by Gerald Elias
‘But you can’t discount all the good he’s done over the years,’ he heard someone say.
‘Excuse me,’ Sumter said. ‘I’ve invited Mr Jacobus to join us.’
‘Oh,’ said the voice.
‘Mr Jacobus, welcome,’ said another. One he recognized. Tallulah Dominguez.
‘Let me introduce you to two of our esteemed colleagues,’ she said. ‘Tanner Evans and Herman Braun. They’re both on the theory faculty.’ Dominguez pronounced the words ‘theory faculty’ with the same enthusiasm with which a Brahman would utter, ‘Untouchables.’
‘I was just saying, Mr Jacobus,’ Evans continued, ‘after all Elwood has done for the school—’
‘You mean after all the money he’s raised for Hedge,’ Sumter interrupted.
‘That’s below the belt, Lon,’ Evans said. ‘Even if he’d never raised a cent, like you, this crusade against Elwood is unseemly. But I gather Mr Jacobus would take exception with that.’
Why does everyone think I have a vendetta against Dunster? Jacobus asked himself. Dunster had a student who played poorly at my masterclass. Big deal! Dunster went to Hedge with his hurt feelings. Big deal! I once had a student who almost killed me. Now that was a big deal. Before Jacobus could respond, someone else intervened.
‘That’s not fair, Tanner!’ came the fourth voice, German-inflected, presumably Herman Braun. ‘We know all the wonderful things Elwood’s done, but there is a time that comes for everyone. That would be the case whether Mr Jacobus agreed with it or not.’
‘And what Mr Jacobus said at the masterclass was one-hundred percent right,’ Dominguez said, ‘even though it might have upset a few people. Sometimes that’s necessary.’
‘That’s not how your boyfriend felt when Elwood criticized him!’ Evans said. ‘“All glamor and no substance,” isn’t that what he said? And Lon filed a grievance for that! And you say it’s OK to hurt people’s feelings?’
‘That has nothing to do with it,’ Sumter said.
‘It doesn’t in the least,’ Dominguez agreed.
‘Why not?’
‘Because Elwood was wrong and Mr Jacobus was right,’ she said. ‘Look, Elwood is just … tired. He’s got that tremor in his hands, so he can’t play anymore. He hasn’t shown up for the last two juries.’
‘He was ill.’
‘So he says.’
‘And, besides,’ Dominguez continued, not to be dissuaded, ‘none of his students have done well in the concerto competitions. Shit, he hasn’t had a top student for years.’
‘We talk of hurting people’s feelings!’ Braun said. ‘Of saying this or that. But that’s not even the question. My dear Tanner, if we were graded on whether we hurt people’s feelings, none of us would be here! It went beyond that. The young lady, Audrey Rollins, though not the top of her class, was Elwood’s best student, and she dropped out. That’s more than hurt feelings. The question is one of Elwoods’s competence! And I say—’
Outnumbered three to one – Jacobus remained doggedly neutral – Evans was putting up a tenacious fight.
‘We do not know why the girl dropped out,’ Evans said.
‘Bah!’
‘What do you say, Mr Jacobus?’ It was Sumter.
Jacobus had hoped not to be drawn in. Where was that damn kid, Anderson, who was supposed to be his aide?
‘I do have a few questions,’ he said.
‘Yes?’ Braun asked.
‘The first one is, can someone get me a cup of coffee? I can smell some sitting here on the table and it’s driving me crazy.’
Dominguez offered to go and get it.
‘Black!’ Jacobus shouted after her.
‘Regarding Elwood Dunster,’ he remarked, ‘I’ve got nothing against the guy at all.’
‘That’s not what we heard from Connie Jean,’ Sumter said with a laugh.
‘Then you heard wrong,’ Jacobus responded, being far more polite than he would have with more familiar acquaintances. ‘As far as I’m concerned he can keep teaching until he has both feet in the grave. What I don’t understand is what’s to be gained arguing about this. Doesn’t he have tenure?’
There was a mumble of unanimous assent.
‘So he really can’t be fired in any event. Is that right?’
