Flesh and Bone: A Body Farm Novel

CHAPTER 32

JESS WAS STRETCHED OUT in my bed, lying on her back as we made love, her hands gripping the spindles of the cherry headboard. And then I looked in her eyes and saw that she was dead, and I got up and began refashioning the bed into a coffin for her. I fitted the wooden lid in place and began hammering the nails home. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

“Dr. Brockton? Are you in there?” Tap, tap, tap. “Dr. Brockton? Bill?”

I shook my head and rubbed the sleep from my eyes and the numbness from my face. Sunlight was casting short shadows from the girders of the stadium, which meant I must have slept until midday. Not surprising, maybe, considering the day and the night I’d just had, and the fact that I hadn’t curled up on the sofa until nearly daybreak.

“Dr. Brockton?” As I hauled myself awake, I realized that I was hearing two different voices outside my door. One belonged to Peggy, my secretary; the other was less familiar, but finally I recognized it, and I knew this wasn’t going to be good news.

“Yes, I’m here. Just a minute, please,” I called out. I hurried into the small bathroom and rinsed my face with cold water, then straightened my mangled hair as best I could. Then I went and unlocked the door. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I must have dozed off for a minute there.”

“I tried your phone,” said Peggy, “but I think you have it set on DO NOT DISTURB.” She was right.

“Bill, we need to talk,” said the woman with Peggy. It was Amanda Whiting, UT’s general counsel.

“Come in, Amanda,” I said, “have a seat. Thank you, Peggy.” Peggy backed out, looking at me with concern and at Amanda with suspicion. “What’s on your mind?”

“I know you’ve had a rough couple of days,” she said, “and I hate to add to your troubles, but we have two major problems. As I feared, this creationist attorney, Jennings Bryan, has filed a civil suit seeking damages on behalf of his client. Your student Jason Lane.”

“I am sorry,” I said. “I wish I could hit REWIND and do that day’s class over again. I hate it that I upset him so badly, and I hate it that UT is now bearing the burden and the expense of defending against a suit like that.”

“That’s…one of the issues we need to discuss,” she said. “As you know, our policy is to defend academic freedom vigorously-when a professor is making a point relevant to the course material. In this case, it’s been called to my attention that a tirade against creationism is not, in fact, pertinent to a class in forensic anthropology.”

“Wait, wait,” I said. “Are you telling me the university might not stand behind me in this?”

“I’m afraid I am,” she said. “The trustees met in special session yesterday. They spoke with Mr. Bryan, and with the president of the faculty senate-who agrees, by the way, that you overstepped the bounds of academic freedom in this instance. In exchange for a letter from the board of trustees expressing a similar position, Mr. Bryan has agreed to drop the university from his suit.”

“But he’s not dropping the lawsuit altogether?”

“No. He now plans to sue you for actual and punitive damages.”

“How much?”

“One million in actual damages. Three million in punitive.”

“Four million dollars for embarrassing a kid in class?” She nodded grimly. “And the university’s basically cutting me loose to fight this on my own?”

“I’m afraid so, Bill. I’m sorry to have to tell you this.”

“Well. When it rains, it pours. Which reminds me, you said there were two big problems. What’s the other big problem?”

“I can’t imagine you’ll be surprised to hear that it’s the murder of Dr. Carter. I’ve been informed that you are considered a suspect in that murder. Bill, we’re a school. Parents entrust their kids to our safekeeping. We have no choice but to suspend you until this is cleared up.”

“Jesus, Amanda, what ever happened to the notion that a man is innocent until proven guilty?”

“Legally, that’s the presumption,” she said, “but we’re a publicly funded educational institution, Bill, and the public holds us accountable to other, stricter standards.” She glanced down at my desk, where I had photos of Jeff ’s boys. “Are those your grandkids?”

“Yes.”

“If one of their teachers were a suspect in a child abuse case, wouldn’t you want that teacher out of the classroom until the matter was resolved?”

If she had picked any other example, I could have argued with her. “Dammit, Amanda, you are taking away one of the last things I am clinging to for sanity right now.” She looked regretful, but not regretful enough to change anything. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to pack up some things,” I said stiffly. “I’ll be off campus within an hour. Thanks a lot, Amanda. It’s been a swell twenty-five years.” I turned my back on her and began to gather papers.

For months I’d been putting off a project whose deadline had come and gone: I’d promised a textbook publisher to revise and update my osteology handbook, which I’d written right after I began teaching, to help students identify bones in the field. But the combined demands of teaching, research, administrative duties, and forensic cases had made it impossible to set aside enough time to burrow into the revisions. Maybe now-barred from teaching, but not yet behind bars-I could finally get it done. I stuffed all the journal articles and research reports I’d accumulated as reference material into my briefcase, along with a triple-spaced version of the existing edition’s text, then turned out the light in my office and closed the door. As I locked it behind me and headed down the stairs and out the east end of Stadium Hall to my parking space, I wondered if I would ever return.

My parking space was empty. Of course: my truck had been seized, and the Taurus I’d rented remained parked in my driveway, five miles away, thanks to my one-way trip downtown in a police car last night. “Dammit!” I shouted. “Is it too much to ask?”

A horn tooted behind me for a fraction of a second. I turned and saw Miranda leaning out the window of her Jetta. “Is what too much to ask?”

Relief swept over me. I nearly cried at the sight of her face, looking at me in the same open and friendly way it had for years. “Is it too much to ask for a ride home,” I said, “and maybe a few kind words along the way?”

“Get in,” she said, “you brilliant, handsome, kindhearted man.”

Now I did cry.