Professor Broontz spoke up for the first time. “I object. I think you get more honest testimony if people can speak in private.”
“What makes you think that, Greta?” Dr. Wing asked.
“Because they aren’t subject to retaliation.”
Professor Healey leaned forward—I noticed her helmet of hair seemed slightly delayed in moving forward along with her head—and said, “Surely, Greta, you don’t think people in a great university would retaliate against colleagues, do you?”
“I assume,” Greta replied, “that you’re being sarcastic, Samantha. As you and I both know, there are a lot of long knives on this campus, and quite a few people skilled in their use.”
Professor Healey sat back in her seat. Again her hair seemed delayed in following her head. “I see your point, sort of.”
Oscar raised his hand. “May I interject something here?”
“Of course, Oscar,” Dr. Wing said.
“My profession has had a thousand years of experience with this issue. While Professor Broontz’s argument has a certain amount of initial appeal, experience demonstrates that things done in secret tend, in the long run, not to hold up in the bright light of history. As my grandmother used to say, ‘If you can’t say it out loud, don’t say it.’”
Count me as dubious that Oscar’s grandmother had ever said any such thing. My cynical thoughts along those lines were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Everyone’s head swung toward the sound.
CHAPTER 74
Professor Trolder, who was apparently the appointed doorman, got up to answer the knock. He opened the door, peered at someone standing to the side—I, at least, couldn’t see who it was—said something inaudible to the person and closed the door. He walked back to the table, leaned over and whispered in Dr. Wing’s ear. Dr. Wing nodded his head in acknowledgment and then picked right up where he had left off.
“We were discussing whether the parties should stay to hear the witnesses. My co-panelists and I discussed this earlier and came to the conclusion that it’s better if the parties stay for the witnesses, particularly in something this fraught.” He looked to his left at Professor Trolder, then to the right at Professor Healey. “Has either of you changed your mind after hearing the discussion we’ve just had?” Both shook their heads in the negative.
“All right, then,” Dr. Wing said. “It’s settled. The parties will stay for the witnesses, long knives and all. Now, let’s see, what’s next?”
“I think what’s next,” I said, standing up, “is coffee. I’m happy to make it. Anyone else want any?”
There was a small silence.
“To put you all at ease,” I said, “someone else bought the beans.”
“Actually,” Professor Healey said, “I brought them. They’re grown by an Amazonian nonprofit that got its start with a microloan.”
“Oh, joy,” Professor Trolder said. “Those microloans don’t actually help to grow an economy.”
I stood there waiting for resolution of the budding economic dispute.
“Well,” Dr. Wing said, “I’m going to exercise the power of the chair to rule that coffee will be had without discussion of its economic roots. How many want coffee?” All hands went up except Professor Broontz’s.
“All right,” I said, “that’s five coffees. I’ll make a full pot and pour it”—I pointed to the stack of Styrofoam cups—“and then you can all come over and add cream or sugar if you want.” The truth is, I just wanted the excuse to stand up and move around, and I wanted to break up the formality of the room even more.
While I walked over to the table that held the coffeepot, Dr. Wing continued. “The next item on my list,” he said, “is the issue of who will question the witnesses. We conferred on that, too, and agreed that, to keep this informal, we’ll just ask the witnesses to tell us what they know. If there are questions to be asked, we’ll ask them. In the unlikely event there’s anything still to ask when we’re done, we’ll permit the parties to pose a few questions. We want to keep this friendly and professional.”
Oscar spoke up. “So cross-examination will be left to the end?”
“I don’t, Oscar, see it as cross-examination, just the parties asking a few questions. Call it a very gentle cross-examination.”
“That,” Oscar said, “is something of an oxymoron. Because, again, the learning of my profession is that if you press someone hard on their answers, you get better answers.”
“I kind of agree with him,” Professor Broontz said. “I want to be able to press people hard because I think a lot of hard lies are being told here.”
“You want to be able to use your long knives, Greta?” Professor Healey asked.
“That’s not the way I would put it, Samantha,” Professor Broontz replied.
“I think,” Dr. Wing said, “we’ll stick with the way we’ve agreed to do it. I can always cut off questions that I think don’t comply with our standards of professionalism and civility. And with that, I have only one item left on my list. Normally, we don’t apply the rules of evidence here. And in any case that would be difficult to do because I don’t know them.” He turned to Professor Trolder. “Paul, do you know them?” Trolder shook his head in the negative. He then turned to Professor Healey, on his other side. “Samantha, do you know the rules?”
“I do, actually,” she said, “but I have some fundamental complaints about them. They’re really an epistemological set that explores how we know what we know, and I think they’re misguided attempts to apply a medieval philosophical construct in the twenty-first century.”
Dr. Wing had remained looking at her while she spoke. He raised his eyebrows—I thought I also saw his lips twitch slightly—and said, “All well and good, Samantha. But the real question is, do you want to apply those rules here?”
“Certainly not.”
“Good, good. So we have that out of the way.”
Oscar raised his hand.
“Oscar, what pearl of wisdom do you have for us on this?”
