…A Dangerous Thing

by Crider, Bill

  Tomlin nudged him with an elbow. "Only if we get caught," he said.

  Harriet Kathryn Myers Hall was the HGC women's dormitory. Mrs. Myers, HGC class of 1949, had the good fortune to marry well (which in 1949 would not have been considered a politically incorrect thing to do or say), and she had been generous with the money that her oil-rich husband lavished on her. Her most lasting contribution to HGC was the dormitory, built ten years after her graduation, though she had also given occasional gifts of money.

  Elaine Tanner appreciated the monetary gifts more than the dorm, since Mrs. Myers had specified that the money be spent on books and periodical subscriptions for the library.

  "It's an ugly building, isn't it?" Elaine said as she and Burns went inside.

  Burns agreed with her, but he didn't think it was necessary to say so. The building probably wasn't any uglier than any other college dorm in the nation. Dorms weren't known for their architectural greatness.

  The front room of the dorm was a large lobby/sitting area, furnished with couches and chairs that had seen better days. One of the couches was covered with a hideous floral pattern that had probably been all the rage when the dormitory was built but which now looked very old-fashioned. The other couches didn't look much better.

  This room was the place where the women of HGC could entertain their male friends, who were most definitely not allowed anywhere else in the building. HGC may have been becoming liberal in some of its attitudes, thanks to the influence of Dean Partridge, but it wasn't going to change into Berkeley overnight. Burns didn't doubt that the dean would eventually get around to challenging the old-fashioned rules of dorm life, but she couldn't do everything at once.

  To one side of the sitting area was an office with a large window that overlooked the couches. There was always someone on duty in the office to be sure that there were no unauthorized visitors and that nothing untoward was happening between the couples on the couches.

  There were several couples sitting around, talking and looking at textbooks. There wasn't even any hand-holding going on that Burns could see. Hartley Gorman College's students knew better than to indulge themselves in public displays of affection, though PDAs were no longer punishable by suspension as they had been in the distant past.

  Burns went over to the office and asked if Kristi Albert was a dormitory resident.

  "Yes, she is, Dr. Burns," the young woman behind the glass said. "She lives in 304."

  "I'd like to talk to her," Burns said. "Would you call and see if she's in?"

  She was, and Burns asked if she could come down. After a brief conversation on the phone, the young woman told Burns that Kristi would be down in five minutes.

  "Want to sit down?" Burns asked Elaine.

  She did, and they went to one of the couches, not the one with the floral pattern, but a plain beige one that sagged badly.

  "Do you really think I can be of some help, or did you just ask me to come to spite R. M.?" she asked when they were seated.

  "I know you can help," Burns said, and then he saw someone come through the doorway that led to the stairs. It was the young woman he had seen running in tears from Henderson's office, and he knew that she must be Kristi Albert.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kristi Albert was short and stout, with her dark hair cut in bangs across her forehead. She wasn't big, Burns thought, but she was big enough to have pushed Henderson through his office window. He hadn't been very big either.

  She frowned and did not look as if she were eager to talk to Burns, but she walked across the lobby to where he was sitting.

  Burns stood up, which these days was probably not something a man was expected to do when a woman entered the room, but he couldn't help himself. He asked her name, and when she confirmed his suspicion that she was Kristi Albert, he introduced her to Elaine.

  Elaine, who had been coached by Burns on the way to the dorm, took over the conversation. Even talking to another woman, Kristi was clearly uncomfortable with the situation, and she shot covert glances at the other students in the room, all of whom were overly careful not to look in her direction.

  "Is there somewhere we could go that's more private?" Elaine asked her.

  "There's Mrs. Edgely's office," Kristi said. "She's not here today."

  Dorinda Edgely was the dorm supervisor, and Burns was glad to hear that she wasn't around. She was a notorious snoop.

  "Let's go see if we can use it," Elaine suggested.

  Kristi assured them it would be all right. "She always leaves it open. I study in there sometimes."

