by Sarah Shaber
"So," he said, "you don't think I tried to kill myself ? And you don't think someone deliberately tried to murder me?"
"I'm ninety-nine percent sure on both counts. Which is about as good as it gets in this business."
"And?"
"And I would suggest that you be careful. Let me know if anything suspicious happens in your life." "You said I could ask you questions when you were finished."
"Absolutely."
"What did Alex Andrus say to you about me?"
"You're really obsessed, aren't you?"
"He's trying to ruin what's left of my life."
"Okay. After the ambulance left for the hospital and your car was impounded, I went to the office and made some phone calls. I wanted to talk to your colleagues and get a feel for your life. I talked to Walker Jones first, then Andrus, then Marcus Clegg, and finally your secretary. Andrus was the one who suggested to me that you had tried to kill yourself. No one else even hinted at it."
"I bet that's not all he said." "He holds a grudge, that's for sure. I called Jones again. He said that you had been somewhat despondent when your marriage broke up, and that Andrus was using it against you out of professional jealousy. I asked him if he thought you could have tried to kill yourself. He said he wasn't a psychiatrist but that he didn't think so, and he was absolutely certain that you wouldn't endanger anyone else by driving around your neighborhood impaired. Your secretary had given me your doctor's name. When I called him, he was adamant that you were not suicidal."
Then, Simon thought, the doc had come around to his hospital room the next morning to check on him, to see if his evaluation of Simon's mental status had been correct. Knowing Ferrell, if he had any doubts at all, Simon would probably be up on the hospital mental ward making baskets right now. And all this had gone on while he was blissfully ignorant about the cause of his accident, and while his friends and enemies were talking to the police about the most personal details of his life. It made him feel very vulnerable.
Gates went on with his story. "I visited Mr. Andrus in his office this morning, before I picked you up. I told him that he was the only person I could find who had a grudge against you, and I asked him if he had an alibi for that afternoon."
Simon was shocked. "You did what?" "I scared hell out of him." Gates grinned. "Partly, I did want to know where he was, since he seemed to dislike you so much, but also I wanted to scare him. Maybe he'll be careful to stick to the facts the next time he speaks to a law-enforcement officer. I don't much like the idea of being used to damage someone's reputation."
"Did he have an alibi?" Simon was fascinated. He couldn't imagine that Andrus would have the physical courage to assault him, even indirectly. Alex was sneaky, not violent.
"Yes, he did. He fell all over himself telling me that he was drinking beer with a student of his, Bobby Hinton, at Hinton's apartment. I checked it out later; he was there from four until six-thirty."
"I suppose," Simon said, remembering her evasions over the telephone when he was in the hospital, "that Julia knows everything."
"Well, yes, actually," Gates said. "She does have official access to all police reports, so when she asked me what happened, I told her." How convenient, thought Simon. He wouldn't have to waste time telling Julia his life story on their date that night. She would be well acquainted with the whole sordid mess already.
Chapter Fourteen
SIMON AND GATES WALKED OUT OF THE DRAB GOVERNMENT building and into the bright sunlight. Simon was in some ways more cheerful than he had been when he entered it an hour ago, now that the threat to his life had been reduced to common vandalism, but he was also angry. He was tired of being a victim, sick of not being able to control events that were driving his life from one day to the next. He didn't know exactly what or whom he was angry with—God, Providence, Alex Andrus, his exwife, or just his run of lousy luck, but he was angry. While Gates got his car, Simon put on his sunglasses. The knot in his neck had slowly tightened around his head, until his temples throbbed from the constriction, and he took a painkiller. Just one, so that he could still control his faculties. He would be damned if he would go home and wait for whatever life planned to spring on him next.
"Do me a favor," Simon said as Gates's car swung out of the gates of the government complex and headed back into town, "take me to Kenan instead of my house." Gates looked at him suspiciously out of the corner of his eye as he drove. "Why?" he asked. "I thought you weren't supposed to teach your class today." "Am I still being questioned?"
"Of course not."
"I've got things to do."
"They can't wait?"
