One Dead Dean

by Crider, Bill

  Wayne walked over to the kitchen stove. "It's really sad," he said, "that so many accidents happen in the home, quite a few in the kitchen, actually."

  "Arson in . . . ves . . . ti . . . gation," Burns said.

  "Yes, well, I suspect that there's hardly enough of the Administration Building left to give them much of a clue, though they know I was in Main, thanks to you. And I'll just say that all the fires are the product of some vicious mind attempting to get revenge on my father for some imagined slight. Almost anyone would believe that, don't you think."

  Burns didn't try to answer.

  "Dr. Burns," Wayne said. "Burns. What an appropriate name. I can see the headlines now: 'BURNS BURNS.' It has a certain ring to it."

  "Wayne . . ." Burns said.

  "I'm really sorry," Wayne said, lapsing back into his breathy voice. "I really am. If there were any other way to handle this, I'd do it, but there just isn't. I can't let you go around telling things about me, can I?"

  "I . . . guess . . . not," Burns said. He was too weak and drained to argue, especially with someone as crazy as Wayne. He wondered if Wayne had ever really loved his father at all, or if that was just another disguise that he had adopted.

  Wayne left the room and returned with a can of gasoline. "I've learned a lot about starting fires, most of it by experience," he said. "Main didn't burn right because I didn't use enough gasoline and because that old attic was far too drafty. The Administration Building was much easier; it was almost airtight and the fumes weren't dissipated. It's the fumes that ignite, you know."

  Burns didn't know, but he didn't say so. Wayne sloshed the gas out of the can.

  "It may be that when they find what's left of your body, assuming that there's enough to identify," Wayne said, "they'll think it was you who set the fire. Of course, I'll be as surprised as anyone that you could have held such a grudge against my father, but, after all, you were the one who reported the attempted burning of Main and the successful one of the Administration Building. Everyone knows how arsonists like to watch the blazes they create. You just got too close to this one."

  As he talked, Wayne was spreading gasoline around the kitchen. He emptied the red and yellow can and returned with another one.

  "This old house isn't very airish," he said. "This smell is giving me a headache."

  It was giving Burns a headache, too, not to mention scaring him pretty badly. He was too weak to make much of an attempt even to move, but he tried. His hands were bound behind the chair.

  Wayne finished pouring the gasoline out of the second can. He walked over and closed the door to the other room. "What's going to happen is pretty simple. I'm going to walk out that door"—he pointed to the back door, the one that led from the kitchen to the outside—"and when I get out there, I'm going to toss a match in here. I suspect that you can figure out the rest."

  Burns struggled weakly, but it was no use, even though he had no trouble figuring out the rest.

  Wayne went out and closed the door. Burns wondered for a moment how he was going to throw in the match. Then Wayne tapped out one of the four small window panes at the top of the door.

  "Ta-ta," Wayne said. He walked a few steps away and flicked a cigarette lighter. He tossed it toward the hole.

  Burns heard a crash behind him, and then the world exploded.

  Chapter 19

  Sometime later, Burns was never sure just how long, he woke up on a stretcher.

  He opened his eyes. Boss Napier towered above him.

  "See, I told you he was fine," Napier said to a white-suited paramedic. "A little oxygen and the guy's as good as new."

  Burn's throat was raw, but he tried to talk. "Wha'.?"

  "Like I say, you're in great shape," Napier said. "Maybe a few cuts from the flying glass when I chunked the garbage can through the kitchen window, but aside from that you don't have a thing to worry about. You'll probably be back in school tomorrow."

  "H-h-h . .?"

  "How? Hell, everybody knows an explosion follows the line of least resistance. So when that stuff blew up, it just tossed you back through that window I broke. You're a little singed up, but nothing like you would've been if you'd stayed in there. Course, we called the fire department, and the fire's almost out now. Lucky for you I came along."

  "Ah-h-h . .?"

