Long Knives

by Charles Rosenberg

  “No.”

  “It’s a good solution, Jenna. It seems likely that within an academic year the answer to who murdered Giordano—assuming he didn’t kill himself—and what happened to the map will be resolved, and you can come back. Plus all the students who are here now will be gone.”

  “No.”

  “I’m also sure I can arrange a research grant of some kind so you can return to Florence and do more research on old documents.”

  “It was Seville, which is in an entirely different country, but in any case the answer is still no.”

  “I think you’re making a mistake.”

  “Let me ask you a question, Dean. Do you think there’s actually a scary atmosphere in the school?”

  “The charge says ‘frightening atmosphere,’ but I guess the way I’d put it is that there has been some disquiet.”

  “I haven’t noticed it.”

  “You wouldn’t because no one is going to confront you about it. I mean, have you noticed any faculty dropping by your office lately? Or calling you up to arrange a lunch?”

  “No, but…”

  “Please consider my offer.”

  “I’ve considered it and rejected it.”

  “Then we’ll have to go to the next step.”

  “Which is what, a hearing before the Committee on Privilege and Tenure?”

  “No, here at UCLA we have something called the Charges Committee, where grievances have to go first. They’re much more informal than P&T. They act something like a grand jury. If they think there’s probable cause that the grievance is valid, they pass it on to P&T, which holds its own, more formal hearing.”

  “Does the Charges Committee also consider whether the type of charge is even a valid one for them to consider? I mean, are they going to explore whether I killed him and stole the map or just whether there’s been disruption on the campus, even if the charge is bogus?”

  “I think they consider whatever they want to consider. Like I said, it’s very informal.”

  “This is all insane, and you could put an end to it if you wanted to, Matt.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve looked at the rules and consulted counsel, and I don’t think there’s any way to just dump Professor Broontz’s grievance in my wastebasket if she wants to push forward with it. The committee may dismiss it out of hand, but that’s up to them.”

  “You could try to persuade Professor Broontz to withdraw her grievance.”

  “She’s already met with the required prehearing counselor, who couldn’t dissuade her. And then she met with me, and I failed, too.”

  “There must be another way.”

  “Not that I can find.”

  “I think there would be if you really wanted to find one.”

  “That is so untrue.”

  I hung up without saying good-bye. One of the things that’s unsatisfying about cell phones is that you can’t slam the receiver down in anger. I looked around for a sheet of paper, found one and began folding it. When I finished—I got it folded over five times, with reasonably crisp edges—I went online, ordered a copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and had it sent to the dean via overnight delivery, with a fancy gift card that said “NO.”

  CHAPTER 70

  I called Oscar and confirmed that he was in his office. “I’m coming over there,” I said. I listened. “No, right now. I’ll tell you when I get there. There have been some developments. I’m too angry right now to discuss it. I’ll cool down on the ride over.”

  I went to Lot 3, got in my car and headed to Venice, trying hard to obey the speed limit. Before I left I had printed out the University Academic Personnel Manual, the bylaws of the Academic Senate and the special procedures for hearings before the UCLA Charges Committee. Running collectively to hundreds of pages, they sat in a loose stack beside me, sloshing around on the seat as I accelerated and decelerated.

  Oscar answered the door only a few seconds after I knocked. He was a bit more formally dressed than I had been used to seeing him of late. He was wearing a very nice white dress shirt and a red tie of an obviously expensive make.

  “Are you okay, Jenna? You didn’t sound like yourself on the phone.”

  “I’m not myself. I’m living inside some kind of insane asylum.”

  “Do you want a drink?”

  “Yes, but I’m not going to have one.”

  “All right, take a seat at the table and tell me what’s happened.”

  I sat down, tossed the stack of paper on the table and explained it to him.

  When I was done, he said, “Show me the key portions of these various regulations.”

  “Do you have some Post-its?”

  “I used to avoid them as too modern, but yes.” He rummaged in a drawer under the table and handed me a pad of purple Post-its.

  “Purple, Oscar?”

  “Nice color, eh?”

  “Sort of.”

  I sat for a few minutes, while Oscar watched, marking off the various sections of the rules I thought applied. I handed the pages to him and he, in turn, began to read what I had marked.

  “Do you have a coffeepot?” I asked.

  “Sure. It’s on the counter in the kitchen. The coffee is up above, in the first cabinet to the right of the sink. It’s probably not up to your standards.”

  “Anything will do.”

  While Oscar reviewed the documents, I made coffee and watched it drip into the pot for a while, then decided that standing there was too much like being an addict. I went back to the big room with the table.

  Oscar slapped down the last of the documents, indicating he’d read what he wanted to read. “Obviously,” he said, “this Broontz person is a stalking horse for the dean.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “These rules aren’t designed for the type of dispute that’s going on here. Indeed, one part of them seems to say that they’re not to be used to determine criminal behavior.”

  “Right, so why does that make Professor Broontz a stalking horse?”

