Failure is Fatal Read online

  I continued, interrupting the sputtering sounds emanating from his throat. “As for your record of scholarship, I expect that will remain as thin as ever, perhaps becoming transparent over this year and disappearing in the next. You’re what we refer to as ‘deadwood,’ Melvin. You always were. The college’s mistake was in tenuring you in the first place.”

  His sputtering erupted into a roar of anger, and he lunged at me. Anticipating his move just in time, I moved adroitly to one side. The momentum of Chaffee’s move propelled him into the row of chairs beyond me, and he went down hard. The crunching noise accompanying his fall had to be the sound of his handsome nose connecting with the metal frame of one of the chairs.

  “Help!” Chaffee reached out one hand, holding his face with the other. Blood poured from between his fingers. “She assaulted me. Call the police.”

  The few people remaining in the room ran over while I calmly rooted around in my briefcase, finally extracting a piece of slightly used tissue.

  “Here.” I offered Melvin the tissue. He shoved it away.

  “You there. You’re a witness. You saw what happened here. She assaulted me,” Melvin said once more.

  “Don’t be silly. You just slipped. Anyway, it kind of looked as if you were trying to assault her and that you fell,” said the individual Melvin tried to buttonhole as his witness.

  “Someone call an ambulance,” I said.

  “My nose, god, my nose. I’ll be deformed. I’ll sue. You’d better get a good lawyer. I’ll sue!”

  I turned to leave the meeting room.

  “What was all the ruckus about?” I heard Der’s voice over my shoulder.

  “I didn’t know you were here,” I said. “Walk with me back to my office and I’ll tell you all about it. And, no, I didn’t beat him up, although I think he richly deserves all the bad he gets.”

  *

  “So he thinks he’s going to sue you? Der said. He grabbed my suitcase and headed toward the SUV. It was Friday morning , and I was leaving to visit Guy in Gananoque for the weekend. I decided to leave Sam home and let Der take care of her while he kept an eye on my house.

  “Yup. He had someone deliver the papers this morning, bright and early. The idiot thinks he can make a case that I attacked him, resulting in his injuries.”

  “Injuries? I thought he broke his nose, that’s all.”

  “It seems that when he took his nosedive into the chair, he also wrenched his ankle. He’s on crutches, poor thing.” I chuckled. “It’s unlikely he’ll be able to make his case. The few people who saw the event yesterday observed him coming at me. I merely stepped to one side, but, you know Melvin. He overdramatizes everything.”

  Der merely nodded in agreement.

  “Laura, I don’t mean to rain on your weekend…”

  “Snow’s more likely,” I said. I wrinkled my brow and looked skyward. I would have preferred staying home, but I promised Guy, and I did have my trusty SUV. I moved my neck and shoulders around hoping to release some of the tension building up over the drive north.

  “You okay?” Der said.

  “Yep.”

  “What I was going to say was that I think it’s a good thing you’re getting away this weekend. You need a little break from the case and everything.”

  “What about you? Don’t you get a break?”

  “It’s my job. I get paid for this. I need to go over Marie Becca’s murder with a fresh eye. Maybe the weekend with Sam in your house, away from my office, will help. Then we can get back to it on Monday.”

  I was pleased he said “we” when he referred to the case.

  “Sure. I’ll be ready to go at it again then.”

  At the entrance to the interstate heading north, I pulled to the side of the road rather than proceeding onto the ramp. Something was bothering me, had been for several days. I should have asked to see the records when I visited Student Affairs looking for information on fraternities. I executed a U-turn and headed toward the college.

  “Der, pick up! It’s Laura.” I was in my office calling the house on the assumption that Der would still be there.

  “Where are you? Did you have car trouble?”

  “No, just listen. I’m in my office. I, uh, I forgot some things I wanted to bring with me, so I stopped at the college. But, I was thinking, did you find out whether or not Lionel Chaffee had an alibi for the night of Marie’s murder?”

