(2012) Cross-Border Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

might even be legally confidential.”
    “I would be prepared to trust your judgment in that regard.”
    “I would have to consult the rector.”
    I felt he needed a little extra nudge. “Joe, I want you to trust me on this one. I won’t write the story unless both of us are convinced that the evidence is strong enough to warrant that the file be re-opened.” I knew I was putting a burden on him that he did not need, and probably didn’t want. Nor was he stupid. He knew that I controlled only what I intended to do. What the paper might do with just some juicy tidbits was another matter. But I think he was too proud to ask me to keep everything I found out to myself until we both agreed on the need for a story.
    He returned to the window and stared outside. I watched his shoulders slump a little and then square themselves.
    “Okay.” He said. “I’ll speak to the rector as soon as I can. Call me after ten tomorrow morning.”
    “Deo gratias, Joe.” We had both been around long enough to have studied Latin in High School. And maybe to trust each other a little. A younger PR man would have found a way to turn me down. Maybe even to put some roadblocks in my way.
     

CHAPTER THREE  
     
    I met Gina at the main gate. Decades ago the approach from the gate to the administration building had been composed of gravel pathways surrounded by grass and well-tended flower beds. Now most of it had been paved over to provide a parking lot for senior administrators. A few buildings still had a certain charm, even though their style was imitation Gothic. A century ago they had been set in a very ample green space and surrounded by a countryside that had yet to be turned into suburbia. But the city had grown and surrounded the site. Time, the value of real estate, and the change in university vocations had bowdlerized any of the original architect’s concept. The change was now beyond redemption. New cost-efficient buildings had sprouted like concrete bunkers around an under-sized grass quadrangle. The university had originally been an Arts College. But who needs labs that look like libraries? Not the technicians who work in them. And who needs business faculties that do not resemble the corporate world that students are being trained to manage? As I walked with Gina towards the main building, I wondered if she saw what I saw. Maybe she was too young. I wondered if this kind of ad-hoc mess of pottage was all that she had ever known.
    The faculty club was on the top floor of the main building. We walked up what had once been an ornate staircase rather than wait for the rickety elevator. The faculty club, too, looked as if it had been recently modernized. The bar was now black leather and silver chrome rather than polished mahogany. Couches were a pale green, made of some imitation leather material that could be easily wiped clean. The parquetry floor was covered in a hard wall-to-wall, dark brown, industrial carpeting. All the original paintings had been replaced by lively, colorful prints. The old original paintings were probably now too valuable to be hung in a public place where petty theft had probably become a way of life. But the tall, leaded windows remained. Near one of these, at a small low table, I recognized Harold Hendricks from the photo. A drink and a small pitcher of water sat in front of him. I had told him I would be coming alone. He rose with a puzzled smile as I approached with Gina. When I introduced ourselves, he said to Gina, “Of course, I should have recognized you right away. You have your mother’s bone structure. Mind you, you’ve changed a lot since I saw you as a young teen.” He seemed uneasy. I wanted to think that perhaps there was some residual guilt about the fate of her father.
    “You may have heard,” Gina said, “my father died recently.”
    He nodded with a glance in my direction. “I’m truly sorry to hear that.”
    He made a very slight clicking sound and shook his head ever so