Long Knives (31 page)

CHAPTER 69

Jenna James

Week 3—Monday

Los Angeles

I
was in my office, sitting at my desk, continuing to catch up on some work. I had had a wonderful, largely stress-free weekend. Aldous had called and left a few messages, but I hadn’t called him back. He was apparently returning on Wednesday. I’d share my good news with him then.

My phone rang. I saw that it was the dean. I sighed and picked it up. He was probably calling again about postponing my tenure application. He’d probably not yet gotten the word that I was no longer the focus of the police investigation.

“Good morning, Jenna.”

“Good morning, Dean Blender. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to talk to you regarding delaying your tenure decision.”

“I’m glad you called about that because I’ve decided not to delay it. I can set out the reasons now if you’d like, but if you’d prefer I’ll send a formal letter.”

“Actually, I think the decision may now be out of your hands.”

“Why?”

“Because Professor Broontz has filed a formal grievance against you under the Faculty Code of Conduct pursuant to both Senate Bylaws 335 and 336. She apparently couldn’t make up her mind which one really fit, so she doubled down.”

“That’s ridiculous. I haven’t done a thing to her. I hardly ever even see her.”

“She’s contending that by murdering Primo Giordano and stealing his map you’ve, to quote her charge, ‘engaged in intentional disruption of functions or activities sponsored by or authorized by the University, to wit teaching.’”

“I’m sorry, what? I haven’t interrupted her teaching. I haven’t even been to her class. And when she came to mine, she was the one who was disruptive. And I haven’t murdered anyone or stolen anything.”

“She claims the fact that you allegedly killed a student and so forth has—and I’m quoting again from her grievance—‘created a frightening atmosphere in the school that has brought all faculty under suspicion and thereby disrupted teaching.’”

“That’s ridiculous, too. Is she seeking some sanction?”

“Yes, that you be dismissed.”

“Can she do that?”

“Probably not as an individual faculty member. But I could.”

“Under what theory?”

“As the dean, I could bring a disciplinary action under Bylaw 336 based on the same facts. And then the hearing on both her grievance and my charge could be combined. I’d be moving to terminate your contract early on the theory that you killed a student and/or stole his property.”

I put the phone on speaker so I could type with both hands and try to look up the rules as we were talking. They were voluminous. I started to scroll through them to try to get some context for the discussion.

“Jenna, are you taking down what I’m saying? I hear keys clicking.”

“No. I’m trying to look up the rules myself.”

“Okay, because if you’re taking notes, I’m going to have to be more cautious about what I’m saying.”

“As if you haven’t been enormously cautious anyway.”

“I’m trying to be candid without disclosing confidences.”

“Dean, have you ever read
Alice in Wonderland
?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember what the Cheshire Cat said to Alice?”

“Not precisely.”

“He said, ‘Everyone’s mad here.’”

“Jenna, I can understand how you might think this is all insane, but you have to admit that having a faculty member who’s suspected of murdering a student, who hasn’t been exonerated and about whom the investigation is ‘still open,’ is pretty disruptive for a law school. It might even impact our application and acceptance rates and thus our standing in
U.S. News & World Report
’s rankings of the best law schools.”

“The police investigation may still be open, but not about me. I’ve been exonerated.”

“That’s not how I understand it.”

“All right, let me just try to imagine for a moment that we haven’t gone down the rabbit hole. What happens now, Dean Blender?”

“I think if you take a leave of absence until this is all cleared up, I could dissuade Professor Broontz from pursuing her grievance, and I certainly wouldn’t do anything myself. Two years would probably be best.”

“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, Oscar?”

“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.