  “Well, his girlfriend, you know, the one we met in the hallway outside Melvin’s office, initially said she thought they were together that night, but she changed her story and said he was here visiting his brother that night.”

  “And what does the dear brother say?” I said.

  “He confirms Lionel visited him in his office that evening, but left around eight or so.”

  “So he had time to…”

  “I’m looking for him now. It seems he left his teaching at Shelby last week, moved out of his apartment, and no one seems to know where he is. I’ve been keeping an eye on Melvin’s place in case he shows up there. So far, no Lionel.”

  “You know, you could have told me this. No wonder you were so anxious to get me out of town this weekend. You’re afraid Lionel is the murderer and that he might come for me because of the stuff I dug up about him.”

  “Well, maybe. It’s just better that you’re out of the way.”

  “Some fresh eye you’re giving to this case. You were going to find Lionel before I returned, and it would be a done deal. Not fair.”

  “Please just go to Canada for the weekend and leave this to me.”

  “What if he follows me? He crosses the border and he’s out of our hands, you know?”

  “Go see Guy, please.”

  “Oh, alright, but I’ll be back Sunday afternoon, and I expect a complete update.”

  “That’s what my boss says. Try not to squeeze me both ways.”

  I thought about this for a moment. He was right. The important thing was catching this guy. If Der could do it, that was fine with me, or, almost fine with me. Meanwhile I had some work of my own to do.

  *

  A rifle, a shotgun, a machete? An ornamental Asian sword, numerous knives, and two handguns. I spread the pictures out on the table in front of me. I remembered only glancing at the photos when the case came before the Disciplinary Board almost four years ago. It took the people in Student Affairs awhile to locate the files because old records of cases were moved to the subbasement of the library. A work-study student and I found them after a half-hour of searching among file boxes stacked in no real order and marked by month, no year indicated. What a mess! A forty-watt bulb suspended from the six-foo- high ceiling provided the lighting, and cobwebs were the only decorations adorning the damp, subterranean space. There was one advantage of being stored in a dark place, however. The Polaroid pictures hadn’t faded and were as clear as a poorly focused picture could be. Clear enough to be able to reveal any identifying features on the weapons.

  The pictures brought back details of the cases. David Farone’s face returned to my memory. A short, chubby kid, few friends, not the fraternity type, he apparently fell in with some unsavory young men who preferred guns and knives to pens and computers. His impact on the college community was almost nonexistent with the exception of this file folder in Student Affairs. I remembered David as more of a follower than a leader of this group of young toughs. His performance in my class for the first month of the semester wasn’t outstanding, but he certainly could do the work and should have been able to complete college if he had studied and organized his life.

  Where was David Farone now? I peered closely at the picture of the knives. One of them appeared to be identical to the murder weapon: a bone-handled hunting knife, about twelve inches long with a crack running longitudinally down the handle. Where was this knife? Probably moved to the evidence lockers at the police station.

  I shuffled the pictures into a pile, handed them to the work-study student to be replaced in the file bo
x, and returned to the Student Affairs office. I needed to find my friend, Kathryn, one of the assistant deans. She remembered the case and might know where the weapons went after the students left campus. If not, surely there were records of where the weapons were stored after the case. Unfortunately she was off to lunch.

  “Where did she go to lunch?” I asked her secretary who was putting on her coat to leave for lunch also.

  “A lunch meeting with the president and his vice presidents in the conference room, fourth floor.”

  *

  I quietly opened the door of the conference room and spied Kathryn across the table on the far side of the room.

  “Psssst.”

  All heads turned in my direction.

  “Is there something we can do for you, Dr. Murphy?” said President Evans.

  I don’t think he was interested in doing a thing for me unless it was tossing me out the window or recommending my immediate dismissal from the faculty.

  “I really need to see Kathryn,” I said. I cleared my throat. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “And this can’t wait?”

  “Uh, no. It’s important.”

  Kathryn, her face red with embarrassment, assured him she would be right back.

