Hush Money (21 page)

The meeting was chaired by a professor from the Law School named Tillman. I sat against the wall behind Tommy Harmon, who sat at the conference table as Robinson’s faculty advocate. Bass Maitland and Lillian Temple were there representing the English department tenure committee. Maitland was speaking in his large rich voice.

“So whatever ex post facto changes may have occurred in the matter of Robinson Nevins’ tenure, the department feels that a decision arrived at in good faith should stand. To do otherwise would be to set a precedent that most of us would regret in the years to come.”

“Even though the basis for the denial of tenure turned out to be not only unfounded but part of a criminal conspiracy?” Harmon said.

“I believe it is an alleged criminal conspiracy,” Maitland said, “until a court of law reaches a judgment.”

He leaned back in his chair contentedly. Lillian patted his thigh. Professor Tillman looked a little tired.

He said, “Thank you for the reminder in law, Bass. Tommy, do you have a witness for us?”

Tommy Harmon said he did and introduced me.

“This is not a court of law, and you are not under oath, Mr. Spenser,” Tillman said. “Still the business of this committee, which today is particularly serious business, cannot proceed properly if you do not tell the truth.”

He was a spare man with a gray crew cut and half glasses. His light tan summer suit looked a little small for him, but you could see that he was not a rube.

“The recommendations of this committee, when they are made, are just that, recommendations,” he said. “They are not binding on the university.”

Tillman glanced over his half glasses at Bass Maitland. He didn’t change his expression, but I got the sense that he and I would agree on Bass.

“But they are not to be cavalierly disregarded either,” Tillman said. “There is considerable at stake here.”

“I’ll try not to lie,” I said.

Tillman smiled very slightly.

“Thank you,” he said. “We have all, I’m sure, read the papers, but I would like to hear from you what you know, as succinctly as you can. And since I am the chair of this committee, I guess I can. You may remain seated there unless you wish otherwise.”

The various professors gathered around the long conference table shifted in their seats a little. Several of them seemed interested. Lillian Temple and Bass Maitland looked resigned to suffering fools as gladly as they could.

“There are police reports,” I said. “Both from the Massachusetts State Police who did some of the initial questioning, when Amir Abdullah and Milo Quant were arrested, and from the Boston Police Homicide Unit in whose jurisdiction the murder of Prentice Lamont took place and to whom the state cops turned them over. I assume you all have copies.”

Everyone did.

“Okay, here’s what I know.”

“Excuse me,” Bass Maitland said, “I think we’d all be more comfortable if you were a bit more precise in your choice of words. This is what you surmise.”

I looked at Bass Maitland for a minute without saying anything. Then I looked back around the table.

“Okay,” I said, “here’s what I know.”

Maitland started to say something and Tillman gestured him to be quiet.

“Prentice Lamont ran a newspaper called
OUTrageous
which, as the name might imply, was in the business of outing closeted gay people. He was also having a sexual affair with Amir Abdullah. Prentice started out high-mindedly, hoping to improve the lot of gay Americans by forcing prominent people who were gay to publicly proclaim themselves. But in a while – Amir has admitted that it was his suggestion – this became a vehicle for blackmail, and made both Amir and Prentice a considerable profit. Amir, however, ever the romantic, lost interest in Prentice and took up with Milo Quant, the head of an anti-gay, anti-black, anti a whole bunch of stuff group called Last Stand Systems, Inc. Prentice, the jilted lover, threatened to out them both if Amir didn’t return to his arms. This would work very badly for the man whose official position was white and heterosexual. Amir was frightened about what Milo might do, so without telling Milo, he asked a couple of Milo’s security people to shut Prentice up. He swears he thought they’d rough Prentice up and frighten him into silence. The security guys say Amir told them to kill Prentice. Which they did, leaving a kind of all-purpose suicide note.”

A thin wiry woman with short very curly hair raised her hand at the far end of the conference table. I nodded at her.

“Did the Last Stand whatchamacallit know about their boss and Amir?”

“No. Just the personal bodyguard. They would smuggle Amir up to a motel near the Maine headquarters, usually, but sometimes to other places, where he would rendezvous with Milo.”

“Classic fascist ambivalence,” the speaker was a small man with longish tan hair and horn-rimmed glasses, “to lust in private after everything they despise in public.”

“You bet,” I said. “So Amir decided that since he had a corpse handy, blame Robinson Nevins for it, and get a twofer.”

“Excuse me?” Bass Maitland said.

“Two for one,” Tillman said brusquely. “Go ahead, Mr. Spenser.”

“Well, why on earth would he do that?” Maitland said.

