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said.
    “Any one in particular?”
    “Changed from semester to semester,” Tracy said.
    “But he usually got them from his seminar,” Carla said.
    “He gave a seminar every semester, ‘Low-Country Realists, ’ ” Tracy said.
    “Which is where he trolled for them,” Carla said. “He’s something of a legend among the women students.”
    “What happened to his seminar?” I said.
    “Kids will all get the grade they had on the midterm for a final grade. Ash was a notoriously easy grader. Nobody’s complaining.”
    “You don’t happen to know who his current favorite was,” I said.
    “Don’t have a name. But there was a blonde girl, tall, very artsy-looking in a sort of fake way,” Tracy said. “You know. Long, smooth hair; high boots; too-long cashmere sweaters; pre-torn designer jeans. She spent a lot of time in his office.”
    “When does the seminar meet?” I said.
    “Tuesdays, two to five, in the Fine Arts building,” Carla said. “Room Two-fifty-six.”
    “Right on the tip of your tongue,” I said.
    “I spent most of a day trying to schedule a replacement for Ash when he got killed,” she said. “It’s burned into my brain.”
    I gave each of them my business card.
    “Hey,” Tracy said. “You’re not a cop.”
    “Private,” I said. “You think of anything, you could call me.”
    “A private eye?” Carla said. “You carry a gun?”
    “I do,” I said.
    “You ever shoot anybody?”
    “Mostly I use it to get a date,” I said.

13
    I went over to the campus police station and sat with the chief, a tall, pleasant-looking guy with short sandy hair and horn-rimmed glasses. His name was Crosby.
    “Frank Belson said I should talk to you,” he said. “I started out in a cruiser with Frank back in the days when we were two to a car, working out of the old station house in Brighton.”
    “Right across from Saint Elizabeth’s.”
    “You got it,” Crosby said. “Met a lotta nurses from Saint Elizabeth’s in those days. Me and Frank both. We had some pretty wild times off-duty, and a few when we were on.”
    “What do you know about Ashton Prince?” I said.
    Crosby’s face got quiet, and he sucked on his cheeks for a moment.
    “Belson tells me your word is good,” he said.
    “It is,” I said.
    “Belson and I grew up together in the cop business, until I took retirement after twenty, and came to work here.”
    “Belson’s a lifer,” I said.
    “For sure,” Crosby said. “Frank’s approval carries a lot of weight with me. And we got a guy murdered here, one of ours, even though he was pretty much of a jerkoff.”
    “Lot of that going around in academe,” I said.
    “Sweet Jesus,” Crosby said.
    I waited. He sucked his cheeks for another moment.
    “Okay,” Crosby said. “What I say in this room stays in this room.”
    I nodded.
    “Your word?”
    “I’ll use the information, but I won’t say where I got it without your permission.”
    “Okay,” Crosby said.
    He sat back a little in his chair and put his feet up on his desk. He was wearing cordovan shoes with a high shine.
    “This is an easy job,” Crosby said. “Most of the time I don’t even carry a piece. We make sure that everyone parks in the right place. We keep the kids from setting fire to the place while drunk. We do routine patrol.”
    “Keep the marauders at bay,” I said.
    “Something like that,” Crosby said. “Now and then a rape. Now and then a robbery. But mostly it’s sort of housekeeping, you know, and, ah, covering up.”
    “ ‘Covering up’?”
    “University dislikes scandal,” Crosby said. “Made that clear when they hired me. Part of my job description is keeping a lid on anything that might harm enrollments, recruiting, or, God forbid, fund-raising and alumni support.”
    “How you feel about that?” I said.
    Crosby smiled.
    “I don’t like it,” he said. “But in a way it’s kind of motivational. We work extra hard to prevent a crime from happening so we don’t have