responsible, this would mean the end of his career. Beadles expected full exoneration and permitted himself a daydream of assuming the chairmanship of the department. Why not? It was only just. He was the star academic. He was the one who'd landed the Azuma Collection. He'd even been in talks with the Discovery Channel about doing his own show, out in the field. People loved that sort of thing. They were willing to watch men fish off Alaska, surely they would watch anthropologists and archaeologists uncover lost civilizations. Mel would know a good show biz attorney. At six everyone returned to his cell and received a boxed dinner: two Arby's roast beef and cheddar sandwiches and a bag of chips. Beadles drank water directly from the faucet. He fell into a shallow sleep near dawn and dreamed he stood in a desert as flat and as hot as a restaurant griddle. The sun blazed so brightly that he couldn't see. Something was coming for him but he couldn't see it because the glare was everywhere. The glare surrounded him as if he were standing inside the sun. He tried to run away but he could barely move--like a cripple dragging one leg. That thing was closing in. Anxiety, sweat, thirst, running in place. A baton running across his barred window woke him. His clothes were drenched with sweat. After breakfast a guard took him to the visitor room where Phil Ruby waited. Ruby was a short man with a full head of wavy hair over a boxy face and square glasses. He had a surprisingly high voice. "How are you doing, Professor Beadles? I'm Phil Ruby." "Thank you for seeing me." "I'm sorry I couldn't get here any sooner. I was downstate. Your wife told me about the babysitter. Ms. Byrd seems to have disappeared. Her roommate said she left late Saturday night right after coming home from your house. I have contacted the state police and informed them that she is a material witness. Unfortunately, they pointed out that since she is our witness, it is up to us to produce her. With your permission I'd like to hire a private investigator." The words echoed from a great distance. Beadles felt trapped. How had this happened? "Are you shitting me?" he said. "No sir." "What about Liggett? Did he split too?" "No, but Professor Liggett has not returned my phone calls. I believe he has retained an attorney of his own." "Why does he need an attorney?" "To protect himself from false accusations, he said." Beadles felt a vein throbbing on his forehead, sending jabs of pain into his eye. "You don't think I did it, do you?" "It doesn't matter what I think, Professor. But I must warn you--if this goes to trial that old shoplifting charge is bound to come up. They will go over your past with an electron microscope. If you were ever stopped for a traffic or drug beef they will find out. I hate surprises. So I want you to tell me the straight story. What are they going to find?" The throbbing had assumed Olympian proportions. Beadles felt as if his head would explode. "Can't that wait until I'm out of here?" "You're scheduled for arraignment this afternoon. I'll see what I can do." ***
CHAPTER FIFTEEN "Dear Vaughan" Bail was set at fifty thousand dollars. Beadles emptied his bank account and walked free. Using Ruby's cell he phoned Betty and went straight to voice mail. "Miss you, babe. I'll be home shortly." A talon of concern sunk into his neck. Betty should have been there to pick him up. Her folks were watching Lars, weren't they? Ruby offered Beadles a ride home. "So what's the story, Professor? What else is lurking out there aside from the shoplifting charge?" Beadles ran a hand through his hair, which felt both greasy and gritty. "I got busted for grass in college. I did community service and it was supposedly expunged." "Holding or selling?" Beadles stared out the window. "Selling. A goddamned ounce to some fuckin' weasel who turned out to be a police informant." "How'd you get out of it?" "I had good grades. It was a first