  “I mean only that if the dean wanted to put a stop to this, he could no doubt tell Professor Broontz to cool it, he’d deal with it some other way. Or he’d call the chair of this so-called Charges Committee and tell him to get around to this issue sometime after the Olympics come to Los Angeles again.”

  “That’s not how the university works.”

  “Not how it works on paper. I’m betting that’s how it works in reality.”

  “I really don’t know. Up until now I haven’t had to deal with any of this stuff.”

  Oscar got up and began to pace back and forth in front of the windows, which looked out across several blocks of rooftops to the ocean. “Jenna, do you think there has actually been disruption at the law school as a result of this?”

  “I don’t really think so. I mean, I’m sure people gossip about it. Who wouldn’t? But there’s really not very much information out there. There hasn’t been much in the papers, the coroner’s report hasn’t been issued and there’s been no memorial service for Primo.”

  “What about the police investigation? Has that been disruptive?”

  “I don’t know who they’ve interviewed, so maybe they’ve talked to a lot of people and that’s generated gossip.”

  “Do you think parents have been calling the dean?”

  “Not likely. We’re not a college, and most of these kids are at least in their early to midtwenties.”

  Oscar stopped pacing, leaned back against the windowsill and folded his arms. “What do you think we should do, Jenna?”

  “I think we should go to court and try to enjoin this procedure.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “Well, even if you do figure it out, I think it’s gonna fail. Courts don’t like to intervene in the internal affairs of universities, especially when you haven’t exhausted every step you can take within the university.”

  “Like what, Osca
r?”

  “Like going through with this hearing process. A court is likely to say, ‘Well, this Charges Committee is like a grand jury. You don’t even know if they’re going to indict you and pass it on to Privilege and Tenure. So you don’t know if this is really going to end your job. Come back if and when that happens.’”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “So, my friend, I think we should instead treat this as an opportunity.”

  I cocked my head. “To do what?”

  “If I read these rules correctly, Jenna, we get to call witnesses in your defense, right?”

  “Apparently.”

  “And we can call anyone we want?”

  “I guess. Or at least anyone who’ll come. There’s no subpoena power.”

  “So, unlike in your usual criminal case,” he said, “we can use this to do discovery, not only on the crime—of which you’re no longer suspected—but on the missing map suit, which is the only thing still pending against you. We can address the issue of who besides you could have stolen that map.”

  “Since you think the police aren’t pursuing me anymore, Oscar, shouldn’t we just let the whole thing lie?”

  “That’s a reasonable question and a good one,” he said.

  “Well,” I responded, “while you ponder the answer to it, I’m going to see if the coffee is finished. Do you want some?”

  “No.”

  “Be right back.” I went into the kitchen and looked for the largest mug Oscar owned. I found an oversize one in the cupboard to the left of the stove, filled it to the brim and took it back with me to the big room.

  “Welcome back,” Oscar said. “I see you’ve acquired a supply of your drug of choice.”

  “I have. Now what about my question?”

  “Right. You asked should we just let it lie. I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “The police have said they’re leaving the investigation open, which means you’re always going to be at least slightly at risk. Broontz is therefore right on one level. This will disrupt the life of Professor Jenna James—that’s you—for a long time unless and until they find the real killer. Who’s going to give you tenure while there’s any suspicion at all hanging over you?”

  Oscar was right. Indeed, just as he said it, my cell phone beeped that an e-mail marked urgent had arrived. I clicked it open. It was from the dean and said that with the approval of the chancellor he was “suspending my tenure application indefinitely pending further notice.” It cited as authority numerous provisions of the Academic Personnel Manual and told me how to appeal his decision if I didn’t like it.

  “What was that?” Oscar asked.

  “A love note from the dean. Saying my tenure application is suspended. Let’s go with your strategy. Where do we start?”

  “Let’s look up which faculty members are on this Charges Committee.”

  I put my notebook computer on the table and looked up the current members of the UCLA Charges Committee as Oscar stood behind me. There were twelve of them listed.

  “I don’t assume,” Oscar said, “that all twelve of them sit and hear each matter.”

  “No, the rule says only that there have to be at least three faculty on each case. It also says they can’t be from the same department as the person who’s filing the charge or the person who’s charged. So the two law profs on this list won’t be among the three. Maybe the chair of the committee gets to pick the others.”

  “And the chair,” Oscar said, “is a medical school professor named Rex Wing.” He reached out to the touch pad and clicked on Wing’s CV. “Wow, he’s eighty years old.”

  “Maybe he’s a retired faculty member,” I said.

  Oscar peered at the screen. “No, apparently not. He’s still actively practicing medicine. And he’s a proctologist.”

  “How appropriate,” I said.

  CHAPTER 71

  Oscar pointed to one of the papers lying on the table, which was stickered with one of the purple Post-its. “If you look at Rule 62”—he stabbed at it with his finger—“it says that the Charges Committee procedure is informal.”

  “Right.”

  “Let’s call Dr. Wing. See what he has to say.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. I regard systems of rules as things to be used and manipulated to the benefit of my client. If the rules call for informality, fine. I can work with that.” As he said it, he unbuttoned his collar, pulled his tie askew and rolled up his sleeves. “Wing’s direct-line number,” he continued, “is right here on his CV.”