‘Pretty much,’ Evans admitted. ‘Of course it’s possible, but it’s unlikely. And even if he were, there’s a fairly ironclad grievance process. You’d practically have to rape a student to get fired, but at our age we have a hard enough time just getting it up.
Again unanimity. This time laughter. At least they were starting to agree with each other. But after his interchange with Mia, this casual reference to rape made Jacobus uneasy.
‘That’s why Bronto is so hot to get tenure,’ Sumter said. Again, full agreement.
‘He wants a little nookie, too?’ Braun declared with feigned innocence.
‘Like they did ‘in the old school’!’ Evans said, imitating Tawroszewicz’s East European accent.
Dominguez returned with the coffee. Jacobus took a sip and smacked his lips.
‘I heard your little boy talk behind my back,’ she said to the all-male gathering. ‘This joking about sex with students is disgusting.’
The laughter subsided quickly.
‘We didn’t mean anything,’ Evans said. ‘As you say, we were just joking.’
‘Well, don’t. But in regard to Bronto’s chances of getting tenure,’ Dominguez said, ‘they have gone down the toilet.’
‘Why is that?’ Jacobus asked.
‘Because his big ally on the faculty was Aaron Schlossberg, and now that he’s gone, the T in Mr T stands for toast.’
Yumi had said there had been a falling out between Schlossberg and Tawroszewicz, and he was about to repeat that but decided to keep his own counsel. Instead he asked, ‘What about all those favorable evaluations he got from the students?’
‘Yes, what about those evaluations?’ Braun asked rhetorically. ‘If there is anything we know about students it’s that they say one thing and write another, assuming they know how to write at all. Or is it possible they were intimidated by him? If you talk to them, which I try to avoid at all costs – they will tell you Mr T is uniformly disliked. And that is one opinion I believe is shared between the students and the faculty.’
‘Then why do you suppose Schlossberg backed him?’ Jacobus asked.
‘That was Aaron being Aaron,’ Dominguez said. ‘The iconoclast. He loved to throw his weight around. Big man on campus. The world famous artiste career-maker.’
From all four faculty members at the table, there ensued stories – ‘I swear it’s true!’ – they had heard about Schlossberg’s inexhaustible predilection for self-promotion, sometimes at the expense of unsuspecting lesser luminaries in the concert world. It was hard for Jacobus to know which were fact and which were tall tales. Maybe it didn’t matter.
‘Sounds like you’ve got no love lost,’ Jacobus concluded.
‘Well, I don’t want to speak ill of the dead—’
‘Shh!’ said Sumter. ‘Here comes Lisette.’
Dominguez whispered into Jacobus’s ear. Her breath was warm and moist, and best of all smelled like coffee. He could feel her lips near his ear. It almost felt as if she were nuzzling him.
If only I were forty years younger.
‘They say Lisette had a thing for Aaron,’ she said. ‘Unrequited love. As far as we know.’
They invited Broder to join them. The conversation returned to previous topics, though without the former heat and with nary a mention of Schlossberg. Broder had little to say except how busy she was with all the students preparing for their recitals and juries. Everyone cooed what an ideal accompanist she was.
Jacobus, impatient with the idle chatter, asked someone to phone Chase Anderson for him, but as it happened the boy was just rushing in to the cafeteria.
‘Sorry I’m late, Mr J,’ he said, breathlessly. ‘But—’
‘Never mind. Get me
back to my room or I’ll have you arrested for elder abuse. I’ve got witnesses.’
To the others he said, ‘Been a pleasure.’
When they were outside, Jacobus asked, ‘This better be good. You get the coroner’s report?’
‘Sorry. Turning out to be more difficult than I thought. Got some bureaucratic roadblocks there.’
‘So what’s the important errand you abandoned me for?’
‘It’s just as good. I think. When you were at Chops I heard you mention that violin student you’re interested in had a boyfriend named Lucien. And since 4C is the biggest school in the county, I just trolled their online website to check student rosters and see if he might be enrolled there.’
‘But we don’t even know his last name.’
‘We didn’t, but I figured how many Luciens could there be? It took a little longer because I didn’t have the last name, but turns out there’s only one Lucien. Lucien Knotts.’
