace and it must be stopped.’

  ‘Oh, for crying out loud,’ Liz said. ‘Students switch all the time in their first year.’

  ‘Not my students,’ Torrance said.

  Dan beckoned to Ann-Catherine and drew her into the staff lounge.

  She looked at his expression. ‘Trouble?’

  ‘I think so,’ Dan said. ‘I’ve kind of been . . . nosing around.’

  ‘I noticed,’ said Ann-Catherine, who didn’t miss much. ‘How come?’

  ‘I think I know who might have killed Ricky Sanchez, and why. But it’s so wild . . . I still can hardly believe it myself.’

  ‘Maybe you better tell me,’ she said without batting an eyelid.

  ‘I’ve been going over and over it in my mind all day,’ Dan went on. ‘I have a couple more things to check out and then I’d like you to call Sergeant Pinsky for me.’

  ‘Is that the one we called when you got beaten up?’

  ‘Yes. Give me about half an hour, then call him and ask him to come down here.’

  ‘Tell me first,’ she urged. ‘Just in case.’

  ‘Just in case what?’ He was puzzled.

  Ann-Catherine sighed in exasperation. ‘Don’t you watch TV?’ she asked. ‘Don’t you know that’s always the way it g
oes – the hero or heroine knows something but doesn’t tell anyone else and then trouble comes. Of course, if they did tell someone the programme would be twenty minutes shorter, but . . .’

  Dan grimaced, but he knew she was right. ‘OK. Here’s what I think.’ And he told her what he thought he knew.

  She didn’t believe him. ‘That’s crazy.’

  ‘I know,’ he agreed. ‘That’s what worries me.’

  David Waxman had been working all day, shut away in his university office with his dog Milo for company. Milo enjoyed the academic atmosphere. David had been trying to catch up on the classwork he had let drop over the past week. Finally he was satisfied and sat back, tossing the last student composition on to the pile. Milo snorkled in his sleep and turned over in his basket.

  David stood up, stretched, looked at his watch. Startled, he realized he was already late to collect Dan at the hospital. Where the hell had the time gone?

  He was in his car five minutes later, Milo hanging out of the back window as usual, and when he pulled up outside the ER entrance he expected to see Dan waiting and annoyed. But he wasn’t there. David backed out of the ambulance bay and parked as close to the ER as he could, which wasn’t all that close, and walked back, leaving Milo in the car. No one would try to steal it with Milo in there, he thought. As long as they didn’t realize he was really a pussycat in disguise.

  He went in through the double doors of the ER and asked for Dan.

  Nobody seemed to know where he was.

  ‘But his shift was over twenty minutes ago,’ David said.

  Yes, the girl on the desk agreed, that was so. She would page him. A few minutes later she came back to reception, frowning. ‘He doesn’t answer his pager. That’s not like him.’

  ‘Would he turn it off after his shift?’ David asked.

  ‘No – he’d keep it on as long as he was in the building,’ she said. ‘Maybe he took a bus or something.’

  ‘Not Dan.’ David smiled. ‘He’d rather wait and chew me out than actually get on a bus.’ He, too, frowned. This was unlike Dan. He felt that something was wrong. They were very close, he and his brother, and the situation being what it was – could he be lying in an alley again, broken, bleeding?

  He stood there, shifting from foot to foot, not certain whether to go outside to look or to start searching the hospital itself. But that was pointless. It was a huge building. He could be going up in one elevator while Dan was coming down in another. Why wouldn’t Dan answer his pager?

  He sat down in the waiting area next to a man with a bloodied towel round his hand. The man held it up. ‘Nearly cut off my finger,’ he said.

  ‘Bad luck.’ David tried not to look.

  ‘Damn meat cleaver,’ the man continued. ‘Mind of its own.’

  David said nothing, but attempted to look sympathetic. He shut out the drone as the man went on to describe the circumstances of the accident, the blood everywhere, the pain. There was real pride in the man’s voice, as if nearly cutting off his finger were a great achievement. Maybe it was, in an otherwise dull life.

  Where the hell was Dan?

  Professor Torrance had been silent for a while.

  ‘If you agree to stop the phone calls, we’ll let it drop,’ Kate offered finally. ‘That’s all we want, to stop the phone calls.’

  ‘No – you’d tell on me anyway,’ Torrance said almost childishly. ‘And I could still tell on you.’

  ‘No, we wouldn’t,’ Kate said. ‘And I told you, there’s no truth to what Michael Deeds said about me. None at all. I’m sure if I ask him, he’ll admit that. Do you know where he is?’

  ‘Bitches,’ Torrance hissed, ignoring her question. ‘Stealing all the good students for yourselves. Don’t you realize the world needs scientists more than ever? Students shouldn’t be encouraged to take the easy route.’

  ‘And you think English is an easy route?’ Liz asked.

  ‘Did I call you?’ Torrance snarled.

  ‘That’s not the point,’ Liz said briskly.

  ‘Oh, I think it is. What do you teach?’

  Tell him you don’t teach, Kate thought, trying to send the message telepathically to her friend. Then he’ll let you go.

  ‘I teach French and Spanish,’ Liz said. ‘I’m thinking of trying Italian, too.’

