Hush Money

“No.”

“How many people believed her?”

“That I can’t tell you,” Harmon said. “I can tell you that on an eighteen-member committee, Robinson got only three votes for tenure. Mine was one of them.”

“Will your colleagues be angry with you for talking so freely?” I said.

“I imagine.”

“I can avoid mentioning your name.”

“Feel free to mention it. If I said it, I’m responsible for it.”

“Okay,” I said. “You ever play halfback at Michigan?”

“Tommy’s a pretty standard nickname for kids named Harmon,” he said. “I went to Williams College. I was a wrestler.”

“Ah,” I said. “That explains the neck.”

“And you used to box,” he said.

“Which explains the nose,” I said.

“And the scar tissue,” Harmon said. “You going to talk with Lillian again?”

“Have to,” I said. “I need to know where she got her information.”

“I’d like to know where she gets most of it,” Harmon said.

We shook hands and I left.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Lee Farrell and I were drinking beer at a bar called The Limerick, near Broad Street.

“I figured you’d order a pink lady,” I said.

“I’m trying to pass,” Farrell said.

“It’s not working,” I said.

“Maybe if I wore my gun outside my coat,” Farrell said.

“Might help,” I said. “Long as it’s not color-coordinated.”

“Department issue drab,” Farrell said. “My off-duty gun is chartreuse.”

“Zowie.”

“Yeah. You invite me out to exercise your homophobia, or was there something you needed?”

“Mostly the homophobia,” I said. “But have you ever heard of a publication called OUTrageous?”

“Yes, I have.”

“What do you know about it?”

“It is an obscure journal published by some graduate students which outs prominent gay people.”

“You’re safe then,” I said.

“I’m also out.”

“Oh yeah. Is the paper legitimate?”

“I haven’t been able to prove that it isn’t,” Farrell said. “But its editor committed suicide a while ago.”

“I know. It’s the case I’m on.”

“Someone thinks it wasn’t suicide?”

“Me,” I said.

“So tell me.”

I told him why I thought it was murder.

“For obvious reasons, I catch most of the gay squeals,” Farrell said. “If you’ll pardon the expression. I caught this one. So as soon as you got something that won’t give giggle fits to an assistant DA, let me know.”

The bartender came down the bar and put a fresh bowl of peanuts in front of us. While he was handy, we ordered two more beers.

“You think there was something wrong with OUTrageous?” I said.

“Nothing I can prove,” Farrell said.

“But?”

“But there’s some blackmail involved.”

“There is,” I said.