  "The kid?" Napier gave a satisfied smile. "Don't worry about him. We got him. You know, Bonz, it's a good thing I worried about you turning up at the scenes of all the fires and the murder like I did. Otherwise, I'd never have put the tail on you. Not that I ever really suspected that you were involved in anything fishy. Not at all. It's just that you kept turning up everywhere."

  Napier paused and looked at Burns earnestly, as if to make sure that he was being heard. "Anyway, like I said, I put a tail on you. He was watching this house tonight, and when you stayed in there so long he gave me a call. I came right on out, of course, and sort of looked the place over. When I saw you tied up in that chair, I had reason to think that I could legally enter the house. Looked like the quickest way in was through that window, so I heaved the garbage can."

  Burns wanted to say that he thought Napier had cut it kind of close, but what came out was something like, "Ooo cussus cloos."

  "Right," Napier said. "I don't blame you for feeling grateful, but don't thank me. I guess I sort of owe you an apology, and after all you've led us right to the killer and the arsonist."

  "Aroo sheen?"

  "Right," Napier said. "You just take it easy. You'll be just fine in the morning."

  The paramedics carted Burns away. He didn't remember much about the ambulance ride to the hospital.

  As it turned out, Burns was pretty much all right by the next morning. There were a few minor cuts from the glass, a lot of bruises, and his wrists were rubbed pretty raw, but his voice was almost back to normal. It had been a terrifying experience, but it hadn't damaged him permanently.

  Climbing the stairs in Main, Burns tried to think of the ways it could have been worse. He could have been burned to death in a fire. He could have been asphyxiated. Main could have burned. Elmore could still be alive.

  No, strike that last thought. It was uncharitable. Put it down to the soreness he still felt in his arms from their being tied behind his back. He was alive, his building was still standing, and he was glad of both things. On his way in, he had seen the rubble that had once been the Administration Building. What if he had lost his books, notes, desk, typewriter? It would have been devastating. Somehow it seemed right that Elmore's building had burned instead.

  After his first class, he sneaked past Clem and Miss Darling and went down to the history lounge. Mal Tomlin and Fox were there, smoking and waiting to hear the scoop. The arrest of Wayne Elmore had made the morning news programs on the Pecan City radio stations, and so had Burns's part in it.

  "I always thought he looked like a sneaky little shit," Tomlin said, "but I didn't know he was a nut case."

  Burns took a Bel-Air from Fox. "A nut case?"

  "Have to be," Fox said, giving Burns a light. "Why else would he do that stuff?"

  "I'm not really sure," Burns said, taking a deep drag. "I have a feeling Napier will be by to talk to me about it all today, and maybe he's found out something more. I have to admit that I think you're right about the 'nut case' bit. The boy is definitely strange."

  That led to a discussion of a possible insanity defense, which led to several more cigarettes. Then Burns had to go to his ten o'clock class. "Keep in touch," Fox said as Burns left the room. "We want to be in on all the latest rumors."

  "Not much danger of that not happening," Burns said, heading for the stairs.

  At eleven o'clock, Napier was waiting in Burns's office, still puffing a bit from the climb. He was already sitting down.

  Burns put his books on the desk and sat behind it. "Well, Chief, what can I do for you?"

  "Not much," Napier said. "I think we've just about got things wrapped up." He smiled, a discon
certing grimace that Burns did his best to ignore. "There is just one little problem, though."

  Burns had been afraid of that. "What is it?" he asked.

  "The kid won't admit a thing," Napier said. "Not the murder, not the arson, nothing."

  "I see what you mean," Burns said.

  "So we thought maybe you could help us out," Napier said.

  "Oh? How?" Burns was beginning to enjoy himself.

  Napier was not smiling now. He knew that Burns was playing a game, but he didn't want to let on. "By telling me what happened at Elmore's," he said.

  "You mean, did he admit anything to me?"

  "That's what I mean."

  Burns decided to stop kidding around. "Yes," he said.

  Napier leaned forward with a predatory look. "What?"