“Amir is pretty pathological,” I said. “He couldn’t stand any competition, let alone competition from a black scholar as accomplished and as fundamentally decent as Robinson Nevins.”

“Nevins never had an affair with Prentice Lamont?” the wiry woman said.

“No. Robinson isn’t even gay,” I said.

I looked at Lillian Temple. Her face showed nothing.

“Well, for God’s sake, why didn’t he say so?” Maitland said.

“Because he felt that since the charges were specious regardless of his sexuality, proclaiming his heterosexuality was both undignified and perhaps in some way hostile to the interests of his many gay friends.”

“Bass wouldn’t understand that,” Harmon said.

“Tommy, please,” Tillman said.

“I resent that,” Maitland said.

“Bass,” Tillman said.

“To prove his heterosexuality would have required women to testify that they’d been intimate with him,” I said. “Several of them were not free to be. He declined to put them on the spot.”

Again I was looking at Lillian Temple. Her appearance remained rigidly unchanged.

“My God,” said the little guy with the big glasses, “he sounds like one of nature’s noblemen. And we’re denying him tenure?”

“Do you know who any of these women are?” the wiry woman asked.

“Yes.”

“May we know?”

I shook my head. Lillian Temple’s expression remained unchanged. She was so still that she was barely there.

“How do we know that this man is telling the truth?” Maitland said.

“Bass,” I said, “I don’t wish to appear uncouth, so I’ll let it slide that you’re kind of calling me a liar. But if you do it outside of these august proceedings, I will knock you on your Harris tweed tookus.”

Tommy Harmon chuckled. Maitland flushed.

“Mr. Spenser,” Tillman’s voice was like the thin edge of a piece of ice. “Whether or not these proceedings are august, they are serious. Bass, everything Mr. Spenser has said is corroborated in the police reports, generally in Abdullah’s own words.”

“I haven’t had a chance to read the reports,” Maitland said sullenly.

“They were distributed three days ago. We all had the chance,” Tillman said. “I took advantage of it, you didn’t. Do you have anything else to tell us, Mr. Spenser?”

“I have a couple of guesses. One, I think Amir was beginning to tire of Milo. Amir’s taste usually ran younger. Or maybe Milo was tiring of Amir. Whatever, Amir proposed the blackmail scheme to Walt and Willie, the two young men who inherited
OUTrageous.
He told them he didn’t want a cut. Presumably he didn’t need money as long as he was with Milo. But if he was tiring of Milo, or vice versa, or was simply insecure in the covertness of the relationship, and was going to be on his own again, then he’d need to supplement his teaching salary with blackmail money as he had before, and he wanted the system in place. He also took up with one of the young men.”

“Foresighted,” Tillman said.

The committee asked me maybe a dozen questions. Tommy Harmon spoke about the injustice that they were trying to avert. Bass Maitland made a formal statement about the danger of taking these decisions from the hands of the department. Lillian Temple concurred.

“Are we ready for a vote?” Tillman said.

They were.

“Very well,” Tillman said. “Mr. Spenser, will you step outside, please. Professors Temple, Harmon, Maitland will join him please.”

All the time we stood outside in the corridor nobody said anything. I looked at Lillian Temple. She stood as close as dignity permitted to Bass Maitland and looked at something else. Anything else. I was sort of hoping Bass would call me a liar again. He didn’t. Maybe I could put an eraser on my shoulder and dare him to knock it off. I thought about explaining that to Susan afterward, and decided not to dare him.

In about twenty minutes the committee came out in ones and twos and dispersed without saying anything to us. Tillman came out last.

“The committee has voted to recommend to the dean that Robinson Nevins be granted tenure,” he said.

Tommy Harmon broke into a wide grin and shook my hand.

“You’ll inform Robinson?” I said.

“Right now,” he said and walked away.

Bass Maitland and Lillian Temple were still there. He began to walk away. She lingered for a moment behind him.

“Well,” she said. “It looks like you’ve won.”

“Yes,” I said. “It looks like I have.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“I…” She paused for a long time. I waited. Finally she shook her head and turned and started after Maitland.

“Sleep warm,” I said.

Behind me someone knocked on my office door. I turned away from the storm and looked at the door.

“Come in,” I said.

A fat guy with his hat on backward came in.

“You Spenser?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Got a couch here.”

“A couch?”

“Yeah, where you want it.”

“I didn’t buy a couch,” I said.

“Well, somebody did, says here your name, this address.”

“Does it say who bought it?”

“Nope. Got a phone number though.”

He read it to me. It was Susan’s.

“Put it next to the door,” I said.

