Six Years
Page 30
I waited.
“How did they persuade you to go with them?”
I skipped the part about Natalie and dropped the bombshell instead. “They were armed.”
The eyes widened again. “With guns?”
“Yes.”
“For real?”
“They were real guns, yes.”
“How do you know?”
I decided not to mention that one had taken shots at me. I wondered whether the police might find bullets near the highway. I’d have to check.
“Did you tell anyone else about this?” Tripp asked when I didn’t answer.
“I told the cops, but I’m not sure that they believe me.”
He leaned back and started picking at his lip. I knew what he was thinking: How would the students, their parents, and important alumni react if they knew that gunmen had been on campus? Not only had they been on campus, but if I were telling the truth—questionable at best—they had kidnapped a professor and assaulted a student.
“You were quite inebriated at the time, were you not?”
Here we go. “I was.”
“We have a campus security camera in the middle of the quad. Your walk was rather more of a weave.”
“That’s what happens when you have too much to drink.”
“We also have reports that you left the Library Bar at one A.M. . . . and yet you weren’t seen weaving across campus until three.”
Again I waited.
“Where were you for those two hours?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m investigating an assault on a student.”
“That we know took place after three A.M. What, you think I planned it for two hours?”
“I see very little need for sarcasm, Jacob. This is a serious matter.”
I closed my eyes and felt the room spin. He had a point. “I left with a young lady. It’s totally irrelevant. I’d never punch Barry. He visits my office every week.”
“Yes, he defended you too. He said that you’re his favorite professor. But I have to look at the facts, Jacob. You understand that, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Fact: You were drunk.”
“I’m a college professor. Drinking is practically a job requirement.”
“That’s not funny.”
“But true. Heck, I’ve been to parties right here. You’re not afraid to hoist a glass or two yourself.”
“You’re not helping yourself.”
“I’m not trying to. I’m trying to get at the truth.”
“Then, fact: While you are being vague, it appears as though after drinking you had a one-night stand.”
“We shouldn’t be vague,” I said. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. She was over thirty and does not work for the college. So what?”
“So after these episodes, a student got assaulted.”
“Not by me.”
“Still, there is a connection,” he said, leaning back. “I don’t see where I have any choice but to ask for you to take a leave of absence.”
“For drinking?”
“For all of it,” he said.
“I’m in the middle of teaching classes—”
“We will find coverage.”
“And I have a responsibility to my students. I can’t just abandon them.”
“Perhaps,” he said, with an edge in his voice, “you should have thought of that before you got drunk.”
“Getting drunk isn’t a crime.”
“No, but your actions afterward . . .” His voice trailed off, and a smile came to his lips. “Funny,” he said.
“What?”
“I heard about your run-in with Professor Trainor years ago. How can you not see the parallel?”
I said nothing.
“There is an old Greek saying,” he went on. “The humpback never sees the hump on his own back.”
I nodded. “Deep.”
“You’re making jokes, Jacob, but do you really think you’re blameless here?”
I wasn’t sure what to think. “I didn’t say I was blameless.”
“Just a hypocrite?” He sighed a little too deeply. “I don’t like doing this to you, Jacob.”
“I hear a but.”
“You know the but. Are the police investigating your claim?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer so I went with the truth. “I don’t know.”
“Then maybe it’s best that you take a leave of absence until this is resolved.”
I was about to protest, but then I pulled up. He was right. Forget all the political mumbo jumbo or legal claims here. The truth was, I was indeed putting students in harm’s way. My actions had, in fact, already gotten one student seriously injured. I could make all the excuses I wanted to, but if I had kept my promise to Natalie, Barry would not be lying in a hospital bed with facial fractures.
Could I take the risk of letting it happen again?
Lest I forgot, Bob was still out there. He might want vengeance for Otto or, at the very least, to finish the job or silence the witness. By staying, wouldn’t I be endangering the welfare of my students?
President Tripp started sorting the papers on his desk, a clear sign we were done here. “Pack your things,” he said. “I’d like you off campus within the hour.”
Chapter 16
By noon the next day, I was back in Palmetto Bluff.
I knocked on the door of a home located on a quiet cul-de-sac. Delia Sanderson—Todd Sanderson’s, uh, widow, I guess—opened it with a sad smile. She was what some might call a handsome woman in a sinewy, farmhand kind of way. She had strong facial features and big hands.
“Thank you so much for making the trip, Professor.”
“Please,” I said, feeling a small ping of guilt, “call me Jake.”
She stepped aside and invited me inside. The house was nice, done up in that modern faux-Victorian style that seemed to be the rage of these spanking new developments. The property backed onto a golf course. The atmosphere was both green and serene.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you coming all this way.”
Another ping. “Please,” I said, “it’s an honor.”
“Still. For the college to send a professor all this way . . .”
“It’s not a big deal, really.” I tried to smile. “It’s nice to get away too.”
“Well, I’m grateful,” Delia Sanderson said. “Our children aren’t home right now. I made them go back to school. You need to grieve but you need to do something, you know what I mean?”