"Nope."
The two drove in silence until Gates pulled into the Kenan campus behind Simon's building.
"I think I'll just cruise around the block a few times,” Gates said. "That way when I hear there's been an ADW at Kenan College, I'll be handy.' "What's an ADW?" Simon asked.
"Assault with a deadly weapon," Gates said.
"I don't have a violent bone in my body," Simon said.
Gates watched Professor Simon Shaw walk up the tree-lined brick walk toward his office. He longed to follow him and witness the fireworks, but then he would be honorbound as a sworn officer of the law to stop Simon, and he didn't want to. He chuckled to himself as he drove down the street to the local McDonald's. He would get himself a chocolate milk shake and hang around for a few minutes, in case he was needed.
JUDY LOOKED UP from her computer terminal in surprise as Simon walked into the history department.
"Hi there. I thought you were supposed to stay at home today," she said. She couldn't see his face behind his sunglasses. "Are you all right?" "I'm fine," Simon said. "I got restless. I think I'll take my class after all." "Okay," she said. "I'll tell Dr. Jones."
"Thanks," Simon said. "Is he here?"
"Actually, no. He's over at the administration building for a meeting." "Good. Is Alex in his office?"
"Sort of. Actually, he's using the facilities right now."
"Thanks," Simon said. He walked casually down the hallway and through a set of swinging doors into the men's bathroom.
Judy smacked the intercom on his desk. "Marcus," she said, "you need to get out here fast." Simon walked into the bathroom just as Alex was finishing his business. Simon didn't give him time to zip up his pants before he grabbed him by the collar and belt and slammed him against the wall between two urinals.
"Jesus, Simon, what are you doing? Let me go!" Andrus said.
"You're slime, Alex," Simon said.
"Look, I didn't mean—"
"Of course you did," Simon said. "Let me tell you something. You tell any more lies about me and I'll sue you for slander and libel. I'll file a formal complaint with the dean. Whom do you think the college would rather have on this faculty—me or a second-rate guy like you? You'll be lucky to get a job teaching English as a second language on the fourth floor of the post office by the time I get done with you."
"Okay, I'm sorry. Let go of me!"
"Sorry isn't enough. Get a life of your own. Stay out of mine." Just then, Marcus Clegg came through the swinging doors.
"Marcus, tell him to turn me loose!"
"No way," Clegg said. "I'm just here to prevent the shedding of blood, nothing else." Simon released Andrus.
"Put your dick back in your pants and get out of here. I don't want to see you again today."
Alex did as he was told. "Boy, has he had a bad day," Marcus said. "First that policeman asked him for his alibi for your accident, then Jones tells him he's going to put a reprimand in his file, and then you throw him around the men's room."
Simon got around to taking his sunglasses off, hooking them in the neck of his shirt. "I shouldn't have done that," Simon said. "I think the last time I got physical with someone, I was eleven years old. What a juvenile thing to do."
"Nonsense," Marcus said. "Don't you feel better?"
"Yes," Simon said. "I do." He noticed that his headache was gon
e. "What was that you said about a reprimand?" "Jones was livid when he realized that Alex had told the police that you're mental." "What a charming expression."
"So he told Alex he was going to put a negative letter in his file, but if he managed to keep his big mouth shut, he might take it out before his contract comes up for renewal." Simon wondered what Alex would, or could, do if he lost his job at Kenan. He almost felt sorry for him. Simon was preoccupied when he walked past Judy's desk, so he didn't see her grin and give him the thumbs-up as he passed by. Since he had told everyone he was taking his afternoon class, he had to prepare for it. For the rest of the afternoon, he reviewed his notes on the Halifax Resolves. At five minutes to four, he went upstairs to his class, where his students detected a tone of voice that caused them to sit up straight and take copious notes.
Chapter Fifteen
POLICE LEGAL COUNSEL JULIA MCGLOUGHLAN SAT IN THE chair opposite Sgt. Otis Gates's desk in the Detective Division of the Raleigh Police Department, reading the report on Professor Simon Shaw's automobile "accident." She finished and carefully rearranged the papers in a neat rectangle before closing the file. "Well, what do you think?" asked Gates.
