Hush Money

“You think it worked?” Susan said. “You think she’ll leave you alone?”

“Oh, I’m sure it will,” I said. “But you better not let word get out about my sexual performance, or you’ll be beating up beautiful women every week.”

Susan raised her glass toward me and touched the rim of it against the top of my beer bottle.

She said, “Be my pleasure, big guy.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

The university tenure committee held Robinson Nevins’ reconsideration meeting at the university on the third straight day of rain in late August in a room next to the president’s office. It was my first tenure meeting. The English department tenure committee, which had originally denied Robinson tenure, had voted not to reconsider, but the university committee, which had the right to overrule the department committee, agreed to a second hearing. This already seemed like several committees more than I wanted anything to do with, but Robinson needed some testimony. Robinson, and Hawk, and I all agreed that it was best not to turn Hawk loose among the academics.

The meeting was chaired by a professor from the Law School named Tillman. I sat against the wall behind Tommy Harmon, who sat at the conference table as Robinson’s faculty advocate. Bass Maitland and Lillian Temple were there representing the English department tenure committee. Maitland was speaking in his large rich voice.

“So whatever ex post facto changes may have occurred in the matter of Robinson Nevins’ tenure, the department feels that a decision arrived at in good faith should stand. To do otherwise would be to set a precedent that most of us would regret in the years to come.”

“Even though the basis for the denial of tenure turned out to be not only unfounded but part of a criminal conspiracy?” Harmon said.

“I believe it is an alleged criminal conspiracy,” Maitland said, “until a court of law reaches a judgment.”

He leaned back in his chair contentedly. Lillian patted his thigh. Professor Tillman looked a little tired.

He said, “Thank you for the reminder in law, Bass. Tommy, do you have a witness for us?”

Tommy Harmon said he did and introduced me.

“This is not a court of law, and you are not under oath, Mr. Spenser,” Tillman said. “Still the business of this committee, which today is particularly serious business, cannot proceed properly if you do not tell the truth.”

He was a spare man with a gray crew cut and half glasses. His light tan summer suit looked a little small for him, but you could see that he was not a rube.

“The recommendations of this committee, when they are made, are just that, recommendations,” he said. “They are not binding on the university.”

Tillman glanced over his half glasses at Bass Maitland. He didn’t change his expression, but I got the sense that he and I would agree on Bass.

“But they are not to be cavalierly disregarded either,” Tillman said. “There is considerable at stake here.”

“I’ll try not to lie,” I said.

Tillman smiled very slightly.

“Thank you,” he said. “We have all, I’m sure, read the papers, but I would like to hear from you what you know, as succinctly as you can. And since I am the chair of this committee, I guess I can. You may remain seated there unless you wish otherwise.”

The various professors gathered around the long conference table shifted in their seats a little. Several of them seemed interested. Lillian Temple and Bass Maitland looked resigned to suffering fools as gladly as they could.

“There are police reports,” I said. “Both from the Massachusetts State Police who did some of the initial questioning, when Amir Abdullah and Milo Quant were arrested, and from the Boston Police Homicide Unit in whose jurisdiction the murder of Prentice Lamont took place and to whom the state cops turned them over. I assume you all have copies.”

Everyone did.

“Okay, here’s what I know.”

“Excuse me,” Bass Maitland said, “I think we’d all be more comfortable if you were a bit more precise in your choice of words. This is what you surmise.”

I looked at Bass Maitland for a minute without saying anything. Then I looked back around the table.

“Okay,” I said, “here’s what I know.”

Maitland started to say something and Tillman gestured him to be quiet.

“Prentice Lamont ran a newspaper called OUTrageous which, as the name might imply, was in the business of outing closeted gay people. He was also having a sexual affair with Amir Abdullah. Prentice started out high-mindedly, hoping to improve the lot of gay Americans by forcing prominent people who were gay to publicly proclaim themselves. But in a while – Amir has admitted that it was his suggestion – this became a vehicle for blackmail, and made both Amir and Prentice a considerable profit. Amir, however, ever the romantic, lost interest in Prentice and took up with Milo Quant, the head of an anti-gay, anti-black, anti a whole bunch of stuff group called Last Stand Systems, Inc. Prentice, the jilted lover, threatened to out them both if Amir didn’t return to his arms. This would work very badly for the man whose official position was white and heterosexual. Amir was frightened about what Milo might do, so without telling Milo, he asked a couple of Milo’s security people to shut Prentice up. He swears he thought they’d rough Prentice up and frighten him into silence. The security guys say Amir told them to kill Prentice. Which they did, leaving a kind of all-purpose suicide note.”

A thin wiry woman with short very curly hair raised her hand at the far end of the conference table. I nodded at her.