He was playing some variations on 'Dream Dancing.' We were drinking Saranac Black and Tan.
'Good beer,' Hawk said.
'Yeah.'
'She got the right to have a baby,' he said.
'Yep.'
'You got the right not to want one.'
'Yep.'
'You explain to her how we been bringing Paul Giacomon up since he was 'bout fifteen and that's enough parenting for us?'
'We?' I said.
'He a dancer?' Hawk said.
'Yeah.'
'Well, he didn't get the natural rhythm from your side,' Hawk said.
'I hadn't thought of that,' I said.
We were quiet, the piano player had segued into 'Memphis in June.' My beer was gone again. I ordered more. The room was quietly full of adult cocktail sounds. Drinks being mixed, people murmuring to each other. Occasional laughter. The smell of whisky. The piano.
'You don't want to do it,' Hawk said.
'No.'
'You don't want to as much as she do want to?' Hawk said.
'I think so.'
'You told her that?'
'No.'
'Well, that's a fucking mess, isn't it?' Hawk said.
'Couldn't have put it better myself,' I said.
Chapter 8
THE DEAN OF Student Affairs at Pemberton College, whose name, according to her desk plate, was J. J. Glidden, said that President Evans was the only one who was authorized to discuss any aspect of the Melissa Henderson matter. So I went to see her. She would be in after lunch. I waited. Surprisingly enough, after lunch she was in.
The president was a big rangy woman with short sandy hair and humorous eyes. She was wearing high waisted black pants and a white blouse with a high collar when she met me at the door of her office and ushered me to a chair. There was a wide gold wedding band on her left hand. She looked to be about fifty-five. When she sat behind her desk the sunlight coming in the big Palladian window behind her showed up the gray in her hair. Her name was Deborah Evans.
'How may I help you, sir?'
'I'm looking into the Melissa Henderson murder,' I said.
'Excuse me, but I thought that had been looked into.'
'There's a feeling,' I said, 'that justice miscarried in this instance and I've been hired to see if that's true.'
'You are a private detective?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'How does one get to be a private detective?' she said.
'I hesitate to generalize,' I said. 'I was a cop, found myself restless with the hierarchy, decided to go private. I was helped to that decision by getting fired.'
'You speak rather well,' she said.
'You too,' I said.
She frowned for a moment and then her face widened into a smile.
'Good for you,' she said. 'I was patronizing, wasn't I.'
'What I need is a list of the students who at the time of the murder were living in the dorm that overlooks where the body was found.'
'Do you have some sort of, I don't know the proper terminology, some sort of legal empowerment that requires me to give it to you?'
'No.'
'Then I will not.'
'You academics are so evasive,' I said.
She smiled. It was a nice smile, but firm.
