Failure is Fatal (27 page)

“Nothing much that I can see.” Der was scowling. “Did you and Adam have a nice chat? Learn anything?”

“Yeah, I did. I was specifically chosen for the fraternity's yearly prank, singled out, as it were.” I explained about Adam's brother to Der.

“He's got a real nasty streak, doesn't he?” Der pulled up to the back door of my building. “Where's your car?”

“Just up the hill in faculty parking. Don't worry. This foot is getting better and better. I know this isn't the time to mention this, but we really need to shop for Thanksgiving dinner. Are you still up for preparing it?”

“Sure. We've got tomorrow to shop. Let's think about it then.”

I closed the car door and walked into the building.

Fatigue descended upon me as I hung up my coat and dropped into my chair. I wondered why I didn't have Der drop me at my car rather than here at the office. I could check those files some other time. Well, I was here now, so I opened my file cabinet and began to go through class rosters and grades. Here it was! David Farone, fall semester four years ago.

I didn't flunk him. He dropped the class midterm. What was going on?

Chapter 22

“Cathy? Seems like I always want something from you. Sorry to bug you again, but could you check the record of a David Farone?” I said to the Registrar. “I'll wait.” I hung on to the phone, puzzling over Adam's tale about his brother. Obviously not true, but Adam seemed convinced that it was.

“He dropped all of his courses because he left school midterm. Don't you remember? He and a number of other guys were kicked out for having firearms and other weapons in the residence halls. You should remember. You served on the Disciplinary Board at that time. You were the faculty representative to the Board.”

“There were eight guys in all, weren't there, that got kicked out, right?” I said. My memory of the event was returning.

“There were a bunch of them.”

“That was a busy semester on that board. We must have handled at least one case each week. I'm beginning to recall it now. What I didn't remember were the names of the guys involved, although David Farone's name was somewhat familiar when Adam said it.” I further explained to Cathy about the story Adam had told me about his brother. “I'd really love to tell Adam the truth about his brother's behavior that semester, but I can't see what it'll accomplish except to make me feel better.”

“That's not such a bad thing considering what you've endured from those frat guys this semester. Think about it.”

“I will, after Thanksgiving. You're coming to the house for dinner, right? The Great Chef Der will be cooking. I'll be the
sous chef
.” We finalized plans for Thursday and I rang off.

*

Thanksgiving day found Der, several of my research assistants—Paula, Jeff and Karen—Cathy, her friend Jill from the Economics Department, and I celebrating the holiday with a fabulous feast prepared by Der, assisted by me. Everyone ate too much, everyone watched the football game on television, and everyone fell asleep, finally waking up only to eat more and stagger back to their respective homes and residence halls with leftover turkey, fixin's and pumpkin pie. Der left late in the evening, and I took Sam and myself upstairs to bed soon after.

*

Although Friday morning was clear but cold, the weather channel predicted a large snowstorm coming in from the Midwest on Sunday. Curled in bed with a cup of coffee and Sam at my feet, I shook my head as I watched the television. That meant that Guy would have to leave early on Sunday to beat the snow home. The weekends we managed together were turning out to be short ones. The weather seemed to be against us.

Guy's car pulled into the drive shortly before nine. Both woman and dog provided extensive greetings, Sam with barks and licks, and I with hugs, and a push toward the bedroom upstairs. Guy insisted on eating the promised leftovers before being taken to bed, complaining that he probably wouldn't get a bite to eat the entire weekend if he didn't demand food now.

True to my promise, I cleared the entire weekend for us, although we did manage to get out of bed for several hours on Saturday, just long enough to have Der come to the house for several drinks. I offered dinner to him, but Der muttered something about work at the office and left the two of us alone. We decided to skip dinner and go back to bed, keeping half an eye on the weather forecast. By Sunday morning the sky was leaden in color, and the wind was picking up, blowing in some flakes of snow by midmorning. Guy reluctantly left shortly before noon.

The snow began in earnest at around one o'clock. I spent the afternoon and evening grading papers and staring into the impenetrable curtain of white outside the house. Guy called early in the evening to say that he had made it home safely.

“So are you ready for a weekend up here?” he said.

“Well, you saw how well the ankle is healing. Sure. Why not next weekend? I mean, I'm assuming it will stop snowing by then.” I glanced out my kitchen windows; snow was coming down in heavy sheets, some sideways because of the heavy winds. I sighed. “I'm really beginning to hate winter, and this promises to be a long one.”

“Does that mean you're having doubts about coming up here? You've got your sturdy little SUV. What's the problem?”

“No problem. I still hate the drive in bad weather. It makes me kind of tense.”

“But chasing down criminals who may kill you doesn't? Sometimes you don't make much sense.”

I could tell by the tone of his voice that Guy was feeling tired and stressed himself, probably because of the drive home. I should just back down and let his comments go, but I couldn't.

“I thought we worked all this through. I don't ‘chase criminals,' as you say. I just try to help Der with his work, especially when it involves the campus. I dedicated the entire weekend to us. What more do you want?”

“I'd like you to dedicate more than just a weekend to us. I'd like you to be in my life full time. You could get a job here, you know, and we wouldn't have to do this commuting thing. And it would be a hell of a lot easier on me and on my kids.”

“I see,” I said.

“Look, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm just a little tired, and I have a tough day ahead of me tomorrow. Why don't we talk when we're both in a better mood? I'll call you tomorrow night.”

“Fine,” I said.

We said goodnight without the usual “I love yous.” This was not good at all, I thought. The distance thing was certain to get us, especially since Guy had young children he needed to spend time with. The phone rang, and I rushed to pick it up.