“How did they persuade you to go with them?”
I skipped the part about Natalie and dropped the bombshell instead. “They were armed.”
The eyes widened again. “With guns?”
“Yes.”
“For real?”
“They were real guns, yes.”
“How do you know?”
I decided not to mention that one had taken shots at me. I wondered whether the police might find bullets near the highway. I’d have to check.
“Did you tell anyone else about this?” Tripp asked when I didn’t answer.
“I told the cops, but I’m not sure that they believe me.”
He leaned back and started picking at his lip. I knew what he was thinking: How would the students, their parents, and important alumni react if they knew that gunmen had been on campus? Not only had they been on campus, but if I were telling the truth—questionable at best—they had kidnapped a professor and assaulted a student.
“You were quite inebriated at the time, were you not?”
Here we go. “I was.”
“We have a campus security camera in the middle of the quad. Your walk was rather more of a weave.”
“That’s what happens when you have too much to drink.”
“We also have reports that you left the Library Bar at one A.M. . . . and yet you weren’t seen weaving across campus until three.”
Again I waited.
“Where were you for those two hours?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m investigating an assault on a student.”
“That we know took place after three A.M. What, you think I planned it for two hours?”
“I see very little need for sarcasm, Jacob. This is a serious matter.”
I closed my eyes and felt the room spin. He had a point. “I left with a young lady. It’s totally irrelevant. I’d never punch Barry. He visits my office every week.”
“Yes, he defended you too. He said that you’re his favorite professor. But I have to look at the facts, Jacob. You understand that, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Fact: You were drunk.”
“I’m a college professor. Drinking is practically a job requirement.”
“That’s not funny.”
“But true. Heck, I’ve been to parties right here. You’re not afraid to hoist a glass or two yourself.”
“You’re not helping yourself.”
“I’m not trying to. I’m trying to get at the truth.”
“Then, fact: While you are being vague, it appears as though after drinking you had a one-night stand.”
“We shouldn’t be vague,” I said. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. She was over thirty and does not work for the college. So what?”
“So after these episodes, a student got assaulted.”
“Not by me.”
“Still, there is a connection,” he said, leaning back. “I don’t see where I have any choice but to ask for you to take a leave of absence.”
“For drinking?”
“For all of it,” he said.
“I’m in the middle of teaching classes—”
“We will find coverage.”
“And I have a responsibility to my students. I can’t just abandon them.”
“Perhaps,” he said, with an edge in his voice, “you should have thought of that before you got drunk.”
“Getting drunk isn’t a crime.”
“No, but your actions afterward . . .” His voice trailed off, and a smile came to his lips. “Funny,” he said.
“What?”
“I heard about your run-in with Professor Trainor years ago. How can you not see the parallel?”
I said nothing.
“There is an old Greek saying,” he went on. “The humpback never sees the hump on his own back.”
I nodded. “Deep.”
“You’re making jokes, Jacob, but do you really think you’re blameless here?”
I wasn’t sure what to think. “I didn’t say I was blameless.”
“Just a hypocrite?” He sighed a little too deeply. “I don’t like doing this to you, Jacob.”
“I hear a but.”
“You know the but. Are the police investigating your claim?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer so I went with the truth. “I don’t know.”
“Then maybe it’s best that you take a leave of absence until this is resolved.”
I was about to protest, but then I pulled up. He was right. Forget all the political mumbo jumbo or legal claims here. The truth was, I was indeed putting students in harm’s way. My actions had, in fact, already gotten one student seriously injured. I could make all the excuses I wanted to, but if I had kept my promise to Natalie, Barry would not be lying in a hospital bed with facial fractures.
Could I take the risk of letting it happen again?
Lest I forgot, Bob was still out there. He might want vengeance for Otto or, at the very least, to finish the job or silence the witness. By staying, wouldn’t I be endangering the welfare of my students?
President Tripp started sorting the papers on his desk, a clear sign we were done here. “Pack your things,” he said. “I’d like you off campus within the hour.”
Chapter 16
By noon the next day, I was back in Palmetto Bluff.
I knocked on the door of a home located on a quiet cul-de-sac. Delia Sanderson—Todd Sanderson’s, uh, widow, I guess—opened it with a sad smile. She was what some might call a handsome woman in a sinewy, farmhand kind of way. She had strong facial features and big hands.
“Thank you so much for making the trip, Professor.”
“Please,” I said, feeling a small ping of guilt, “call me Jake.”
She stepped aside and invited me inside. The house was nice, done up in that modern faux-Victorian style that seemed to be the rage of these spanking new developments. The property backed onto a golf course. The atmosphere was both green and serene.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you coming all this way.”
Another ping. “Please,” I said, “it’s an honor.”
“Still. For the college to send a professor all this way . . .”
“It’s not a big deal, really.” I tried to smile. “It’s nice to get away too.”
“Well, I’m grateful,” Delia Sanderson said. “Our children aren’t home right now. I made them go back to school. You need to grieve but you need to do something, you know what I mean?”