  Sure enough, the office was open. Even the light was on. Burns suspected that Dorinda was off shopping but that she had left the light on just in case any HGC administrator should happen to drop by. That way she could explain that she "just happened to step out for a minute."

  Burns sat behind the polished wooden desk, while Elaine and Kristi sat on a couch that looked somewhat newer and more comfortable than those in the lobby. Elaine didn't drag things out. She let Kristi know immediately why they were there.

  "I know you had some problems with Mr. Henderson," she said. "Why don't you tell me about them."

  Kristi cut her eyes over toward Burns.

  "He's not going to say anything," Elaine told her. "And he knows about Mr. Henderson."

  "He saw me one day," Kristi said, still looking at Burns. "Coming out of Mr. Henderson's office."

  "That's right," Elaine agreed. "He told me about that. Why were you there?"

  Kristi looked back at Elaine. "I went to talk about a test. I thought I deserved a better grade than I got."

  Burns thought that students these days had a lot more courage than those of his own generation, most of whom would never have dared to question their professors' right to give whatever grades they wanted to give.

  "What did Mr. Henderson say about the grade?"

  "I've talked about this to Dr. Fox," Kristi said. "But I don't want to say anything else. It doesn't seem right, not with Mr. Henderson being . . . passed away."

  "I think you should tell me," Elaine said. "It might have something to do with the murder."

  Elaine's saying the word like that seemed to shock Kristi. Her face reddened and she looked at the floor.

  "There's something else, Kristi," Elaine said. "Someone saw you going to Mr. Henderson's office on the day he died."

  Kristi's head snapped up. "Oh, no! I didn't. It wasn't me!"

  Elaine looked at Burns.

  "I'm afraid it was," he said, taking his cue and trying to make his voice appropriately hard. "You were there just before Mr. Henderson died."

  Burns was amazed at his success. Kristi started crying. Elaine opened her purse, brought out a tissue, and handed it to Kristi, who took it and wiped her eyes.

  "I'm sorry," she snuffled. "I shouldn't have lied. I did go to Mr. Henderson's office, but I didn't do anything to him. I was just talking to him about the test again."

  She twisted the tissue in her hands, not looking at either Elaine or Burns, who was sure she was lying.

  "Tell us your version of what happened the first time you went to see him," he said.

  Kristi dabbed at her eyes with the wadded tissue. "He—he put his hand on me."

  "Where?" Elaine asked.

  Kristi didn't answer in words. Instead she moved her left hand to her breast.

  "And is that when you ran away?" Burns asked.

  "Yes. I told Dr. Fox about it later. He said he'd talk to the dean." Her eyes were dry now, and she looked resentful. "I didn't think he'd tell the whole school."

  "He didn't," Burns said. "He just told me. This is murder we're talking about here, Kristi, not just sexual harassment. Dr. Fox thought it might be wiser for someone on the faculty to speak to you before the police found out."

  "Oh! You aren't going to tell the police, are you?"

  "No," Elaine said, giving Burns a look. "We aren't going to tell the police."

  "Not if you tell us the truth,"
Burns said, not chastened by Elaine's glare. "Now what did you say to Mr. Henderson on the day he was killed?"

  Kristi looked at the wall, then at the floor, and finally back at Burns. "Nothing. I didn't even see him."

  Burns was skeptical. "Are you sure about that?"

  "You can tell us the truth, Kristi," Elaine said. "Nothing you say in here will leave this room."

  Kristi didn't look as if she were sure of that. "That's what Dr. Fox said."

  Burns stood up. "I think it's time to call Chief Napier," he said. "We're not getting anywhere."

  "Wait!" Kristi said. "I'll tell you the whole thing."

  "Fine," Burns said. "We're listening."

  Clearly embarrassed, Kristi told her story. Knowing that Henderson had an evening class, she had gone to complain again about the grade, and she had gone alone in spite of what had happened previously. But she had a reason. She was planning to threaten Henderson.

  "I was going to tell him that if he didn't do the right thing about my grade, I was going to tell his wife what he did to me."

  Considering what Samantha Henderson seemed to think about her husband's attractiveness to women, Kristi would probably not have been believed. Burns thought it was more than likely that Samantha would accuse Kristi of trying to seduce Tom.

