Anne pulled
out a cigarette and lit it. But it tasted flat, tired. Ereintée , fagged out. A pun in
English. Tal would’ve liked it. She turned back to the
room.
Bernie Reinalter had
appeared at his office door and was staring at Walensky with barely
disguised shock. The department chairman was a tall, pale man with
fading blond hair. Silver hairs among the gold. His family was
Swiss, he’d told Tal once. Tal, who had done a stint as chairman
himself, grumbled about Bernie’s insistence on meeting deadlines
and budget restraints. But under Bernie the department had done
well enough, hiring some good people, winning expanded support for
the preschool lab facilities. We could do a lot worse, was Tal’s
judicious overall assessment.
Walensky was taking notes,
talking to Cindy. “Now, what time was this?”
“ It was late for Tal.
Nine-thirty, maybe. He’s usually in an hour earlier.”
“ And what did he
say?”
“ The usual hello, how are
things, very jolly—God, I can’t believe this!” Cindy was dabbing at
her mascaraed eyes.
“ Did he mention any
plans?”
Bernie Reinalter had
noticed Anne. The chairman strode toward her decisively but paused
before he reached her, with an awkward, helpless movement of his
well-kept hand. “Anne, I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can
do—”
She nodded curtly.
“Thanks, Bernie. I’ll let you know.”
“ Please do.” His hand made
another ineffectual gesture. This was something efficiency and
planning couldn’t fix. He looked back at Walensky. Anne ground out
the tasteless cigarette on the inside of the metal
wastebasket.
“ He was going to return
some books to the library after he checked his mail,” Cindy was
explaining. “Had a bag full of them. He dropped them on the chair
there and went into the mail room. I called after him that the mail
hadn’t come yet today, but he reminded me that he still had to pick
up yesterday’s. See, he’d left at lunchtime yesterday. And today he
had to go to the IRS office, he said.”
Walensky nodded, writing
it down. “And then what?”
Cindy glanced at the door.
Anne saw that Nora and Bart and Charlie were coming in, all looking
tense and drawn. Funereal faces: Nora’s smooth face tight with
worry, Charlie anxious behind his glasses like his favorite Woody
Allen, Bart enormous and sloppily mournful. Cindy nodded a greeting
at them and answered Walensky. “And then he came out, even happier
than before. Something about a publisher. That’s when he invited me
to lunch. I couldn’t go, but just then Professor Bickford stepped
into the office and Tal started talking to him.”
Bart Bickford nodded.
“That’s right. We walked across the hall to my office.” One beefy
hand was fidgeting with the button of his jacket. Twice as big, and
looked twice as haggard as anyone else. Suddenly Anne understood
his problem. Or a big hunk of it, at least. She crossed the room
toward him as Walensky asked, “Any special reason he went to your
office?”
“ I wanted some advice
about a grant proposal I’m writing.” His hands were in his jacket
pockets now, clenching and unclenching. Anne held out her pack of
Gauloises. Too quickly, his fingers sprang from his pockets,
twitched out a cigarette, snatched the lighter from her other hand.
“Uh… thanks,” he said when it was kindled. Didn’t seem to taste
flat to him.
“ Did he mention anything
that he was worried about?” Walensky asked.
“ No,” said Bart, exhaling
smoke slowly and ending with a little cough. “On the contrary, he
was very upbeat. Patted me on the back, told me I’d get my grant if
their committee had half a brain. Then he wanted to know if I’d
seen Charlie, and I said yes, maybe twenty minutes before. He’d
been rushing toward his office, said he was in a hurry.”
“ Yes, I was late to meet
Dr. Ryan,” said Charlie.
“ So Tal said not to
forget, noon at Plato’s, and zipped off. I figured he was going to
talk to Charlie.”
“ Now,
out a cigarette and lit it. But it tasted flat, tired. Ereintée , fagged out. A pun in
English. Tal would’ve liked it. She turned back to the
room.
Bernie Reinalter had
appeared at his office door and was staring at Walensky with barely
disguised shock. The department chairman was a tall, pale man with
fading blond hair. Silver hairs among the gold. His family was
Swiss, he’d told Tal once. Tal, who had done a stint as chairman
himself, grumbled about Bernie’s insistence on meeting deadlines
and budget restraints. But under Bernie the department had done
well enough, hiring some good people, winning expanded support for
the preschool lab facilities. We could do a lot worse, was Tal’s
judicious overall assessment.
Walensky was taking notes,
talking to Cindy. “Now, what time was this?”
“ It was late for Tal.
Nine-thirty, maybe. He’s usually in an hour earlier.”
“ And what did he
say?”
“ The usual hello, how are
things, very jolly—God, I can’t believe this!” Cindy was dabbing at
her mascaraed eyes.
“ Did he mention any
plans?”
Bernie Reinalter had
noticed Anne. The chairman strode toward her decisively but paused
before he reached her, with an awkward, helpless movement of his
well-kept hand. “Anne, I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can
do—”
She nodded curtly.
“Thanks, Bernie. I’ll let you know.”
“ Please do.” His hand made
another ineffectual gesture. This was something efficiency and
planning couldn’t fix. He looked back at Walensky. Anne ground out
the tasteless cigarette on the inside of the metal
wastebasket.
“ He was going to return
some books to the library after he checked his mail,” Cindy was
explaining. “Had a bag full of them. He dropped them on the chair
there and went into the mail room. I called after him that the mail
hadn’t come yet today, but he reminded me that he still had to pick
up yesterday’s. See, he’d left at lunchtime yesterday. And today he
had to go to the IRS office, he said.”
Walensky nodded, writing
it down. “And then what?”
Cindy glanced at the door.
Anne saw that Nora and Bart and Charlie were coming in, all looking
tense and drawn. Funereal faces: Nora’s smooth face tight with
worry, Charlie anxious behind his glasses like his favorite Woody
Allen, Bart enormous and sloppily mournful. Cindy nodded a greeting
at them and answered Walensky. “And then he came out, even happier
than before. Something about a publisher. That’s when he invited me
to lunch. I couldn’t go, but just then Professor Bickford stepped
into the office and Tal started talking to him.”
Bart Bickford nodded.
“That’s right. We walked across the hall to my office.” One beefy
hand was fidgeting with the button of his jacket. Twice as big, and
looked twice as haggard as anyone else. Suddenly Anne understood
his problem. Or a big hunk of it, at least. She crossed the room
toward him as Walensky asked, “Any special reason he went to your
office?”
“ I wanted some advice
about a grant proposal I’m writing.” His hands were in his jacket
pockets now, clenching and unclenching. Anne held out her pack of
Gauloises. Too quickly, his fingers sprang from his pockets,
twitched out a cigarette, snatched the lighter from her other hand.
“Uh… thanks,” he said when it was kindled. Didn’t seem to taste
flat to him.
“ Did he mention anything
that he was worried about?” Walensky asked.
“ No,” said Bart, exhaling
smoke slowly and ending with a little cough. “On the contrary, he
was very upbeat. Patted me on the back, told me I’d get my grant if
their committee had half a brain. Then he wanted to know if I’d
seen Charlie, and I said yes, maybe twenty minutes before. He’d
been rushing toward his office, said he was in a hurry.”
“ Yes, I was late to meet
Dr. Ryan,” said Charlie.
“ So Tal said not to
forget, noon at Plato’s, and zipped off. I figured he was going to
talk to Charlie.”
“ Now,
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