Before now, no man had ever frightened her this much. True, she had been cautious, especially in Boston. But the men she’d spent time with were decent guys. One had asked for sex a little too soon, but backed off when she denied him. She had never felt so much at risk after the walk to the lake and the hurried return. The man practically dragging her back to the house convinced her of his physical strength and his determination.
The lake was his. All the land around the lake was his. But there was no high fence on the lake side of the house. And lakes attract people just like those two men she had seen in the rowboat. That was the way to go. Even if all the land was his. Even if there were more fences further out. The lake was her best chance. Tomorrow, she would wait until he had left for work and then do her best to break through the brick wall and head for the lake.
She was a good swimmer as well as a good runner. Running in place made too much noise on the wooden floor, so she knelt down knowing she could still do push-ups and sit-ups at night without his hearing her.
Chapter 23
Walking back from the policy committee meeting, my thoughts returned to Jamie and I wondered if Shelby Vane could be involved. He matched the description of the man who’d gone into Jamie’s apartment.
He’d asked to be on the committee even though the topic would inevitably be painful for him. But the attorney said his brother had been ruined, devastating the family. Would it be possible for him to kidnap a female student after what happened to his brother? What would’ve been his motive?
I stopped on the path, realizing I was short of breath. Dr. Shelby Vane might be the least likely suspect. But then I remembered how I had been fooled before. After last year, someone I trusted, a person I would never have suspected of harming another human being, was now in prison.
Perhaps, after all, I should suspect a big man in boots and I should definitely talk to Joe about Shelby.
It was dark by the time I reached the journalism school. I was about to enter the building when I heard a shout from the direction of the parking lot behind the school.
“Damn you, George. Goddamn you.”
I rushed around to the back of the building and arrived in time to see two figures illuminated by the parking lot lights. The men were fighting, fists flailing, shouting at the top of their lungs.
“You miserable piece of shit. How dare you come to my house and bother my wife.’’ The larger man landed a punch on the shorter man’s face. The short man hit the ground, but bounded back up again and plunged head first into the larger man’s stomach. George and Larry. Oh, no.
George pushed Larry hard, and again, the smaller man hit the ground. George stepped back and shouted, “Don’t you ever come to my home and talk to my wife again, Coleman. I’ll put you in the hospital next time.”
Larry got to his feet unsteadily. “You destroyed my chances with the conference, you bastard. You knew how important it was to me and you wrecked it. For no reason except to make my life miserable. You’re a sadist, Weinstein, a fucking sadist. That’s what I said to your wife, and she didn’t seem to be a bit surprised.”
I started toward the two men, hoping to intervene. But George came at Larry again, fist raised. I heard the crack of bone against bone.
Larry Coleman lay on the ground, his ear bleeding, his chest heaving.
George glanced in my direction, then wiped spit from his chin. “You had no business saying any such thing to my wife. You’re done, Coleman. I don’t care what Red says, you’re done. I’m going to see you leave this university even if you have to go out feet first.” George turned on his heel and headed for his car.
Larry Coleman tried to get up but only made it to his knees. I hurried toward him to help. Larry swayed and struggled to get something from his pocket. A flash of metal and I saw the gun illuminated by the overhead lights. George Weinstein had reached his car a few feet away and opened the car door.
“Weinstein!” Larry came up on one knee and shouted as he raised his hand. George turned toward us. The sound of the gunshot deadened my hearing. We all froze in place. George’s eyes grew wide as a small bloodstain slowly formed under his collar. His fingers gripped the top of his car door, then slowly uncurled and let go. His massive body slid to the ground.
I reached Larry and grabbed his arm. He lowered the gun but did not drop it. “Jesus, Larry, what are you doing?”
“He tried to ruin my career too many times. He’s threatened me once too often. This time was the last straw.” Larry spoke to the asphalt without looking at me.
I hurried to George who was seated on the ground against the driver’s seat of his car, his head back, his hand over the hole in his chest. “George. I’m calling an ambulance. Stay still.”
But George didn’t respond, and as I dialed 911 on my cell phone, I realized he was losing consciousness.
Larry came up behind me. “Is he dead?”
I turned. Larry was white as paper and trembling, blood streaming from the side of his face where George’s last blow had landed. He still held the gun in his hand. “I don’t know. Why did you do this?”
Larry’s breathing was fast and shallow. “I went to his house to make him take back what he did. Get my paper reinstated in the conference. To make him promise to leave me alone. His wife said he wasn’t there. I went crazy. I screamed at her about George. She shut the door on me so I came back here to the school.” For the first time Larry looked directly at me. “To see you, Red. But you weren’t here either.”
“What happened?”
“That son of a bitch came to my office. He went behind my desk and grabbed my arms and pulled me over my desk and through the door. I shouted for help but he dragged me down the stairs and out here. He punched me in the stomach, then again in the face. He said he was going to teach me a lesson.” Larry started to hyperventilate, then stopped, licked his lips and looked down at George who was now lying on his side. Larry gasped. “Hah! Looks like I’m the one who taught him a lesson.”
