Simon Said (15 page)

"I found it a few feet away in the carport. Together with a roll of duct tape. Was that yours?"

 

"I honestly don't know. Probably. I used some a few days ago to hold my lawn mower together so I could cut the grass. I guess I left it in the carport."

 

"Okay. So you drove home from Anne Bloodworth's funeral, parked in your carport, and walked to your four o'clock class."

"Right."
"You walked home, arriving when?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe around six o'clock."
"You went to the grocery store when?"
"Around quarter after six."
"You weren't headed in the right direction."

"The streets were blocked by utility trucks," Simon said. "I had to go around the block."

"Then you had the accident. That means your car was tampered with between quarter to four and six o'clock. The guy who did this—whoever he was—had some nerve. He cut up your hose and got under your car in full view of the street."

"He could have come in from the back, from the alley."

"Yes, but he still would have had to work right in the carport," Gates said. "He took a big chance. Mind you, it would have taken only a few minutes to cut the hose, get under the car, thread the hose into the exhaust, poke it through the drain hole, and tape it in place. Still, it's a miracle no one saw him."

"It's unbelievable," Simon said. "I still can't figure out why someone would do such a thing."

 

"We'll talk about that in a minute."

 

Gates referred to his notes. "I hung out around your neighborhood yesterday evening. I saw some weird characters."

 

"Colorful is the word."

 

"Does colorful include the guy with the raincoat who mumbles to himself and the woman dressed in the ball gown and sneakers?"

 

"They're regulars. Harmless."

 

"And all those guys with yellow plastic bags labeled CENTRAL PRISON wandering around?"

"They're not wandering around. They get on the bus when they get released and get off at Hillsborough Street. Then they go to Cameron Village and spend their fifty bucks or catch another bus. Contributes to the ambience of the place. The Republicans in the neighborhood give us more trouble."

"There are enough alleys, garages, storage sheds, and lean-tos around the houses on your block to hide the entire James gang. And I checked the police logs for major crimes over the past two years in a four-block area surrounding your street. One rape, three arson attempts, break-ins—"

"The rape was a once-in-a-million-years thing; the arsonist was a guy who went a little crazy when his girlfriend left him. He was very careful to torch only garages. The breakins . . . well, it's an urban neighborhood. It's as safe as anywhere else these days. What's your point?"
"My point is, considering the location of your home, vandalism becomes a possibility."

Simon seized on this. He hadn't much liked the idea of someone trying to kill him personally. Killing him impersonally was much more acceptable, psychologically speaking. "You think it was some kind of prank?"

"It was such an incompetent way to try to kill someone, it's hard to believe there was homicidal intent. For one thing, the hose could have worked its way out of the exhaust pipe. You could have had the windows or the vents open and never known it was there. And finally, you could have just fallen asleep and hit something, which is what happened. For all those same reasons, suicide doesn't work, either—a guy with your brains could surely come up with a better idea."

"Why would someone risk being arrested just for an anonymous prank?"

"Look at it this way. Some petty con's been released from prison, he's real angry— maybe he was expecting his girlfriend to meet him and she didn't show—and all he's got in the world is fifty bucks and a yellow plastic bag with a razor and a few odds and ends in it. On his way to the bus stop, he passes a nice house with a real nice car in the driveway —things he'll never have in his life. Nobody's home or on the street. He takes out his rage on you and your property. That's what malicious mischief is all about. Except we could charge this guy with something a lot more serious. But if this was not directed at your personally, it'll be impossible to find him. There's no witness, no prints, no MO, and no motive. The guy vented, got on a bus, and is long gone."

Simon felt himself relax a little.

 

"So," he said, "you don't think I tried to kill myself ? And you don't think someone deliberately tried to murder me?"

 

"I'm ninety-nine percent sure on both counts. Which is about as good as it gets in this business."

 

"And?"

 

"And I would suggest that you be careful. Let me know if anything suspicious happens in your life."

"You said I could ask you questions when you were finished."
"Absolutely."
"What did Alex Andrus say to you about me?"
"You're really obsessed, aren't you?"
"He's trying to ruin what's left of my life."