  "Let me tell you something first," Burns said. He told him about the keys and their availability.

  "Damn," Napier said. "I should have thought of that."

  "Well," Burns said, "you didn't know about Elmore hiring his son to clean the storeroom."

  "Yeah, there's that," Napier said. "Now, what else. I mean, what did he tell you?"

  "Not much," Burns said. "He did admit that he was the one in Main when I caught him in the attic. Actually, that's about all."

  Napier did not look pleased. "Nothing about why he did it? Nothing about his father?"

  "No," Burns said, "and that's been bothering me. The first time I talked to him, he seemed genuinely to admire his father." Burns was holding back important information, he knew, but he couldn't see how it would help Napier to know everything Wayne had said. Burns himself hadn't decided exactly how he felt about it.

  "He's a fruitcake," Napier said. "That tells you a lot about how much you can believe him."

  "You're apparently willing to believe that he was telling the truth about being in Main," Burns said. "Why not believe he admired his father?"

  "Because it doesn't fit," Napier said. "Not that it matters. We can get him for attempted murder for trying to knock you off, and we can get him for the fires. With all that against him, we may not even need to get him for killing his father."

  "Still . . ."

  "Yeah, I'd still like to know. I'd like to have a weapon and a motive. But I'll take what I can get. You'll testify, of course."

  Burns was not thrilled at the prospect, but he felt that he really had no choice. "Yes," he said.

  Napier stood up. "If you can think of anything else that might help, let us know. We're going to give the DA a solid case even if the kid does try to get out of it with an insanity plea."

  "I'll be in touch," Burns said. He did not get up. Napier nodded and left the office.

  Burns stayed in his office to grade papers rather than going to lunch. He was slightly behind, and he always liked to return papers promptly. He did not make much progress because he kept answering the telephone. Coach Thomas called, and Dorinda Edgely called, both to thank him for his part in finding the killer. They sounded relieved and happy. Don Elliott called to say that he hoped his part in selecting Elmore could be kept quiet. Burns assured him that his sinecure as dormitory supervisor was safe. He would have liked to do something about Elliott, but there was really nothing he could do. And who was to say that he wouldn't have done the same thing had he been presented with the same temptations?

  Clem and Miss Darling poked their heads in to say that they had learned of his exploits by listening to local newscasts, but neither stayed very long. Miss Darling did mention that she hoped that all of Elmore's evil schemes for ruining HGC had died with him. Burns told her that he was pretty sure they had.

  He got bored with grading after a couple of hours and started fooling around with his lists. He opened his middle drawer and located the one he had started so long before, the one headed Things I Hate, and looked it over. There, with its arrow pointing to somewhere near the top of the list, was Elmore's name. Even now, his influence was hard to escape. Burns took his Pilot Precise Ball Liner out of the drawer and made a wavy line through the name. There was no need to hold a grudge any longer. It was time to start putting things behind him.

  Unfortunately, the longer Burns stared at the list, the more he became fascinated with the name that he had crossed out. Elmore had been such a malign influence in the lives of so many people that it was a shame to see him go, at least in some ways. What were people going to talk about, now that he was gone?

  Although Wayne seemed quite willing to continue to talk about his father. Burns still couldn't shake the feeling that Wayne had been sincere when he had defended the dead dean. Of course, he had his own speculation, which he had concealed from Napier. Elmore had indeed despitefully used his own son, making Wayne's encounter with Rogers the basis for his promotion. And then he had kept his son on campus rather than sending him to another school, displaying him, so to speak, as a constant reminder to Rogers that Elmore was the one with the real power.

  But was Wayne telling the truth? He seemed to be going through so many personalities at about that time that Burns wasn't sure what to believe or disbelieve.

  And if he chose to believe Wayne, what was his obligation to the school? Burns didn't particularly care whose schlong Rogers grabbed, as long as it didn't belong to Burns, but homosexuality was one of the unforgivable sins at HGC. If Rogers made a wrong move, he could cost thousands and maybe millions of dollars in financial support from churches and ministers. But Burns didn't know whom to tell, even if he wanted to tell. The board? Even a hint of such a thing could ruin Rogers forever, and if Wayne had been lying, Burns would be guilty of spreading a ruinous falsehood.