The sound of sirens caught his attention. “Red, you have to help me out on this. You of all people know what a bad guy Weinstein is. How he bullies and bullies, how he destroys.” Larry’s face was covered in sweat. He grabbed my arm. “Red. You gotta help me on this. Weinstein deserved it. He was going to beat me to death.”
He put the gun back in his jacket pocket and put his face in his hands, sobbing.
An ambulance pulled into the parking lot followed by a police car. The paramedics raced to George, who had toppled over and lay on his side.
“Is he alive?” I asked the medic nearest me.
“Barely,” said the man, working quickly over George’s body.
Another police car pulled into the lot. I saw Joe running toward me. An officer ahead of him wrenched the gun from Larry’s pocket and threw his hands behind his back. Then Joe’s hands were on my shoulders, his eyes searching me. “Are you all right? What in Christ’s name happened?” Then he released me and stepped back. “Did you get hurt?” His voice was low thunder.
“I’m fine, Joe. I’m not hurt. But I saw it. I got here just before Coleman fired the gun.”
“Tell him, Red,” Larry screamed as two police officers pulled him away and handcuffed him. “Tell them what a bastard Weinstein was and how he hit me first. Tell them about the threats he made. It was self-defense. You saw it. Tell them.”
Joe’s hand went into his pocket for his notebook. “Did you see it well enough to know if it was self-defense?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure. They were fighting. George did hit Larry and knock him down. But...” I had to stop and catch my breath. Joe put one hand on my shoulder to steady me. I watched as Larry was put into the back of the first patrol car. Then the paramedics lifted George, put him on a gurney and wheeled him to the ambulance. “But George was walking away when Larry called out to him and fired the gun.”
“So you can’t say it was self-defense?”
“More like retaliation.”
Joe looked at the ambulance as the paramedics lifted George’s body up. We both watched the ambulance pull out of the parking lot, sirens whooping.
Joe moved closer. “You have always worried about those two, haven’t you? You said you were afraid something God-awful was going to happen.”
“And now it has.”
Jamie
Jamie was almost asleep when she heard the door at the other end of the hall close. Then his steps in the hallway and down the stairs. She got up and went to the window. She couldn’t see his car but she heard the engine start. For the first time, he’d left the house at night.
She dressed quickly and waited for what felt like an hour. When she didn’t hear the sound of his car on the gravel driveway, she crept downstairs and turned on the light in the front hallway. The front door was padlocked but the door to the empty room was still unlocked.
She grabbed the skillet, the spoon and a large flashlight and hurried to the closet. The ironing board was still in place concealing the hole in the wall. She pulled it away and braced it against the opposite wall and went to work on the hole in the plaster. It was almost large enough for her to squeeze through. The flashlight revealed the studs and bricks beyond. The uprights were close together but she thought she could squeeze through. She struck the brick with the skillet. It didn’t budge. She hit again and again, the clang of the skillet ringing in her ears with each strike. She stopped to rest her arm and catch her breath. She had been working for a long time. She ducked out of the closet to see if it was still nighttime. It was dark as pitch outside, so back she went to her work.
After what felt like an eternity she kneeled on the floor and scanned the brick wall with her flashlight. She found three bricks that had loosened enough to push out. She inhaled the fresh night air coming in through the hole. She was exhausted but worried if she stopped he would find the bricks on the grass outside and discover her escape plan. She bowed her head. Please, God, give me the strength to keep going. I have to get out of here. Her arms ached but she stood and lifted the skillet. It felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds. She struck the wall again. And again. And again. Tears streamed down her face. Two other bricks flew out. She struck again.
Chapter 24
I knew I would have to call the university president, Philip Lewis, even though he was ill and probably in bed. He would call the head of campus security, the provost, the university attorney, and heaven knows who else, and they would all likely converge on the school.
Joe arrived five minutes before the others after taking George’s wife to the hospital to be with her husband.
“How is she? Hysterical?” I asked.
“Not at all. In fact, remarkably calm for a woman whose husband has just been shot in the chest.”
“I should call her.”
“I told her we’d go to the hospital later tonight after you met with the administration.” Joe put his arms around me and held me silently for a moment. “Remember, you’re strong, Red. You’ll get through this mess too.”
Noise in the outer hallway sent me to the door and Joe into Nell’s office to make phone calls.
We gathered around the table in my office. Philip Lewis looked awful. Pale and shaky, he had gone from thin to skeletal. His disease was wasting him. I felt so sorry to drag him out. He reached out a thin hand and put it over mine. “Well, my dear, I guess our troubles continue after all.”
I put my hand over his. “President Lewis, I can’t tell you how sorry I am this happened. I have been trying so hard to keep the old quarrel between Coleman and Weinstein tamped down. I’m afraid I have failed you, the school, and the university.”
Philip Lewis gave my hand a squeeze. “Red, you can’t take responsibility for this. It’s not your fault at all. You’ve made great progress pulling this faculty together. But sometimes the animus between individuals erupts into violence, no matter how hard we try to prevent it. It’s not the first time for this campus, and, I regret to say, probably not the last.” He withdrew his hand from mine to cover his mouth as a wracking cough shook his frail shoulders.
