Authors: Bill Crider
“They never lock the rooms until after classes are over,” Sally said. “There might be a class in here some evening, so the doors are left open.”
“No wonder things get stolen. It would have been easy for Jorge to replace the painting any time he wanted to.”
“Yes. Now let's have a look at it.”
They walked to the end of the gallery. The painting didn't look any different to Jack, but then he hadn't studied it very carefully in the first place.
Sally had. “It's not the same. The 666 is gone.”
“I thought you told me it was never there.”
“It wasn't. But Roy Don Talon thought it was, which was the important thing. In fact, I thought he was the one who'd taken the painting. If we hadn't seen it in Jorge's car, I would have confronted Talon about it.”
“That might not have been a good idea.”
“I'm not afraid of Roy Don Talon. But someone obviously is. This painting's been altered. You can see what that means.”
Jack wasn't sure that he could. He'd already had so many theories shot down that he didn't even want to venture a guess this time.
“I'm afraid I can't see a thing,” he said.
“It means that Naylor and Fieldstone didn't trust the judgment of an independent panel. That was just something they cooked up. I thought it was Talon who didn't trust a panel to make the right decision, but I had it backward.”
Jack thought he had it now. “So that's why no one wanted to talk about the missing painting. They knew that Jorge was altering it. Now they can call in their panel, and everyone will see something that looks like the head of an ordinary goat.”
“That's right, except that I don't think Jorge made the alterations. I think he took the painting to the prisoner who created it. That way, the same paint could be used. The change is subtle, but it's enough to make sure that there's no sign of a 666 anywhere, not even if you're looking for it. After the panel examines the painting and finds nothing suspicious, Naylor and Fieldstone will bring Talon back, and if he says anything, they'll just claim that his eyes were playing tricks on him when he thought he saw the 666. It might even work.”
Jack should have been outraged at the deceit being practiced by the college's administrators, but he wasn't. For one thing, they had defended the painting to begin with and stood up against censorship. So what if they were cheating a little? It was for a good cause, and he didn't really blame them. So what he felt instead of outrage was relief.
“That means that Jorge's in the clear,” he said. “He didn't kill Val.”
“I wouldn't be so sure of that,” Sally said. “Val would have argued against anything as dishonest as switching the paintings, as well he should have. He might have been a philanderer, but he had high principles when it came to art. He wouldn't have wanted to cheat. He didn't think there was anything wrong with the painting as it was, and he wouldn't have budged from that opinion.”
Jack felt a little guilty for siding with the administration, but he didn't mention it.
He said, “And you don't think Jorge could have persuaded him to change his mind?”
“No way.”
“So he killed him?”
“I'm not saying that, but it looks suspicious.”
“Fieldstone and Naylor may bend the rules their way now and then,” Jack said. “But I don't think they'd cover for a murderer.”
“Not if they knew they were doing it. It wouldn't just get them in trouble; it would cause too much bad publicity for the school. But surely you don't think Jorge would have told them if he'd killed Val.”
“No,” Jack said. “Now that you mention it, I don't suppose he would have. It seems like the sort of thing he'd want to keep quiet.”
Jack looked glumly at the painting. There was no way he and Sally could prove that it had ever been gone, especially if Naylor and Fieldstone backed Jorge.
“So what do we do now?” Jack asked.
“I don't have any idea,” Sally said. “Go home, I guess.”
Jack heard a noise behind them. He turned to see what had made it, but there was no one there. Except for Sally and him, the gallery was deserted.
“The classrooms,” Sally said.
“What do you think it was?”
“Probably nothing. But we should look.”
Jack didn't want to look. Not that he was afraid. He just didn't think it was important. But Sally did, so he would have to look.
He went toward the classroom. The door was closed, and it was dark inside.
“Maybe someone's showing a video to a class in there,” he said, not believing a word of it.
“There aren't any classes in here this evening,” Sally said. “If there were, we would have heard something earlier.”
Jack put his hand on the door handle just as the door was flung open.
He tried to jump back, but he tripped over his own foot and the door hit him in the face. He was stunned, and went down backward. He tried to catch himself, but he wasn't successful. His arms collapsed under him, and his head bounced off the unpadded Berber carpet.
He shook his head and started to sit up, but a dark shape barreled out of the door and planted a foot squarely in the middle of his stomach.
“Ooooooffff!” Jack said as all the air gushed out of his lungs and he fell back limply on the floor.
33
Sally didn't wait around to see if Jack was all right. Instead, she took off after Coy Webster, who, after stepping on Jack's stomach, had scooted out the gallery door with his baggy pants flapping around his legs.
By the time Sally got outside, Coy was already in the parking lot.
He must have taken the stairs three at a time,
Sally thought. She couldn't imagine how he'd done it, not in those pants.
She didn't know what kind of car Coy drove, but there was an ancient gray Dodge Dart in the lot, right under one of the light towers. Sally wasn't surprised when Coy headed straight for the Dart.
“Coy!” she called. “Wait a minute!”
Coy either didn't hear her or didn't want to wait, so she hurled herself down the stairs as fast as she dared. Coy was inside the Dart by the time she got to the lot.
Luckily, he was having a bit of difficulty getting the car started. Every time he turned the key, the starter ground noisily and the Dart shuddered like a palsied dog.
When Sally reached the car, Coy still hadn't gotten it started. He was sitting behind the wheel with a look of intense concentration, the starter grinding away, the car jittering up and down and from side to side.
Sally tapped on the closed window. Coy looked up, startled, and then turned back and tried to start the car again.
“It's not going to start,” Sally yelled. “Give it a rest, Coy. I just want to talk to you.”
Coy gave it one more try. This time, there was much less grinding. The battery was about to give up. Coy turned off the ignition and slumped back against the car seat, a look of frustration on his face.