It made sense to Jacobus. Mia had told him that Audrey’s boyfriend ‘was a student somewhere.’
‘What does he study?’ Jacobus asked. ‘He in your department?’
‘Nah. He’s a hospitality management major.’
‘What’s a hospitality major? He tells Grandma how to cut the cake?’
‘Sort of. Restaurant business. Or hotels. Boring stuff like that.’
‘There an address for Mr Hospitality?’
‘Two thirty-four Steamboat Road. I know where that is. I bet we’ll find that violin student there.’
They first went back to the inn to connect with Lilburn, but he was still out and about. Jacobus left a message at the desk for Lilburn: Don’t need a ride. Staying in the area. Call me. As anxious as Jacobus was to leave Kinderhoek Conservatory, he felt it was important to seek closure with Audrey Rollins and to understand what had prompted her sudden about-face. If it had indeed been his fault – something he increasingly doubted – he wanted to set the record straight, if not make amends.
Next came the logistical problem of what to do with the wheelchair. Anderson drove a dilapidated AMC Gremlin with hardly enough room in the trunk to stash a wheel, let alone a wheelchair. They decided to leave the wheelchair at the inn. If it became necessary for Jacobus to walk, he could lean on Anderson. He took his cane with him for added stability, not that it would help a helluva lot.
Steamboat Road, a twenty-minute drive from Kinnetonka Crossing, paralleled the Hudson River. Though the potholed road wasn’t more than fifty feet from the riverbank, there was so much overgrown brush and scrub forest between the road and river that the mile-wide Hudson was generally invisible. A short row of three- and four-story semi-occupied brick apartment buildings lining Steamboat Road, which included Knotts’s address, was an unlikely sight in such a non-urban setting. The structures had seen better times during the nineteenth and into the twentieth centuries, when towns along the Hudson had used the river as a highway for transporting manufactured goods. Now the factories were gone and the main commercial use for the river was waste disposal. Some of the towns were beginning to reinvent themselves as historic tourist destinations, antique centers or, in Kinnetonka Crossing’s case, by hitching its wagon to the music conservatory. Municipalities unable to make the transition vanished into the woodwork. But these particular apartments had seemed to be recovering from the worst times because, as Anderson described to Jacobus, the paint job appeared relatively recent, the windows had been replaced, and there were new solid wooden landings. Clearly, 4C’s presence was having its own positive economic impact on the area.
Chase parked the car in front of 234 and advised Jacobus to ‘chill’ while he went to check if Audrey and Lucien were in. Jacobus turned on the radio and, shunning the unpalatable, preprogrammed rock-and-roll station whose bass line shook the car, turned the dial. He finally found WAMC-FM, which was in the midst of yet another fund drive. Giving up, he turned off the radio, lowered the window, and inhaled the not-particularly pleasant odor of the Hudson River on the warm, spring afternoon. Jacobus heard Anderson knock on the apartment door, ring the bell, and knock again. That folk singer who lived by the Hudson, Pete Seeger, had been knocking his head against the wall to get the government to force the river’s corporate polluters to clean it up. Like the first generation at the Kinderhoek Settlement, Seeger had been a lefty. Maybe they had played music with each other. Seeger had stood up to the McCarthy inquisitors in the fifties. Good luck to him cleaning up the river, Jacobus thought. He’ll need it.
A few minutes later Jacobus heard Anderson’s returning footsteps, slower than before. They sounded resigned.
‘They’re gone,’ Anderson said.
‘So I gathered. Leave a note.’
‘No. I mean I think they’re really gone. For good. Their apartment was One-B, in the basement. I rang the buzzer and there was no answer, so I looked through the window.’
‘Empty?’
‘No. There’s still furniture there.’
‘So what makes you think they’re gone?’
‘It looks like a furnished apartment, like the one I’m living in. But there’re no books or records or magazines. No clothes or food or personal stuff.’
‘Violin?’
‘Didn’t see one.’
‘Well, Sherlock, what do you propose we do?’ Jacobus asked.
‘The landlord’s phone number was on the mailbox.’
‘You’ve got a cellphone?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Call him.’
‘Can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘No bars out here.’
