Small Vices Part 4

"That's what they tell me."

I looked up at the dorm on the hill. "Odd place to dump somebody."

"Can't see it from the road," Livingston said.

"If it's on this side of these bushes," I said. "But then you can see it from the dorm."

"He probably didn't realize that," Livingston said.

"Not hard to notice," I said.

"Probably dark. I don't think they ever established just when he dumped her."

"That's probably it," I said. "Odd place for a black man from the city to dump a dead body, on a mostly white, all prestigious, suburban, women's college campus."

Livingston shrugged.

"Had to dump it somewhere," he said. "Wouldn't want to get caught driving it around."

"You'd think he'd have driven into the center of the campus?"

"Might have driven until he found a spot where he was alone. Might have been traffic near the gate, people walking by on the street, how the h.e.l.l do I know. They ain't always the smartest people in the world."

"Most folks aren't," I said. "Anybody talk with the dorm residents up there?"

"Couple of State detectives were around. They probably did. College worked pretty hard to protect the students."

"From what?"

Livingston looked surprised.

"From being ha.s.sled," he said. "People pay about thirty grand a year for their kids to go here. They don't like it much having the kids grilled by some cop, you know?"

"Where would I get the names of the students who lived in that dorm a year and a half ago?"

"Dean of Student Affairs, I suppose. But she won't want to give them to you."

"Of course she won't," I said.

Chapter 7.

HAWK AND I were at the bar in The Four Seasons Hotel having a beer. It was a s.p.a.cious, comfortable bar, though one of the advantages of drinking with Hawk was that even in crowded bars, you always had elbow room. n.o.body ever talked loud around Hawk. n.o.body ever crowded him.

"Been talking to Tony Marcus about my man Ellis."

"Marcus is out?"

Hawk nodded. He was making eye contact with an elegant platinum-haired woman in a long dress, who was having c.o.c.ktails with a couple of suits.

"Tony got a lot of money," Hawk said.

"The Russians get a wedge into his business?" I said.

"Not after he come out," Hawk said.

"He know anything about Ellis?" I said.

"Knew him at Cedar Junction a little. Or so he say. Tony don't trust the truth."

"And?"

"And nothing much. Ellis doing the time. Tony say he a pretty bad a.s.s."

"Anything about the Henderson murder?"

"Ellis say he didn't do it. But it don't mean much. Lotta cons say they didn't do it."

The platinum-haired woman wore a wedding ring. The suit she was sitting next to was shorter than she was and a lot heavier, and somewhat older. He rested his hand on her thigh like the proud owner of a pedigreed dog, while he talked to the other suit about something that interested him but bored h.e.l.l out of her. She was still looking at Hawk.

"I can see why she's not paying attention to her husband," I said. "But why you and not me?"

"Probably 'cause she like tall, dark, and handsome," Hawk said.

Her husband was waving his hands as he talked to the guy across the table. A diamond ring glinted on his little finger. He started to tick off a series of somethings on the fingers of his left hand. Platinum Hair rose gracefully and walked toward the bar. She stopped in front of Hawk and said quietly, "My name is Claire Reston. I'm in room 508 and my husband will be out doing business all day tomorrow."

Hawk smiled at her.

"Care to sightsee?" he said.

"Depends on the sight," she said.

"We'll talk," Hawk said.

"Good," she said and moved on toward the ladies' room at the back, her elegant hips swaying under the tight dress.

"This is a positive sign," I said.

Hawk smiled thoughtfully, and drank some beer. I ordered two more. The bartender brought them and put another dish of mixed nuts on the bar where we could reach them. The platinum-haired woman glided back from the ladies' room and walked past us and smiled. Her husband was leaning forward now, drawing an imaginary something on the tabletop with his forefinger. He didn't look up when she sat down.

"You ever wanted kids?" I said to Hawk.

"I like them a little older," Hawk said.

"No, you animal, I meant have you ever wanted to be a father?"

"Not lately," Hawk said.

The piano player had been on break. He came back in and sat down and began to play "Green Dolphin Street." The husband of Platinum Hair looked at his watch and said something to the other suit. Then he jerked his head at his wife, and the three of them got up and left. As they went out, the husband had hold of the other guy's arm and was talking close to his face. Platinum Hair looked back at Hawk without any expression. Then she followed her husband and his cohort out of the bar.

"Susan wants to adopt a baby," I said.

Hawk never reacted to anything, and he didn't to this. But he turned his attention toward me and the weight of it was palpable.

"Only one?" he said.

"So far."

"What about Pearl?"

"In addition to Pearl," I said.

"Pearl won't like it much," Hawk said.

"Pearl is not alone in that."

"Susan want you to be the papa?"

"She says she doesn't want to do it without me."

"Don't blame her."

"No. I don't either."

Hawk ate a couple of peanuts and drank a little beer. "Kind of heartwarming," Hawk said. "You changing diapers."

"Heartwarming," I said.

"Sort of what you do for a living anyway," Hawk said. "Good preparation."

"I knew talking it out with you would make me feel better," I said.

"What are friends for, Pappy?"

"Shut up," I said.

Hawk nodded. The place was filling up. It, was noisier now but not loud. You could still hear the piano player. He was playing some variations on "Dream Dancing." We were drinking Saranac Black and Tan.

"Good beer," Hawk said.

"Yeah."

"She got the right to have a baby," he said.

"Yep."

"You got the right not to want one."

"Yep."

"You explain to her how we been bringing Paul Giacomon up since he was 'bout fifteen and that's enough parenting for us?"

"We?" I said.

"He a dancer?" Hawk said.

"Yeah."

"Well, he didn't get the natural rhythm from your side," Hawk said.

"I hadn't thought of that," I said.

We were quiet, the piano player had segued into "Memphis in June." My beer was gone again. I ordered more. The room was quietly full of adult c.o.c.ktail sounds. Drinks being mixed, people murmuring to each other. Occasional laughter. The smell of whisky. The piano.

"You don't want to do it," Hawk said.

"No."

"You don't want to as much as she do want to?" Hawk said.

"I think so."

"You told her that?"

"No."

"Well, that's a f.u.c.king mess, isn't it?" Hawk said.

"Couldn't have put it better myself," I said.

Chapter 8.

THE DEAN OF Student Affairs at Pemberton College, whose name, according to her desk plate, was J. J. Glidden, said that President Evans was the only one who was authorized to discuss any aspect of the Melissa Henderson matter. So I went to see her. She would be in after lunch. I waited. Surprisingly enough, after lunch she was in.

The president was a big rangy woman with short sandy hair and humorous eyes. She was wearing high waisted black pants and a white blouse with a high collar when she met me at the door of her office and ushered me to a chair. There was a wide gold wedding band on her left hand. She looked to be about fifty-five. When she sat behind her desk the sunlight coming in the big Palladian window behind her showed up the gray in her hair. Her name was Deborah Evans.

"How may I help you, sir?"