  ‘Ah, languages.’ Torrance leaned forward. ‘But the easy languages – not technical like German or Latin. No good, no good at all.’

  ‘People have to communicate,’ Liz said righteously.

  ‘I know. I communicate.’ Torrance giggled. ‘That’s why you’re here, remember? You don’t like the way I communicate. Maybe I should do it in French. Ooh-la-la.’ The giddy way he said it made it sound even worse. His voice had become strange, like a doll’s: high and flat. It occurred to Kate that, having got them into this situation, he was now frightened himself. Liz had warned her about cornering people. Maybe he didn’t know how to surrender the moment. Perhaps it was beyond him to go back.

  Her cellphone rang and it was Jack. She reassured him, then looked at Torrance and held out the phone. ‘He wants to talk to you.’

  ‘I have absolutely no interest in talking to him, whoever he is. Turn it off,’ Torrance ordered. ‘No more calls.’

  ‘What did you hope to achieve by all this? I’d really like to know.’ Liz was trying to talk him down, Kate realized. If they could keep him talking it would give Jack space to manoeuvre. She was certain he was outside in the rain. She had heard cars arriving, people talking. She sensed his nearness.

  ‘Would you, now,’ said Torrance. ‘Well, I’ll tell you, as you asked. It amused me. That’s all. It amused me. Since Margaret died I haven’t had much amusement. And the thought of their silly faces at the other end of the line made me chuckle. You are useless, all of you females, taking up university space and time and money. Stealing students—’

  ‘We don’t steal students,’ Kate repeated patiently. ‘There are always shake-ups after the freshman year, students who switch courses until they find what they want. It’s always been that way.’

  ‘What they can get away with, you mean,’ Torrance snapped. ‘They’re lazy, they want an easy degree, an easy life.’

  ‘Then your argument is with them, not us,’ Liz said.

  Torrance looked at her, startled. ‘They’re children. They don’t realize what they’re doing, wasting their time with sonnets and finger paints. If they were challenged they could do great things.’

  ‘Not all of them,’ Liz said calmly. ‘Not all of them.’

  ‘More of them than we get.’ Torrance’s knuckles were white where they gripped the gun, which was now back in his lap. At least he was no longer pointing it at himself, Kate thought. Or anyone. He rambled on. ‘Fewer and fewer opt for science now. It’s all arts . . . and computers.’ His voice twisted on the last word.

  ‘Oh – you’ve been calling computer science teachers too?’ asked Liz. ‘We didn’t know that. We thought only the English department was privileged to receive your calls.’

  ‘Oh no . . . oh no. I spread my favours widely.’ Torrance smirked. ‘Although I must admit the English department is a favourite.’

  Kate suddenly had a thought. ‘What about anthropology – do you call them too?’

  ‘Only one,’ he said. ‘Only one. But she’s not a problem any more. She won’t steal any more students like Ricky Sanchez.’ He leaned forward. ‘He was one of the best, the most promising . . . and he told me he was going to switch his major next term. Can you believe it? He had a gift, a real gift, and he was going to squander it on the past instead of the future.’

  Kate felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. Ricky Sanchez. Had Torrance killed him? Asking about anthropology had been a shot in the dark, on her mind because Jack was so caught up in it. Had Torrance killed both Ricky and Professor Mayhew? If so, he wouldn�
��t stop at killing them. He had nothing to lose – and neither did they.

  ‘I think we’re going to go now,’ said Kate, starting to stand up.

  ‘Fuck you,’ Professor Torrance said. He glared at them. ‘Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.’

  Neither of them showed any reaction whatsoever – they had agreed on that before they came. Whatever he said, they would not give him the satisfaction of the response he wanted.

  Their impassivity seemed to enrage him. He spewed out a volley of filth, machine-gunning them with it. They sat still, impassive.

  ‘I’m afraid that kind of talk won’t achieve anything,’ Kate said with heavy disapproval.

  He lifted the gun and pointed it at her. ‘Shut up,’ he yelled. ‘Little bitch.’

  Kate stared at him and at the gun. She loathed guns and the little circle of the muzzle was like the black eye of a snake. ‘This isn’t getting us anywhere,’ she said calmly.

  He fired. Missed. The bullet went into the floor beside Kate’s feet. He’d aimed for her legs. The noise was tremendous, loud and shocking in the otherwise cosy room. And it was a cosy room, with chintz on the over-stuffed furniture, friendly pictures on the wall, house plants and the dogs. He had shut the dogs out into the hall when he produced the gun. Now they were barking furiously. French poodles. They probably thought firing a gun was unfashionable.

  ‘I thought you said you were a good shot,’ she said, amazed that her numb mouth could speak.

  ‘You’re still alive, aren’t you?’ snapped Torrance. ‘Therefore I am a good shot.’

  And you only have five bullets left, Kate thought.

  David looked up as a nurse approached him. ‘You’re Dan Waxman’s brother?’ she asked. Her name tag read Ann-Catherine Grant, Senior Staff. The picture on it didn’t do her justice.

  He nodded. ‘Do you know where he is?’ he asked.

  ‘I think he might be down in pathology,’ she said.

  ‘He went down there twenty or thirty minutes ago.’

  ‘He doesn’t answer his pager,’ David said, standing up.