  “Laura, you’re going to get me in a lot of trouble,” she said and closed the door softly behind her.

  “I know, I know, but this is really important.”

  I pulled Kathryn away from the door to the conference room and into the restroom around the corner. Stooping to look under the stalls to make certain no one was in either one of them, I explained to Kathryn that I needed to find out what happened to the weapons in the years’ old disciplinary case.

  “Gosh, I don’t have any idea. Maybe they were returned to the students when they left campus. I don’t know why we would keep them.”

  “Do you know who would know?”

  “Why don’t you ask Captain Rodgers? He might know.”

  Oh, great! Just the person I didn’t want to ask.

  Kathryn saw the look on my face and surmised I wanted no dealings with Rodgers.

  “Maybe I can find out for you,” she said.

  “This afternoon, do you think?”

  “Well, I’m not really sure about that, but…”

  “Great. I’ll call you around four thirty today and see what you’ve found out. Bye. Got to get on the road.”

  *

  At exactly four twenty-nine, I pulled into Guy’s drive and hopped out of the SUV. Guy greeted me with a kiss that I returned with a quick hug, heading for his bathroom.

  “I hope it’s empty,” I said. “Three hours on the road and half an hour at the border and I’m desperate.” I accomplished what I needed to and appeared in the doorway.

  “Oh, okay. I guess I won’t take offense. Nature calls. I can understand that.” He held out his arms to me, and I rushed past him, plopping myself on the couch and punching a number into my cell. I held up my finger.

  “A minute. Just a minute. Kathryn? Hi. It’s me. What did you find out from Rodgers? Uh huh. Yeah. I see. Right. Great. Great. Really great. Thanks a lot. I owe you one. Oh, boy. Fort Drum. It’s on my way back. I can stop by.” I smiled at Guy.

  “Are you done now?” he asked, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.

  I was too preoccupied with what Kathryn told me to notice that my inattention hurt and angered Guy. “Do you know anyone at Fort Drum?” I said.

  “What’s this all about? You come all this way to use my bathroom and use my couch as your phone booth? This is a really great start to our weekend together.”

  “Oh, god, I’m sorry, Guy. It’s the damn case. I’ve got a lead I need to follow up on. You don’t know anyone at Fort Drum, do you?” I explained to him about the picture of the knife connected to the murder and about David Farone. Kathryn contacted Alumni Affairs to learn that David joined the army and was stationed at Fort Drum. Someone Kathryn knew in Student Affairs got in touch with Captain Rodgers who confirmed that anything associated with disciplinary cases would be stored in the campus security building. Guy listened patiently, more patiently than I had any right to expect.

  “Yeah, I do,” he said after I finished.

  “You do what?”

  “I know someone at Fort Drum.” He sighed. “We might as well get this out of the way. Be right back.” While Guy checked the number, I rummaged around in the fridge looking for something to drink. I grabbed two beers and handed one to him as he returned to the kitchen.

  “I’m not promising a thing,” he said. “You might as well sit down for a while,” nodding toward the living room.

  “I’ll just stay right here.”

  “No you won’t. I’d like a little privacy.”

  “I want to hear what you’re going to say about me.”

  “No you don’t. Sit down out there, or I won’t make the call.”

  Try as I might, I could not make out what Guy was saying on the phone. He was keeping his voice low.

  “What’s his name again?” Guy said to me.

  “David Farone.” I started to rise from the couch and approach the kitchen door.

  “Sit.” Guy pointed toward the couch.

  “I could talk to him,” I said. Guy gestured once more at the couch and continued his conversation. After fifteen more minutes, I heard him hang up the receiver.

  “It’s all set. On Sunday morning at ten David Farone will meet you at the main gate of Fort Drum.”

  “Great. Thanks, Guy.”

  “It was the only time he had free. Of course it means our visit will be cut short.” He didn’t look happy.

