Split Second

neighbor sees you and calls the cops?'

'Then we tell them we thought we heard someone calling out for help.'

'That is so unbelievably lame.'

King had already eased over to the back door and tried the knob. 'Damn.'

Michelle breathed a sigh of relief. 'It's locked? Thank God!'

King swung the door open with a mischievous look. 'Just kidding. I'll only be a minute. Keep a sharp lookout.'

'Sean, don't-'

He slipped inside before she could finish. Michelle started wandering around, hands in her pockets, trying to look like she hadn't a care in the world while the acid ate away the lining of herstomach. She even attempted to whistle, but found she couldn't because her lips were too dry from her sudden anxiety attack.

'Damn you, Sean King,' she muttered.

Inside, King found himself in the kitchen. As he swung his light around, the room was revealed as small and looked unused. Jorst seemed more of an eat-out kind of guy. He moved through to a living room that was very plainly furnished and neat. Bookcases lined the room and were, not surprisingly, full of tomes by Goethe, Francis Bacon, John Locke and the perennially popular Machiavelli.

Jorst's home office was off the living room, and this space was more reflective of the man. The desk was piled high with books and papers, the floor cluttered, the small leather sofa similarly stacked with objects. The place smelled strongly of both cigarette and cigar smoke, and King noted an ashtray on the floor that was filled with butts. The walls were covered with cheap bookshelves, and they sagged under the weight of the books resting there. King poked around the desk, opened drawers and looked for secret hiding places yet found nothing of the sort. He doubted that if he pulled out one of the books a hidden passageway would be revealed, but he dutifully slipped out a couple of volumes just in case. Nothing happened.

Jorst was working on a book, he'd said, and the condition of his study seemed to confirm this, since notes, drafts and outlines were piled everywhere. Organization was evidently not the man's strong suit, and King looked around in disgust at the mess. He couldn't live ten minutes like this, although in his youth his apartment had looked even worse. At least he'd grown out of his pigsty; Jorst apparently never had. King fleetingly contemplated inviting Michelle in so she could get a quick hit of clutter. It would probably make her feel better.

Digging under the piles on the desk, he found an appointment book, but it was singularly uninformative. He next moved upstairs.There were two bedrooms there, and only one was ostensibly in use. Here Jorst was neater. His clothes were arranged nicely in his small closet, his shoes stacked on a cedar rack. King looked under the bed and was greeted only by dust balls. The adjoining bathroom revealed only a damp towel on the floor and some toiletries stacked on the sink. He went across to the other bedroom, obviously a guest room. There was a small adjoining bath here too, but there were no towels or toiletries. There was a shelf against one wall that held no books, but did have some photos on it. He shined the light on them one by one. They were of Jorst with various people, none of whom King recognized until he looked at the last face.

The voice calling from below startled him. 'Sean, get your butt down here. Jorst is back.'

He looked out the window in time to see Jorst pulling his massive old car into the driveway. He turned off the light, put the photo in his pocket and carefully but quickly made his way down the steps and back toward the kitchen where Michelle was waiting. They exited via the back door, came around the side of the house, waited for Jorst to go inside and then knocked on the front door.

The professor came to the door, flinched when he saw them and cast a suspicious glance over their shoulders. 'Is that your Lexus at the curb?' King nodded. 'I didn't see anyone in it when I passed by. And I didn't see either of you on the sidewalk.'

'Well, I was stretched out in the backseat waiting for you to come home,' said King. 'And Michelle had gone to one of your neighbors' homes to see if they knew when you'd be back.'

Jorst didn't look like he believed the story, but he ushered them in, and they settled in the living room.

'So you talked to Kate?' he asked.

'Yeah, she said you gave her the heads-up about us.'

'Did you expect that I wouldn't?'

'I'm sure you two are very close.'

Jorst stared intently at King. 'She was a colleague's daughter, andthen she was a student of mine. Implying anything else would be a mistake.'

'Well, considering that you and her mother were talking about getting married, you'd at least be her stepfather,' said King. 'And here we didn't even know you were dating.'

Jorst looked very uncomfortable. 'And why should you, since it's none of your business. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm rather busy.'

'Right, the book you're writing. What's it about, by the way?'

'You're interested in political science, Mr. King?'

'I'm interested in lots of things.'

'I see. Well, if you have to know, it's a study of voting patterns in the South, post-World War II to the present, and their impact on national elections. My theory is that the South today is no longer the ‘Old South.' That, in fact, it's one of the most heterogeneous, teeming pools of immigrants this country has seen since the turn of the last century. I won't say that it's quite yet a bastion of liberalism or even radical thought, but it's not the South depicted in Gone with the Wind, or even in To Kill a Mockingbird. In fact, the fastest-growing population element in Georgia right now is Middle Eastern.'

'I can see how the Hindus and Muslims coexisting with the bubbas and the Baptists must be fascinating,' opined King.

'That's good,' said Jorst. 'Bubbas and Baptists. Mind if I use that line for one of my chapter headings?'

'Feel free. You didn't know the Ramseys before Atticus, did you?'

'No, I didn't. Arnold Ramsey was at Atticus about two years before I arrived. I'd been a professor at a college in Kentucky before coming here.'

'When I said the Ramseys, I meant both Arnold and Regina.'

'My answer is the same. I didn't know either until I came here. Why, did Kate say otherwise?'

'No,' Michelle said quickly. 'She did tell us that her mother was good friends with you.'

'They both were friends of mine. I think Regina saw me as ahopeless bachelor and took it upon herself to make me feel welcome and comfortable. She was a truly remarkable woman. She worked with the drama class at the college and even performed in some of the productions. She was an astonishing actress, she really was. I'd heard Arnold talk about her talents, especially when she was younger, and assumed he was merely exaggerating. But when you saw her up there onstage, she was mesmerizing. And she was as kind and as good as she was talented. She was loved by many people.'

'I'm sure she was,' said King. 'And after Arnold died, the two of you-'

'It wasn't like that,' Jorst interrupted. 'Arnold had been dead a very long time before we started seeing each other as anything more than friends.'

'And it got to the point where you were talking marriage.'

'I'd proposed and she'd accepted,' he said coldly.

'And then she died?'

Jorst's features became pained. 'Yes.'

'In fact, she committed suicide?'

'So they say.'

Michelle said quickly, 'You don't think so?'

'She was happy. She'd accepted my proposal of marriage. Now, I don't think I'm vain in saying that it seems pretty far-fetched that the thought of being married to me would have driven her to suicide.'

'So you're thinking she was murdered?'

'You tell me!' he snapped. 'You're the ones running around investigating. You figure it out. That's not my area of expertise.'

'How did Kate take the news of your upcoming nuptials?'

'All right. She loved her father. She liked me. She knew I wasn't looking to replace him. I truly believe she