  "You were going to tell him," Burns said. "Did you?"

  "No. Like I said, I never saw him. I couldn't do it. I started thinking about what he'd done, and how it made me feel, and I couldn't even go inside his office. I just turned around and went back downstairs. I didn't even know what had happened until a lot later."

  "Did you see anyone else in his office or in the hallway?" Burns asked.

  Kristi thought about it, then shook her head. "I don't remember. I don't think so."

  Melling had seen her, however. There wasn't much question about that. She might have brushed by him in passing and not noticed, thanks to the stress she was feeling.

  "I really do think he was being unfair about the grade," Kristi said. "My answers were a lot better than some others that I could name. I just didn't sit in the right place. And maybe I don't have the right shape."

  "I'm sure you had a good case," Burns said. "It's a little late to be worrying about that now, though."

  "I guess it is," Kristi said. "But I still think I should have a better grade."

  "What did you think?" Elaine asked as she and Burns walked back to the church, only a few blocks away, where their cars were parked. "Was she lying?"

  "I don't know," Burns said. "She lied at first. Maybe she was still lying at the end."

  "How did we do as the good cop and the bad cop?"

  "Not bad. Boss Napier would be proud of us."

  Elaine frowned at the mention of Napier's name. "You can see from what Kristi told us that sexual harassment has its really dark side."

  "I never doubted it. What does that have to do with Napier?"

  "Nothing. Exactly. But it's always the woman who suffers, and he's not as enlightened as he should be. Maybe someone needs to take him in hand and explain things to him."

  Burns felt a momentary thrill of panic. He could imagine what might happen if Napier got the chance to be alone with Elaine while she tried to enlighten him. He didn't like the idea of her "taking him in hand," either.

  "I don't think so," he said. "Or then again, maybe it's a good idea. I'll have a little talk with him."

  Elaine smiled and took Burns's arm. "I like it when you're jealous," she said.

  That afternoon, Burns put some Creedence LPs on his turntable and tried to work out what he knew and what he thought he knew while he listened to "Green River" and "Born on the Bayou." What he knew wasn't much more than it had been the last time he tried it. He still didn't know who was lying and who was telling the truth. Walt Melling and Kristi Albert had, by their own admission, both been in the vicinity of Henderson's office on the day he was killed. Holt hadn't been seen there, but he hadn't shown up for his class. His alibi was Dean Partridge, which was suspicious in itself as far as Burns was concerned.

  And then there was the Henry Mitchum business. Burns was almost convinced that Holt and Mitchum were connected in some way. Maybe Holt was Mitchum. It wasn't really even a far-fetched idea; lots of radicals from the 70s were still in hiding. Burns had read about getting fingerprints by taking a person's water glass and giving it to the cops. He didn't know about the possibility of doing that, but there were any number of smooth-surfaced things he could take from Holt's office and turn over to Napier. It was worth thinking about.

  And he wondered just how well fingerprints would show up on a bust of Sigmund Freud. All he had to do was locate it, and he could find out.

  Burns turned that idea, and everything else, over and over in his mind, but the more he thought about things, the less he was sure he knew. And the more he developed the nagging feeling that he had overlooked something that he should have asked more about. Try as he would, he couldn't make it come clear.

  Late in the afternoon, he gave up and read the rest of You'll Die Next! He had just set the book aside to make himself a ham sandwich when the telephone rang.

  It was Mal Tomlin, who said he'd be by to pick Burns up at eight-thirty.

  "It'll be good and dark by then," Tomlin said. "That's the best time."

  Burns didn't know what Tomlin was talking about. "Best time for what?"

  "You know what. For catching them in the act."

  Then Burns remembered. "I'm not going sneaking around anyone's house in the dark," he said. "You must be crazy."

  Tomlin adopted a patient tone. "I'm not crazy. Just smart. Partridge and Holt are going to get together tonight, and they're going to talk about killing Henderson. If you'd heard them talking today, you'd know how worried they are. I'll be by at eight-thirty. Wear something black. Do you have a black turtleneck?"

