“It was because of Cynthia,” Warden said. He had specified that such an appointment was contingent upon Columbia’s also hiring Cynthia as an instructor. Negotiations had lapsed into friendly limbo when her illness had threatened to delay the completion of her dissertation. Warden had never told her of the opportunity. He had not wanted her to think that she was holding him back.
Horace Somerville was relieved. “I knew there was something distracting you since that trip to New York.” He had tried to explain it away as concern over Cynthia’s illness.
“I’ve felt guilty all day,” said Warden. “The offer is appealing, but to take it would seem like a betrayal. She’s dead. I should be mourning.”
“That’s normal,” said Kathleen. She told him they had suffered the same pangs when Alfred died. “One day you find yourself smiling, and then you remember his death, and you force yourself to stop smiling, as though you don’t deserve to be happy.”
Horace told him to consider the facts. “You think you’re showing respect by keeping yourself miserable,” he said. “Makes about as much sense as our showing respect for Angus by spending tonight here with this damned smell.”
Warden invited them to stay with him at Stratford House.
“It’s about time you asked,” said Somerville.
They heard the front door close. Carol Scott entered and asked to use a telephone. “I need to call Felix,” she said. “We need a pass key to the gym.”
Pass key. Something about a pass key. Warden reached into his pocket. There it was—Kevin Delaney’s key to the gym. He must have been carrying it around for over a week now.
He showed it to Carol Scott, who put down the telephone. “Fine with me,” she said. “You can save me a couple of minutes.”
SCENE 13
Thomas Boatwright had never been more alert. He could feel the hardness of the bench through his jeans, the roughness of the carpet with the bottoms of his feet. He could hear the quickness with which Mr. McPhee had started to speak.
“When I saw we were having a buffet dinner that day, I just slipped back to the theater building. I was heading backstage when Kemper Carella showed up. I figured that was it, I’d never get a chance at her, but then I got an idea. I went downstairs and called Carella from the telephone under the stage and pretended to be at home looking for Farnham. Not only did it make Carella think of me at home, but it also made Farnham look missing. Farnham was the logical one to set up, you see. Everybody knew what a terrible temper he had, and what an awful crush he had on her. After Carella left the theater, I went upstairs. She was waiting for me on that bed. She fought me off, or tried to, but not very hard. She was not very strong. Afterward it was easy to go home and collect my little souvenirs. I waited until Farnham finished his bowl of soup, and then I hid the pieces of evidence in his apartment. Even if he’d locked the place, which he didn’t, I could have used my pass key.”
Thomas heard a door open in the hallway outside. He could hear voices.
McPhee stopped talking and listened, too. It sounded like several people who had just come out of a meeting.
“That’s impossible,” said McPhee. Before Thomas could react, McPhee was up and had Thomas standing in front of him like a shield. Thomas’s arms were twisted around behind his back and held in place firmly by McPhee’s left hand. McPhee’s right arm stretched halfway across Thomas’s chest, and his right hand held the open knife at Thomas’s throat.
“We will not be interrupted before I’m finished,” said McPhee. They both faced the door to the locker room. They could hear the voices and the footsteps approaching. Then they could see several faces through the glass—Benjamin Warden, that lady police detective, a couple of male cops. All the voices went silent; all the mouths hung open in shock.
Benjamin Warden pushed on the door handle. But the door was bolted. He fumbled for the key and eventually managed to open the door. The police had drawn their guns.
Nobody spoke. Mr. McPhee held Thomas tight.
SCENE 14
Richard Blackburn was on the telephone in Stratford House.
“McBain House,” said the girl on the other line.
“Katrina?” said Richard.
“Yes.”
“Katrina Olson?”
“No, Katrina Murgatroyd from South Philly,” she said.
“Who is this?”
“My name is Richard Blackburn,” he said. Damn, his palms were sweating all over the telephone. “I got your message, and the answer is that I would love to.”
“Love to what, Richard?”
Oh, no.
“Come up to your Christmas dance this weekend?” he said. He did not like the way she sounded.
There was a pause.
“I didn’t leave you any message, Richard,” she said. Another pause.
“Oh, damn,” he said. “I found this note on my door. I thought—”
“No,” she said. “Somebody has played a joke on you.”
“Yeah,” he said. He felt like hopping a bus to Alaska.
“You’re from Montpelier, right?” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It was a rotten trick,” she said. “Typical.”
“Yeah,” said Richard.
“Why don’t you little jocks just stick to your own balls and bats?” she said. She hung up.
Richard walked back to his dorm room and told Ralph Musgrove what had happened.
“It was probably Boatwright that did it,” said Ralph.
“Yeah,” said Richard. “The next time I see that bastard, I’m going to kill him.”
SCENE 15
Thomas allowed McPhee to walk him backward away from the door toward the showers when Mr. Warden and everybody entered the room. He could feel the sharp point of the blade pushing directly into his Adam’s apple; he was scared to swallow for fear that the motion would cut. Both his arms hurt, but what he could feel more than anything else was the pounding of Mr. McPhee’s heart through his shirt. It was going so fast that Thomas thought it might break.
“Stop there, Ben,” said Coach McPhee.
Mr. Warden and the rest of