He went back out and in a minute he came in with one end of a couch wrapped in plastic. At the other end was a tall thin black man who was probably Haitian. They put the couch down, the Haitian man took the plastric wrap off it. The fat guy with the hat got my signature on the slip and they left. I closed the door and looked at the couch. It was very manly looking, brass studs, dark green leather, and long. I tried stretching out on it. Nap-able. I got up and went back and looked at the weather some more. More lightning jittered past. Behind me the door opened. It was Susan wearing a scarlet silk raincoat and a big hat. She had a large bag of something with her. As soon as she got inside she turned and studied the couch.

“Cute, cute, cute, cute, cute,” she said.

“Five cutes,” I said. “You look like the rain goddess.”

“I know,” she said. “Do we love our new couch?”

“Cute, cute, cute, cute, cute,” I said.

“You’ve got the phrasing all wrong,” she said. “You pause after the second cute, then rattle off the last three rapidly.”

“I’ll work on it,” I said. “What’s in the bag?”

“Eats,” she said. “In case you’ve not had breakfast.”

“I can always use another breakfast,” I said.

“Egg salad sandwiches,” Susan said, as she took things out of the bag, and put them on my desk. “On light rye, coffee, and some adorable little Key lime cookies.”

“Excellent choices,” I said. “Why do I have a new couch in my office?”

“You need one,” Susan said.

She put napkins out and unwrapped one of the sandwiches. It was cut in quarters.

“Be nice for Pearl,” I said, “next bring your dog to work day.”

“Yes, she hates sleeping on the floor.”

“Me too,” I said. “How come you’re not working?”

“I canceled my appointments today, I thought we needed to celebrate.”

“Have I missed an anniversary date?” I said.

“No. I just think you’ve done a hell of a job in some very messy cases that your friends got you into.”

The room brightened for a moment as thunder chased lightning past the window. I had a bite of sandwich and a sip of coffee.

“You being one of the friends?” I said.

“And Hawk being the other.”

“What are friends for?”

“And Hawk’s friend got tenure?” Susan said.

“Yes.”

“And Amir whatsisname is going to jail?”

“Pretty sure. Couple of state cops found him hiding naked, trying to get out of the rain, in a culvert under 495. Soon as they got him into the car he started blaming Milo for all his troubles, and along the way confessed to everything. Which works out great because Milo is blaming everything on Amir.”

“What about Milo?” Susan said.

“He appears eager to testify against Amir, and the two security guys who tossed Prentice out the window.”

“Will he go to jail?”

“I believe him that he didn’t know about the Lamont murder,” I said. “And since it’s not illegal to be a racist gay homophobe, I assume that if the DA believes him, he’ll walk when he gets through testifying. His future as a charismatic leader seems grim, though.”

We ate a little more sandwich and watched a little more lightning and listened to a little more thunder.

“I know the meteorological explanations,” I said to Susan, “and I believe them. But it’s hard not to think of the gods during a thunderstorm.”

“I know,” she said. “And Robinson wasn’t even gay.”

“Nope.”

“But he wouldn’t say so.”

“Nope.”

“That’s either great integrity or great foolishness.”

“Integrity is often foolish,” I said.

She smiled at me and I was thrilled.

“Of course it is,” she said. “I understand from sources that KC Roth has gone back to her therapist in Providence.”

“Just needed a little professional intervention,” I said.

“Didn’t you tell me that she asked if you’d ever had sex in the office?”

“Yes.”

“And you said you didn’t want to do so on the floor, and were waiting for a couch.”

“Why yes,” I said.

Susan smiled again. Not the smile of approval, which thrilled me, but the smile of promise which could easily launch a thousand ships.

“I believe I see a pattern emerging,” I said.

“You’re a trained observer,” Susan said. “Do you mind making love after you’ve eaten?”

“After, before, during, instead of – whatever the schedule calls for.”

Susan got up and went to my door and locked it. Then she took off her raincoat and hung it on the coatrack. She took her hat off and put it on top of my file cabinet. She slipped her dress over her head, and hung it on a hanger on the rack, taking time to smooth out any wrinkles. She fluffed her hair carefully. Then she turned and smiled at me and finished undressing. She picked up the big hat and put it on.

“Shall we try the couch?” she said.

“With the hat on?” I said.

“Special effects,” Susan said.

“Works for me,” I said.

The hat was on the floor shortly after we began. The storm made the room sort of dim, except when the lightning made it brilliant. The rain was thick on the window. By the time we finished we were on the floor beside the hat.

“So much for the new couch,” I said.

Susan pressed her face into my neck as if her nose were cold.

“So much for KC Roth,” she said.

And we lay there with our arms around each other and laughed while the thunder and lightning frolicked with the rain outside.