"I don't see a thing in here that points toward homicide, or suicide, either. I think you're right—I think the incident was malicious mischief by an unknown person. Nothing else fits."
"I know."
"But you're not convinced?"
"I have"—Gates held his thumb and forefinger about a quarter of an inch apart —"about this much doubt, and I don't like it."
"You know what I think. I think you like Simon and you've gotten to be friends with him, so you're not being objective."
"You're probably right. Personal involvement is never a good idea. Speaking of which, aren't the two of you going to a ball game tonight?"
"Yes, but we're just friends, too," Julia said. "And speaking of ball games, I've got to go home and change. See you tomorrow." After Julia left, Otis Gates got up and closed the miniblinds between his small glass cubicle and the rest of the department. Everyone knew that meant he wanted a few minutes peace to think. Gates sat down at his desk and lit one of the three Marlboros he allowed himself a day. He dragged on it happily. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out two battered drumsticks, with "Otis" woodburned on the shafts. With the cigarette dangling from his lips, he played the rhythm section from that classic gospel song he had heard Aretha Franklin sing twenty-five years ago at Fillmore West. He supplied the words and melody from memory. "When you're down and out, when you're feeling blue . . ." He closed his eyes and visualized her in a white satin dress with big yellow roses at her magnificent bust, singing her heart out. "Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down." What a belt the woman had.
Gates began to taste filter, so he regretfully opened his eyes, put his sticks away, and crushed the cigarette stub in an ashtray. He carefully wiped the ashtray clean with a paper towel over the wastebasket. Then he put Simon's accident file into the stack of files labeled OPEN. The last thing he did was open the miniblinds before giving himself to his job again.
Chapter Sixteen
AFTER HE FINISHED WORK THAT DAY, SIMON GOT HOME WITH barely enough time to shower, shave, and feed Maybelline before Julia McGloughlan pulled up in front of his house and honked.
She was driving an old black two-door BMW with creased leather upholstery. He slid into the passenger seat next to her. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked. "Aren't you exhausted? If I'd been through what you have, I'd be in bed curled up in a fetal position under the influence of Ernest and Julio's best."
"Actually, I'm not tired at all. Must be adrenaline," Simon said. "Or maybe caffeine and sugar." Julia pulled away from the curb, backed into a neighbor's driveway, turned around, and headed for the highway and the thirty-minute drive to Durham Athletic Park. She was relieved that Simon hadn't asked to drive. She could avoid her long spiel about how this was her car and why shouldn't women drive men, et cetera— which always sounded defensive and neurotic. It shouldn't matter who drove. It was just that a man wouldn't give up the wheel of his own car, so why should a woman?
Simon, oblivious to all this feminist soul-searching, was comfortably stretched out in the seat next to her, pretending to listen to the Schubert emanating from the classical radio station she was tuned to.
Actually, he was looking at her. She was wearing a sleeveless gold shirt tucked into black jeans, along with well-worn running shoes without socks. Large gold hoop earrings hung to her chin, and sunglasses dangled from a strap around her neck. Simon had resolved earlier not to make too much of this date. The woman had learned the most embarrassing details of his private life from a police file, and he didn't want to know what she must think of him. Now that they were together, though, he couldn't ignore the attraction he felt for her. He wished he'd thought of something else to do. She probably would have preferred a nice dinner somewhere.
When they pulled into the outskirts of Durham, she asked for directions to Durham Athletic Park. Simon guided her downtown, past the high school, and into the maze of factories and warehouses that comprised the tobacco industry of Durham. They negotiated parking along the shoulder of a narrow, weedy side street where the odor of menthol permeated the air. Then they walked two blocks to the baseball park, which was wedged into a triangle between buildings painted royal blue out of respect for the team that had played there since 1939.
Simon and Julia waited in line for tickets with dozens of other couples, some young, some old, and some in between, all dressed in jeans or shorts and Bulls T-shirts. It seemed as if all the couples were holding hands or snuggling, and Simon was self-conscious. What did thirty-something people do on a first date, physically speaking?
