But the thought occurred to me anyway, putting the discovery in perspective: Arcangelo Corelli finished his concerto in the early days of classical music, more than one hundred years before Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. Even in Corelli's day, though, Colonna's message had been awaiting its first reader for more than two centuries.
The same thing you are, Paul said. We're going to find Francesco's next riddle.
Chapter 13
Every hallway in Dod is empty as Gil and I return to the room, numbed by the long walk north from the parking lot. An airy silence prevails throughout the building. Between the Nude Olympics and the Easter festivities, every soul is accounted for.
I turn on the television for word of what's happened. The local networks carry the Nude Olympics on the late news, after there's been time to edit the footage, and the runners in Holder Courtyard float across the screen in a blur of whites, blinking under the glass like fireflies trapped in a jar.
At last the female news anchor returns to the screen.
We have breaking news on our top story.
Gil emerges from his bedroom to listen.
Earlier tonight we reported to you about what may be a related incident at Princeton University. At this hour the accident at Dickinson Hall, which some witnesses describe as a fraternity stunt gone wrong, has taken a tragic turn. Officials at Princeton Medical Center confirm that the man, reportedly a university student, has died. In a prepared statement, Borough Police Chief Daniel Stout repeated that investigators would continue to examine the possibility that, quote, nonaccidental factors had played a role. In the meantime, university administrators are asking students to remain in their rooms, or to travel in groups if they need to be outside tonight.
In the studio, the anchor turns to her cohost. Clearly a difficult situation, given what we saw earlier at Holder Hall. Returning to the camera, she adds, We'll be coming back to this story later in the hour.
He died? Gil repeats, unable to believe it. But I thought Charlie… He lets the thought trail off.
A university student, I say.
Gil looks up at me after a long silence. Don't think like that, Tom. Charlie would've called.
Against the far wall, the framed picture I bought for Katie sits at an uncomfortable cant. I dial Taft's office, just as Gil returns from his bedroom and hands me a bottle of wine.
What's this? I ask.
The phone at the Institute rings over and over. Nothing.
Gil steps toward the makeshift bar he keeps in the corner of the room, grabbing two wineglasses and a corkscrew. I need to relax.
There's still no answer at Taft's, so I reluctantly put down the receiver. I'm just about to tell Gil how sick I feel, when I glance over and realize that he looks even worse.
What's wrong? I ask.
He tops the glasses off. Taking one in his hand, he raises it to me, then takes a sip.
Have some, he says. It's good.
Sure, I say, wondering if he just wants someone to drink with. But the thought of wine is turning my stomach.
He waits, so I nip at my share. The burgundy stings going down, but it has the opposite effect on Gil. The more he's got in him, the better he starts to look.
I tip my glass back. Snow rolls across the pools of light from the post lanterns in the distance. Gil drains his second glass.
Take it easy, chief, I say, trying to sound nice about it. You don't want to have a hangover at the ball.
Yeah, right, he says. I have to be at the caterer's tomorrow by nine. I should've told them I don't even go to class that early.
It comes out sharp, and Gil seems to catch himself. Picking up the remote from the floor, he says, Let's see if there's anything else on.
Three different networks are broadcasting from somewhere on campus, but when there doesn't seem to be any new information, Gil gets up and starts a movie.
Roman Holiday, he says, sitting back down. A distant ease comes over his face. Audrey Hepburn again. He puts down the wine.
The longer the movie stays on, the more I find that Gil is right. No matter how heavy my thoughts are, sooner or later I keep coming back to Audrey. I can't get my eyes off her.
After a while, Gil's focus seems to cloud over a little. The wine, I guess. But when he rubs his forehead and focuses a second too long on his hands, I sense there's more to it. Maybe he's thinking of Anna, who broke up with him while I was at home. Thesis deadlines and planning the ball undid them, Charlie told me, but Gil never wanted to talk about it. Anna was a mystery to us from the beginning; he almost never brought her to the room, though at Ivy, I'd heard, they were never apart. She was the first of his girlfriends who couldn't recognize which one of us was picking up the phone, the first who sometimes forgot Paul's name, and she never stopped by the room if she knew Gil wasn't there.
You know who looks a little like Audrey Hepburn? Gil asks suddenly, catching me off guard.
Who? I say, dialing Taft's office again.
He surprises me. Katie.
What made you think of that?
I don't know. I was watching you two tonight. You're great together.
He says it as if he's trying to remind himself of something dependable. I want to tell him that Katie and I have had our ups and downs too, that he's not the only one who struggles in a relationship, but it would be the wrong thing to say.
She's your type, Tom, he goes on. She's smart. I don't even understand what she's saying half the time.
I hang up the phone when there's still no answer. Where is he? He'll call. Gil takes a long breath, trying to ignore the possibilities. How long's it been with Katie?
Next Wednesday makes four months for us.
Gil shakes his head. He's broken up three times since Katie and I met. Do you ever wonder if she's the one? It's the first time anyone has asked that question. Sometimes. I wish we had more time. I worry about next year. You should hear how she talks about you. It's like you've known each other since you were kids. What do you mean?
I found her at Ivy once, taping a basketball game for you on the TV upstairs. She said it was because you and your dad used to go to the Michigan-Ohio State game together.
I hadn't even asked her to do it. Until we met, she'd never followed basketball.
You're lucky, he says. I nod my agreement.
We talk a little more about Katie, then Gil slowly returns to Audrey. His expression lightens, but eventually I can see the old thoughts return. Paul. Anna. The ball. Before long he reaches for the bottle. I'm just about to suggest that he's had enough to drink, when a dragging sound comes from the hallway. The outside door opens, and Charlie stands in the sallow light of the hall. He looks bad. There are blood-colored stains on the cuffs of his clothes. You okay? Gil asks, standing up.
We've got to talk, Charlie says, with an edge to his voice. Gil mutes the television.
Charlie goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water. He drinks half of it, then pours some over his hands to wet his face. His focus is unsteady. Finally he sits down and says, The man who fell from Dickinson was Bill Stein.
Jesus, Gil whispers.
I feel myself go cold. I don't understand.
Charlie confirms it by the look on his face. He was in his office in the history department. Someone came in and shot him.