‘Why the hell do you need to go to a bar to make a damn phone call?’
‘No! Not that kind of bar. Bars on the phone. There’s no phone reception out here. We’ll have to go into town.’
It was evening by the time they returned to the Campus Inn. Anderson retrieved the wheelchair from the hotel lobby, hoisted Jacobus, cursing, from the car into it, and wheeled him into the lobby. Jacobus called the Steamboat Road apartment landlord, who was surprised and aggravated to hear that his tenants might have cleared out. They had been paying their rent on time, he said, but he hadn’t received any notice they were planning to leave, and they owed him next month’s rent. No, he had no idea where the hell they might have absconded to, and requested to be informed when someone found out. Renting to students was ‘a pain in the rectum,’ he said. At least he had a month’s rent as a security deposit, but it would be a bitch to find a new tenant with only six weeks left in the school year. He hung up energetically, as if that would solve his problem.
The desk clerk gave Jacobus a message that Martin Lilburn had called and wanted to know if Jacobus was interested in comparing notes over dinner at Chops. Jacobus, weighing his fatigue after a long day against the allure of dining with Lilburn and Anderson, had no difficulty declining the invitation. He did, however, have Anderson call Lilburn and arrange to meet for breakfast at eight o’clock, and told the desk he wanted a wake-up call at seven. Anderson wheeled Jacobus up the elevator and into his room. Before he left, Jacobus gave him a computer assignment to find out who Lucien Knotts’s professors were. Maybe one of them would know why he had left and where he might have gone.
‘Cool!’ Anderson said. ‘You’d make a good detective, too.’
Jacobus kicked the door shut. With his good foot.
Jacobus could think of any number of reasons why the two students had moved. Maybe they couldn’t pay their rent. Maybe the boyfriend got a job somewhere so they both decided to drop out. Maybe he got her pregnant. Such things did happen. Maybe, maybe, maybe. He admitted to himself he was just pretending. He was considering those maybes only because he was troubled by what he really thought: that there was a link between the party where so many had gotten sick and the disappearance of Audrey Rollins and Lucien Knotts. The two of them were there, working, at that party. They could have been the same two people Jacobus had heard in the woods, though even if he heard Knotts’s voice now, he stil
l might not be sure. But what he was sure of was the disastrous masterclass the next day. And then Audrey Rollins dropped out and vanished.
Before he went to sleep he called Yumi and asked her to have a heart-to-heart with Mia Cheng. He sensed turbulence lurking beneath the surface with Cheng. Yumi, her teacher, would have more success unearthing it than he would. Jacobus was always bemused by the ease with which students confided in their teachers. How they always assumed the teacher had only their best interests at heart. How there was an assumed bond of trust that, curiously, was sometimes stronger than the bond that existed between the students and their own parents. He supposed that that was a good thing, for the most part. Depended on the teacher.
Jacobus lay cautiously on his back, inhaled deeply several times, and probed his chest. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he speculated that the X-rays had been mistaken. Even so, he didn’t sleep well.
SIXTEEN
Wednesday, April 1
The wake-up call came at seven, but without Chase Anderson to help Jacobus into his wheelchair. Jacobus tried again to put weight on his ankle, but the pain was still severe and, in any event, he wasn’t sure where the hell the wheelchair was. He was not inclined to explore. Instead, he sat in his boxer shorts at the side of the bed and fumed.
Finally, there was a knock on the door, which, by agreement, Jacobus had left unlocked.
‘Where the hell you been?’
‘April Fools?’ Anderson replied sheepishly.
‘What time is it?’
‘Quarter of eight, I think,’ Anderson said. ‘Sorry I’m late, but I got something for you.’
‘Would it be a broken alarm clock?’
‘Better, a folding wheelchair! I “borrowed” it from the hospital. We can go anywhere now.’
Jacobus thought about complimenting Anderson on his resourcefulness but wasn’t in the mood yet.
‘I also brought someone who might help with our investigation,’ Anderson continued.
‘Our. Investigation!’ Jacobus said. ‘For your information, there is no “investigation” and there is no “our.” Got that? Who did you bring? I don’t hear anybody with you.’
