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Although Hawthorne didn’t trust Skander, he could see nothing in his face, his eyes, his gestures, even his words that convinced him the man was lying. Skander’s earnestness, his apparent embarrassment, his concern for Hawthorne’s well-being—instead of being angry at Skander, Hawthorne found himself growing angry with Pendergast. On the other hand, he couldn’t rely on Skander’s appearance. He needed facts.
“I’ll see about an audit first thing tomorrow,” Hawthorne said.
Skander took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. “Surely the wisest course. But, Jim, this is truly hurtful. I thought we were closer than this, that we trusted each other. I love Bishop’s Hill. It’s my entire life. Why would I do any of this?” There was no anger or fear in Skander’s expression; rather, he regarded Hawthorne as one might look at a dear friend who has become ill.
Hawthorne pressed on. “Because if I quit and the school closes, then Burke can sell the facility to the Galileo Corporation. And you’ll stay on, perhaps even as bursar or associate director. You’ll make more money, won’t have to teach, and won’t even have to move from your house.”
“Jim, Jim, forgive me for being blunt. You must not turn your back on your true friends. If we don’t work together, then I don’t see how the school can be saved. I’m completely bewildered by all this venom. Please, think hard before you do anything rash.” He reached out to put a hand on Hawthorne’s shoulder, but Hawthorne stepped back.
“One more thing,” asked Hawthorne. “What can you tell me about a student by the name of Peter Roberts? He doesn’t seem to be on the books.”
Skander’s face seemed to pause in its solicitude, then his expression of concern reasserted itself. “Peter Roberts? I don’t believe I know the name. Is he new?”
Eleven
Roger Be
It had been Be
Frank LeBrun sat on his bed watching Fritz, his face expressionless, although now and then he glanced at Be
Fritz was talking and his tone was gentle, as if he were addressing a child he loved. “It’s truly incredible for me to realize what you have done. When I told you on Thanksgiving that the boy had come to me with those wild stories, I thought you’d simply be amused. At most, I thought you might speak to him. Ask him to cease and desist. After all, people gossip and the fact that Larry was nowhere to be found might make people imagine that he had indeed come to harm. So the boy’s story, it had to be no more than an insensitive prank. Youthful monkey-shines. I would have told him myself to put a lid on it, but it was Thanksgiving and one thing led to another and we were having guests. A busy day for all of us, no doubt. Yet when the boy told me that he needed to find Dr. Hawthorne and that Jim might use this information against you, might in fact cause you an injury, I thought it my duty to tell you what the youngster had said. I thought you would just admonish him, scold him, urge him to keep quiet. Dear, dear, did you really have to murder him?”
LeBrun leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, looking up at Fritz with his head slightly tilted. He wore faded jeans and a white shirt with stains from the kitchen—oil and coffee, a bit of red jam. With his head tilted, LeBrun’s thin face looked decidedly freakish to Be
“Of course,” said Fritz, “I wouldn’t dream of saying anything to anyone, though I must say the police have been an utter nuisance. But you have us over a barrel, Frank, you really do. If I didn’t like you and didn’t feel you deserved far more than life, in its intrinsic unfairness, has given you, then I might be tempted to reveal what happened to that boy. And the cat, we mustn’t forget the cat. But what would be the result? If the police arrested you, then you might be tempted to tell them about that unfortunate prank in Clifford’s office. I remain astonished at my folly in encouraging you to do it, even giving you some small sum. I don’t know what I was thinking. But here was this fellow being totally useless yet earning a good salary. That money could have gone to other places where it was desperately needed. Scholarships, for instance. I was frustrated, that’s the most I can say in my defense, and of course I worried about what was best for the school. My hope was that he might go away, just as Mrs. Hayes had gone away. Surely, you were as horrified as I when Clifford chose to end his life—a spiteful act, in any case—though we can’t say for certain that the damage to his office was the actual cause. And I wouldn’t blame you for telling the police—after all, an exchange of information might make them more lenient. And the tequila and the girl, another piece of bad judgment—no, no, it’s quite obvious that we overreached ourselves. The best plan is to keep quiet about you and poor Scott McKi
Still LeBrun didn’t speak. He glanced over at Be