  Chapter 24

  Given Guy’s offense at my distraction when I first arrived, and his disappointment that I wouldn’t be staying later on Sunday, the weekend was not off to any kind of friendly, much less loving or passionate start. And it seemed to go downhill from there. Guy thought we should stay in for dinner, and I thought it might be more romantic to go out. So we compromised, which usually means that no one is happy (and neither of us were), by having take-out Chinese. By the time we got the food home, it was cold and the restaurant substituted moo shoo pork for my chicken and broccoli. More importantly, they left out the fortune cookies. Considering how poorly things were going, that was probably a blessing. I was in no mood to open a stale fortune cookie reading, “tonight will be a bust.” We both fell into bed after watching a grade “D” movie without so much as a kiss on the cheek.

  If I expected things to improve on Saturday, I was wrong. Guy’s children came to pay us a visit and were the worst behaved I ever saw them. They arrived at the house fighting, and continued their bickering until Michael finally let go with a fist to Lauren’s jaw. I don’t think he really meant to hit her, but the lucky punch landed with a loud whack on her chin. I clamped an ice pack on her mouth and jaw, and we all paid a visit to the neighborhood emergency room. X-rays revealed no broken bones, but her jaw began to remind me of my ankle with the rainbow of colors that appeared around her chin line. Explaining the swollen face when we delivered them back to their mother was the high point of the day. From the tone of her voice when she wondered at why Michael would “hit his sister, he never did that before,” I surmised that Guy’s ex-wife somehow held me responsible for instigating the sibling rivalry leading to the attack. I bit back a defense on my part and any words I might have wanted to level at her for sending the kids off to Guy in the sparring state when they appeared on the doorstep. If I expected Guy to be grateful at my restraint, he was not. Of course, I was no help when I mused out loud how much worse things could have been if Guy’s wife’s two kids from her first marriage had been in our charge also.

  Another take-out meal, an even worse movie, and we were off to bed on Saturday night in no better a romantic state than we were the night before. I tossed and turned until seven a.m., when I crawled out of bed, grabbed a cup of instant coffee and a stale English muffin, and prepared to leave for my early assignation a
t Fort Drum. Guy did not stir when I kissed him good-bye.

  At the gate, after presenting identification, I was directed into the complex and told to pull my car to the side of the road just beyond the gate. A Humvee pulled up beside my car, the driver signaling me to get in. The driver pulled the vehicle to the side of the road.

  “We can talk here,” he said, leaving the engine running. “I’m David Farone, but I’ll bet you don’t remember me,” the driver said.

  He looked nothing like the short, chubby, withdrawn young man I remembered from college. He was thinner, lean and muscular now.

  “I’m Dr. Murphy. I do remember you, but do you remember me?”

  “I sure do. I took your Introductory Psychology class. If I hadn’t gotten thrown out of school, I might have been able to complete it along with my other courses.”

  “You told your parents and your bother Adam that I flunked you out of school.”

  “Well, yeah. I got my ass, oops, excuse me, I got thrown out. You know that. You were on the Disciplinary Board. I wasn’t going to tell my parents the whole story, that’s for sure, so I made up a tale where I shifted the blame to you. I knew they would never check. They were too busy with their lives, and my stepfather was too involved making money to care about me. Say, you didn’t come all the way up here just to confront me about a story I made up about you, did you?”

  “That was an impressive array of weapons you and your friends stashed away in your dorm rooms. I reviewed the pictures the other day. Where did you get all of that stuff?”

  David looked puzzled at the direction my questioning was taking. He paused, then replied, a more cautious edge to his voice. “I really don’t know where they all came from. The other guys had most of the stuff.”

  “And your contribution to the stash?”

  “Just a hunting knife, one with a bone handle. It was a gift from my dad, my real dad, not my stepfather.”

  “And where is it now?”

  “What’s this all about? I know I got into some trouble, but that was years ago. I’ve really straightened myself out. Anyone here can tell you that. Besides those were all college boys’ pranks. No one got hurt. We never used those weapons on anyone.”