Steve found an outlet and plugged in his laptop and typed in ratemyprofessors.com. A colorful page flashed on the screen, claiming to be an automated system for researching and rating approximately 700,000 college and university professors across the United States and Canada. He tapped in Hawthorne State College and got on a page for the school with the professorial staff alphabetically listed.
Earl Pendergast’s name had forty-six entries, but he could access only the first two pages without a subscription. But the dozen he was able to read gave an intriguing profile: out of a high of 5.0 he got a 4.9 for quality of teaching and a 4.3 for ease of grading. Of course, the responses were subjective and probably affected by the grades of the evaluators. But Pendergast came across as popular, charismatic, fun, and attractive:
Professor Pendergast kicks ass. And he’s oh so hot!
Awesome professor, soothing voice but won’t put you to sleep. Knows his stuff and is passionate about the material.
Professor Earl’s the best. Had him four years ago and still talk about his Rom. Poetry class. You’ll love his passion. Not to mention his cute butt.
Several went on like these, with varying degrees of sophistication, most praising his teaching. It was a few personal insights that caught Steve’s attention:
Got a bad rap with the sex charges thanks to FemMafia running the English Dept. and a wimpy administration. Tries too hard to be everybody’s buddy. Wants to be loved.
This guy relies on smiling and flirting to get thru the semester. Ridiculously easy grader. Plays favs., esp. if you’re a hot female.
For comparison sake, Steve clicked on other instructor evaluations at random. The general tone and observations were consistent with Pendergast’s, except for the few personal claims. Most sounded fair-minded regarding the teaching quality. Steve e-mailed copies to Reardon and the unit detectives. Then he left and headed back to Boston for a four o’clock meeting, his mind playing over the tidbits:
Hard to fault him on that. But
On the way, he called the answering machine at his apartment. There was a single message from Dana. The cosmetic surgeon had called to say that he could see her Friday morning for a Restylane procedure that would take only half an hour. The fee was only four hundred dollars and a good place to start. She was calling because Lanie would be out of town on Friday, her own car was in the garage on a recall, and she needed a ride again.
What nagged at him was that she had left him a message instead of calling him on his PDA. It was her way of keeping her distance. Once husband, now cosmetic chauffeur hot line.
24
“Seems our Professor Cute Butt’s got a bunch of flags on his report card,” Reardon said, and gave Steve a nod of acknowledgment.
Around the conference table with Steve were Neil, Sergeants Marie Dacey, Lenny Vaughn, and Kevin Hogan, plus two investigators from Jamaica Plain. Since Steve’s return from Hawthorne, they had probed Pendergast’s past and come up with more particulars, which animated Chief Reardon, who had been feeling the heat from the D.A.’s office because the Boston homicide rate was at a twelve-year high. The summer hadn’t even officially begun and the number of murders in Boston was at thirty-nine, seven ahead of last year’s pace. And the mayor, the statehouse, the media, and the public were demanding that something be done.
“Besides the sexual harassment charges, he’s got a prior at Clark University in Worcester where he used to teach summer courses. He was released for trading grades for sex.”
“Always good to find a teacher with standards,” Steve said, feeling buoyed by the finds. “What’s interesting is that he had targeted one particular female, a twenty-one-year-old redhead.”
“Is that right?” Neil said.
A few hours earlier Neil had attended Terry Farina’s funeral, so he, too, welcomed the news. Steve handed him a folder. “He also has a five-year-old charge for a lewd and lash in New Hampshire for sex with a minor of seventeen, a student at another summer course he taught at UNH. He had claimed the girl told him she was twenty. The charge was later dropped.”
“We looked into the suspension and talked to the dean,” Dacey said. “What he’d do was drop notes or e- mails to females, complimenting them on their sexy outfits, saying things like he’d like to get to know them better, then invite them to concerts and movies.”
“He also had a habit of using sexual language in class,” Vaughn added. “He’d read sexually provocative passages from books, or make sexual metaphors in his composition classes.” Vaught read from his notes: “‘Good writing begins with a sharp focus—like sex. You’re working to a climactic effect, creating ripples of associations.’”
“Subtle,” Steve said.
“What else do we know about him?” Neil asked.
“Single, divorced for about fifteen years. No kids. Been at Hawthorne for twenty-three. Voted Instructor of the Year in ’94 then again in ’98,” Steve continued. “His sexual harassment suspension expired last week, the end of the academic year.”
“So, he’ll be back in class in September.”
“Right.”
“Another thing,” Reardon said, glancing at his notes. “Detective Hogan talked to a Marsha Verchovny a.k.a. Jinxy who said that Terry Farina told her that she’d gone out with him but wasn’t sure how often. She also wasn’t looking for a relationship.”
“So we’ve got a guy with some prior sexual improprieties, but no violence. He frequented the strip club, was taken by the victim, and dated her at least once. He lines up better than anyone else we’ve got so far,” Steve said. “But what’s the motive?”
From nowhere that voice was back, like Jiminy Cricket with fangs.
Steve squeezed it down.
“How about he goes to collect on his options?” Neil said. “They begin to get sexual, she turns him down, he loses it, and chokes her.”
“So she’s naked before he kills her?” Steve said.
Neil looked at him. “As opposed to what?”
“To him stripping her after he kills her. If they were consensual, then the rage might have surfaced while they were being sexual.”
“How about he’s impotent? Which may explain the porn sites: he’s trying to see if he can get aroused.”
“So you’re saying he comes in, he gets her to do a little private strip, but he can’t get it up so he murders her.”
“Why not?”
Reardon was studying Steve. “I think you’ve got a problem with that.” It was a flat statement to draw Steve out.
“Sounds logical, except what little profile we have says he looks more like a guy who likes women than hates them.”
“That’s my feeling,” Dacey said.
Sergeant McCarthy from J.P.P.D. picked up a photo of Xena. “With all due respect, I think she could have aroused a dead man.”
That got a chuckle from the others. “Whatever. He’s all we got,” Neil said. “I think we should check him out.
