Desperate Measures

8

The buildings were situated along a square that reminded Pittman of a parade ground. Pavement flanked each side of the square, and Jill almost parked there, until she saw a lot next to what appeared to be the administration building. Fifteen other cars were already parked there.

Pittman got out of the Duster, conscious of the.45 under his sport coat. It dismally occurred to him that one mark of how far he had come since his suicide attempt Wednesday night was that he thought of being armed as ordinary.

Jill locked the car and came around to join him. Her sneakers, jeans, and sweater were in a small suitcase in the backseat. The brown pumps, sand-colored A-line skirt, forest green jacket, and yellow blouse that she’d bought in Montpelier fit her perfectly. Pittman still wasn’t used to seeing her in clothes that weren’t casual and loose. The lines of her legs were as elegant as those of her throat.

“Ready?”

Jill inhaled nervously and nodded, securing the strap of her purse to her shoulder. “It’s heavy.”

“Just try to forget a weapon’s in there.”

“Easy advice from you. I still don’t see why it couldn’t stay in the car.”

“Because things keep turning out differently from the way I expected.”

They walked from the parking lot and watched as the square, which had been deserted except for a few groundskeepers, suddenly filled with hurrying students a few seconds after a bell rang in several of the buildings.

Wearing uniforms of gray slacks, navy blazers, and white shirts with red striped ties, the boys moved with brisk determination from what seemed to be classroom buildings, crossing toward a larger building opposite the church.

“Fire drill?”

Jill glanced at her watch. “Noon. Lunchtime.”

A boy of about fifteen stopped before them. Like the others, he had brightly polished black shoes and neatly cut short hair. His gaze was direct, his voice confident, his posture straight. “May I help you, sir?”

“We were wondering where the school library is,” Pittman said.

The boy pointed to Pittman’s left. “In building four, sir. Would you like to see Mr. Bennett?”

“Mr. Bennett?”

“The academy’s director.”

“No. There isn’t any need to bother him. Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome, sir.” The boy turned and continued quickly toward the building the other students were entering on the opposite side of the square. Although they hurried, they managed to look like gentlemen.

“He’ll be a credit to Washington insiders,” Pittman said.

He and Jill walked in the direction the young man had indicated, reached a brick building with the number 4 above its entrance, and left the noon’s intense sunlight, entering a cool, well-lit stairwell that smelled sweetly of wax. Steps led down and up.

The building was eerily silent.

“I doubt very much that a library would be in the basement,” Jill said. “Too much danger of moisture getting into the books.”

Nodding in agreement, his footsteps echoing, Pittman went up to the first floor. A hallway had several doors on each side. Many of the doors were open. In one, study desks were equipped with computers. In another, the desks had tape players and earphones, probably for language study.

As Pittman approached a third door, an elderly man came out, holding a key, about to close the door. He wore the same uniform that the students had been wearing. Short and somewhat heavy, he looked to be about sixty, with a salt-and-pepper mustache and receding gray hair.

He peered over his glasses toward Pittman and Jill. “I was just going to lunch. May I help you?”

“We were told that the library is in this building.”

“That’s correct.” The man cleared his throat.

“Is that where you keep old yearbooks, things like that?” Pittman asked.

“They would be in our archival section.” The man squinted. “I don’t believe I’ve met you before. Why exactly would you need to know?”

“My name is Peter Logan. I’m a freelance journalist, and I’ve decided to write the book I always promised myself I would.”

“Book?”

“About Grollier Academy. A great many distinguished public servants have graduated from this school.”

“You could say that we’ve had more than our share. But I strongly suspect that they wouldn’t want their privacy invaded.”

“That isn’t what I had in mind. Grollier Academy itself, that would be my emphasis. I thought it would be an example to other schools if I wrote about the superior methods of this one. This country’s in a crisis. If our educational system isn’t changed… I’m worried about our future. We need a model, and I can’t think of a better one than Grollier.”

The man scrunched his eyebrows together and nodded. “There is no better preparatory education in America. What sort of research did you intend to do?”

“Well, for starters, Mr….?”

“Caradine. I’m chief librarian.”

“Naturally I’ll devote a considerable portion of the book to Grollier’s educational theory. But I’ll also need to supply a historical perspective. When the academy was founded. By whom. How it grew. The famous students who passed through here. So, for starters, I thought that a general immersion in your archives would be helpful. The yearbooks, for example. Their photographs will show how the campus changed over the years. And I might discover that Grollier had many more famous graduates than I was aware of. I want to skim the surface, so to speak, before I plunge into the depths.”

“A sensible method. The archives are…” Caradine glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry. I have a lunch meeting with the library committee, and I’m already late. I’m afraid I can’t show you through the archives. If you come back at one o’clock… The head of the refectory will, I’m sure, be pleased to provide you with lunch.”

“Thanks, Mr. Caradine, but my assistant and I had a late breakfast and… To tell the truth, I’m anxious to get started. Perhaps you could let us into the archives and we can familiarize ourselves with the research materials while you’re at your meeting. I had hoped not to inconvenience you. I’m sure you have better things to do than watch us read journals.”

Caradine glanced at his watch again. “I really have to be at… Very well. I don’t see the harm. The archives are on the next level. The first door on your right at the top of the stairs.”

“I appreciate this, Mr. Caradine. If you’ll unlock the door, we’ll do our best not to trouble you for a while.”

“Just go up.” Caradine started past them toward the stairs. “The door isn’t locked. Almost none of the doors at Grollier are locked. This is a school for gentlemen. We depend on the honor system. In its entire one-hundred-and-thirty-year history, there has never been an instance of thievery on this campus.”

“Exactly what I was getting at earlier. This school is a model. I’ll be sure to put what you just told me into my book.”

Caradine nodded, fidgeting with his hands, saying, “I’m terribly late.” He hurried down the stairs and left the building.