The university attorney took out a notebook. “We will probably see national media coverage on this. I should prepare a statement.”
The provost sat silent, hands folded on the table. I could hardly look at him.
This would be the last straw. There would be no doubt in his mind I was unqualified to lead, to manage the problems of a group of faculty, to prevent scandal and protect my school. After this, there was no way he would give me the chance to be dean of journalism.
The chief of campus security turned to me. “Please tell us what you know from the beginning.”
When I finished with the details of what I knew, Ezra McCready spoke. “Dr. Solaris, you say that Coleman went to Weinstein’s house and then returned here when Weinstein’s wife said her husband was not at home.”
“Yes. That’s what he told me, and my assistant had told me earlier that Larry had gone to George’s.”
McCready stretched his arms and massaged his hands. “And then Coleman told you that Weinstein had come to his office, grabbed him by the arms and dragged him downstairs and out to the parking lot?”
“That’s what Larry said.”
Without looking up from his notes, the attorney said, “And you saw Weinstein strike Coleman and knock him to the ground?”
“Twice.”
McCready flashed a look of irritation at the attorney. “Please don’t interrupt.” Then back to me: “Dr. Solaris, did Coleman tell you how he got hold of the gun before being dragged outside?”
The security chief’s chin lifted. “Good question, Dr. McCready. How did Coleman have time to get the gun?”
I shook my head.
McCready looked at me, his eyes dark, steady, and unreadable. “Perhaps Coleman had the gun with him the entire time.”
“Took it with him to Weinstein’s house and then kept it on him,” said the chief.
McCready looked steadily at the chief. “There’s really no way for any of us to know that, chief. And we shouldn’t speculate.” He turned to me. “You’ve had a rough time with these two, haven’t you?” The look in his eyes was borderline sympathetic. “The president’s right. You have no reason to apologize, Dean Solaris. This was a deplorable incident, but the fault lies entirely with Weinstein and Coleman.”
I felt a twinge of gratitude to finally get McCready’s support, quickly followed by a pain in my stomach. If Larry had the gun the whole time, perhaps he’d intended to kill George when he went to the Weinstein’s house. If George died, Larry would be charged with premeditated murder.
Philip Lewis had recovered his breath. “The detective we saw in the outer office. Is he on the case?”
I nodded. Joe was always on the case when it came to my university. He was chief of detectives, and Mountain West was the biggest institution in Landry.
As if summoned by the mention of his presence, Joe knocked on the door and came in. “Sorry to interrupt, but I just spoke to the doctor at the hospital. George Weinstein is alive but critical. He’s been taken into surgery.”
Jamie
She smelled the liquor before she sensed him standing behind her. His hands slammed down on her shoulders. Jamie was frozen in place, still facing the hole in the plaster wall.
“Put the skillet down very carefully,” he said, his voice almost a whisper in her ear, the smell of liquor close to her face. “You have been a very disobedient girl, Jamie Congers.” His hands still on her shoulders, he turned her around and led her out of the closet. Then he grabbed the back of her neck and pushed her back upstairs. He opened her bedroom door and continued pushing her through the door of her bedroom. His hand was tight and painful around her neck. Jamie was sure he meant to hurt her. He sho
ved her hard. She fell across the middle of the bed on her stomach, arms outstretched, legs hanging over the edge. She closed her eyes listening to his labored breathing.
Several minutes passed. Then she heard the scuff of his shoes on her floor, the closing of her door, the click of the dead bolt being locked.
Silence.
Then she heard the thud of his steps going down the hall to his room.
Minutes later, she emerged from a daze of relief to the rhythmic banging of a hammer pounding nails into wood, the sound muted but coming from the empty room downstairs.
Chapter 25
The journalism faculty filed slowly into the conference room on the third floor. I stood at the end of the table, waiting for everyone to arrive. Our graphics teacher, Phyllis Baker, walked over and put her arms around me. “Oh, Red. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe it.”
Outside the conference room windows we could hear the babble of the media that gathered at the entrance. Cameras clicked and reporters thrust microphones into faces, shouting their questions while tugging on sleeves.
Police kept the media outside, but the inevitable noise seeped through.
“How’s George?” asked Edwin Cartwell, running his thin hand over his even thinner sandy hair. Edwin had been George’s close friend and ally last year, but the two seemed to have drawn apart.
“In recovery,” I said, and turned to the faculty and staff members at the table. Some seated. Some standing. Two or three in tears. Not, I thought, because George Weinstein was beloved, or even liked, but because violence begets the nerve-wracking anxiety that brings us to tears.
I started without a greeting. “George Weinstein is in recovery. His condition is critical, bordering on grave, and it’s too soon to tell whether or not he’ll pull out of this, and if he does, what shape he’ll be in.” My words seemed rushed and absent of compassion. “I spent a little time with his wife last night while George was in surgery. Dorothy was quiet, probably in shock, but she seemed to be holding up as well as can be expected. I am sure she will welcome cards and letters, but I think phone calls should wait a while until we know more.”
Red Solaris Mystery Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 37
