…A Dangerous Thing (20 page)

"Impossible.
 
I don't recall ever having seen him before coming to HGC."

"Maybe I heard wrong.
 
You didn't go to school in California?"

"No.
 
I went to North Texas State, as it was called in those days.
 
I've never even
been
to California."

Burns wondered why Holt was so insistent.
 
"So there's no way you could have known Henderson?"

Holt shook his magnificent head.
 
"I don't see how."

"There was someone else that Tom mentioned.
 
Henry
Mitchum
. Sometimes called Hank.
 
Did you ever know him?"

Holt's mouth didn't fall open, but it was a near thing.
 
"W-who?"

"Henry
Mitchum
," Burns repeated.

"Oh," Holt said, making a quick recovery.
 
"I thought you said
Robert
Mitchum
."
 
He laughed weakly.
 
"I hope you don't think I'm old enough to have gone to school with
him
."

"I don't think he went to college," Burns said.

"You're right.
 
He didn't.
 
I guess I couldn't have known him, then, could I?"

"We weren't really talking about Robert, though," Burns said.
 
"We were talking about Henry.
 
Or Hank."

"Afraid I can't help you there, either.
 
Never heard of the fellow.
 
Who is he, anyway?"

"Just someone Tom Henderson mentioned to me.
 
I thought you might have known him."

"Sorry.
 
I didn't."

"That's all right," Burns said.
 
"He was just someone Tom happened to mention.
 
Someone he went to school with."
 
Burns looked at his watch.
 
"Well, I guess I'd better let you get back to your serial."

Burns stepped out the door, walked a pace or two, then turned back in his best
Columbo
style.
 
"Oh, there was one other thing I wanted to ask."

Holt said, "What?"

"The night Tom was killed.
 
Where were you?"

Holt didn't answer for a few seconds.
 
"I was in my classroom, I suppose.
 
I have a class on Tuesday evenings."

Burns was well aware of that.
 
"So you were questioned by the police?"

"Uh, no.
 
No, I wasn't questioned."

"But I thought they questioned everyone in the building."

"I . . . that was
Tuesday
evening, wasn't it?"

Burns was nothing if not patient.
 
"Yes.
 
Tuesday."

"
Last
Tuesday," Holt said, clearly stalling for time.

"That's right," Burns agreed, giving Holt all the rope he needed.
 
"
Last
Tuesday."

"Um.
 
Let me see.
 
I think I was a little late to class that evening.
 
Yes.
 
That's it.
 
I was late.
 
By the time I got here, there were people swarming all over the building.
 
I asked someone what the trouble was, and I was told that classes had been dismissed because of an accident.
 
I went back to my apartment and read."

Burns didn't say a word.
 
He just stood there, waiting.

"I know that was wrong," Holt said after a second or two.
 
"I can see why you're concerned.
 
You're the chairman, after all.
 
I should have come into the building and checked on my students, but I assumed that they had all gone or were told the same thing I was told."

Burns didn't say a word.

"Of course you're wondering where I was.
 
That's only natural.
 
I know that you stress being in class on time."

Holt was talking too much, and he didn't even know what he was talking about.
 
Burns didn't stress being in class on time.
 
The HGC administration did enough of that without Burns having to say anything.

"I was with Dean Partridge," Holt went on.
 
"She called me in for a conference to discuss how I was getting on.
 
We were talking and lost track of the time.
 
So I was a little late for class."

Burns thought it was time for him to say something.
 
"That's understandable."

"Yes.
 
Yes, it is.
 
And of course it was on her own time.
 
She didn't have a chance to meet with me during regular school hours, so she
 
called me in after five.
 
I thought it would be rude of me to call her attention to the time since she'd made a special effort to meet with me then."

And Burns was sure that Dean Partridge would back Holt up about the meeting if she were ever questioned.
 
So why did he think that it had never taken place?

Maybe because Eric Holt was actually sweating, though it was quite cool in the office.
 
For once, Main's erratic air-conditioning system was functioning perfectly, but Holt's forehead was damp, and a thin trickle of sweat ran down from Holt's hair past the corner of his eye.

"Dean Partridge is pretty considerate, all right," Burns said.
 
"I don't blame you for not mentioning that you were going to be a little late to class.
 
Don't worry about it."

"I won't," Holt said, looking more worried than ever.

Burns left him that way, wondering why he felt so good about having made Holt feel so miserable.
 
He also wondered which man looked guiltier, Holt or
Melling
.
 
He decided it was a toss-up, though
Melling
was certainly the more dangerously physical of the two.
 
The recruiter didn't sweat.
 
He turned red and made fists.
 
However, you could never tell about something like that.
 
Holt might react violently if he were pushed or prodded in the right way.