“It’s okay with us if you don’t apply the formal rules of evidence here. But I’d like to remind the panel—and if this is a pearl, please accept it with my compliments—that the principles underlying those rules—such as being suspicious of speculation and suspicious of hearsay, to name only two of the many things the rules of evidence concern themselves with—are important principles to keep in mind.”
Professor Healey started to speak up. “Well, I don’t know that I agree that those principles—”
“Samantha,” Dr. Wing said, interrupting, “I think we’ll just consider ourselves reminded, okay?”
“All right, I suppose so.”
I listened to all of this with some trepidation. Professor Healey seemed to me someone who was going to be difficult for us. I wished that Oscar hadn’t spoken up and, clearly, irritated her. It was an unusual mistake for him, since he was usually so good at reading people.
“The coffee’s ready,” I said. “Please come help yourselves.”
As often happens when caffeine is available, everything stopped and everyone came over to the table to get some. I noticed that everyone took their coffee black except Professor Trolder, who put in enough milk to make his coffee almost white and then added two heaping teaspoons of sugar.
When everyone was again seated, Dr. Wing said, “All right, let’s get going. Greta, you’re the one who brought this insanity our way. Who’s your first witness?”
“My first witness,” she said, “is waiting in the hall.”
CHAPTER 75
Professor Broontz got up, went to the door and opened it. In walked George Skillings, the UCLA security guy, who I hadn’t seen since the day Primo died. He looked around and stood waiting.
“Welcome, Mr. Skillings,” Dr. Wing said. “Please take a seat in that vacant chair there.” He pointed to the empty chair next to Professor Broontz.
After Skillings had taken his seat, Dr. Wing said, “Mr. Skillings, as I think you know,
we’re here investigating—in a sort of indirect way—the death of Primo Giordano.”
“I understand.”
I noticed that Skillings had not made eye contact with me. Which worried me.
“Before we get started,” Dr. Wing continued, “I want to remind you that although we have no power to put anyone under oath, we do expect you to testify fully and truthfully.”
“That’s fine.”
“I understand you were with Professor James the morning that a student, Primo Giordano, took sick.”
“That’s right.”
“Can you tell us what you remember about that?”
I could feel my body wanting to jump up and object. In a courtroom I would have objected to the question as vague and calling for a narrative. Here no one seemed to care, and Skillings was busy answering.
“Pretty early, I think it was around 8:00 A.M., maybe a little before, I got a call from my supervisor saying that a law professor had locked herself out of her office. He gave me the office number and asked if I could take my master key and let her in. I wasn’t far away, so I said sure and went over to the law school. When I got there, Professor James was standing in front of her office. She said she had left the office to take a phone call and locked herself out.”
I looked over at Greta Broontz. She was looking down, taking copious notes. I knew she knew I was looking at her, but she didn’t look up.
Skillings was continuing. “When I let the professor in, there was a student sitting in the chair who was half-unconscious, breathing irregularly and drooling. We put him on the floor and I called the EMTs, who came pretty much right away and took him to the hospital. Professor James went with them. Oh, and one more thing: while we were waiting for them, I asked her how long the phone call had kept her out of her office. She claimed it was only six or seven minutes.”
I immediately noticed his use of the word claimed. It’s the kind of word witnesses use when they don’t believe someone. Had it been longer? I hadn’t thought to check my phone records to find out. Until that moment it had never occurred to me that it was important.
“What happened,” Dr. Wing asked, “after that?”
“I went back to my station and then a while later got a call from the police department asking me what had happened—the dispatches for the EMTs go to the police station—and I told them. They said they would send someone over and asked me, in the meantime, if I’d go back and secure the office. So I went back, opened it up and waited there awhile. At about the same time, Professor James came back. I told her I was suspicious the coffee might have caused the student’s medical problem. In fact, I told her that’s why I had come back. I didn’t mention the police request. She gave me a couple of plastic bags, and I bagged the student’s coffee cup, including the little splash of coffee that was left in it. I also took a sample from the sugar bowl.”
“Anything else, Mr. Skillings?”
“Not much. The professor left again, and I waited for a policeman to arrive and take over, then I left.”
“Did you do anything else, Mr. Skillings?” Dr. Wing asked.
“The only thing I can think of is that I bagged some of the coffee beans, too. Professor James had a bag of them there, still.”
Dr. Wing looked at first one, then the other of his two colleagues. “Do either of you have any questions?” They shook their heads in the negative.
“I have a question,” Professor Broontz said. “Do you know, Mr. Skillings, if Professor James drank any of that coffee herself?”
“Come to think of it, she said she didn’t.”
I can smell a planted question, and that one had a distinct aroma about it. Skillings was, for whatever reason, clearly cooperating with Greta Broontz.
“Well,” Professor Broontz asked, “didn’t that seem suspicious to you?”
“I object!” It was Oscar, back from the dead. “That’s an outrageous question. I mean, this man isn’t an expert on how people behave in particular situations. He has no idea why Professor James did or didn’t drink the coffee, assuming for the moment his recollection about that is even correct.”
