familiar with the power of anonymity. His nose was finely chiseled but his cheeks were soft and fleshy. His eyes were a nondescript brown. His complexion bore the ashy pale of someone who seldom saw daylight. “Since August. Not long, I know.” He smiled and a spark of gentility flickered. He squeezed Savannah’s hand. “I’ve waited my entire life for someone to love. I can’t lose her.”
Lydia pulled a small chair away from the wall and sat. “How did you two meet?”
He wiped another tear away. “I know what you’re thinking, Doctor.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “You’re wondering how a guy like me gets a woman like her.” Childress smiled again. “I appreciate your curiosity. But we are in love. It may not have started out that way, but it’s true.”
“How did it start out, Mr. Childress?”
He stroked Savannah’s limp hand. “You know how Savannah makes her living, don’t you?” He bit his lower lip. “ Made her living. She’s left that line of work.”
Lydia weighed her response. She had only Childress’ word he was who he said he was. “You met her through work?”
He looked outside the room to see who might overhear, scooted his chair closer to Lydia, and lowered his voice. “You know people hired her for special projects. Well, I was one of those.” He cast a loving glance back to the disturbingly still form in the bed. “I was her last assignment. This thing has gotten completely out of hand.”
“How so, Mr. Childress?” Lydia wanted to keep him talking. She needed to learn more about Savannah, her work, and what drove her to hang herself.
“If you’re not going to call me Jerry you might as well get it correct.” He sat close enough for Lydia to see his perfectly straight teeth. “It’s Dr. Childress. I’m with the university. Interim Chair of Neuroscience.”
Lydia willed her breath to remain steady. She hoped Childress missed her blink of surprise.
“I imagine you and Savannah talked about Fred Bastian.” he said.
“If Savannah has told you I’m her psychologist, Dr. Childress, and I’m not saying I am, then you must know I can’t say a word about what we may or may not have discussed.”
He gave her another timid smile. “I can see why Savannah is impressed with you. But I can assure you, we have no secrets from one another.”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss.” Lydia leaned back and crossed her legs. “But I can listen to whatever you’d like to tell me.”
Childress nodded his understanding. “You’ve heard of Fred Bastian, certainly?”
Lydia held her voice low. “I’ve read the news accounts of his recent death.” She watched him, hoping to catch a reaction to her mention of Bastian’s demise.
His bloodshot eyes narrowed. “He was a bastard, Dr. Corriger. A lot of people are glad he’s gone.” Childress looked past Lydia’s shoulder, again assuring their conversation wasn’t overheard. “Name a corruption and Bastian was involved.”
“I’ve read about his research. Something about emotions.”
“Yes,” he said. “His research is quite brilliant. But don’t for a moment assume he was seeking answers to benefit humanity. Bastian’s work existed for one reason only: to propel the fame of Fred Bastian. Every move he made was calculated to bring him a step closer to that Stockholm stage.”
“No offense,” she said. “But it’s long been my impression that having an overblown ego is a basic job requirement for success at Bastian’s level.”
Childress shook his head. “There’s overblown and there’s dangerous. Bastian was a tyrant. He ran the department as his personal fiefdom. I’ve seen him take great glee in destroying careers of ethical and dedicated researchers. One carefully worded comment to the right ear at a conference cocktail party and young scientists looking for their first faculty job are suddenly unable to land an interview. A single phone call to one of his cronies at NIH could assure that someone’s grant application is rejected before reaching review.”
Lydia needed to hear more. “Couldn’t that be said of chairmen at any number of universities?”
She watched his tear-stained face turn cold. “Not like Bastian. His abuse of office knew no bounds. Grant money funneled into his personal accounts. Staff fired on a whim. Even…” Childress dropped his head.
“Even what?”
Childress paled. “Neuroscience was a particularly difficult department for women, Dr. Corriger. Secretaries, junior faculty, graduate students. Bastian viewed sexual access as one of the perks of his position.”
“But wasn’t he chairman for years?”
Childress nodded. “Nineteen to be exact. That’s unheard of in academia. Typically someone serves four or five years before moving on to a higher administrative post.”
“Why’d he stay?”
“No respectable department would have him. Besides, Bastian never applied to any higher position. He liked his power. Pure and simple.” Lydia could almost hear his teeth grinding. “Over the years Bastian built the perfect staff of sycophants and stooges. Insecure fools too frightened to do anything but lick his boots.” He looked Lydia square in the eye. “The faculty votes biannually for chairman. Ballots go out named and numbered. Bastian reviews the votes as they come in. Anyone not turning in a ballot is reminded by his hatchet man to make their selection. Anyone supporting a candidate other than Bastian is targeted. A reason for termination is always found before the next election.”
Childress pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose. “As a result, the university president got a 100 % endorsement to keep Bastian as chairman. President Thornton would hold him up as a shining example of how to cultivate and maintain faculty loyalty.”
Lydia let Childress’ comments sink in. They were consistent with what Wally had told her about Bastian’s love of obedience and adoration. She wondered if Childress knew about the secret lab Bastian kept off-campus or his butchering of Ortoo.
“In all these years, no one tried to stop him?”
“In the beginning, certainly.” Childress hung his head again. “But Bastian’s hatchet man was charged with keeping the faculty in line. Methods didn’t matter. If complaining professors could be co-opted with sabbatical or research funding, Bastian got it for them. If that didn’t work, well, let’s just say the environment would become hostile enough that they’d either transfer or be fired. Within a few years he had the faculty he wanted. A group of weak-willed children terrified of upsetting daddy.”
“I’m sorry.” Lydia crossed her arms and leaned back. “I can’t see a bunch of Ph. D.’s allowing this.”
He raised his head to look at her. “That may be because you don’t understand how effective Bastian’s hatchet man was.”
“And you do?”
Childress turned to look at Savannah, motionless on the bed. Lydia watched his face soften as he stared at the woman he clearly adored; the whirr of the respirator and the bleeps of the heart monitor the only sound. In time he turned his tear-stained face back to Lydia.
“I’m sorry to say…”. He cleared his throat and gained volume. “I’m sorry to say I do. I was Bastian’s man. It was my job to make sure he could do whatever the hell he pleased.” He hung his head and whispered. “And I was frightfully good at my job.”
Lydia felt a pang of pity that instantly morphed into disgust. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the soft academician cry so hard his shoulders shook.
“Now he’s dead,” she said. “And you’re Interim Chairman. New boss same as the old boss?”
Childress snapped his head up. “No.” He looked over at Savannah. “Not now. Not with her. I want to be a man she can be proud of.”
“You still haven’t told me Savannah’s connection to all this. How you two met”
He sighed and struggled to stand beside his beloved. “It’s a tale I hoped would have a happy ending.” He stroked Savannah’s cheek and spoke to the comatose patient. “We were on our way, weren’t we, girl?” He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “For a while Bastian and I thought we had the faculty right where we needed them. Rubber stamps to anything he proposed. Turning their collective blind eye to whatever sin he committed.” He brushed a raven lock from Savannah’s ghostly brow. “Bastian’s abuse worsened with each acquiescence. Eventually a group of three faculty members found their courage and banded together. Bastian couldn’t be voted out until the next biennial vote, of course, but they devised a plan to render him powerless. It was their hope President Thornton
