'Well, we will need a contract spelling out the parameters of the job, I think,' Morton said.
'Sure,' I said.
Haller made the sound in his throat again. 'I'll have the corporate counsel draft up something,' Morton said.
'Fine,' I said. 'Are you the one I talk with when I need some access, or whatever?'
'If you'll come by the University, I'll introduce you to our President,' Morton said. 'He will be more effective in seeing that you get what you need.'
The waiter came with the bill, and Morton discreetly signed it.
'Perhaps you could meet me at the President's office tomorrow,' Morton said, 'and we can talk about details and meet President Cort.'
'What excitement,' I said.
2
PRESIDENT Adrian Cort was a tall guy with a big Adam's apple and very energetic eyes. He told me I'd have full access to any information or facility I needed at the University, though he hoped I would find no need to be intrusive, and that the students and Coach Dunham both would be treated respectfully. I promised to do my best. He asked if I wanted someone to show me around the campus, and I said I'd rather wander on my own. Then we all said good bye. Morton and Cort called each other Baron and Adrian.
Alone at last, I strolled over toward the campus police station, walking extra softly in case Coach Dunham was in the area. From a cop at the desk I got a map of the campus, and took a one-hour stroll of orientation. Taft University occupies about forty acres west of Boston in a town called Walford. It had grown rapidly since the Second World War and the core campus of ivy-covered brick buildings had been extensively augmented with a variety of architectural styles that blended like pieces from different puzzles. The dominant feel was of brutish slabs and confusion.
I found the Taft Daily Collegian in the Student Union Building on the second floor, looking out over the long narrow quadrangle that led to the angular glass and granite library. It was early afternoon. The thaw had departed and the hard sun was without warmth as it glinted on the snowy campus.
The newspaper office was busy. It looked like a small daily newspaper office, which it was, except that the staff was younger. A young woman wearing pink Reeboks directed me to the sports department in the far corner of the room, where three desks were pushed together to define a sort of horseshoe space underneath sports glossies stuck to the wall with map tacks. Most of the photographs had curled up around the single tack that held them. At one of the desks a young blond kid with a ragged crew cut was working on an Apple word processor. He wore jeans and a white shirt buttoned to the neck and he kept typing when I arrived at his desk. I consulted the list of names that President Cort had given me. Actually Cort hadn't given me the list. He'd spoken to his secretary and she had given it to me.
'Barry Ames?' I said.
The kid didn't look up. He kept typing, his eyes on the screen, but he paused long enough to raise his right hand for a moment and waggle it at me in a gesture that said, wait. He continued typing for maybe another full minute while I waited. Then he paused and looked up.
'Who was it you wanted?' he asked.
'Barry Ames,' I said.
'That's me,' he said. 'Sorry to put you on hold like that, but when you're hot, you like to get it down before you lose it.'
'Certainly,' I said. 'My name is Spenser, and the University has asked me to look into the question of point shaving by your basketball team.'
'Are you a cop?'
'Private,' I said.
'Holy shit, a private eye?'
'You wrote the column in which the allegation about point shaving was made, Barry?' It was the oldest of cop tricks. Use the guy's first name when you talk to him. He doesn't know yours, puts him slightly on the defensive.
'Why do you want to know?' Barry said.
'Because I want to know where you heard the rumor.'
'That's privileged,' Barry said.
'Barry, I'm too old to listen to horse shit. You made an allegation of criminal behavior based on hearsay. That in itself is irresponsible, maybe libelous.'
'And maybe I want to talk to my lawyer,' Barry said. Calling him by his first name had really softened him up.
'Let me put this another way,' I said. 'You printed a rumor that your team was shaving points. What did you expect would happen next?'
'That someone would investigate, for crissake.' Barry was outraged.
'Right,' I said.
Barry opened his mouth, and then paused, and then did a smart thing: he closed it.
I nodded encouragingly.
'Well, I still can't tell you my sources,' Barry said.
