Reprisal

"They seem kind of childish now," Lisl said, worrying anew about the darkness she had discovered within herself.

"That's because they've served their purpose. They taught you that he does not have all the power, that you actually have power over him. You can make his life miserable when you choose and you can leave him alone when you choose. When you choose—that's the lesson. And now that you've learned it we can move on to other things, leaving Dr. Callahan lying awake at nights wondering who, wondering why, wondering what next?"

"I don't want to leave Ev like that."

"Don't worry. We're just going to do a little snooping on Professor Sanders. That's all. See what makes him tick."

"Nothing more. You promise?"

"I won't need anything more to prove to you that he's a phony."

"You're wrong this time, Rafe. I think Ev is one of those people where what you see is what you get."

"There is no such person," Rafe snapped. "And I'll prove it to you tonight when we search his apartment."

Lisl's stomach lurched. Wasn't that breaking and entering? And wasn't that going just a bit too far? But she couldn't back down. Not now. She couldn't surrender to Rafe's theory about Ev. Because she knew he was wrong.

"We can't do that. Not—not while he's there."

"He won't be," Rafe said. "It's Wednesday night. He goes out every Wednesday night."

"He does?" She had difficulty imagining Ev going out at all. "Where?"

"I don't know. Maybe we'll follow him sometime. But tonight we'll take advantage of his unfailing routine and check out his digs, see what makes him tick."

"Is this fair, Rafe?"

He laughed. "Fair? What's fair got to do with it? This is a leech posing as a Prime! We've got to set things right."

"Why do we have to—"

"In fact," Rafe went on, begi

"Knock it off, Rafe."

"No. I'm serious. I mean, consider his name—Ev. What normal man lets himself be called £V? It's effeminate. And he's such a priss, so neat and particular. Like a maiden aunt. And have you ever seen him with a woman?"

"No. But I've never seen him with a man, either. Maybe he's just asexual."

"Maybe. But he's hiding something. You can count on that. Have you seen his CV?"

"No. Why would I—?"

"There's ten years missing. He graduated cum laude from Emory, worked for a few years, then entered the masters pro-gram at Duke, went on for his doctorate, then came here to Darnell."

"What's wrong with that? Lots of people work in the real world before going on for postgraduate degrees."

"Right. But there's a ten-year blank spot in his curriculum vitae."

"Ten years?"

Rafe nodded and placed his hands on her shoulders, his fingers brushing the base of her neck, raising delicious gooseflesh along her arms.

"Like he dropped off the face of the earth. He's not telling anybody what he did with those years, which means he's hiding something. And we're going to find out what it is."

He began to knead the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders, magically relaxing them. She closed her eyes and reveled in the soothing sensations. As always, Rafe's touch caused her doubts to dwindle, her fears to fade. Nothing mattered more than keeping him by her side. As she listened to Rafe's soft voice, she found herself falling in line with his way of thinking. Her interest was piqued now.

What was Ev hiding?

Everett Sanders, Ph. D., where the fuck are you?

Re

He was almost out of names. And just about out of hope. He'd checked out all but two of the people on Lisl Whitman's guest list. If he didn't hit pay dirt with this one or the final one, he'd be forced to write this whole trip off as a complete bust. No way. Too much time and money and goodwill back at Midtown North down the tubes for that. He needed to score here.

More than just a score—he needed to strike it rich. He needed Everett Sanders, Ph.D., aka Father William Ryan, S.J., to walk up the steps-, head bowed, lost in thought. Re

A dream. A pipe dream.

As he was scuffing his latest cigarette butt into oblivion on the stone stoop, a bony guy in a tan raincoat started up the steps. At first glance he looked older, but close up Re

"Excuse me," Re

The man stopped abruptly and stared at him.

"Yes?" His voice was cool, dry—like the desert at night.

"Would you be Professor Sanders?" Please say no.

"Why, yes. Who are you?"

Damn! "I'm Detective Sergeant Augustino with the State Police"—a quick flash of his medal in midsentence—"and I'm investigating an incident at Dr. Lisl Whitman's party last month."

"Party? Incident?" The man's expression was genuinely confused for a moment, then it cleared. "Oh, you mean the Christmas party. Why would you be investigating her party?"

"There was a sort of obscene phone call and—"

"Oh, yes. I remember her mentioning that. It seemed to have upset her terribly. But I'm sorry—I can't help you."

Re

"I wasn't there, Sergeant."

Automatically, Re

"But your name's on the list."

"I was invited but I didn't go. I don't go to parties."

Re

No, I guess you don't.

"Well then, maybe you can help this way." He pulled the Father Ryan photo from his i

Sanders started to shake his head, then stopped. He took the picture from Re

"Strange…"

Re

"Strange? What's strange? You've seen him?"

"I'm not sure. He looks vaguely familiar but I can't quite place him."

"Try."

He glanced at Re

"I'm doing just that, I assure you."

"Sorry." Twit.

Finally Sanders shook his head and handed the picture back.

"No. It won't come. I'm quite sure I've seen him somewhere but just when and just where I can't say."

Re

"Take your time. Take another look."

"I've looked quite enough, thank you. Never fear. I never forget a face. It will come to me. Give me your number and I'll call you when it does."

Out of habit, Re

"I'm right here in town for the moment." He wrote down the number of the motel where he was staying. "If I'm not in, leave your number and I'll get back to you."

"Very well." He took the slip of notepaper and started up the steps toward the front door.

"Sure you don't want to take another look?"

"I've committed it to memory. I'll be in touch. Good day, Sergeant."