Robert B Parker - Spenser 26 - Hush Money

by Hush Money(lit)

  Then he hollered, "Betty."

  I punched him in the solar plexus with my fight hand and he sagged. He tried to yell Betty again but he had too little breath. Behind me the door opened.

  A woman's voice said, ''My God."

  "Call cops," Vincent gasped.

  I stepped away. He tried to straighten up, still struggling to get air in, and I clipped him on the jaw with a good professional fight cross and he sat down hard on the floor and stayed there.

  "Stop it," Betty screamed, "stop it."

  "Done," I said.

  Betty turned and ran toward her desk. Vincent was staring

  at me from the floor. He was about half functional. "Can you understand me?" I said. He nodded.

  "If anything even slightly annoying, anything at all happens to KC Roth, ever again, I will come back and knock

  every tooth out of your head."

  He continued to stare.

  "And maybe I'll tell Al where you are." I could see that he heard me.

  "You understand that?" I said.

  He nodded very slightly. He was very pale, and he kept

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  himself rigid as if any movement would make him disintegrate.

  "Feel fre to explain to the cops why I punched you," I said and turned and walked out of his office.

  Betty had hung up the phone. When she saw me she pointed me out to a couple of vigorous-looking young guys who were probably good at squash.

  "That's him;' she said. "Don't let him get away."

  I didn't feel like instructing them in the difference between scuffling and squash, so I smiled at them courteously and opened my coat so they could see that I was wearing a gun.

  "Let him get away;' I said.

  Which they did.

  black Explorer in the parking lot of the Dunkin' Donuts shop on Route 1 in Saugus, eating donuts. Actually Susan and Pearl were sharing a donut and I was eating several, with coffee. "I got a call from KC Roth this morning," Susan said. She sprinkled a little Equal into her decaffeinated coffee and swirled it with the little red swizzle that came with,the coffee. "Swell;' I said. I liked the donuts they sold with the little handle on them. When you had finished the donut you still could eat the little handle and have the illusion that you'd gotten extra. "She says you've been hitting on her." I finished my donut and drank some coffee to help it down. "And how did you respondT' I said. "I said that it seemed very unlike you." "And she said?" 'aat apparently I didn't know you as well as I thought I did." "Well," I said, "if I were going to hit on someone besides you, she'd be an early candidate."

  "Yes, she is undeniably stunning:' Susan said. "But I'm

  pretty sure that I do know you as well as I think I do."

  "Maybe better," I said.

  "So I don't want you to deny it," Susan said. "Because I don't believe you did it. But I'd be curious as to why she is telling me you did."

  "She blandished me and I was unresponsive," I said. "BlandishedT' "Yes."

  "As in blandishments?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you sure that's a word?"

  "It is now," I said.

  "Tell me about her blandishments," Susan said.

  So I did, graphically.

  "I don't wish to hurt your feelings, but KC has always been something of a hot pants."

  "Damn," I said, "I thought maybe you had told her what a Roscoe I was in bed."

  Susan shook her head and sipped some more decaf. "Your secret is safe with me;' she said.

  From the backseat Pearl nudged at my elbow as I was about to bite into a new donut.

  "Excuse me;' I said and broke off a piece and gave it to her.

  "KC and I have been friends a long time;' Susan said. "I would have hoped for a little better behavior."

  "Maybe she's different with men than she is with other women;' I said.

  "I'd say that was a given," Susan said.

  "I don't know why, and obviously I'm making some rather large intuitive leaps here, but she seems to be in bad need of male attention and she seems to need it from men she can be scornful of."

  "Including you?" Susan said. "if I had, ah, come across," I said. "Then she could have been scornful of me because I was unfaithful to you." "Maybe that Was part of your attraction, in addition to being a Roscoe, of course." "This is your department," I said, "but maybe it's why she cheated on her husband. He seemed hard to scorn." "Yes, Butt is quite admirable. How about her stockbroker.'?" "Easy to scorn." "I of course understand some of that." "You understand some of everything;' I said. Susan smiled and held her decaf up so Pearl could lap a little from the cup. "Yes we do;' she said. "How did your talk go with Louis Vincent? Did he admit it?" "Not exactly." "Did he seem remorseful?" Susan said. "I think by the end of the discussion he felt some

  "Does his remorse have any connection with thC,iruised knuckles on your right hand?" "It was a talking point;' I said. "Did you have to talk much?" "Awhile," I said. "So how come there aren't any other bruises on your knuckles." "All the other talking was to the body," I said, "Did you reach an agreement? "We agreed that he would stop bothering KC." "Leaving KC all the free time she needs," Susan said, "to bother you." "Exactly:' "Maybe I'll talk with her."

