CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was late in the afternoon on Monday when Paul picked up Claire from her office and it was only a short drive to the Grossmont Medical Center, a few miles east of the University. As they drove the short distance it was apparent that their relationship had transformed into something different from what it had been just a few days before. It had become formalized and would now primarily revolve about Michael’s needs. Despite a noticeable strain in their conversation and the emotional wall Claire had now erected between the two of them, Paul’s admiration for her remained unchanged.
For her part Claire felt only confusion as she tried to make sense of Paul’s determination to follow what she perceived to be a self-destruction course. She could see nothing honorable in his present fixation on retaliation, nor his determination to justify his actions involving Jill Fairclough. Nevertheless, she had invested herself sufficiently in his life to be deeply concerned about his welfare.
The preceding night had been one of fitful soul-searching for Paul. He recognized that there were two competing forces vying for the devotion of his vital energy; one having to do with the needs of the son he had so recently discovered and the other involving the need to salvage his career – to preserve the dignity of his name — to do battle with those who were attempting to destroy him. Reluctantly he acknowledged to himself that he was powerless to change the relative importance of these two forces. He could not disengage himself from the conflict raging between himself and Julian Fairclough!
Once inside the hospital complex Paul inquired at the reception desk and was directed to a consultation room where he and Claire seated themselves and awaited the doctor’s arrival. They understood that initial test results would be inconclusive, but anticipated that a preliminary diagnosis would likely be possible. For Paul, the circumstances were uncomfortably similar to an earlier consultation in just such a room at the University Hospital in Ann Arbor, Michigan.
After a few minutes’ wait Doctor Wolfgram joined them and Paul introduced him to Claire. He was middle-aged, bearded, and wore a sport shirt. His manner was as informal as his appearance, but he did evidence genuine concern for Michael and their feelings. Claire immediately decided she liked him. During the days of her nursing practicum she had met some terribly officious physicians who seemed to be primarily concerned with their own importance. She had often wondered what it would be like to be one of their patients, having to put implicit trust in someone who was as impersonal as the medical gadgetry they used to make their diagnoses. Paul had explained that Claire was a trained nurse, which seemed to give Wolfgram license to be more technical in his explanation than he might have otherwise been.
He indicated that he had ordered two preliminary tests: first, a spinal tap so as to analyze the consistency of that fluid which bathed the exterior of Michael’s brain, and secondly, the injection of colored dye into the boy’s bloodstream, that it might be tracked with a series of X-rays as it entered the blood vessels of the brain, giving detail of their contour and density. The presence of any abnormal mass within the brain would typically be apparent in such X-rays.
“The tests give pretty good evidence that the boy is suffering from an aneurysm,” said Dr. Wolfgram.
Claire nodded, showing immediate understanding. The doctor then provided further details for Paul’s benefit. “An aneurysm is a ballooning blood vessel. Oftentimes it is a congenital condition. The real danger, of course, is that such a blood vessel can rupture without warning. The resulting hemorrhage would most likely be fatal.” Wolfgram paused briefly to let the full meaning of his prognosis register. “The spinal tap showed minute traces of blood indicating that there has been some seepage through the blood vessel membrane. This could be a forewarning of an imminent rupture.”
Paul and Claire glanced knowingly at each other. For a moment Claire was angry at life, that it should provide such a happy prospect of fulfilling Michael’s dreams of a life with his father, then threaten to destroy such hope with brutal finality. But, as at other times, she steeled herself against bitterness and resolved that she would cope with whatever demands life was about to make. Paul found himself on the verge of a headlong plunge into dark cynicism.
“And what is your prognosis, Dr. Wolfgram?” asked Claire apprehensively. “What is the possibility of corrective surgery?”
The doctor now tried to avoid being bleak in his analysis of things, yet bleakness was all that he really had to offer. “As I indicated, our test results are preliminary. We’ll have a better picture of things in a day or two, but at this point it would appear that the aneurysm is inoperable. It is probably located deep enough within the cortex of the brain so as to make surgical intervention impossible.”
“And so you are telling us that we wait for the boy to die, is that it?” Paul’s bluntness was accompanied with anger at the hopelessness of the circumstances.
“There is no index for life expectancy in a case such as this. We can provide medication that will lower the boy’s blood pressure, thus reducing the risk of a hemorrhage, and if there could be a minimum of strenuous physical exertion or emotional upsets, his life could possibly be prolonged for a substantial period of time. We can also experiment with several different kinds of medication to counteract the severe headaches he has been experiencing.”
Paul leaned back in his chair and expelled a breath, revealing his frustration.
“And what about long-term hospitalization?” asked Claire. “Is there anything to be gained from further treatment here?”
“I would like to keep him here for a couple of additional days, not only to complete our tests but to make sure that his present condition has stabilized.”
“What do you mean by present condition?” asked Paul.
“The preparation of the angiogram involved the introduction of opaque fluid into his blood stream. This usually induces some physiological trauma. In Michael’s case there has been significant pain.”
