The Court (10 page)

She smiled in return. “Don't start up with me now, Michael. I just have every hair in its proper place. If you like, you can give me a call. But at the office.”

“Of course. Husbands make me nervous.”

She picked up her purse and briefcase. “My husband should be the least of your worries.”

“He doesn't care?”

“He is too preoccupied to even notice.”

“Doesn't take care of the home fires, eh?”

She resented his interest in her private life. She didn't ask questions about his relationship with his wife. “I have my own life,” she said coolly. “I have my own business. I do what I choose to do. It's no reflection on him.”

He lit a cigarette. “Hey, I wasn't prying. But you have to admit, it's only normal to be curious.”

She regarded him for a moment before speaking. “I suppose it is. I sometimes wonder about your wife. Does she know about any of this?”

He almost choked on the smoke. “Whoa, I told you my situation.”

She laughed. “Oh yes. The frigid wife, the insensitive woman. Really, I had hoped you would show more imagination than that. Still, it's the accepted explanation in these matters.”

“What I told you is the truth.”

She looked at him. He seemed entirely unconscious of his nakedness. “My dear, if that's the truth, I'm the Queen of Sheba. Let's at least be frank with each other. We are a couple of cheaters. Your wife is probably a very nice person. I know my husband is. But you find her dull, as I do my husband. You're looking for sexual adventure, not danger, merely stimulation. It's the same story with me. But at least I'm honest enough to admit it.”

He grinned sheepishly. “I suppose you're right, Carol. But we all tend to say things we believe the other person wants to hear.”

She checked herself in the mirror. Everything was in proper order. “If you want to get in touch with me, call the office. You can even call home after tomorrow night.”

“Oh?”

“My husband is leaving for two weeks. He has some law work in Michigan.”

A slow smile spread across his dark features.

“If you're thinking of saving on a hotel, think again. We can have two wonderful weeks, but discretion is something I insist on. And no e-mails.”

“I'll call you.”

“You had better,” she said as she left.

*   *   *

The phone buzzed. He put aside his papers and picked up the receiver.

“Yes?”

“Dean Pentecost, you have a call from Dr. Mease of the School of Human Medicine. Shall I connect you?”

He was always amused at the name of the school. Michigan State University had a veterinary school and two other medical institutions; one for osteopathic medicine, the other for regular medicine. They always referred to the M.D. school as the School for Human Medicine. He wondered if logic didn't demand that the vet school should have then been named the school for inhuman medicine. However, no one in the medical school seemed to see the humor. Dick Mease was an assistant dean.

“Put him on.”

There was a click. “Roy.”

“Yes, Dick. How have you been?”

“Fine, Roy, just fine.” He coughed to clear his throat, as if embarrassed. “Say, Roy, I have something of a problem, and I think I just might need a bit of legal advice.”

“Go ahead.”

“Well, it's really not the sort of thing I think I should discuss over the telephone.”

Pentecost glanced at his watch. “I have a seminar in an hour. If you can hurry over, we can talk for a few minutes.”

“I'll be right there.”

Roy Pentecost replaced the telephone receiver. The medical school was more than a half mile away. On campus most faculty people walked or rode bikes. It was easier than trying to find a parking space. It would be a while before Mease arrived. He returned to the papers before him.

He was gifted with an unusual power of concentration. He forgot everything except what he was reading until the telephone rang again.

“Dr. Mease is here.”

“Send him in.”

Dick Mease was young. He had gone through medical school, internship, and a long residency without discovering complete satisfaction. He found the academic world much more pleasant and stimulating. Now he served as an instructor and as an administrator. He even looked more like a bland schoolteacher than someone who could menace an entire hospital staff.

“Hi, Roy,” he said, carefully closing the door behind him.

Pentecost stood up and shook his hand. “What's the problem? I hate to rush you, Dick, but I do have that seminar in a few minutes.”

Mease sat down on a straight-backed chair. “Do you know Dr. George Simons?”