Dr. Wing smiled down at him from his full height. “Well, Oscar, this is informal, remember? So I’m going to let him answer. Go ahead, Mr. Skillings.”
“Yeah,” he said, “it did seem kind of suspicious, especially because I’ve heard since that Professor James is kind of a coffee addict.”
As he said that, I realized, of course, that my having volunteered to make the coffee a few minutes earlier had cooked my own goose on that one.
“Any other questions, Greta?” Dr. Wing asked.
“No, I’m done.”
“Good,” Dr. Wing said. “Then we can move on to…”
“I have a question,” Oscar said. “Since we’re going to let people speculate, let’s try this one on. Mr. Skillings, if Professor James poisoned the student’s coffee, as I think Professor Broontz’s question was meant to imply, why do you think she was dumb enough to call you and ask you to open up her office, where the student was dying, before she had a chance to clean up the evidence?”
“Huh,” Skillings said, “that’s a good one. I really don’t know.”
I looked over at Greta Broontz, who was still taking notes. Then I looked at Dr. Wing, who had cocked his head, pursed his lips and was clearly cogitating about Oscar’s question. After a few seconds, he straightened up and asked, “Who’s your next witness, Greta?”
“It’s Detective Drady,” she said.
CHAPTER 76
Without so much as a knock, the door opened and Detective Drady walked into the room, looked around and stood there, waiting.
“Welcome, Detective,” Dr. Wing said. “Please take a seat in that vacant chair there.” He pointed to the empty chair next to Professor Broontz.
After Drady had taken his seat, Dr. Wing said, “Detective, as I think you know, we’re here investigating—indirectly—the death of Primo Giordano.”
“I understand.”
“Before we get started, I want to remind you that although we have no power to put anyone under oath, we do expect you to testify fully and truthfully.”
“I will certainly try to do that, Dr. Wing. Of course, there’s a still-open police investigation into this matter going on, so there may be some things I won’t be able to share.”
Oh, great, I thought to myself, he’s pledging to tell the truth but not the whole truth, so help him God. I looked over at Oscar, who was stoically taking notes and seemed disinclined to jump up and scream at the ridiculousness of what Drady had just said.
“We understand you won’t be able to share everything,” Dr. Wing replied. “Also, please note that your testimony is being recorded.” He pointed to the three digital recorders on the table.
“Understood. I assume the recording’s digital. Can someone e-mail me a copy?”
“Of your own testimony?”
“No, of the whole hearing.”
“Well,” Dr. Wing said, “this is a confidential hearing, so I don’t think so.”
“All right, I’m sure we can get it later with a search warrant, or the DA can get it with a subpoena if we need it.”
“I don’t think so, Detective. These things are truly confidential, and I think a subpoena would be squashed.”
I decided not to correct the chairman and tell him that the word is quashed, not squashed—a common error made by nonlawyers. In any case, I suspected the university’s confidentiality claim would, in the face of a criminal subpoena, provide about as much resistance as a fly presents to a flyswatter. It would be squashed.
“Could you start, Detective,” Dr. Wing continued, “by just stating your name and your relationship to all of this?”
“Sure. I’m Detective Von Drady of the UCLA Police Department. I’m one of the officers investigating the death of Mr. Giordano.”
“Thank you. You know Professor James, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Could you
tell us what you know about that student’s death and about Professor James’s role in it?”
“If any,” Oscar muttered, almost under his breath.
Dr. Wing seemed to take no offense at Oscar’s barely heard amendment of his question, and said, “Of course, if any.”
“All right,” Drady said. “Earlier this month I got a call that a student had been removed unconscious from a professor’s office at the law school. I was asked by my supervisor to go to investigate. I went to Professor James’s office and found a UCLA security officer, George Skillings, already there. He brought me up to date on the situation, and I began to survey the crime scene. Shortly after I arrived, I learned that the student had died.”
“May I,” Oscar said, “—not to ask a question, but just to clarify something, so someone listening to this later won’t be confused—be permitted to state my understanding that there was no crime scene at that point because there was no suspicion of a crime?”
“Is that right, Detective?” Dr. Wing asked.
“Well, yes, that’s right. At that time it was just an unexplained student death caused by an unexplained illness. I used the term crime scene just to mean a place where we were looking for evidence related to the death.”
“Well,” Dr. Wing said, “I’m a doctor, and I’m aware there are lots of students taken ill on campus every year, isn’t that so, Detective?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And you don’t usually consider their dorm rooms crime scenes, do you?”
“No.”
I was happy. Dr. Wing seemed to have picked up on what an attempted setup this whole thing was.
“Okay, thanks. Please return to your narrative, Detective.”
“Well, eventually, I treated it as a potential crime scene, especially after Mr. Skillings told me he suspected the coffee the student drank was somehow tainted.”
“Then what happened?” Dr. Wing asked.
“I took the coffee sample Mr. Skillings had collected into my possession, along with the sugar and the beans. Shortly after that Professor James showed up and told me what had happened. One of the things she mentioned was that Mr. Giordano had brought a treasure map with him, but that it was now missing. That later became of very great interest to us.”
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