"Okay. After the ambulance left for the hospital and your car was impounded, I went to the office and made some phone calls. I wanted to talk to your colleagues and get a feel for your life. I talked to Walker Jones first, then Andrus, then Marcus Clegg, and finally your secretary. Andrus was the one who suggested to me that you had tried to kill yourself. No one else even hinted at it."

"I bet that's not all he said."

"He holds a grudge, that's for sure. I called Jones again. He said that you had been somewhat despondent when your marriage broke up, and that Andrus was using it against you out of professional jealousy. I asked him if he thought you could have tried to kill yourself. He said he wasn't a psychiatrist but that he didn't think so, and he was absolutely certain that you wouldn't endanger anyone else by driving around your neighborhood impaired. Your secretary had given me your doctor's name. When I called him, he was adamant that you were not suicidal."

Then, Simon thought, the doc had come around to his hospital room the next morning to check on him, to see if his evaluation of Simon's mental status had been correct. Knowing Ferrell, if he had any doubts at all, Simon would probably be up on the hospital mental ward making baskets right now. And all this had gone on while he was blissfully ignorant about the cause of his accident, and while his friends and enemies were talking to the police about the most personal details of his life. It made him feel very vulnerable.

Gates went on with his story. "I visited Mr. Andrus in his office this morning, before I picked you up. I told him that he was the only person I could find who had a grudge against you, and I asked him if he had an alibi for that afternoon."

Simon was shocked. "You did what?"

"I scared hell out of him." Gates grinned. "Partly, I did want to know where he was, since he seemed to dislike you so much, but also I wanted to scare him. Maybe he'll be careful to stick to the facts the next time he speaks to a law-enforcement officer. I don't much like the idea of being used to damage someone's reputation."

"Did he have an alibi?" Simon was fascinated. He couldn't imagine that Andrus would have the physical courage to assault him, even indirectly. Alex was sneaky, not violent.

"Yes, he did. He fell all over himself telling me that he was drinking beer with a student of his, Bobby Hinton, at Hinton's apartment. I checked it out later; he was there from four until six-thirty."

"I suppose," Simon said, remembering her evasions over the telephone when he was in the hospital, "that Julia knows everything."

 

"Well, yes, actually," Gates said. "She does have official access to all police reports, so when she asked me what happened, I told her."

How convenient, thought Simon. He wouldn't have to waste time telling Julia his life story on their date that night. She would be well acquainted with the whole sordid mess already.

Chapter Fourteen

SIMON AND GATES WALKED OUT OF THE DRAB GOVERNMENT building and into the bright sunlight. Simon was in some ways more cheerful than he had been when he entered it an hour ago, now that the threat to his life had been reduced to common vandalism, but he was also angry. He was tired of being a victim, sick of not being able to control events that were driving his life from one day to the next. He didn't know exactly what or whom he was angry with—God, Providence, Alex Andrus, his exwife, or just his run of lousy luck, but he was angry. While Gates got his car, Simon put on his sunglasses. The knot in his neck had slowly tightened around his head, until his temples throbbed from the constriction, and he took a painkiller. Just one, so that he could still control his faculties. He would be damned if he would go home and wait for whatever life planned to spring on him next.

"Do me a favor," Simon said as Gates's car swung out of the gates of the government complex and headed back into town, "take me to Kenan instead of my house."

Gates looked at him suspiciously out of the corner of his eye as he drove. "Why?" he asked. "I thought you weren't supposed to teach your class today." "Am I still being questioned?"
"Of course not."
"I've got things to do."
"They can't wait?"
"Nope."

The two drove in silence until Gates pulled into the Kenan campus behind Simon's building.

 

"I think I'll just cruise around the block a few times,” Gates said. "That way when I hear there's been an ADW at Kenan College, I'll be handy.'

"What's an ADW?" Simon asked.
"Assault with a deadly weapon," Gates said.
"I don't have a violent bone in my body," Simon said.