  "Yes, but I'm not going to wear it," Burns said. "I'm not going anywhere with you on some half-baked spying expedition."

  "Look," Tomlin said, "we have to do this. Your cop friend has scheduled another interview with Joynell for tomorrow. To clear up some 'discrepancies,' he says. He really thinks I had something to do with killing Henderson, and we have to prove he's wrong."

  "But we can't prove anything by going over to Dean Partridge's house," Burns said.

  There was a click on the other end of the line, but Burns continued to protest for another few seconds and before he realized that he was talking to dead air. He hung up the phone and made his sandwich. It didn't taste as good as he had thought it would.

  He was wearing the black turtleneck, not to mention black jeans, and feeling like a fool when Mal Tomlin rang his doorbell at eight-thirty.

  Tomlin had on a similar outfit, and his cheeks and forehead were covered with something dark and oily-looking.

  "Smear some of this stuff on your face," Tomlin said, and still standing in the doorway he handed Burns a tin can.

  The outside of the can was slick, and Burns handed it back. "I'm not going to put that stuff on my face. What is it?"

  "Some of that goop baseball players put under their eyes on bright days." Tomlin moved past Burns and into the house, sticking the can in Burns's hand. "You can put it on in here. We might want to wait a few more minutes before we go. They haven't rolled up the sidewalks yet. You got anything to eat?"

  Burns looked into the can. "Where did you get this stuff?"

  "Coach Thomas. You got any peanut butter and jelly?"

  "Good grief," Burns said. "You told Coach Thomas about your idea for a commando raid?"

  Tomlin grinned, his teeth looking very white in his blackened face. "I hadn't thought of it like that. A commando raid." He fell into a crouch and duckwalked across the den, pretending to be carrying an assault rifle. "Just like Arnold Schwarzenegger."

  "You look more like a bad imitation of Chuck Berry," Burns said, laughing.

  Tomlin straightened up. "You just don't appreciate style. Anyway, an army travels on its stoma
ch. What about the peanut butter?"

  "I have ham." Burns told him. "And mustard. Didn't Joynell feed you tonight?"

  "Nope. She spent her time lecturing me about how stupid you and I were."

  "She's right. If we do what I think we're going to do, we're even more stupid than she thinks."

  "Yeah, well, we'll see how you feel after we get on America's Most Wanted for cracking this case."

  Burns thought about telling Tomlin about Henry Mitchum but decided against it. Tomlin was acting crazy enough already. The only good thing Burns could think of was that Tomlin wasn't armed. And if he knew that they might be encountering a man who took part, willingly or not, in an armed robbery in which a bank guard was killed, he'd insist on carrying an M-1 if he could find one.

  So Burns didn't mention Mitchum. Instead he asked, "What about Coach Thomas? What did you tell him to get this stuff?" He held up the can.

  "I went by the gym after the funeral and told him that we were organizing a faculty baseball team. He gave me some old bats and balls, and I asked for a can of goop. If we handle this right, we can get some spikes, too. You want to play?"

  "Are you serious?"

  "Sure. I just wanted the black stuff, but the baseball team seems like a good idea. We could play the students in a charity game, maybe raise a little money for scholarships."

  Napier didn't have a prayer of getting close to Elaine again, Burns thought. "Can I play second base?"

  "Only if you put that stuff on your face."

  Burns stuck a finger in the can. It came out black and greasy.

  "Just rub it in," Tomlin said. "It won't hurt a bit."

  Burns hesitated.

  "Maybe we could get someone else to play second," Tomlin said. "Earl looks like an infielder. We'll see how he can handle a bat."

  Burns smeared the greasy substance on his cheek. It wasn't so bad after all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "What really worries me is that damn goat," Tomlin said.

  They were parked a long block from Dean Partridge's house, located in a much more exclusive subdivison than Burns's own home, an area in which the houses were surrounded with towering pecan and oak trees and in which many of the houses sat on two or three lots to keep the neighbors at a proper distance.