“Headaches, you mean,” said Paul.
“Yes, headaches and a painful optic nerve reaction to light. We’re keeping the light in his room subdued in hopes that this sensitivity will subside. There is also a slight possibility that the tests we have undertaken could increase the risk of perforating the aneurysm. We’d like to keep him sedated and quiet until those risks have been reduced.”
“Can we see him?” asked Claire.
“The nurses tell me he’s been asking for the two of you. I think it would be important for you to visit with him, but only briefly. After another twenty-four hours I should think that longer visits would be in order.”
There were more questions from both Claire and Paul as well as further clarifications by Dr. Wolfgram, but none of the doctor’s answers diminished the crisis that now loomed up on the horizon. As their conversation drew to a close the doctor excused himself and left Claire and Paul to themselves in the empty consultation room.
“What are your thoughts? asked Paul.
“I want to take him home with me as soon as possible.”
“Claire, are you really sure you want to do this thing?”
“All the more certain after what we just heard.”
“What about taking him back to Eagle Mountain?”
“Please don’t do that, Paul. He would feel that you had rejected him. Let him have his father for as long as possible.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I need to do, unless he expresses a desire to return to Anna and Charles. I think I need him as much as he needs me.” Paul withdrew into his thoughts and quietly added, “I never thought such a thing would be possible.”
“Let’s go see Michael,” said Claire.
The hospital room was dimly illuminated with a nightlight that had been inserted into a wall plug near the floor opposite Michael’s bed. He stirred slightly as Paul placed a chair alongside the bed for Claire. Paul remained standing, his hand on Claire’s shoulder. “Tough day, huh?” said Paul in a subdued voice.
“The pain
s are back again, but they’re giving me some medicine.” Michael’s speech was slightly slurred and much slower than normal in consequence of his heavy sedation. An I.V. had been inserted in his arm and was connected to a small tube that ran to a drip bottle hanging from a rack alongside the bed.
“The doctor says you can come home in a couple of days,” said Claire.
Even though Michael’s reactions were blunted, his expression showed that he was pleased.
“I thought you might like to stay at my place for a while. I can take some time off work to be with you, and your father says it would be alright with him.”
Paul leaned over and took hold of Michael’s hand. “I have to work during the days, but I can come and see you in the evenings. Then as soon as you start feeling better we could take some Saturday trips to Sea World and the Zoo. Maybe we’ll even go down to Tijuana.”
“That’d be great!” Michael said with a smile that, under different circumstances, would have been charged with excitement.
“You and I are both lucky to have Claire here to help us,” said Paul. “Did you know that she used to be a nurse?”
Michael began to shake his head, then stopped as the movement brought a flash of pain. He grimaced and closed his eyes. “I like you, Claire. I guess I’m pretty lucky.” His words were ironic, in light of the circumstances.
Their visit was brief as the doctor had requested, just long enough to provide a bit of reassurance and cheer. Claire had carefully described the bedroom that would become “Michael’s very own room,” and Paul spoke of the things they would see in their visit to the San Diego Zoo, including a panda bear that had recently been acquired.
Despite Claire’s description of Michael’s living arrangements in San Diego, Paul was reasonably certain that once the scrutiny of his name moved into the public arena she would want to reconsider the long-term nature of her offer. In his mind, a short vacation from work and a couple of weeks with Michael would be generous to the point of sacrifice on her part. He would be reluctant to allow her to care for Michael much beyond that point. Besides, Anna and Charles deserved to have their child back if they would soon have to part with him permanently. Still, the thought of Michael’s return to Eagle Mountain was painful to him. These days would likely be his only opportunity to be a father, and this thing that had been thrust upon him had now become precious.
At home, Paul followed Claire’s parting suggestion that he call Charles and Anna. They would surely be awaiting word on Michael’s test results. It was an unhappy conversation on both sides. There was little that Paul could say to soften the doctor’s grim prognosis. They discussed Claire’s willingness to keep Michael for a period of time and Anna pled to have Michael come back to Eagle Mountain as soon as it would be safe for him to travel. “We would do our best to make him comfortable.”
At one point in their conversation Paul spoke of Michael’s reference to an Aunt Elizabeth living in Michigan. “Is she a relative of yours, Anna?”
Anna’s response was evasive. “No, just a friend of the family. She has taken a special liking to Michael over the years.”
Paul knew that there was much more that could have been said of the woman who filled such an important place in Michael’s life, but this was hardly the time to pursue the matter. He moved to the living room and flipped on the television set. He tuned in station after station, trying to find some diversion for his mind, something to distract his thoughts. He settled on a news commentary program, one that was suitably boring. He stretched out in his leather recliner and tried to concentrate, but it wasn’t long until he mentally shut out the images on the television screen and allowed his mind to work its way back through the events of the day. He rehearsed the substance of several important phone calls he had made prior to his hospital visit. The first involved a conversation with a private investigator by the name of Lewis Scranton. His name had figured prominently among yellow page advertisements in the telephone book. Another phone conversation had been somewhat awkward as he spoke with the Sacramento office of the American Association of University Professors. They had spoken at length about legal counsel for Paul.
