…A Dangerous Thing (12 page)

Burns didn't remember that the conversation had gone exactly that way, but he said, "I remember."

"I thought so.
 
What do you want me to do next?
 
Beg you to help?
 
Because I'm not going to do that.
 
If you want to help, fine.
 
If you don't, then just keep out of the way."

"I'll help if I can," Burns said.

"Good," Napier said.

They started on down the stairs.
 
When they reached the lobby of the library, Napier said, "You don't need to question Elaine, though.
 
I'll handle that part of it."

Burns thought Napier might be making a joke, and though he wasn't sure, he smiled anyway.
 
"We'll see about that.
 
What did you have in mind for me, then?"

"First, find out about your dean's past connections with people on this campus.
 
After you do that, we've got a list of names you can look at, everyone that was in the building last night.
 
I'll have my men check it out, but it won't do us any good."

"Why not?"

"Because you know as well as I do that whoever killed Henderson got out of there before their name was on any list."

Burns wondered again where Holt had been.
 
"So you want me to find out who else was in the building?"

"That's right.
 
And keep your ears open for any gossip about somebody who might've had it in for Henderson."

Burns wondered if this was the time to say something about Walt
Melling
, but he decided against it.
 
He'd talk to Walt first and see if there was anything in the story.
 
Maybe Earl had gotten him calmed down and he had never confronted Henderson at all.

"Anything else?" Burns asked.

"That ought to do it for now.
 
Are you going back to your office?"

Burns had planned to go back by for a private visit with Elaine.
 
"Maybe.
 
Why?"

"I just thought I'd walk part of the way with you," Napier said.
 
"Just to make sure you get there."

Oh well, Burns thought.
 
If I don't get to see Elaine, he won't either.

They left the building together.

N
apier didn't go all the way to Main with Burns.
 
His car was parked on the street on the east side of the building, and he turned away down the sidewalk.
 
Burns watched Napier get in the car and drive away, then almost went back to the library.
 
But he thought he might as well go into the counselors' area and see how the grief counseling was going.
 
And to talk to Dawn
Melling
if he got the chance.

He went into Main and narrowly avoided running into Rose, who was sweeping the hallway just inside the door.

"Look out,
Doctah
Burns," Rose said.
 
"You gonna run somebody down if you don't be more careful."

"Sorry, Rose," Burns said.
 
"I was thinking about something."

Rose nodded vigorously, causing her wig to slip a little to one side.
 
It was a terrible wig, and Burns had never seen her without it.
 
He had no idea why she wore it, however, and he wasn't going to ask.

"You
thinkin
' 'bout that murder last night, like all the rest of us.
 
This place
gettin
' dangerous,
Doctah
Burns.
 
Real dangerous."

"Murder?" Burns said.
 
"What makes you think it was murder?"

"
Evahbody
know it's a murder," Rose said.
 
She started sweeping down the hall, shaking her head as she went.
 
"This a bad place.
 
A bad place."

She had a point there, Burns thought.
 
He wondered what the average mortality rate at small colleges was and decided that HGC was certainly doing nothing to help that average.

He walked on down to the counseling office and went inside.
 
This time, Dawn
Melling
was not there to meet him.
 
Instead there was a student secretary, a young woman who had been in one of
Burns's
classes.

"Hello, Stephanie," Burns said.
 
"Is Ms.
Melling
in?"

Stephanie was a tall, thin blonde with an overbite.
 
"She's doing grief counseling today, Dr. Burns."

Burns knew that.
 
"I was wondering if I could see her.
 
If she's not too busy, that is."

Stephanie looked serious.
 
"She's not too busy.
 
I don't think there's anyone with her at all.
 
She's in her office if you want to talk to her."

The counselors' offices were down a narrow carpeted hallway from the main office.
 
Burns walked down the hall and tapped on Dawn's door.

A muffled voice said, "Come in."

Burns opened the door.
 
Dawn was sitting at her desk, reading a paperback book.
 
Why Bad Things Happen to Good People
.
 
She put the book down.
 
"Hello, Dr. Burns.
 
Would you like to talk about Dr. Henderson's death?"

That wasn't why Burns had come in, but it was as good an excuse as any for staying a few minutes.
 
"Yes, if you don't mind."

"That's what I'm here for.
 
Please have a seat."

Burns sat in the chair by Dawn's desk and looked at her.
 
She was wearing what Burns supposed was her mourning outfit, a tight black dress, black shoes with heels that seemed to Burns inappropriately high, and what looked like a tiny piece of black lace attached to her hair.
 
Her fingernails and lips were as red as ever, and she looked even more like Elvira than usual.

"You know, Dr. Burns," she said, achieving eye contact, "death is a frightening thing to some people, but we all have to get our fears out in the open and talk about them.
 
That's the first step."

First step to what? Burns wondered.
 
"I'm sure that's true.
 
But I'm not really experiencing any fear."