His lack of adult dating experience just added a new dimension to his selfconsciousness. Reserved seats cost six bucks each. With food and beer, he would be lucky if he spent thirty dollars tonight. What a cheap date. And he had forgotten his stadium seats. Even in the reserved section, the old concrete bleachers would numb their butts in five minutes flat. He wondered if Julia would give him another chance after this fiasco.
In a reserved lady-lawyer way, Julia bopped to the rock 'n' roll that was blaring from the park's loudspeakers as they walked down the narrow concrete steps to their seats, which were just on the third-base side of the netting that stretched over the bleachers behind home plate.
"What a fantastic place," she said, sitting down and looking around. "I had forgotten what a happening a baseball game is. This is a great spot for foul balls. I should have brought my glove. And I need a Bulls baseball cap. Have they got them for sale anywhere?"
Simon's spirits revived.
"Wait right here. I'll be back."
Simon went up the steps into the concessionaires' domain and bought a Durham Bulls baseball cap, a T-shirt, two cheap foam seat cushions, two souvenir programs, and two beers in plastic cups. He returned to their seats with his booty.
"Let me repay you for this stuff," she said as she put on the T- shirt and cap. "No way," Simon said. "This fabulously expensive evening is my treat."
They drank their beers and settled back to watch the show. Simon thought there was nothing so satisfying as the view from behind home plate looking out over the baseball diamond when the ballplayers fanned out onto the field. That combination of visual spectacle, the sounds of the crowd and the calliope, and the perfection of a warm, clear Carolina evening produced an indescribable sense of well-being in him. Simon doubted that even fifth-century Greeks watching the chariots wheel into the hippodrome at Olympia with the Temple of Zeus as background had experienced such harmony. It was probably ridiculous to compare the oratory of the ballpark announcer to Pindar reading his poetry between the discus and the marathon, but Simon made the comparison anyway—just to himself.
Most sports fans love the game they once played, and for Simon the thwack of the ball on the bat and the thunk of it in a glove brought back dreams of glo
ry. Simon had played high school varsity baseball, but his college career ended ignominiously. He could catch, throw, and run, but he only weighed 130 pounds, and that was after Thanksgiving dinner. The coach thought he'd get killed on the field, so Simon warmed the bench until he got tired of wasting his time. From then on, he was just a fan.
"How's the food here?" Julia asked.
"Is that a hint?" Simon asked.
"I'm famished," she said.
"The food's incredible—flying burritos, pizza, hot dogs, ribs, fries. Real fries—the kind with the skins still on."
"Oh God," she said. "I'd be happy with just the fries." "We have to have ribs, too, to keep up appearances," Simon said. He negotiated the narrow steps and aisles and walked to the Dillard's Bar-B-Q stand at the far end of the left-field bleachers. He waited in line with about two dozen other hungry fans. The smell of roast pig, barbecue sauce, and homemade french fries overwhelmed his other senses and his reason. By the time he reached the head of the line, he had lost all dietary restraint. He carried back cardboard platters heaped full of ribs, fries, cole slaw, and magnums of sweetened ice tea. Simon sometimes felt guilty eating pork, but his conscience vanished when he took his first succulent bite, dripping with the eastern-style barbecue sauce that was mostly vinegar and hot sauce.
They both happily cleaned their plates. Julia insisted on making the trip to the trash can, and she came back with two more beers.
During a lull after a Bulls home run, Julia brought up the subject that was on both their minds. "I'm sorry that last night when I called you at the hospital I couldn't tell you anything about your accident," she said. "I just couldn't, no matter how much I would have liked to. Sergeant Gates hadn't finished his investigation yet. He hadn't talked to you. It was a confidential matter."
"It's okay, really," Simon said. "I understand that professional ethics were involved." "But you're irritated anyway."
"Not with you, or anyone else, really. It just gives me a queasy feeling that all these people I know were talking about me to a policeman and I didn't have a clue. It makes me feel uncomfortable."