Failure is Fatal (28 page)

“Recognition means a fraternity can set up booths on campus during registration to solicit members. The group can petition the student government for a budget, accomplish some pledging on campus and use campus facilities for meetings and other activities. It sounds like withdrawing these privileges would be a good punishment, right?” Many in the room nodded their heads in agreement. “But then where are we? If we withdraw recognition, the college has no control over what they do.

“A recognized fraternity selects an advisor, someone who oversees many of their activities including pledge activities and budget. A responsible advisor can keep the organization on track and serve as a model for appropriate and mature behavior. Fraternity advisors ought to be encouraged to take their duties seriously and, if they do not, should be removed.”

Chaffee shuffled uncomfortably around in his seat. I could not see his face, but guessed that it wasn't registering any delight with my words.

“Fraternities can and often do obtain monies for their continued operation from their national office. If unrecognized, their activities are merely moved off the campus and into their houses downtown. Yet, the community still perceives them as members of this college and judges us by their behavior. Doesn't it sound rather weak of us to tell the community that we have no control over the group?

“This incident can be used as an opportunity for learning on all our parts. We can pledge ourselves to work more effectively with our Greek organizations by dedicating time and money to educational events that will move these organizations toward college and community membership, and with it, the responsibility that entails. I recommend we continue to recognize them. Let's talk instead about another way to punish their behavior. Thank you.”

Quiet prevailed in the room following my speech, broken finally by the Senate president's words. “Well, Mr. Stokes, you have quite a supporter in Dr. Murphy. Very admirable, don't you think, considering what your group did to her?”

Adam merely looked down at his feet and nodded affirmatively, but I was certain that if anyone could see the expression on his face they would be surprised to see rage there and not gratitude.

“Would you like to speak now, Mr. Stokes?” said the Senate president.

Adam slowly stood and turned to face the back of the room. His eyes met mine. “No,” he said. “I believe Dr. Murphy has covered it all.”

Chapter 23

Other members of the Senate spoke, some in favor of continued recognition, others against. When the senate voted, withdrawal of recognition was defeated by three votes. The meeting adjourned soon after the vote. Individuals stopped me to draw me into further discussion or to argue against my position despite the finality of the vote. I glanced around the room and saw President Evans leave without acknowledging my presence, confirming my suspicions that my stance, despite all there was to recommend it, would be interpreted by my president as a dig against him personally. I sighed and grabbed my coat off the chair. When I turned, Adam stood in front of me blocking my way to the door.

“Very clever, Dr. Murphy,” he said. He spoke softly enough that others departing the room could not hear.

“You're still a member of this college community, and that's how it should be. The last thing I want to see is you going off on your own with nobody to oversee your little pranks. You slipped up the other day when we were talking, you know.”

“What do you mean?” His face turned white.

“I mean you shouldn't have let on how little you cared about the issue of fraternity recognition. It gave you away and sent me off to do a little digging on the subject. Why? What did you think I meant?” I said.

“Nothing. That's what I thought. I guess I'm not as good at hiding my intentions as I thought I was,” he said. He smiled weakly at me and then turned on his heel to exit the room. Before I could put on my coat, a hand grabbed my shoulder from behind, turning me about to face its owner.

“I didn't much appreciate your comments about fraternity advisors, implying I was irresponsible in my duties. I'd just as soon step down anyway. It was more trouble than it was worth. I only took it on as a way to enhance community participation on my
vita
, anyway. Now that I'm a full professor, I won't need to bother myself with such trivia.”

I knew I should turn and walk away from him, but the self-control I exercised supporting the continued recognition of the fraternity and ignoring the arrogance of its president was at an end. I dropped my coat back onto the chair and faced Melvin Chafee.

“I gather we won't see a lot of you on campus committees. And should I be surprised when I find that your performance in the classroom is poorer than ever, although it's hard to imagine that you could demonstrate any less concern for teaching than you have in the past?”

I continued, interrupting the sputtering sounds emanating from his throat. “As for your record of scholarship, I expect that will remain as thin as ever, perhaps becoming transparent over this year and disappearing in the next. You're what we refer to as ‘deadwood,' Melvin. You always were. The college's mistake was in tenuring you in the first place.”

His sputtering erupted into a roar of anger, and he lunged at me. Anticipating his move just in time, I moved adroitly to one side. The momentum of Chaffee's move propelled him into the row of chairs beyond me, and he went down hard. The crunching noise accompanying his fall had to be the sound of his handsome nose connecting with the metal frame of one of the chairs.

“Help!” Chaffee reached out one hand, holding his face with the other. Blood poured from between his fingers. “She assaulted me. Call the police.”

The few people remaining in the room ran over while I calmly rooted around in my briefcase, finally extracting a piece of slightly used tissue.

“Here.” I offered Melvin the tissue. He shoved it away.

“You there. You're a witness. You saw what happened here. She assaulted me,” Melvin said once more.

“Don't be silly. You just slipped. Anyway, it kind of looked as if you were trying to assault her and that you fell,” said the individual Melvin tried to buttonhole as his witness.

“Someone call an ambulance,” I said.

“My nose, god, my nose. I'll be deformed. I'll sue. You'd better get a good lawyer. I'll sue!”

I turned to leave the meeting room.

“What was all the ruckus about?” I heard Der's voice over my shoulder.

“I didn't know you were here,” I said. “Walk with me back to my office and I'll tell you all about it. And, no, I didn't beat him up, although I think he richly deserves all the bad he gets.”