“No, I can't say that I do.”

“He's Lansing ear-nose-and-throat man. And he's one of the adjunct professors, both for us and for the osteopathic school.”

“So?”

“He's a young man; thirty-five, give or take. Good credentials.”

“That's nice. What's the problem?”

“He's been laying one of the students.”

Pentecost sat back. “Female, I presume. You know the old joke about the English lieutenant and the elephant—nothing queer about old Archie?”

“I'm afraid I don't.”

“I'll tell it to you sometime. I assume this wouldn't be a problem unless someone complained. The young lady?”

Mease shook his head. “No, the young lady's boyfriend; another medical student. He's mad as hell.”

Pentecost sat forward. “Did you talk to the girl?”

“Yes.”

“And what does she have to say about all this?”

Mease lifted his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. “Christ, she admits it. This Simons is a good-looking guy. I think she's rather proud of herself.”

“Is Simons married?”

“Yes, and he has a couple of kids.”

“Is she in any of his classes?”

“She used to be.”

Pentecost nodded. “Did he start banging her before or after she was a student of his?”

“After.”

“Well, at least that's something. Is she going to cause any trouble?”

“No.”

“Just the boyfriend then?”

“Yes.”

“And you come to me as the dean of the law school hoping for a magic answer, right?”

“I hoped you wouldn't mind.”

Pentecost shook his head. “I don't. The only difficulty is that I really don't have an answer.”

“Oh?”

“Dr. Simons has broken no specific university rules, right?”

“Well, there's the Code of Conduct.”

“But it doesn't specifically say medical school professors shall not screw their students
after
the students have studied with them, right?”

“No.”

“All right. Then there's nothing the jealous young man can do against the good doctor, at least through official university channels?”

“Well, I suppose not.”

“So the only thing he can do is go to Dr. Simons' wife and make things hot at home, correct?”

“That may happen. He's threatened it.”

“Threatened?”

“He came into my office. He was almost hysterical. He made a lot of wild statements.”

Pentecost nodded slowly. “That's good.”

“Good?”

“You came to this ancient oracle for an answer. Here it is. Have the campus police talk to the young man. Tell the police what he said. They are very professional about these things. Have them make a bit of noise about extortion. But mainly they can drop a hint that if this goes any farther, the young man may see some very low marks. In other words, if he raises a stink, he may be flunked out. Don't have them say that exactly, but I'm sure he'll catch on. As I say, the campus police are very experienced.”

“I don't know.…”

“And discontinue Dr. Simons' services after this semester. Let the boyfriend know that. It'll help take some of the sting out.”

“But suppose Simons raises a howl?”

“Under these circumstances?”

Mease shook his head in admiration and smiled. “You know, I certainly came to the right man. No wonder there's talk of putting you on the Supreme Court. Damn it, Roy, that's a brilliant solution.”

“Well, it's a solution, brilliant or not.”

“I read about this fellow Howell. From the sounds of it, it's my medical opinion that he won't make it. I hope you get the appointment, Roy. You would do a splendid job.”

Pentecost stood up. “I hate to usher out someone who talks so nicely, but I do have to go, Dick. I hope you're wrong about Justice Howell. He's a good man.”

“Still, if he…”

“Goodbye, Dick.” Pentecost guided him to the door. “If my brilliant solution doesn't work, let me know.”

He closed the door and returned to his notes.

It was all a matter of tactics now. He chose not to go after the job, at least not while Howell was alive. But he knew others would be pressing his case. It would look good, this reluctance of his. It would look judicial.

And he damned well did want that job.

CHAPTER FOUR

The airplane circled as it approached the landing in Detroit. It was a bright and cloudless day, although the pilot had announced that snow showers were expected later in the Detroit area. Jerry Green looked out the window. The pilot had come in over the western tip of Lake Erie. They passed the shoreline and glided above the almost geometric pattern of the suburbs and farmlands below.