"Anxiety, then?
 
When men get to be a certain age, they realize that they don't have many more years of life left and that they probably haven't achieved the dreams they had when they were young.
 
That can be very depressing to some people."

It certainly could, Burns thought, though he hadn't considered himself as being at that age.
 
Dawn really knew how to cheer a fellow up.
 
She was a regular little Miss Pollyanna Sunshine.
 
No wonder she'd been asked to do the grief counseling.

"I'm not depressed, Dawn," he said.
 
"How about Walt?"

"Walt?
 
What does Walt have to do with anything?"

"That's what I was wondering.
 
I mean, a man who hasn't achieved his dreams might get frustrated and take out his frustrations on others.
 
Do you think Walt might ever do anything like that?"

Dawn wasn't looking at Burns now.
 
She toyed with the book on her desk, squaring it with the border of her desk calendar.
 
Burns was impressed with her desk.
 
There was no clutter.
 
Just the calendar, a pen, and a pad for writing.
 
And the book.

"Walt is a very secure person," Dawn said.

"I'm sure he is.
 
But I've heard some disturbing things lately. . . ."
 
Burns let his voice trail off.

"They're not true," Dawn said, her voice rising.
 
"Whatever you've heard, it's just gossip."

"Then there's no need for you to get upset.
 
And I'm sure none of it was your fault.
 
You're a very attractive woman, and I'm not surprised that Tom Henderson made a pass at you."

"Oh!"
 
Dawn's mouth was a soft red circle.
 
"Who told you that?
 
Did you tell Walt?
 
I know you're a friend of that policeman, that Boss Napier.
 
Did you tell him about Walt?
 
Did you?"

"No," Burns said, almost overwhelmed by the rush of words.
 
"I haven't told anyone, but I think you should let me know what happened.
 
If Boss Napier does hear about Walt, maybe I can do something to help."

Dawn reached out and grabbed
Burns's
hand.
 
"Oh, thank you, Dr. Burns.
 
You don't know how much something like that means to a person.
 
An offer to help, I mean.
 
So many people these days just don't care any more than a gun about others."

Any more than a
what?
Burns wondered.
 
But he didn't allow himself to be distracted.
 
"So Walt isn't as quite as secure as you said?"

"No.
 
He's not.
 
And I don't know why.
 
He knows that I would never, ever look at another man."

As she spoke, Dawn was looking straight into
Burns's
eyes.
 
She hadn't let go of his hand, either.

"I'm sure you wouldn't," Burns said, retrieving his hand.
 
"But Walt might not know that."

"I've told him and told him.
 
But he was a football player, you know.
 
He has this idea that he has to prove himself."

Small-college All-American, as Burns recalled.
 
Back in the glory days of HGC football.
 
And that was the main reason
Melling
had been hired as the college's head of recruiting.
 
He could speak with authority about the time when a tiny school in the heart of Texas had teed it up with the big boys and come out on top, if not every time, at least some of the time.

"He thought he had to prove himself to Tom Henderson?"

"I know, I know.
 
It sounds ridiculous.
 
Tom is so small, and Walt is so big.
 
Walt should have known how foolish it was to let a little remark get him so upset.
 
But he was determined to do something."

"What remark?" Burns asked.

"Oh, dear.
 
Do I really have to tell you?"

She didn't, of course, but
Burns's
curiosity was aroused.
 
"It might help," he said.

Dawn didn't need any further encouragement.
 
"I was in the outer office alone one afternoon when Tom—Mr. Henderson—came by.
 
He said something about my . . . figure."

"What did he say?"

"He said . . . he said, 'That's quite a set you've got there, Dawn.'"

Now there was political incorrectness for you, Burns thought.
 
Or maybe it was just stupidity, since Henderson certainly should have known better.
 
It wasn't as if every faculty member didn't get memos each semester about sexual harassment and exactly what constituted it.
 
They did.
 
And recent memos from Dean Partridge had expanded on that theme at length.

But Tom Henderson had been a throwback to a time when men thought women liked to hear that kind of thing, though Burns was no longer sure there had ever been such a time.
 
He was beginning to believe that women might have tolerated such remarks in the past, but they had probably always held men like Henderson in contempt for making them.

On the other hand, like Walt
Melling
, Henderson might have thought he had something to prove—to himself, to women, to the world in general.
 
It was hard to judge people without knowing them better, and no one was ever going to get to know Tom Henderson any better, not now.

Burns got his mind back on track.
 
"And Walt threatened to do something to Tom?
 
Like beat him up?"

"Yes, but he didn't really mean it.
 
He gets mad like that sometimes, but in a few days he gets over it.
 
You know how that is."

Burns didn't really know, but he nodded anyway.
 
"And did he get over it this time?"

"I guess," Dawn said, but Burns could tell that she wasn't sure.
 
"He told me that he was going to confront Tom, but he never said whether he did or not.
 
So I guess he didn't."