Burns was whistling "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" when he walked into his office, but he broke off the tune abruptly when he saw who was waiting for him there.

It was George (the Ghost)
Kaspar
, and he didn't look happy.

G
eorge was no happier than he looked.

"I saw your light on," he said.
 
"So I stopped by.
 
I didn't really think you'd be here this late."

"I had a few things to do," Burns said.
 
"How can I help you, George?"

"It's probably too late for anybody to do anything," George said.
 
"If you'd just never taught that poem, I wouldn't be in this mess."

Burns sat behind his desk.
 
"Did Ms. Tanner talk to
Bunni
today?"

George nodded.
 
"For all the good
that
did."

Burns had hoped that Elaine would switch sides, especially after last night.
 
Evidently she hadn't.

"And that's not all," George said.

Burns didn't like the sound of that.
 
"What do you mean?"

"Ms. Tanner told
Bunni
that
lookism
is everywhere.
 
She said someone was guilty of it with her."

Burns held in his groan.
 
"Did she say who it was?"

"Don't worry," George said.
 
"It's not you."

He sounded disappointed, Burns thought, not feeling the least relieved.
 
In fact, he dreaded asking his next question.
 
"Did she say who it was?"

"Sure.
 
It's that cop.
 
Boss Napier."

Burns felt the bottom fall out of his stomach.
 
There was only one thing worse than being accused of
lookism
himself, and this was it.
 
It was worse because he knew exactly who Boss Napier was going to blame.

No matter that there wasn't any justice in it.
 
Napier would blame Burns.

"Are you sure about this, George?"

"Sure I'm sure.
 
I talked to
Bunni
about it.
 
She was thrilled to see that Ms. Tanner was a victim too.
 
It just strengthens her case, she says."

"How's the rest of the campus taking this?" Burns asked, hoping to distract himself from the issue of Boss Napier's
lookism
.

George brightened, though not much.
 
"Well, there are a lot of people on my side.
 
And not all of them are guys."

"That's encouraging," Burns said.

"Yeah, but there are a lot of people who
aren't
on my side, too."

"What about the Student Court?"

"They've set a hearing.
 
It'll be on Monday."

"Monday?"
 
Burns was a bit surprised.
 
"That seems a little too soon for them to have gathered all the facts."

"That's what I thought.
 
But I heard it's Dean Partridge's idea."

That made sense, Burns thought.
 
The Dean wanted to get things out in the open and dealt with before too much pressure built up.
 
There would be parents calling, wondering what was going on, and the local newspaper might get hold of the story.
 
No telling where it might go after that; it might even get on the wire services.
 
Dr. Miller wouldn't like the negative publicity that could result.
 
He wouldn't like it at all.

"What I was wondering," George said, "was whether you'd be sort of my defense attorney."

That was all Burns needed.
 
But he couldn't turn George down.
 
So he said, "I'd be glad too, George," even though he didn't mean it.
 
Maybe little white lies didn't count against you too much.

George didn't smile, but he looked a little less glum.
 
"Thanks, Dr. Burns.
 
I didn't really mean it about this being all your fault.
 
It's my fault, and I know it.
 
I shouldn't have let appearances influence my affections."

"Where did you get that idea?" Burns asked.

"I guess I heard it from
Bunni
."

It figured.
 
"Well, don't worry about it," Burns said.
 
"I don't think this will amount to a thing."

"It might.
 
The Student Court could ask the school to suspend me.
 
My parents would never forgive me if that happened."

"The court won't do anything like that.
 
I promise."

"Really?" George sounded more hopeful than he had so far.
 
"You think they won't?"

Burns had a sudden flash of himself as Al Pacino at the end of
Scent of a Woman
, pounding the table with his cane and screaming that he'd take a flame-thrower to the place.
 
It was a nice picture, but it would never work.
 
He was no Al Pacino.
 
He was more like Jimmy Durante.

"I know they won't," he lied.
 
"You don't have a thing to worry about.
 
I'm a great defense attorney.
 
Taught Perry Mason all he knows."

"That's great."
 
George stood up and stuck out his hand.
 
"I knew I could count on you, Dr. Burns.
 
Thanks."

Burns took the offered hand and shook it.
 
He only wished he had as much faith in himself as George did.

A
fter George left, Burns looked around his office to see if there was anything he needed to take home for the weekend.
 
There was nothing, and he was just about to close the door when the phone rang.

Burns glanced at his watch.
 
Four o'clock.
 
He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in his office at that hour on a Friday afternoon.
 
Who could be calling?

The phone rang again.

Maybe it was Holt.
 
He knew Burns was in.
 
Or maybe it was Elaine.
 
Burns hadn't had time to talk to her all day.
 
She might be lonely.
 
It was a nice thought.