He tried to identify some familiar landmarks. He always did that when he was up in a plane, although he could never really tell one river from another, and all interstates looked alike.

If it wasn't for the stadium he wouldn't have recognized the town. They were passing just south of Ann Arbor. The University of Michigan stadium, a huge bowl with a seating capacity of over one hundred thousand, looked like a child's teacup below them.

The aircraft began its descent and soon they were flying above the roofs of row upon row of suburban tract houses. They all looked alike from the air. Cars moved on the busy streets, completely heedless of the big jet above them. It was as if they were invisible.

He felt the clutch of his usual apprehension as they came down. He knew it was foolish, but it was as if he suspected that the pilot had made a mistake. All he could see was fields and distant houses as they came near to ground level. Only the pilot could see the airfield. Then, just as it seemed to Green that they might crash, the runway came into view and its ritualistic markers streaked past as the big jet touched down. Jerry Green felt his usual sense of relief as the pilot used his engines and wing flaps to slow the airplane.

People began to stir as the jet slowed to taxiing speed. He continued to look out the window. Detroit Metropolitan Airport had nothing to distinguish it from any other major airport. With few exceptions, they all seemed to look alike.

He moved out of the aircraft in the press of his fellow passengers. For once there was no hassle with the luggage. He had made prior arrangements for a rental car, and that too was ready. When things seemed to be going too well, he had to resist a foreboding of impending disaster. A typical Jewish attitude, he reflected as he eased the car out of the airport and into the fast-moving interstate traffic. He always felt it would be a dead heat between the Irish and the Jewish for first place in any superstition sweepstakes. He smiled at the thought. He hadn't been on Michigan's soil for a full half hour and already he was beginning to think ethnically.

He passed a semitrailer then settled back. It was an hour and a half drive to Lansing, and he had no reason to hurry. He turned the car radio dial until he found a classical music station. The lilting strains of Mahler filled the speeding car.

Green looked about at the autumn landscape. Michigan never really changed. The populations shifted a bit, the old core cities decayed, and manufacturing plants moved, but it essentially remained the same. Shaped like a mitten, the bottom half, the southern part of the state, offered miles of flat farmlands broken by clusters of factory-fostered cities. The northern part of the state, including the Upper Peninsula, was sandy, covered by pine and birch, and unsuitable for profitable farming. The north was another country, another lifestyle. Wild and rugged, it moved at nature's own slow pace, while the southern part of the state obeyed the round-the-clock demanding timetable of commerce.

Michigan was home, but Jerry Green found no solace in being back in his home state or in the knowledge that he was moving swiftly toward his native city.

It had been an early autumn and now only a few leaves were left on the trees along the route of the interstate. Despite the sunshine there was a desolate starkness about the stripped trees. The brilliant colors of fall had gone and now only dark browns and grays remained.

They wanted to know about Dean Roy Pentecost and whether he possessed the integrity to honor a commitment.

It was difficult, almost impossible, to find the ultimate truth about anyone. You could know someone for twenty years and still not perceive his true character. Life was an everlasting and changing charade, a dance of many masks.

He swung the car up the ramp into the adjoining interstate and took the quickest route toward Lansing. He hadn't been back since the funeral, and he had planned never to return. Those memories were disturbing, so he forced himself to think again of the task ahead and how to approach it.

People were always reluctant to talk to strangers about neighbors and acquaintances, even if they disliked them. It was a human trait, this suspicion of the curious intruder. So if you came head-on at people, you learned nothing. But with a little tact and patience, the stranger tag could be overcome. And then they opened up with everything, the stories, good and bad, and the gossip. And it was always much easier in a large university town. Over forty thousand young people thronged into Michigan State University during the school year. And there was a constant turnover as old classes were graduated, and new ones began. Over ten thousand new faces presented themselves every September. In such an environment a stranger was not likely to draw attention, since, in a very real way, most of the population were strangers. Much could be learned in such fertile ground.