*

“So he thinks he's going to sue you? Der said. He grabbed my suitcase and headed toward the SUV. It was Friday morning , and I was leaving to visit Guy in Gananoque for the weekend. I decided to leave Sam home and let Der take care of her while he kept an eye on my house.

“Yup. He had someone deliver the papers this morning, bright and early. The idiot thinks he can make a case that I attacked him, resulting in his injuries.”

“Injuries? I thought he broke his nose, that's all.”

“It seems that when he took his nosedive into the chair, he also wrenched his ankle. He's on crutches, poor thing.” I chuckled. “It's unlikely he'll be able to make his case. The few people who saw the event yesterday observed him coming at me. I merely stepped to one side, but, you know Melvin. He overdramatizes everything.”

Der merely nodded in agreement.

“Laura, I don't mean to rain on your weekend…”

“Snow's more likely,” I said. I wrinkled my brow and looked skyward. I would have preferred staying home, but I promised Guy, and I did have my trusty SUV. I moved my neck and shoulders around hoping to release some of the tension building up over the drive north.

“You okay?” Der said.

“Yep.”

“What I was going to say was that I think it's a good thing you're getting away this weekend. You need a little break from the case and everything.”

“What about you? Don't you get a break?”

“It's my job. I get paid for this. I need to go over Marie Becca's murder with a fresh eye. Maybe the weekend with Sam in your house, away from my office, will help. Then we can get back to it on Monday.”

I was pleased he said “we” when he referred to the case.

“Sure. I'll be ready to go at it again then.”

At the entrance to the interstate heading north, I pulled to the side of the road rather than proceeding onto the ramp. Something was bothering me, had been for several days. I should have asked to see the records when I visited Student Affairs looking for information on fraternities. I executed a U-turn and headed toward the college.

“Der, pick up! It's Laura.” I was in my office calling the house on the assumption that Der would still be there.

“Where are you? Did you have car trouble?”

“No, just listen. I'm in my office. I, uh, I forgot some things I wanted to bring with me, so I stopped at the college. But, I was thinking, did you find out whether or not Lionel Chaffee had an alibi for the night of Marie's murder?”

“Well, his girlfriend, you know, the one we met in the hallway outside Melvin's office, initially said she thought they were together that night, but she changed her story and said he was here visiting his brother that night.”

“And what does the dear brother say?” I said.

“He confirms Lionel visited him in his office that evening, but left around eight or so.”

“So he had time to…”

“I'm looking for him now. It seems he left his teaching at Shelby last week, moved out of his apartment, and no one seems to know where he is. I've been keeping an eye on Melvin's place in case he shows up there. So far, no Lionel.”

“You know, you could have told me this. No wonder you were so anxious to get me out of town this weekend. You're afraid Lionel is the murderer and that he might come for me because of the stuff I dug up about him.”

“Well, maybe. It's just better that you're out of the way.”

“Some fresh eye you're giving to this case. You were going to find Lionel before I returned, and it would be a done deal. Not fair.”

“Please just go to Canada for the weekend and leave this to me.”

“What if he follows me? He crosses the border and he's out of our hands, you know?”

“Go see Guy, please.”

“Oh, alright, but I'll be back Sunday afternoon, and I expect a complete update.”

“That's what my boss says. Try not to squeeze me both ways.”

I thought about this for a moment. He was right. The important thing was catching this guy. If Der could do it, that was fine with me, or, almost fine with me. Meanwhile I had some work of my own to do.

*

A rifle, a shotgun, a machete? An ornamental Asian sword, numerous knives, and two handguns. I spread the pictures out on the table in front of me. I remembered only glancing at the photos when the case came before the Disciplinary Board almost four years ago. It took the people in Student Affairs awhile to locate the files because old records of cases were moved to the subbasement of the library. A work-study student and I found them after a half-hour of searching among file boxes stacked in no real order and marked by month, no year indicated. What a mess! A forty-watt bulb suspended from the six-foo- high ceiling provided the lighting, and cobwebs were the only decorations adorning the damp, subterranean space. There was one advantage of being stored in a dark place, however. The Polaroid pictures hadn't faded and were as clear as a poorly focused picture could be. Clear enough to be able to reveal any identifying features on the weapons.

The pictures brought back details of the cases. David Farone's face returned to my memory. A short, chubby kid, few friends, not the fraternity type, he apparently fell in with some unsavory young men who preferred guns and knives to pens and computers. His impact on the college community was almost nonexistent with the exception of this file folder in Student Affairs. I remembered David as more of a follower than a leader of this group of young toughs. His performance in my class for the first month of the semester wasn't outstanding, but he certainly could do the work and should have been able to complete college if he had studied and organized his life.

Where was David Farone now? I peered closely at the picture of the knives. One of them appeared to be identical to the murder weapon: a bone-handled hunting knife, about twelve inches long with a crack running longitudinally down the handle. Where was this knife? Probably moved to the evidence lockers at the police station.

I shuffled the pictures into a pile, handed them to the work-study student to be replaced in the file box, and returned to the Student Affairs office. I needed to find my friend, Kathryn, one of the assistant deans. She remembered the case and might know where the weapons went after the students left campus. If not, surely there were records of where the weapons were stored after the case. Unfortunately she was off to lunch.

“Where did she go to lunch?” I asked her secretary who was putting on her coat to leave for lunch also.