Saboteur: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Tell me, have your read your Sherlock
Holmes detective?”
    “No sir, but I saw the movie--I
think.”
    “You know, there is no such person
actually,” Tierney said ruefully. “He’s only a figment of Conan Doyle’s
imagination.”
    “Ok sir, if you say so,” he said
sheepishly.
    “Holmes says when you have
eliminated all the possibilities whatever remains, however unlikely, must be
the truth. I would think a man like you would have read some of it--your powers
of analysis being what they are. Every man has a blind spot, detective, try not
to forget that.”
    “I won’t forget it” he said
dryly.  
    “One last thing. How could you see
the resemblance after meeting my son just the once? That’s incredible.”
    “There’s a picture of you two
playing golf together right over there on the wall,” he said pointing. “It
says, Father Son Golf Tournament .”
    Tierney sniffed, “So it does.”
Tierney’s patience had clearly run out and he rose from his chair escorting him
to the door.
    “Enjoy the city. This town can be a
lot of fun for a young guy like yourself.”
    “Sir, if I may ask?”
    “Yes?”
    “Earlier you said my car was parked in the lot? That’s an unusual
shift in tense.”
    “Yeah, I had it towed, you were in
my spot. You can pick it up at impound for about four hundred and fifty bucks,
I think. It will give you a chance to learn your way around, meet people. Think
of it as a self-guided orientation,” Tierney said laughing out loud. “And don’t
forget to close the door behind you.”

 
    Chapter 6

 
    The Glass Case

 
    Downy stared out the view across the campus quad with his arms
crossed. Students moved in packs silently; through the tinted glass, from his
fifth floor perch, they looked orderly and thoughtful. They weren’t. Like
cities at night they looked rather beautiful at a distance. Up close though, in
the light of day, they were full of pathos, curses and complaints. Not all of
them of course. Not Samara Lee Patterson. He looked at his phone, the message
light was blinking and he thought it would be wise to phone his wife. Her voice
would help cancel out some of the feelings at least—help calm him down.
Randomly, he thought of her thighs, his wife’s, and of course the short black
skirt that she wore when she wanted to get his attention. But then there was
Samara. It was Samara that had him
all charged up. He allowed himself a moment to think about her too--the simple
dress, which hung so perfectly off her shoulder, the soft nape of her neck,
olive colored skin. Perfect lips. And of course that tattoo across her back
left shoulder, a Latin script. He’d only made out the last word: VERITAS . Truth. Lots of kids wrote
things like that on themselves these days--reminders perhaps of what was
important. Samara, of course, was a scholar like her father though and was
already reading Latin by the time she was twelve. It had been their secret
language. His imagination finished the daydream, placing some beads of sweat on
her chest and the hungry sound of her voice in his ear. He interrupted himself
and pushed the blinking button, almost punching a hole in it.  
    “Uh, yello. Professor Downy, I need
a moment of your time some day this week, I wonder if--well I’m calling from
the prec--”
    He punched for his secretary
ignoring the voice and the rest of the message.
    “Janine, could you put all my messages through until
tomorrow, I’m feeling a bit of a fever coming on and I’ll be heading home for a
nap.”
    “Of course, professor,” came the
voice on the other end.
    “Janine, could you stop calling me
that for God’s sake.”
    “No, professor, not when I so enjoy
how much it bothers you.”
    “Thank you, Janine.”
    “I hope you feel better boss,” she
replied.
    He slipped down the back staircase,
which he always used when he wanted to avoid getting held up. His car waited
only a few feet from the back entrance. He would have been a professor for