  "And say what?" "And say that if she doesn't stop fucking around with my honey bun, she'll be sleeping with the fishes." "You shrinks know just the right thing," I said. "Yes," Susan said. "We do."

  a television reporter named Rich Randolph. I sat with him in his cubby inside the newsroom at Channel Three, next door to the news set. "I wasn't exactly in the closet,'he said. "But I wasn't, you could say, broadcasting it." "Probably not the road to advancement," I said. Randolph was slimmer than helked on camera, with a good haircut, round, gold-rimmed glasses, and a ltharp-edged face. "Hell, glasses put you at a disadvantage." "And well they should," I said. He glanced at me for a moment and then smiled. "Nothing," he said, "is too trivial for local television." "Did you know Prentice Lamont?" I said. "He the guy ran the magazine? "Yes." "No, I didn't know him. I saw his name on the masthead. Somebody, I assume it was he, wrote me an unsigned letter saying that I was scheduled to be outed in the whatever date issue of OUTrageous, unless I wished to make other arrangements, and included a phone number. I called the

  number and I said what sort of arrangements, and he said, financial. And I said you mean you'll take money not to out me? And he said, yes, and I told him to go fuck himself, and hung up. About two weeks later I was out."

  "Sounds like you passed on a good piece of investigative reporting."

  "I did;' Randolph said. "It was also my life, and I thought maybe I can just sit tight and it'll blow over. I mean who ever heard of OUTrageous, anyway? I thought they might be bluffing, and if they weren't I thought no one read the damned thing."

  "Unless they backed it up," I said, "and made sure somebody saw it."

  "The station manager got a copy in the mail."

  "How'd that work out?"

  "He was hurt," he said, "that I hadn't leveled with him.

  The sonovabitch. Like he's telling me about his sex life." "But he didn't fire you."

  "Hell no. The union would be on them like ugly on a

  warthog. The PR fallout would swamp him, and he knows it." "He taking any action?" I said.

  Randolph shrugged. "You watch the news on this station?" "No," I said.

  "Well, if you did, you might next see me covering a fashion show."

  "Or modeling them," I said.

  "Ah, if only," Randolph said.

  "Was it Lamont that was doing the blackmail, you think.'?" "I don't know. The letter was unsigned, appeared to be written on a computer. The voice on the phone was anonymous. I have no idea who I talked to, but how big an operation was it?"

  "Maybe bigger than I thought," I said. "Could you tell anything from the voice? It was male."

  "Yeah, male. Native English speaker, I'd say."

  "How old?"

  "Couldn't tell. Wasn't a kid, or an old perso
n. Twenty to

  sixty, somewhere in there, I guess."

  "Race?"

  Randolph shook his head.

  "Anything to indicate that it wasn't Prentice Lamont?" "Given that I don't know who Prentice Lamont is, no." We sat for a moment. Outside his cubicle the newsroom clattered and hustled. Monitors gleamed. Assignments were being given. Phones were ringing. Computers were being keyed.

  "You talk to any other people who've been featured in OUTrageous.*" I said.

  I nodded.

  "How come you get a cubicle?" I said.

  "Senior correspondent," he said.

  "Yeah;' Randolph said.

  We sat for another moment.

  "You know what my real name isT' Randolph said?My real name is Dick Horvitz. Media consultant said it didn't have sympathetic overtones."

  "Gee," I said, "I choked up the minute you said it."

  "You ever wonder why people care about shit like this?" he said.

  "Often," I said.

  "You have an answer?"

  He leaned back and put his feet up.

  "Senior correspondent," he said.

  So I drove over to the university and parked my car in a space marked faculty only. Actually it was past time to find out about Prentice. If I knew any less I'd be in some sort of informational deficit. I started with the Dean of Arts and ScienCes, whose name was Reynolds. We sat in his first-floor office with a view of coeds in the student quadrangle. His desk was neat wi.tthout being barren, and a picture of his wife and three daltghters was displayed on a side table. "I can get you Prentice Lamont's transcript," he said, "hold on." He stood and walked to the door and stuck his head out and spoke to one of the women in the outer office. Back behind his desk, he smiled. "Things move quicker," he said, "when it's a request from the dean's office." Reynolds was,a tall trim man with a bald head and horn-rimmed glasses. He worn a dark suit with a red silk tie, and a matching pocket square. "The information from the English department tenure committee will be harder. Requests from the clean don't

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  impress them, and legally, they have the right to keep their proceedings secret."

  "Legally in a court of law?"

  Reynolds shrugged.

  "I don't know. Legally under university bylaws."

  "Even if the proceedings may in themselves have Violated university bylaws?"

  Reynolds smiled again.

  "My guess would be," he said, "especially then." "Did you know Prentice Lamont?" I said. "No."

  "How about Robinson Nevins?"

  "I recognized him if we passed in the corridor, I don't think we've ever talked."

  "How about Amir Abdullah."

  Reynolds leaned back in his chair and put his 'hands behind his head.

  "Ah," he said, "Mr. Abdullah."

  I waited.

  "I understand you've already had an altercation with Mr. Abdullah."