Sally tapped on the window again. Coy didn't move for a second or two. Then he sat up a little straighter and rolled the window down.
“Why don't we go back inside?” Sally said. “We could talk for a minute, and we could see about Jack.”
“Jack Neville?” Coy said. “Is he the one I ran over?”
“I'm sure he won't hold it against you,” Sally said, though she wasn't sure at all.
“It was an accident,” Coy said. “I didn't intend to hurt him. He frightened me.”
“I'm sure you didn't intend to hurt anyone. What were you afraid of?”
“I was afraid you'd tell Chief Desmond that I was sleeping in the classroom tonight. He told me not to let it happen again, but I didn't have anywhere else to go. I don't even have a class on another campus tonight.”
“I won't say anything to Desmond,” Sally assured him. “Let's go see about Jack.”
Coy got out of the car with considerable reluctance and stood beside it. His skin looked like greenish pastry in the parking-lot light.
“Don't worry about Jack,” Sally said. “He won't hurt you.”
“That's easy for you to say. You didn't run over him.”
“He'll be fine,” Sally said, and as if to confirm her statement, Jack appeared at the foot of the stairs.
“See?” Sally said.
Jack shuffled toward them, listing slightly to his right. He had his right arm wrapped around his stomach.
“He doesn't look fine to me,” Coy said, looking as if he might make a dive for the Dart's interior.
Jack didn't look fine to Sally, either. She said, “Maybe we could just talk right here.”
“What about?” Coy asked.
Sally didn't have a chance to answer because Jack had reached them.
“Is this who stepped on me?” he asked.
“It was an accident,” Coy said. “I was in a hurry, and I didn't see you.”
“You stepped on me.”
“I apologize. I really didn't intend to. I guess I panicked.”
“What I'd like to know is why you panicked,” Sally said. “After all, you know both of us. We don't pose much of a threat.”
Coy tugged at his too-large shirt. “I told you. I was afraid you'd tell Desmond about me.”
“That's not good enough,” Sally said. “You were too scared for that to be it. You heard us talking, didn't you?”
Coy turned toward his Dart again, as if wishing he were inside it and driving along a freeway in upstate New York.
“You know something about that painting,” Sally said. “And it's time you told someone about it.”
“Someone like us,” Jack said. He was still holding his stomach, still listing a little, and his breathing was slightly ragged.
“I don't want to get anyone in trouble,” Coy said.
“Don't worry about that,” Sally said. “We won't repeat anything you tell us.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” Sally said. “Jack?”
Jack didn't look nearly as certain as Sally sounded, but he said, “Oh, all right.”
The patrol car that they had seen earlier came around the corner again, moving slowly along.
“Why don't we go back inside?” Sally said.
“Good idea.” Jack turned and started toward the art gallery.
Coy didn't say anything, but he followed Jack. Sally trailed along behind. She smiled and waved cheerily at the patrol car.
Nothing wrong here, Officer. Just three happy instructors out for a pleasant evening stroll.
And Sally had to admit that it was a lovely evening. There was a soft breeze, the air was mild, and the humidity wasn't as high as usual, which meant that your skin didn't scum over with greasy moisture within ten seconds of leaving an air-conditioned building.
Unfortunately, the situation Sally found herself in wasn't as pleasant as the weather. She wasn't even sure she wanted to hear the answers that Coy would give her. But like most teachers, she had an intense curiosity, and she was certainly going to ask the questions.
They entered the art gallery and went directly to the classroom. Jack flipped on the lights, and Sally went to the front row of desks.
“We can sit here,” she said.
Coy went over and sat beside her. Jack pulled the chair from the teacher's desk over in front of them.
“Now,” Sally said to Coy, “I want to know exactly what you saw and heard on the day Val Hurley was killed.”
34
Coy looked around the room. Sally followed his gaze and saw the green duffel bag in the corner. She supposed that it contained all Coy's worldly belongings.
“Coy?” she said.
Coy turned to look at her. “I didn't see Val get killed or anything like that. I was in here all the time, right up until I left the campus. I never went in Val's office. I don't even know if he was killed while I was here.”
“Could it have happened then?” Jack asked.
“I guess so. I can't hear very well in here with the door closed.”
“You heard us,” Sally pointed out.
“But you were in the gallery. Val would have been in his office. If he was there. And I'm not saying he was.”
“A. B. D. wasn't in the gallery. He was in Val's office, and you heard him, all right.”
Coy shook his head. “I wish I'd never mentioned that. Troy Beauchamp has a way of worming things out of you.”
“But you did mention it,” Sally said.
“I know. That was different, too. A. B. D. and Val were yelling so loudly that I couldn't help hearing.”
“But yelling is all you heard?”
“That's right. You heard what I told Chief Desmond. As far as I know, there was no fighting, no scuffling, nothing. After the shouting was over, A. B. D. must have left quietly.”
“You didn't check to see if Val was okay?” Jack asked.
“No. There wasn't any fighting, just yelling.”
“As far as you know,” Jack said.
“That's right. As far as I know.”
“Was that before or after Jorge came in?”
“That was before.”
“So it's possible that Val didn't come out to stop Jorge because he was already dead.”
“I guess so,” Coy said. “But it's also possible that he had his door closed and didn't see Jorge. He was pretty quiet, except for when he opened the door.”
“Let's start over,” Sally said. “Coy, when exactly were you here, in this room, on the day Val was killed?”
Coy ducked his head. “From around three o'clock until six.”
“That's not what you told Desmond,” Sally said.
“Oh. Well, I could be wrong. I'm not really sure when I left.”
Coy looked at the ceiling and closed his eyes as if trying to visualize what he'd done that afternoon.
“Oh, wait, now I remember. I left early to get a hamburger, so I wasn't here much past four. Anyone could have come in after I left.”