“Eight.”
“And Elaine Albert came to you with the idea?”
“That’s right. She’s who you should be talking to, you know.”
“I would if she’d talk. Maybe you can put in a good word?”
“Not going to happen.”
The hostility between Aubrey and the professor was simply chilling, and embarrassing. I know there’s a natural animosity between print and broadcast people, but this was so nasty and personal. It was like Jerry Falwell and Larry Flint discussing celibacy on one of those cable talking-head shows. No respect whatsoever. No hope in the world of finding common ground.
“Do you know how many of your students were working there the semester Buddy Wing was killed?” Aubrey asked.
“Three, four, maybe five.”
“Any chance you could find out for sure? Maybe give me their names?”
“Look, Miss McGinty. This thing isn’t an official intern program where I get personally involved. All I do is post a flier that part-time jobs are available at the cathedral. The kids make the contact themselves.”
“Doesn’t the cathedral ever call you for references?”
Dr. Cooksey was losing and he knew it. “Sometimes.”
“That semester?”
“Can’t remember.”
Aubrey wrote that down and underlined it several times. “You can see how these quotes are going to come out, don’t you?” she said. ‘Cooksey refused to say.’ ‘Cooksey said he couldn’t remember.’”
“Quote whatever you want,” the professor said. “But I do not keep a written record of those kind of calls. If Elaine, Mrs. Albert, calls about a student who’s applied for a job, I check my grade book and attendance sheet and offer an opinion. I don’t keep a record.”
Aubrey, to her credit, wrote down his explanation. “So, what did you think when Buddy Wing was poisoned? You had three, four, maybe five students working there, after all.”
He smirked. “You mean did I warn my students not to kiss any Bibles while they were over there? Naturally we talked about it in class the next week.”
“Did any of them happen to tell you where they were backstage when he toppled over?”
“Gee whiz-I just don’t remember any of those conversations.”
Aubrey closed her notebook and put the cap on her pen. “Do you ever personally go to the broadcasts, to see how your students are doing?”
“I went a couple of times. Years ago when they first started hiring my kids. But I haven’t been there for ages. I sure wasn’t there the night Wing was poisoned, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
When Aubrey stood up her hair swept across the Dan Rather photo, almost knocking it off the wall. “I wasn’t getting at that. But thanks for the lead.”
We left Taylor Hall and retreated through the red geraniums. Aubrey couldn’t stop laughing. “Did you ever meet a bigger dickbrain in your life?”
“I’ve been around a long time-I’m sure I have. But he’s right up there.” I saw a tuft of wiry grass growing up through the mulch and stopped to yank it out. “You’d almost think he was covering up for one of his students, wouldn’t you?”
“What he was covering was his own tookus.”
“Oh, come on. You don’t think he killed Buddy Wing?”
Now Aubrey laughed at me. “Remember when we first got there? And he said talking to us couldn’t possibly do his students any good? What he meant was that talking to us couldn’t do him any good. These professors are bunny rabbits, Maddy. Frightened little bunny rabbits. Their courses are their cabbage patches. And protecting the cabbage is what it’s all about.”
I found a second tuft of grass in the geraniums. Before I could find a third, Aubrey locked her arm in mine and steered me toward the parking lot. “Any idea how you’re going to get the names of his students?” I asked.
She looked at me like I’d just told her I believed in Santa Claus. She pulled her notebook from her purse and flipped it open to a page marked with a paper clip. “Marcie Peacock, Amy Kamm, Zack Zimmerman and Kiralee Presello.”
“Good gravy, why’d you drag me up here if you already had their names?”
She gave me several reasons: “To get some background. To get some color. To get some good quotes. To see the dickbrain squirm.”
“That last one seems a bit personal.”
“You bet it does,” she said. “Newspaper people have a moral responsibility to strike a blow against television whenever we can.”
“You’re not serious-”
We’d reached the car. She fumbled in her purse for her keys. “Only half serious. This is the biggest story I’ve ever covered, Maddy. I have to be thorough. And careful.”
We drove a few blocks to a Wendy’s. I got a salad. Aubrey got a baked potato and chili. “So, where did you get the names from?” I asked.
Again she gave me the Santa Claus look. “From the church bulletin. They always list as many people as they can.”
She was right about that. Have you ever seen a church bulletin that didn’t have long lists of names, from the pastor down to the assistant baby-sitter in the nursery? “But how’d you get a bulletin from back in November?” I wondered. “I wouldn’t think their shelf life is too long.”
“Obviously I have an off-the-record source or two.”
“Obviously.”
“I wish I could tell you.”
“The eyebrow woman?”
The corner of her mouth twisted cryptically. I tried again. “The students all checked out, I gather?”
“Four little kittens,” she said.
Chapter 15
Tuesday, June 13
As soon as Eric left for his morning Mountain Dew break Aubrey hurried to my desk-to show me her bruises and scratches. “Good gravy, what happened to you?”
“Taurus Man attacked me last night,” she said.
“Not-”
“No, I wasn’t raped. Just slapped and scratched and threatened a little.”
“A little?” There was one set of finger-shaped bruises on her right arm, just above the wrist. The other bruises were on her face, one above her left eye and one below her cheekbone. The scratches, just two of them, ran parallel from her left ear down across her chest. She had to open her blouse two buttons to show me where they ended just above her bra on the right side. “You’re sure it was the man in the station wagon? The guy Eric chased?”
“He was wearing a ballcap and bandanna, but it was him,” she said.
“And this happened where, Aubrey?”
“Outside my building. He jumped out of the shrubs by the door. Batted me around for a couple of seconds and took off.”
“And he threatened you?”
“He kept growling ‘You better back off, devil girl.’ I’m cutting down those fucking shrubs myself. You wouldn’t have a chainsaw I can borrow?”
I’d hoped our problems with the man in the red station wagon were over. It had been two weeks since Eric chased him in Meri. We hadn’t spotted him on our drive to Kent or anywhere else. Either he’d changed cars or