“Guy?”

“Sorry, Laura. It's me, Der. Something wrong? If this is a bad time to call, I'll…”

“No. It's fine. Guy and I just hung up on not such good terms, that's all.” Why did I have to mention that to Der? “What's up?”

“Some more bad news, I'm afraid. We had to let Chancey go.”

“What?”

“Yeah, not enough to connect him to the murder. None of his prints in her car. No evidence that he was with her other than speaking in the hallways of the building. And to top it off, when our computer guru examined his computer and the pages he printed out for us, he found that the file that contained the stories had been recently altered, last week to be specific. The date on the file was last Saturday, a day Chancey wasn't in town. He was at home on Long Island, visiting his parents. He claimed he wrote all the stories, but claimed no knowledge of the one about the murder, and it looks as if he's right. It's likely that someone entered his office and accessed the file with the stories in it. I'm told it wouldn't take a computer whiz to do that. I guess most of you on campus never use your password to prevent anyone from accessing your files. Is that correct?”

“Mine's password protected, but I can't vouch for others. So where does that leave the investigation?”

“With the same old suspects, a lot more information out in the public, and no new leads.” Der sounded defeated. “I just got back from a meeting with your president to update him on what's happening. Captain Rodgers was there gloating. He told President Evans that he knew Chancey was innocent all along and that I was jumping the gun. Made me look like an ignorant fool.”

“Don't say that. I'm certain Evans saw through his BS.”

“Maybe. I certainly hope so. I'm beginning to see what you don't like about that man.”

“Which one?” I was hoping to jolly Der out of his mood. He ignored my attempt and continued.

“By the way, when the president heard about the role of the fraternity in sabotaging your research, he decided the college should withdraw official recognition of the fraternity. He's going to speak to the College Senate on Thursday about withdrawal. That's going to make Adam Stokes furious.”

“I don't think so. I don't think he'll care at all.”

Der and I exchanged ideas for several minutes, then decided to meet the next afternoon in my office for a more serious consideration of how to proceed. Meantime, Der planned to talk again with Ryan Cleates, although I was convinced that Ryan was innocent. Der extracted a promise from me not to get pushy with any other possible suspects, specifically mentioning the brothers Chaffee. If I ran into them in the course of my work on campus, that didn't constitute getting pushy, now did it?

*

For the next week I worked diligently at getting my end of semester exams ready and with my research assistants in finalizing the research results we had collected. I asked Karen about what Adam told me about her leaving the lab door open to run out and answer my phone. She reluctantly told me it might have happened, but didn't remember the incident. Then she apologized profusely.

“Don't worry about it. I've done it without thinking, too,” I assured her.

It wasn't entirely clear to me how much of the data we had collected was legitimate information uncontaminated by the interference of the fraternity and their prank. I considered scrapping the entire semester's worth of work. The information I learned about the incident with Adam Stokes' brother continued to distract me and clouded my thinking about what to do about the research. My impulse to confront Adam with the truth about his brother was strong, but I finally settled on the point of view that I ought not to disturb him during preparation for finals, a decision that gave me little emotional comfort despite its logic.

Although I rarely attended College Senate meetings unless I was serving as senator for my department, the president's stance on nonrecognition of Adam's fraternity and the role my research played in that decision demanded my presence. On Thursday, I walked across campus, free of my crutches and my infirmity, despite occasional twinges in my ankle. The most recent round of X-rays and probing by Dr. Donaldson seemed to confirm what my body was telling me—I was on the mend. Only another unfortunate meeting with a car bumper or a wrinkle in a carpet would delay the healing process. Keeping my doctor's admonitions to “be careful” in mind, I crossed campus with deliberate attention to firm footing—avoiding icy patches, cracked concrete and any banana peels that the Three Stooges might have thrown in my path.

I had accomplished some research on withdrawing recognition of fraternities by talking with people in Student Affairs who regularly worked with the Greek organizations. I also made a series of phone calls to individuals I knew on other campuses, especially those that went through the process of withdrawing recognition. At the meeting, I sat down in the back row of chairs, prepared to share my knowledge, but not particularly wanting to do so. Speaking against the president's wishes would not make me popular with the college administration nor with the faculty, the majority of whom generally disliked the presence of fraternities on campus. Given Greeks' interference in students' academic lives with parties and incessant demands for unthinking group actions, I was inclined to agree with most of my colleagues. In addition, initiation activities were too often abusive, not only emotionally, but physically. No serious injuries or deaths occurred on this campus, but I wasn't convinced that made the fraternities here innocent of demeaning and threatening hazing activities. Like others, I was torn and would have preferred to remain silent if I could. I just couldn't.

“It is my recommendation that the fraternity in question be stripped of college recognition.” President Evans took his seat after presenting a case for the wrongdoings of the fraternity, a case that rested heavily upon evidence of the fraternity's interference with my research. I slowly raised my hand to be recognized. Here goes, I thought. All faces in the room turned to look at me. I focused mainly on that of Adam Stokes who looked as if he could predict what I was going to say.

“I am against withdrawing recognition,” I said.

Many in the room including Melvin Chaffee, the English Department's representative to the body, looked troubled and confused at my stance. Adam Stokes, however, looked at me with open hatred. I smiled at him and addressed my next words directly to him.

“What does withdrawal of recognition really mean? It means that if you use nonrecognition as a punishment for what this fraternity did to me, it would be the last chance you have to punish the group before it slips beyond the college's control and the final opportunity this college will have to help these young men learn their responsibility as representatives of the college and the obligation they have in learning the principles and understandings that the college embraces in its mission to students.