was impossible to tell how old he was. Since his dark head was shaved and shiny, there was no gray hair to give away his age.
“Why did I fire Hubert?” Johnson said. “Let me first say, I did not like doing it. At one time he was one of the most brilliant minds on the faculty.”
“At one time?” Candace said.
“The man was ill.” Johnson tapped his temple. “Everyone knew that, but in higher education, eccentrics are common. Oftentimes it accompanies genius-and that was the case with him.”
“But he must have done a good job at some point,” Candace said.
“While he was married to Sarah, he did more than good. He brought an enormous amount of research money to this college. But he began to cross the line from peculiar to almost frightening right about the time their marriage fell apart. I know Sarah. She works for me now, and she did try her best, but when Hubert stopped taking his medication, things got very, very bad.”
“What’s very, very bad?” Candace said.
Was he making jars of red goop here, too? I wondered.
“Bad, in that students started to complain not only to this office but to their parents. He was behaving oddly in class, not lecturing, not following curriculum. We cannot have that here,” Johnson said, his dark eyes hardening for the first time.
And at what college could you have that? I thought.
“That’s why you fired him?” Candace said.
“No. His research was too valuable,” Johnson said.
Translation, I thought, he brought too much money to the college to let him go.
“I reprimanded him-in the kindest way I could, of course,” Johnson went on. “I did not wish to condemn the man for something he could not control-his mental illness. But I did put him on probation and took away his course load. He was to focus on his research until I saw that he was fit to return to the classroom.”
“Did he ever get back in the classroom?” Candace asked.
“Unfortunately, no,” he said. “He continued to deteriorate. I even offered to take him to a colleague, an abnormal-psychology professor who was still a practicing psychiatrist. Hubert refused.”
“So you did everything you could,” Candace said.
This brought a smile to Johnson’s lips. “I would do anything for the people at Denman-the students, the faculty, the families. It is what I must do to maintain our reputation.”
“But then VanKleet really went off the deep end, right?” Candace said.
Johnson closed his eyes, shook his head. “I could not believe what I saw in that laboratory.”
“Did you visit his lab often?” Candace asked.
She was trying to get information without giving away anything that she knew, and she was good at it. “No. That’s not my practice. The bright men and women who work here do not need the president looking over their shoulders. I only went because I was informed there was a problem.” His last sentence was terse.
“And who informed you?” Candace said.
“I don’t know. It was anonymous, a computer- generated letter placed on my administrative assistant’s desk.”
“Do you get anonymous letters often?” Candace said.
“More often than you might think,” he said. “One professor slipping information about a colleague he or she is still working with, students telling tales on their friends whom they’ve fallen out with; you name it, it’s happened. For the most part, I ignore this kind of thing.”
“But you didn’t ignore this anonymous tip?” she said.
“Hubert was already on probation, and the details in this letter were too serious to ignore. I had to see for myself if this was true. Sadly, it was. We do not do research using cats, but there they were, and though they didn’t seem to be in ill health, they shouldn’t have been here.”
“Did you save this letter?” she said.
“I did,” he said. “But unless you have a legal document such as subpoena, I don’t believe I’m obligated to share it with you. Just speaking with you is a favor to your chief of police. He is a friend of a friend.”
“The professor’s dead,” Candace said.
This was the first time I detected any of her usual impatience.
“But his family is not dead,” Johnson said. “His ex- wife still works here, and I have an obligation to keep unseemly information about her deceased husband away from those who might make life more difficult for her.”
Or for Denman College, I thought.
“Could your decision not to share this letter-which you have every right to do-have anything to do with another VanKleet who was sent packing?” Candace said. Her tone was tougher now.
She obviously was on to the fact that this man wanted all the secrets to stay in the Denman College closet.
“I should have expected that you would know about Evan.” Johnson smiled. “I underestimated you, Deputy Carson. My mistake. Forgive me if I was unprepared, but I wasn’t informed I had to talk about him.”
“You do,” she said. “My biggest question is why he was kicked out of school and the others weren’t.”
He tented his hands. “I believe I will decline to answer that. As I said, I am unprepared and should consult with the legal counsel who advises me on such things before I say anything.”
“You think he might sue you or something?” Candace said.
“It’s been known to happen,” Johnson said curtly.
“Was his being drunk that night the reason you kicked him out, or was it because he owed the college a chunk of change?” Candace said.
I read the surprise in Johnson’s eyes. “I will not get into that. Not today. Are there any other questions I can help you with?”
“Tell me about Sarah VanKleet. How did she handle all the trouble surrounding her family members?” Candace said.
He seemed to relax some at this change in direction and said, “Sarah is a hardworking woman who did the best she could with all she had to deal with. Her older son went to school here and has gone on to law school. She’s quite proud of him, as is Denman College.”
“She lives with Professor Lieber now?” Candace said.
He repositioned himself in his chair and blinked several times before answering. “I am not in the habit of inquiring about my employees’ private lives. Professor Lieber is well respected here. And loved by the students, I might add. He is unmarried, and if he has a relationship with Sarah, that’s certainly not my business.”
Like heck you don’t know about them, I thought. I’ll bet you know every detail of what goes on around here.
“Were Professor Lieber and Professor VanKleet friends?” Candace asked.
I wasn’t sure whether Candace had worn him down and he was tired of dancing around the truth, but he said, “Yes. They were friends. We have what I like to call a tight-knit family here at Denman.”
“Were you surprised to learn Professor VanKleet died a horrible, painful death?” She’d leaned in and was probably looking for his nonverbal response to this very direct question.
“Why, of course. Why would you ask such a thing?” He was rattled now.
“Because he brought shame on this college, didn’t he? Some people might be glad he died that way. At least one person did-the killer.”
“I-I can’t believe you’re saying these things to me,” Johnson said. “I tried my very best to do right by Hubert. Gave him every opportunity.”
“But you gave up on him in the end, just like everyone else,” she said softly. Then she stood.
I was so taken aback by her switch to this hard line that I felt like a robot and just followed her lead, standing as well.
Lawrence Johnson didn’t stand. He sat in his big chair in his fancy office, and I read sadness on his face. Even his eyes had filled. Candace had been tough on him, but I now understood that though he loved his college, he had also cared about Hubert VanKleet.
Candace said, “Can you tell me where the Bartletts live?”