  At about that point in Burns's ruminations, Bunni came in. "Gee, Dr. Burns," she said, "you're famous. It's really neat having someone like you for a teacher. All the kids are talking about it." She paused for breath. "We kind of feel sorry for Wayne, though."

  "Did you happen to see Wayne that day you were picketing, Bunni?"

  "You mean, did he picket with us?" Bunni was clearly puzzled that Burns would ask such a question.

  "No, no," Burns said. "I mean, did you see him go in the building?"

  "I didn't see anybody go in," Bunni said. "Except for Miss Darling, like I told you."

  "It was just a thought," Burns said. "I guess none of the picketers went in, not George or anyone like that?"

  "No," Bunni said. "We were all too interested in making sure we did a good job of marching in front of the building and getting the signs where they could be seen from the street. Nobody had time to go inside."

  "I'm glad the picketing was orderly," Burns said. "There could have been trouble otherwise."

  Bunni looked at him.

  "What I mean is that if things had gotten rowdy, some of you might have gotten in trouble with the police. They might even have accused some of you of killing Dean Elmore."

  "Oh," Bunni said. "Well, some of us got in trouble anyway."

  "What?" Burns asked. "How?"

  "We were late for assembly," Bunni said. "We waited until everyone had left the building and until there was no one around but us, so we could be sure everyone had seen the signs, and then we went on over. But the roll checkers had already taken attendance by the time we got there. George is trying to raise his grade-point average a little bit by having a perfect attendance record in assembly, so we had to find the checker for our section and tell her that we weren't absent, just a little late. It was all a big hassle."

  "I see what you mean," Burns said.

  "That's not all," Bunni said. "The really unfair thing is that assembly got started late. We got there before the opening prayer, so it wasn't fair for them to count us late. The checkers ought to wait for the prayer instead of just going by the time."

  "Late is late," Burns said, hating himself for mouthing the party line.

  "I guess. Anyway, I hope all the excitement is over for a while. George and I really need to concentrate on our studies."

  "You help George a lot, do you?" Burns asked.
>
  "Not too much," Bunni said. "Now that football season's over, he'll do all right. He just needs the time." She got up to leave. "See you tomorrow."

  "Yes," Burns said. "See you then." As Bunni left, he looked down at his desk top at the list of Things I Hate. Bunni had walked in when he had been writing Elmore's name the other time. He wondered how high up Elmore's name would be on other, similar lists. What if Miss Darling had one, or Earl Fox, or Abner Swan, or President Rogers?

  He thought about that for a while, and then he got up and went downstairs.

  Chapter 20

  Burns stood looking at the spot formerly occupied by the Administration Building. The walls had been pushed down, and a front-end loader was noisily dumping a cascade of burned bricks into the rear of a dump truck. The bricks were being hauled away to a nearby field, and there were plans to level the ground and plant grass where Hartley Gorman II had stood. If the board could raise the money, a new Administration Building would be erected on the same site, but that would be several years in the future.

  As the dully truck rattled away, Burns walked on by. There were only a few students visible on the campus in the afternoon, and most of them were idly watching the front-end loader and the dump trucks, another of which backed up for its bricks.

  The administration's new offices were in the former warehouse of a wholesale hardware firm that had gone out of business a year or two before. The owners had offered the space after the fire, and Rogers had gladly accepted. The warehouse was practically on the campus, right at the western edge, so it was an easy walk.

  Burns entered the cavernous building and walked through it to the offices located at the rear. His footsteps on the cement floor echoed off the brick walls and the high tin roof.

  The doors at the back were all alike, dull brown wood with tarnished handles. Each one had an index card taped to it giving the occupant's name and position. Burns knocked on the one that read "A. Clark Rogers, President."