The AAUP lacked the clout of a labor union but was willing to provide assistance when the career of a tenured professor was at stake. They made some suggestions, and after a number of false starts and half-completed conversations, Paul managed to get connected with the right person. The man on the other end of the line was sympathetic as Paul explained his circumstances. He asked Paul for a letter outlining the events that had transpired and a formal request for assistance. He had also asked for a copy of all forthcoming correspondence that would officially notify Paul of the action to be taken against him by the State Board of Trustees. The man promised Paul that he would be contacted by a competent defense attorney within a day or two and that he should make no private efforts to respond to charges prior to that time.
Paul’s final phone call had been to Jerry Warren. Their conversation effectively lit the fuse that would touch off a campus explosion. The more Paul thought about these matters, the easier it was to extricate himself from the emotional turmoil involving Michael’s diagnosis. He again felt the mobilizing power of anger and responded to self-preservation instincts as he mulled over the strategy that had preoccupied his thoughts since his visit with President Michaelson. Paul was sufficiently streetwise to sense how things should be orchestrated at this point. So far as he was concerned, this was the only avenue of response open to him. He would pursue it, whatever the personal price.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The story made the front-page of the San Diego Tribune with a headline reading: “University Professor Charged with Misconduct.” The article pulled no punches, making specific reference to Jill Fairclough’s suicide following an illegal abortion. There were allegations of Paul’s complicity – inferences that he had facilitated the girl’s decision to terminate her pregnancy. There were references to his connection with campus dissidents and his inflammatory rhetoric as a spokesman for the “student left” with its radical agenda. In this connection, Paul was portrayed as being unprincipled in his professorial role, using his classroom as a forum for the fostering of dissident and destructive student demonstrations. The article went on to raise questions as to the legitimacy of Paul’s place on the San Diego State faculty and closed with these words:
“If the outcome of the scheduled hearings is formal censure, as many anticipate, there may be a call for Dr. Kirkham’s resignation and the rescinding of his right to teach in colleges and universities sponsored by the state of California.”
Although there was no certification process for university professors, this ominous prediction could very easily become reality.
On the very day that the Tribune made these public allegations, Paul had an initial meeting with the private detective he had engaged, Lewis Scranton. Their conversation was over lunch at the El Toro Restaurant located in the Mission Valley Hotel Circle. It was an upscale restaurant that drew most of its clientele from the nearby hotels. For Paul the location afforded some midday seclusion away from prying eyes and listening ears. Scranton was wearing a coat and tie, but still looked seedy. He was somewhat obese, and his hair was scraggly. Not only was Scranton’s suit in sore need of cleaning and pressing but a soiled white shirt and a food-stained tie provided the finishing touches to his disheveled appearance.
But Scranton did have some redeeming qualities. His mind was quick and he was tenacious by nature. He knew how to intimidate when it was necessary in gleaning important information, and he had a sixth sense when it came to following obscure leads into pay dirt. Scranton was honest in his own right, but was not above using marginal investigation techniques to get at the facts that made his business profitable. He understood the duplicity of people and knew how to second-guess the strategies they used to cover personal secrets.
Once the two of them had gotten past the introductory formalities, Paul handed a file folder to Scranton. It containe
d a photocopy of the dossier on Julian Fairclough that Maureen had prepared for him some weeks earlier. “This is the man I want you to investigate,” he said.
“And what am I supposed to be looking for?”
“Dirt. That’s it, plain and simple. Dirt that’s hidden away from public and as much of it as you can find.”
Scranton clicked his tongue in response, his eyes scanning the digest of information in the file before him. “What are you after – money?”
“No, just enough information to make him crawl if I tell him to – the kind of stuff that could ruin his life.”
Scranton studied Paul curiously, then, with a flash of insight, he grinned. “Didn’t you say you’re a professor at the University?”
“I did.”
“Yeah, I read all about you in this morning’s paper, just didn’t remember the name. And this guy’s daughter is the one that killed herself, right?”
“Right.”
“So what’s the connection between him and what’s happening to you?”
“His brother sits on the Board of Trustees for California State Universities.”
Scranton nodded, again grinning. “I’ve got the picture.”
“Fairclough has cultivated a ‘Mr. Clean’ image with the public,” said Paul. “He’s the darling of California conservatives and plans to enter state politics. He and his wife are supposed to have a picture-perfect marriage. They travel around together and get big bucks for giving heart palpitating talks about family values — a real ‘knight in shining armor.’”
“And you believe it’s all a front?”
“The guy’s a fraud. His only loyalties are to money and personal power. His wife stays with him because he makes it worth her while financially. Their marriage is a business relationship with lots of fringe benefits for keeping up family appearances. His kids hate him because he controls their lives, but they all hang together for the sake of the family fortune.”
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