“When was that?”
“The committee.”
“The hearing of the Interpersonal Conduct Committee chaired by Professor Devane?”
Grunt.
“What's that?”
“Yeah.”
“I've read transcripts of that hearing, son. Sounds like things got pretty heated.”
Grunt.
“What's that?”
“She was a bitch.”
Senior took his cigar out.
“Hey, tell it like it is,” said his son.
“So you didn't like her,” said Milo.
“Don't put words into his mouth,” ordered Senior.
Milo looked down at him. “Okay, we'll stick to quotes: You think she was a bitch.”
Senior's mouth got piggish and Bateman made a go-easy gesture with his hand.
Milo repeated the question.
Junior shrugged. “She was what she was.”
“Which was?”
“A fucking bitch.”
“Mr. Storm,” said Milo. “Please stop interrupting.”
“He's my son, dammit, and it's my right to-”
“Ken,” said Bateman. “It's okay.”
“Right,” said Senior. “Everything's okay, everything's just
“Counselor,” said Milo.
Bateman got up and put a hand on Senior's shoulder. Senior shook him off and smoked furiously.
“What,” said Milo, “made you think she was a bitch, Kenny?”
“The way she acted.”
“More specific.”
“The way she set me up.”
“Set you up how?”
“That letter telling me we were just going to discuss things.”
“At the hearing.”
“Yeah. When I got there, the way she tried to get Cindy to say I was some kind of rapist, which is total bullshit.” Sidelong glance at his father. “It was just a dumb hassle between Cindy and me. Later, she called me.”
“Professor Devane did?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Afterward.”
“After the hearing?”
“Yeah.”
“How long after?”
“The next day. At night. I was at the Omega house.”
“Why'd she call?”
“To try to freak me out.”
“In what way, son?”
“She was pissed because her little game was a loser.”
“How'd she try to freak you out?”
“She said even if Cindy didn't want to press charges, I had problems- impulse-control problems, some bullshit like that. She said she could make things rough for me if I didn't behave.”
“She threatened you?”
The boy shifted in his seat, looked at his cigar, and put it in the ashtray. His father stared at him.
“She didn't exactly come out and say it, more like hinting.”
“Hinting how?”
“I don't remember the exact words. Like I'll be watching, I'm in control, you know?”
“Did she use the word “control'?” I said.
“No- I don't know. Maybe- it was more like how she said it, you know? Watch your step. Or something like that. She was a radical.”
“Radical?” said Milo.
“Left-wing.”
“She discussed her political views with you?”
The boy smiled. “No, but it was obvious. Radical feminism, trying to establish a new order, know what I mean?”
“Not really, son.”
“Socialism. Central control.” Glance at his father. “Communism died in Russia but they're still trying to centralize America.”
“Ah,” said Milo. “So you see Professor Devane as part of some kind of left-wing conspiracy.”
Kenny laughed. “No, I'm no militia freak, I'm just saying there's a certain type of person likes to control things, make rules for everyone- like
“And Professor Devane was that type of person.”
Kenny shrugged. “Seemed like it.”
Milo nodded and ran his hand over his face. “And she said she'd be watching you.”
“Something like that.”
“Watching how?”
“She didn't say. I shined her on, anyway.”
“How?”
“Told her to fuck herself and hung up and went back to playing pool. I was leaving the place anyway, what did I care, fuck her.”
“Leaving the University?”
“Yeah. Place sucks, waste of time. You can't learn business in school.” Another sidelong peek at his father. Senior, his head in a cloud of smoke, was staring at the framed awards.
Milo said, “So you thought she was a bitch and she threatened you. Did her threat scare you at all?”
“No way. Like I said, she was full of shit and I was out of there.”
“Did you ever consider taking action against her?”
“Like what?”
“Like anything.”
Senior swiveled and faced Bateman. “Can he get that general, Pierre?”
“Would you care to rephrase your question, Detective?” said Bateman.
“No,” said Milo. “Did you ever consider taking any kind of action against Professor Devane, Kenny?”
Junior looked from his father to Bateman.
Milo tapped a foot.
“Dad?”
Senior gave him a disgusted look.
Milo said, “Shall I repeat the question?”
Bateman said, “Go ahead, Kenny.”
“We- my father and me- we talked about suing her.”
