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Authors: Bill Crider
Tags: Mystery & Crime
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wasn't smiling.
Chapter Six
I t was almost impossible to hold classes the next day, and not just because the only thing anyone could talk about was the death of Tom Henderson. The major distraction was the "grief counseling" that Dean Partridge had ordered for any students who felt devastated by Henderson's sudden demise.
Predictably enough, there were very few students who fell into such a group, Henderson not having been one of HGC's most popular professors. However, so that the program would not look like a terrible administrative misjudgment, all the instructors had been told to mention the special counseling sessions in their classes and encourage the students to attend them.
Burns dutifully followed orders, though he was highly suspicious of the fact that Dawn Melling had been placed in charge of the counseling. He didn't know how much good she could do.
He said as much to Fox and Tomlin as they sat in the boiler room, the only indoor "smoke free area" left on campus where anyone felt smoking could go on undetected.
The reason for that was that the HGC's boiler was older than anyone on campus, with the possible exception of Dirty Harry, the campus security officer, who spent a great deal of his time in the boiler room, asleep.
Of course it wasn't only that the boiler was old that kept people away. It was also, like Dirty Harry, dangerous.
Dirty Harry was dangerous because he carried a big revolver and was likely to point it at anyone or anyone who looked even the least bit out of place to him. It was a known fact that hardly anyone dared venture into a campus office on the weekend to catch up on paper grading or to map out assignments for the coming week.
Harry was likely to creep into the office behind them and throw down on them with the revolver, threatening to shoot if they didn't produce i.d . to prove they had a right on campus. Since HGC didn't furnish i.d . cards to its faculty, there were several instructors who felt that they had gone through near-death experiences while looking down the barrel of Harry's .357 Magnum.
The boiler didn't carry a gun, but it was just as likely to explode as Harry's revolver, at least according to an engineering study that Dean Partridge had ordered. It was old, and if the pressure built up too much, it was going to take out half the campus. Or that was the story going around.
It was, Burns thought as he looked at it, certainly big enough. It looked a little like a stubby, asbestos-wrapped rocket ship lying there in its concrete cradles, pipes and valves extending from it and running to all the buildings it served. It was quiet for the time being, however. Thanks to the mild spring weather, the boiler wouldn't be needed to heat the campus buildings until well into the next fall.
Just the same, no one came into the building that housed the boiler except for the occasional maintenance worker who was sneaking a smoke and who was therefore highly unlikely to rat on anyone else doing the same thing.
"What's Dawn going to tell the kids, anyway?" Tomlin wondered. "'I share your pain'?"
"That's not what I'd like to share with Dawn," Earl Fox said with an attempt at a leer. His clean-cut features didn't lend themselves very well to leering, however.
"That's a sexist remark, I think," Burns told him. "I could report you to the dean for something like that."
"She might have heard that story already," Mal Tomlin said. "Not about Earl, but if what I heard is true, old Henderson shared at thing or two with Dawn. Right, Earl?"
Fox looked the other way and tapped the ash off his cigarette onto the concrete floor. One advantage of being in the boiler room was that you didn't have to bother with an ashtray.
"Hey, Earl, is it true or not?" Tomlin asked.
To his surprise, Burns didn't know exactly what was going on. He thought he was pretty well up on the campus gossip, but this was clearly something he'd missed. And Fox
Chapter Six
I t was almost impossible to hold classes the next day, and not just because the only thing anyone could talk about was the death of Tom Henderson. The major distraction was the "grief counseling" that Dean Partridge had ordered for any students who felt devastated by Henderson's sudden demise.
Predictably enough, there were very few students who fell into such a group, Henderson not having been one of HGC's most popular professors. However, so that the program would not look like a terrible administrative misjudgment, all the instructors had been told to mention the special counseling sessions in their classes and encourage the students to attend them.
Burns dutifully followed orders, though he was highly suspicious of the fact that Dawn Melling had been placed in charge of the counseling. He didn't know how much good she could do.
He said as much to Fox and Tomlin as they sat in the boiler room, the only indoor "smoke free area" left on campus where anyone felt smoking could go on undetected.
The reason for that was that the HGC's boiler was older than anyone on campus, with the possible exception of Dirty Harry, the campus security officer, who spent a great deal of his time in the boiler room, asleep.
Of course it wasn't only that the boiler was old that kept people away. It was also, like Dirty Harry, dangerous.
Dirty Harry was dangerous because he carried a big revolver and was likely to point it at anyone or anyone who looked even the least bit out of place to him. It was a known fact that hardly anyone dared venture into a campus office on the weekend to catch up on paper grading or to map out assignments for the coming week.
Harry was likely to creep into the office behind them and throw down on them with the revolver, threatening to shoot if they didn't produce i.d . to prove they had a right on campus. Since HGC didn't furnish i.d . cards to its faculty, there were several instructors who felt that they had gone through near-death experiences while looking down the barrel of Harry's .357 Magnum.
The boiler didn't carry a gun, but it was just as likely to explode as Harry's revolver, at least according to an engineering study that Dean Partridge had ordered. It was old, and if the pressure built up too much, it was going to take out half the campus. Or that was the story going around.
It was, Burns thought as he looked at it, certainly big enough. It looked a little like a stubby, asbestos-wrapped rocket ship lying there in its concrete cradles, pipes and valves extending from it and running to all the buildings it served. It was quiet for the time being, however. Thanks to the mild spring weather, the boiler wouldn't be needed to heat the campus buildings until well into the next fall.
Just the same, no one came into the building that housed the boiler except for the occasional maintenance worker who was sneaking a smoke and who was therefore highly unlikely to rat on anyone else doing the same thing.
"What's Dawn going to tell the kids, anyway?" Tomlin wondered. "'I share your pain'?"
"That's not what I'd like to share with Dawn," Earl Fox said with an attempt at a leer. His clean-cut features didn't lend themselves very well to leering, however.
"That's a sexist remark, I think," Burns told him. "I could report you to the dean for something like that."
"She might have heard that story already," Mal Tomlin said. "Not about Earl, but if what I heard is true, old Henderson shared at thing or two with Dawn. Right, Earl?"
Fox looked the other way and tapped the ash off his cigarette onto the concrete floor. One advantage of being in the boiler room was that you didn't have to bother with an ashtray.
"Hey, Earl, is it true or not?" Tomlin asked.
To his surprise, Burns didn't know exactly what was going on. He thought he was pretty well up on the campus gossip, but this was clearly something he'd missed. And Fox
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