  Oscar punched the speakerphone button on the handset and dialed Dr. Wing’s number. It was picked up on the second ring.

  “Rex Wing here,” the voice said. It was a rich baritone, betraying not a hint of age.

  “Dr. Wing, this is Oscar Quesana. I’m the attorney for Professor Jenna James. I have my speakerphone on. Professor James is sitting here beside me.”

  “Charmed to meet you both, Mr. Quesana. What can I do for you?”

  “Professor James has just received from the law school dean a copy of the grievance—or charge, I’m not sure exactly which it is—that was filed by Professor Broontz.”

  “I just got that grievance yesterday myself. Peculiar one. Not the dean. The charge.”

  “Well, since the procedure is informal, I wondered if I could come over and talk with you about the whole thing.”

  “No reason why not. Bring Professor James with you, if you like.”

  “I may well do that.”

  “Out of curiosity, Mr. Quesana, is your goal to get the Charges Committee to dismiss the whole thing?”

  “That would work.”

  “We might just be willing. The entire matter sounds like something to be handled by the police. Of course, it’s also up to the other two professors who are going to be on the panel.”

  “Do you know yet who they’ll be?”

  “Oh, sure. There aren’t many available right now. Several of our roster are off campus on sabbatical, and we have to ex-out the two law profs. That leaves us with five people to choose from, in addition to me. I’ve already put in a call to two of them—who were chosen by lot—and they’ve both accepted.”

  “Who are they?”

  “One is Paul Trolder. He’s an economist. Very good insights, that guy. And easygoing. I like my panels to be laid-back.”

  “And the other?”

  “Samantha Healey. She’s a philosopher. Kind of an odd duck, that one. Never says much. Mutual friends tell me she thinks deep thoughts. Maybe she does, but at the very least she doesn’t get in the way of smooth sailing.”

  “Thanks,” Oscar said, as I madly looked up Trolder and Healey to see what I could learn about them.

  “Well, Mr. Quesana, when would you and Professor James like to come over and visit with me? I think a prompt sit-down with both sides would be useful in getting into the bone and sinew of this whole thing.”

  “How about tomorrow, Doctor?”

  “Hmm. I have procedures scheduled tomorrow and the next day. How about in about an hour? I’m just doing billing today, and a whole bunch of other boring administrative garbage that takes me away from both teaching and the practice of medicine. This sounds a heap more interesting.”

  I looked at Oscar and started vigorously shaking my head back and forth in a big no.

  “I think that sounds perfect, Dr. Wing. We’ll try to be there in about an hour. Can you tell us which building you’re in and your office number?”

  He told us and then hung up.

  “Hey,” I said, “I was trying to signal you to say no about meeting today. It’s way too early.”

  “Sometimes, Jenna, clients don’t get to make all the decisions. Doing it now gets informal rolling. We may never get another chance, and I’m going to take advantage of it. I’m planning to use informality in a proctological fashion on your friend Professor Broontz, and on your dean as well.”

  An unladylik
e image popped into my head but quickly dissipated.

  Oscar went back to his chair at the end of the table while I worked the keyboard. After a few minutes, I said, “Oscar, I’ve looked up the details on all three of those people. Trolder, the economist, has a CV that’s mostly just his economics articles over the years. Nothing relevant to law or dispute resolution. No picture. I’d guess from his CV that he’s in his fifties. U of Chicago undergrad, grad work at Yale.”

  “High-floor universities.”

  I ignored the comment and said, “He doesn’t, so far as I can find, have a Facebook page.”

  “What about Healey, the philosopher?”

  “Lots of philosophy articles on her CV, including one called—get this—Deep Philosophy among Indigenous Tribes in the Basin of the Orinoco. There’s a fuzzy picture on her Facebook page of her standing next to a guy who’s decked out in feathers. I’m guessing she’s about my age, but it’s hard to say what she actually looks like because she’s wearing baggy tropical fatigues and high jungle boots and most of her head is covered with some kind of mosquito thing. Can’t say how old the guy beside her is, although he’s not wearing much beyond a loincloth and the feathers.”

  Oscar got up again and came around to stand behind me so he could see my computer screen. “Huh,” he said, “that’s really something. The feathered guy must be the philosopher. I gotta read that article.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Hell yes. When I’m in front of a new judge, Jenna, I try to read everything they’ve written. Especially if it’s weird. Most judges actually wanted to be something else, and if you can find out what that something was by reading their writings, you can get ahead with them. What did you find out about our chairman, Dr. Wing?”

  “He’s been connected to UCLA like forever. He did his undergrad work and med school there, then his internship, residency and fellowship. He started as an assistant prof right out of the fellowship and is still here as a full professor of medicine.”

  “So Dr. Wing’s been at UCLA since he was eighteen.”

  “Seems like,” I said, “and it also mentions that he went to University High School, which is in West LA, about a mile-and-a-half away as the crow flies.”