Part 23 (1/2)

”I thought that was a pretty good question myself. So I called the bureau in Denver and spoke with one of the agents. Laid it all out for him. He called back ten minutes later and told me they had Green's gun in their evidence room. Said our forensic people had made a mistake.”

”Who'd you speak with?” I asked.

”Some guy named Polk. You know him?”

”Yeah, I've known him since law school. He's one of the ones who worked on the fractal case.”

”He never mentioned that, but I suppose they've moved on to bigger and better things.” I said nothing because my mind was racing. ”I don't know,” he muttered, ”maybe our people are wrong about the serial number.”

”Think so?”

”I'll have them take another look at it.”

”Can't hurt,” I said. But I knew there had been no mistake.

I called Gombold that afternoon to confirm what I already knew. My stated purpose was to pick his brain concerning the use of E-Prime in Hawkins's most recent article. He agreed it was suspicious.

”So, what's new in your neck of the woods?” I asked when we had finished kicking it around.

”Same old s.h.i.+t,” he said, ”but more of it.” He sounded fatigued. ”Dittmer has us working extra hours to take up the slack caused by the increase in counterterrorism ops, and some congressman wants us to investigate a waste-removal firm that put Smokey the Bear on its trucks without the secretary of agriculture's permission.” I laughed.

”Don't laugh,” he said. ”That's a federal offense. You can get six months in prison for that.”

”Glad you warned me,” I said. ”Hey, before I hang up, whatever happened with that case where you couldn't find the gun? What was that guy's name, Green?”

”Yeah, Bailey Green. He pled guilty last week. We never did find the weapon, so the U.S. Attorneys agreed not to file a habitual offender rap on him. The powers that be figured that was a small price to pay to keep the missing gun out of the papers.”

”Probably just as well,” I said. ”You don't want to do anything that might alert potential jurors to the fact that the bureau sometimes makes mistakes.”

”G.o.d help us if that ever gets out.”

”Get some sleep, Tim. You sound tired.” I hung up and began writing a list of things to do.

There was no shortage of work. In addition to gathering as much information as possible on Hawkins, I wanted to learn more about Polk. For reasons unknown, he had lied to Gilbert about the missing revolver. And he had tried his best to discredit me with Dittmer when he'd learned Jayne had hired me. So I wanted to dig into his background. On top of all that, the image of Finn sneaking around my house kept making its way into my mind. I tried to let it go, but I wanted an explanation.

Hawkins. Polk. Finn. I'd have to learn more about each of them.

25.

I COULDN'T BELIEVE IT. I actually found a parking s.p.a.ce in the visitors' lot nearest the math building. It was eleven-thirty on a sunny Wednesday morning. The warm weather had returned as quickly as it had vanished, and I had a lunch date with Jayne Smyers.

There were few people in the building. I took the steps to the third floor. Finn was not in his office, but the door was open.

Jayne was seated behind her desk wearing camel slacks and a powder blue top with a scoop neck. Pink lipstick. Finn sat in the chair to her right, Mary Pat in the one to her left. They were talking departmental politics.

”h.e.l.lo, Mr. Keane,” said Mary Pat. She wore tan shorts and a yellow oxford-cloth s.h.i.+rt with the sleeves rolled up.

”Am I early?” I asked.

”No,” said Jayne, ”you're right on time.” Finn turned and looked at me, surprised.

”Saw your picture in the paper,” I said. ”Congratulations.” I extended my hand and resisted the temptation to squeeze as if I had been blessed with extra tendons.

”Thanks,” he said. He wore navy Dockers, a white short-sleeved s.h.i.+rt, and a maroon tie.

”Yes, Stephen,” said Jayne, ”that was a wonderful article. We're all so proud of you.” Let's not overdo it, I thought.

”Everyone in the department is talking about it,” offered Mary Pat.

Finn somehow interpreted all this as an invitation to talk about the race in detail. We listened politely as he recounted his swim-run-bike adventure in far too much detail. When he had finished, I looked at Jayne and said, ”Shall we do it?”

”Absolutely,” she said with a smile. She reached for her purse, then stood and walked around her desk to my side. It then hit Finn that the two of us had a lunch date, but he did his best to appear indifferent. ”I'll be back by one,” Jayne announced. I smiled at Mary Pat, gave Finn a polite nod, then gently touched the back of Jayne's elbow as I escorted her from her office. It was a subtle gesture, but I made sure Finn saw it.

”Where would you like to eat?” I asked as I held open one of the gla.s.s doors at the entrance to the building. She stepped through and I followed. The sun was bright, so I removed my aviator's gla.s.ses from my s.h.i.+rt pocket and put them on.

”Let's eat at the grill,” she said. ”I've got some things to do on that side of campus anyhow.” That sounded fine, so we made our way around various buildings and gra.s.sy commons to the University Memorial Center.

There are a number of food vendors in the UMC. One of the most popular is the Alferd E. Packer Grill, a cafeteria named after the only American ever convicted of cannibalism. I hadn't been there in years, but it didn't appear to have changed. I thought briefly of lunches enjoyed long ago with Joy.

The line was long but moved quickly. I ordered clam chowder and a diet c.o.ke; Jayne opted for a large salad and iced tea. She offered to treat, but I had my wallet out. ”I'll pay,” I said, ”you find a table.” The academic year had ended, but there were few empty seats in the enormous dining area.

I collected my change from a grandmotherly cas.h.i.+er and briefly wondered whether my aging mother might someday be forced to work in a similar capacity. I scanned the room and saw Jayne at a small table against the far wall. She noticed me and waved. I picked my way through the crowd like a running back dodging oncoming tacklers, then set my tray down across from her. ”Is it always this crowded in the summer?” I asked.

”No,” she said, laughing, ”there must be a conference.” I sat down and we began eating. ”Did Maggie call you?” she asked.

”Yes,” I said, ”we met yesterday.” I summarized what I had learned.

”E-Prime?” she said. ”I've never heard of that. I'll have to experiment with it.”

”I've been playing with it since yesterday,” I said. ”It's a challenge.”

”Well, I'm glad Maggie was able to help.” She speared a cuc.u.mber slice with her fork. ”Is that the new development you mentioned?”

”No,” I said. I related what Gilbert had learned about Bailey Green, then recounted my conversations with Gombold.

”My G.o.d,” she said, ”what do you make of that?”

”I'm not sure,” I said. I paused to sip my drink. ”One thing I plan to do is learn more about Polk, but I need your help.”

”What can I do?”

”Polk went to law school here,” I said. ”I want his records. Application, grades, everything.”

”The registrar will want a release,” she said.