Gates watched Professor Simon Shaw walk up the tree-lined brick walk toward his office. He longed to follow him and witness the fireworks, but then he would be honorbound as a sworn officer of the law to stop Simon, and he didn't want to. He chuckled to himself as he drove down the street to the local McDonald's. He would get himself a chocolate milk shake and hang around for a few minutes, in case he was needed.

JUDY LOOKED UP from her computer terminal in surprise as Simon walked into the history department.

 

"Hi there. I thought you were supposed to stay at home today," she said. She couldn't see his face behind his sunglasses. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Simon said. "I got restless. I think I'll take my class after all." "Okay," she said. "I'll tell Dr. Jones."
"Thanks," Simon said. "Is he here?"
"Actually, no. He's over at the administration building for a meeting." "Good. Is Alex in his office?"
"Sort of. Actually, he's using the facilities right now."

"Thanks," Simon said. He walked casually down the hallway and through a set of swinging doors into the men's bathroom.

 

Judy smacked the intercom on his desk. "Marcus," she said, "you need to get out here fast."

Simon walked into the bathroom just as Alex was finishing his business. Simon didn't give him time to zip up his pants before he grabbed him by the collar and belt and slammed him against the wall between two urinals.

"Jesus, Simon, what are you doing? Let me go!" Andrus said.
"You're slime, Alex," Simon said.
"Look, I didn't mean—"

"Of course you did," Simon said. "Let me tell you something. You tell any more lies about me and I'll sue you for slander and libel. I'll file a formal complaint with the dean. Whom do you think the college would rather have on this faculty—me or a second-rate guy like you? You'll be lucky to get a job teaching English as a second language on the fourth floor of the post office by the time I get done with you."

"Okay, I'm sorry. Let go of me!"

 

"Sorry isn't enough. Get a life of your own. Stay out of mine."

Just then, Marcus Clegg came through the swinging doors.
"Marcus, tell him to turn me loose!"
"No way," Clegg said. "I'm just here to prevent the shedding of blood, nothing else." Simon released Andrus.

"Put your dick back in your pants and get out of here. I don't want to see you again today."

 

Alex did as he was told.

"Boy, has he had a bad day," Marcus said. "First that policeman asked him for his alibi for your accident, then Jones tells him he's going to put a reprimand in his file, and then you throw him around the men's room."

Simon got around to taking his sunglasses off, hooking them in the neck of his shirt. "I shouldn't have done that," Simon said. "I think the last time I got physical with someone, I was eleven years old. What a juvenile thing to do."

 

"Nonsense," Marcus said. "Don't you feel better?"

 

"Yes," Simon said. "I do." He noticed that his headache was gone. "What was that you said about a reprimand?"

"Jones was livid when he realized that Alex had told the police that you're mental." "What a charming expression."

"So he told Alex he was going to put a negative letter in his file, but if he managed to keep his big mouth shut, he might take it out before his contract comes up for renewal." Simon wondered what Alex would, or could, do if he lost his job at Kenan. He almost felt sorry for him.

Simon was preoccupied when he walked past Judy's desk, so he didn't see her grin and give him the thumbs-up as he passed by. Since he had told everyone he was taking his afternoon class, he had to prepare for it. For the rest of the afternoon, he reviewed his notes on the Halifax Resolves. At five minutes to four, he went upstairs to his class, where his students detected a tone of voice that caused them to sit up straight and take copious notes.

Chapter Fifteen

POLICE LEGAL COUNSEL JULIA MCGLOUGHLAN SAT IN THE chair opposite Sgt. Otis Gates's desk in the Detective Division of the Raleigh Police Department, reading the report on Professor Simon Shaw's automobile "accident." She finished and carefully rearranged the papers in a neat rectangle before closing the file. "Well, what do you think?" asked Gates.

"I don't see a thing in here that points toward homicide, or suicide, either. I think you're right—I think the incident was malicious mischief by an unknown person. Nothing else fits."

"I know."
"But you're not convinced?"

"I have"—Gates held his thumb and forefinger about a quarter of an inch apart —"about this much doubt, and I don't like it."

 

"You know what I think. I think you like Simon and you've gotten to be friends with him, so you're not being objective."