student.
“You were quite inebriated at the time, were you not?”
Here we go. “I was.”
“We have a campus security camera in the middle of the quad. Your walk was rather more of a weave.”
“That’s what happens when you have too much to drink.”
“We also have reports that you left the Library Bar at one A.M. . . . and yet you weren’t seen weaving across campus until three.”
Again I waited.
“Where were you for those two hours?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m investigating an assault on a student.”
“That we know took place after three A.M. What, you think I planned it for two hours?”
“I see very little need for sarcasm, Jacob. This is a serious matter.”
I closed my eyes and felt the room spin. He had a point. “I left with a young lady. It’s totally irrelevant. I’d never punch Barry. He visits my office every week.”
“Yes, he defended you too. He said that you’re his favorite professor. But I have to look at the facts, Jacob. You understand that, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Fact: You were drunk.”
“I’m a college professor. Drinking is practically a job requirement.”
“That’s not funny.”
“But true. Heck, I’ve been to parties right here. You’re not afraid to hoist a glass or two yourself.”
“You’re not helping yourself.”
“I’m not trying to. I’m trying to get at the truth.”
“Then, fact: While you are being vague, it appears as though after drinking you had a one-night stand.”
“We shouldn’t be vague,” I said. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. She was over thirty and does not work for the college. So what?”
“So after these episodes, a student got assaulted.”
“Not by me.”
“Still, there is a connection,” he said, leaning back. “I don’t see where I have any choice but to ask for you to take a leave of absence.”
“For drinking?”
“For all of it,” he said.
“I’m in the middle of teaching classes—”
“We will find coverage.”
“And I have a responsibility to my students. I can’t just abandon them.”
“Perhaps,” he said, with an edge in his voice, “you should have thought of that before you got drunk.”
“Getting drunk isn’t a crime.”
“No, but your actions afterward . . .” His voice trailed off, and a smile came to his lips. “Funny,” he said.
“What?”
“I heard about your run-in with Professor Trainor years ago. How can you not see the parallel?”
I said nothing.
“There is an old Greek saying,” he went on. “The humpback never sees the hump on his own back.”
I nodded. “Deep.”
“You’re making jokes, Jacob, but do you really think you’re blameless here?”
I wasn’t sure what to think. “I didn’t say I was blameless.”
“Just a hypocrite?” He sighed a little too deeply. “I don’t like doing this to you, Jacob.”
“I hear a but.”
“You know the but. Are the police investigating your claim?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer so I went with the truth. “I don’t know.”
“Then maybe it’s best that you take a leave of absence until this is resolved.”
I was about to protest, but then I pulled up. He was right. Forget all the political mumbo jumbo or legal claims here. The truth was, I was indeed putting students in harm’s way. My actions
Could I take the risk of letting it happen again?
Lest I forgot, Bob was still out there. He might want vengeance for Otto or, at the very least, to finish the job or silence the witness. By staying, wouldn’t I be endangering the welfare of my students?
President Tripp started sorting the papers on his desk, a clear sign we were done here. “Pack your things,” he said. “I’d like you off campus within the hour.”
Chapter 16
By noon the next day, I was back in Palmetto Bluff.
I knocked on the door of a home located on a quiet cul-de-sac. Delia Sanderson—Todd Sanderson’s, uh, widow, I guess—opened it with a sad smile. She was what some might call a handsome woman in a sinewy, farmhand kind of way. She had strong facial features and big hands.
“Thank you so much for making the trip, Professor.”
“Please,” I said, feeling a small ping of guilt, “call me Jake.”
She stepped aside and invited me inside. The house was nice, done up in that modern faux-Victorian style that seemed to be the rage of these spanking new developments. The property backed onto a golf course. The atmosphere was both green and serene.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you coming all this way.”
Another ping. “Please,” I said, “it’s an honor.”
“Still. For the college to send a professor all this way . . .”
“It’s not a big deal, really.” I tried to smile. “It’s nice to get away too.”
“Well, I’m grateful,” Delia Sanderson said. “Our children aren’t home right now. I made them go back to school. You need to grieve but you need to do something, you know what I mean?”
“I do,” I said.
I hadn’t been specific when I made the call yesterday. I just told her that I was a professor at Todd’s alma mater and that I hoped to stop by the house to talk about her late husband and offer condolences. Did I hint that I was sort of coming on behalf of the college? Let us say I didn’t discourage that thinking.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked.
I’ve found that people have a tendency to relax more when they are doing simple tasks and feeling as though they are making their guests feel comfortable. I said yes.
We were standing in the foyer. The formal rooms, where you’d normally take guests, were on the right. The lived-in rooms—den and kitchen—were on the left. I followed her into the kitchen, figuring that the more casual setting might also make her more apt to open up.
There were no signs of the recent break-in, but what exactly did I think I’d find? Blood on the floor? Overturned furniture? Open drawers? Yellow police tape?
The sleek kitchen was expansive with great flow into an even more expansive “media” room. An enormous television hung on the wall. The couch was littered with remotes and Xbox controllers. Yes, I know Xbox. I have one. I love to play Madden. Sue me.
She headed toward one of those coffeemakers that use individual pods. I took a seat on a stool at the kitchen’s granite island. She showed me a surprisingly large display of coffee-pod options.
“Which would you like?” she asked.