  "I prefer to say I've already won an altercation with Mr. Abdullah."

  "Not everyone can claim that," Reynolds said. "You

  appear to have the build for it."

  "How've you done?" I said.

  "Our altercations are somewhat different," Reynolds said. "But I guess we're about even."

  "What can you tell me about him?"

  "Officially? Professor Abdullah is an esteemed member of our faculty."

  "And unofficially?"

  "A great pain in the ass," Reynolds said.

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  "I need to know as much as I can;' I said. "About Abdull7" "About everything. You seem to know about Abdull.' "I know something about Abdull, and I bare some opinions, but they are not for dissemination." "It is not in the best interest of a guy who does what I do;' I said, "to blab things told im in confidence. And you have my word that it will be in confidence unless I am legally compelled to repeat it." "Fair enough;' Reynolds said. "Abdull is a poseur, lie is intellectually dishonest, lie exploits his blackness and his gayness for his own advantage, lie cares only about his own advancement, lie does not like to teach, and his publications are polemic rather than scholarship, lie is, I believe, though I've not been able to catch him, a sexual predator who preys on young men in his classes." "If you catch him?" "If I catch him," Reynolds said, "he's gone. Tenure or no

  "And you win," I said. "And I win." A tall good-looking black woman with gray highlights in her short hair came in carrying a copy of the transcript. "Who gets this?" she said. Reynolds pointed at me and she handed it to me and smiled and walked out. I gave the transcript a fast eyeball. "Prentice took three courses last semester in AfricanAmerican studies," I said. "Could they be Abdullah?" Reynolds put out a hand and I gave him the transcript; he glanced through it. "All of them," he said, "would be Professor Abdullah." "What is Prentice's major?" Reynolds glanced at the transcript.

  "He was getting a master's degree in English literature," he said. "Is it unusual that he'd take all these African courses?" "Yes." "What department does Abdullah belong to?" I said. "English. The African-American Center is not funded by the university and has no official standing, though we are not opposed to it, and would be hesitant to oppose it anyway." "If you do find that he is hitting on young men in his class and you fire him, will there be a firestorm of protest alleging you are homophobic and racist?" "Absolutely," Reynolds said. "But you'll do it anyway." '`There are no university !ylaws that tolerate sexual exploitation of students by facult, y, straight or gay, black or white." "I can prove he hit on a student at the community college some years ago." "Doesn't help me here," Reynolds said. "Maybe it will," I said. Reynolds studied me for a moment. His eyes were both humorous and hard, like a turtle's. "One entry," he said after a moment, "into the proceedings of the tenure committee would be to talk with the members. Some are fools, but one or two are quite human:' "Who would you say is the most human?" "Tommy Harmon." "Does he know all the words of 'Hail to the Victor'?" I said. "It's a nickname, I believe his real name is David." "Doesn't sound like you had to sort through a long list," I said. "To come up with him."

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  Reynolds smiled. I'll call Tommy if you like and tell him you'll De stopping by." "Do," I said.

  that gave him a sweeping vista of the MBTA station. There

  was a boom box on top of his bookcase and he had a CD

  playing.

  "Carol Sloane," I said.

  "With Clark Terry," he said. "Very good."

  He was a blocky man with a thick neck and a kind of

  healthy-looking redness to his face that suggested he spent

  time out of doors.

  "I represent Robinson Nevins;' I said.

  Harmon nodded.

  "He thinks he was jobbed on his tenure promotion."

  "I do too;' Harmon said.

  "And he asked me to look into how that happened." "And?

  "In the process I came to the conclusion that Prentice'

  Lamont didn't commit suicide;' I said. "You think he was killed?" "Yes." "Christ!"

  "Which lends a larger urgency to the inquiry," I said.

  "I should say so."

  152 I'¢r 5'. Pr

  "It's my impression that Nevins was denied tenure because of allegations that his relationship with Lamont resulted in Lamont's suicide."

  "Nobody ever said that, exactly," Harmon said. "And, of course, no one is required to explain or even admit their vote. What makes you think he was killed?"

  "He couldn't have opened the window he went through," I said.

  "Perhaps it was open."

  "Perhaps:'

  "And perhaps I ought to stick to my area of expertise," Harmon said. "Have you shared your theory with the police.9''

  "Not yet, one of my goals is to refurbish Nevins' reputation,

  which I thought I might atte,/npt, before I called the cops:' Harmon nodded again.

  "What do you need from me.9"

  "I don't know," I said. "I'd like you to tell me whatever you can about the deliberations of
the tenure committee. Maybe I'll recognize something I need."

  Harmon reached over and turned off his boom box, then he shifted back in his chair and put one foot up on a partly open drawer in his desk. He was wearing an open-collared white shirt, khaki pants, and white sneakers. On his desk next to a couple of books by R. W. B. Lewis was a book titled Death in the Landscape: The American Pastoral Vision by David T. Harmon.