“Eustace Gable,” Jill said. “Found him. Nineteen twenty-nine. A freshman.”
“Yes, I found him as a senior in 1933. Here’s Anthony Lloyd. Nineteen thirty-three. A senior,” Pittman said.
“I’ve got him as a freshman in ’29. And here’s Millgate.”
“But that doesn’t do us any good. We already knew they went to school here.”
“Hey,” Jill said. “Got another one.”
“Who?”
“Winston Sloane. A freshman. Nineteen twenty-nine.”
“So I was right. He did go to school here, but the son of a bitch didn’t include that in biographical facts he gave to researchers. He wanted it off the record.”
“Got another one,” Jill said excitedly. “Victor Standish.”
“Every damned one of them.”
“We don’t need the other books,” Jill said. “The names are repeated from year to year. They entered in ’29 and graduated in ’33.”
“But what about Duncan? I didn’t come across even one student with a first or last name of Duncan. What was Millgate trying to tell me. What’s the connection between…?”
10
A shadow loomed beyond the door’s opaque glass window. Although Pittman wasn’t looking in that direction, he sensed the brooding presence and turned just as the door came open. The stranger who entered took long, forceful steps. He wore the gray slacks, navy blazer, and red striped tie that were Grollier’s uniform. He was tall, rigidly straight, in his fifties, with a pointed jaw, a slender patrician nose, and an imperious gaze.
“Would you mind telling me what you’re doing?”
Pittman stood. “Why, yes. I’m planning to write a book about your school, and-”
“You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing?”
Pittman looked at Jill in feigned confusion. “Research. At the moment, we’re looking at yearbooks.”
“Without permission.”
“Mr. Caradine, the librarian, said we could-”
“Mr. Caradine doesn’t have the authority to give you permission.”
“Perhaps you could tell me who-”
The man’s eyes flashed. “Only I can. I’m the academy’s headmaster.”
“Ah. Mr. Bennett.” Pittman remembered the name that the boy outside had mentioned. “We wanted to speak with you, but since it was lunchtime and you weren’t in your office, we thought we’d come over here in the meanwhile.”
“It wouldn’t have done you any good. There are procedures that must be followed, letters to be submitted, applications to be filed.”
“Letters? Applications? But you just said that you’re the only one who can give permission for-”
“I said I’m the academy’s headmaster. I have a board of supervisors who must be consulted about the sort of breach of privacy you’re suggesting.”
“But my book would be for the benefit of-”
“I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”
If he cuts off one more of my sentences… Pittman thought.
“Whatever you want,” Pittman said. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. Perhaps we could go back to your office and discuss the problem.”
“Yes, there is a misunderstanding, but not the one you suspect. I did not mean leave this room. I meant leave the campus.”
Bennett glared toward Pittman, pointing toward the open door.
“Very well.” Pittman worked to control himself. He was suddenly conscious that Jill stood next to him. “I’ll write you a letter explaining what I want.”
“I doubt that the letter will accomplish anything.”
“I see.”
“Good day.”
“Good day.”
11
“Friendly place.” Jill drove from the parking lot.
“Yeah, I’ve been kicked out of a lot of spots, but never a prep school.”
Jill followed the paved section that flanked the square, passed several classroom buildings and the administration building, then headed along the lane through the valley. “Is he still watching?”
Pittman turned to look. “In front of the library building. I can feel him glaring all the way from here. Mr. Personality.”
Jill steered past the stables, then reached open grassland. The lane began to rise. “What touched him off? Do you think he’s really annoyed that we didn’t ask permission from him instead of the librarian?”
“Something tells me it wouldn’t have done any good if we’d gone to see him first. This way, at least we got into the archives. Looks like we’ve got company.”
“I see it in the rearview mirror. A brown station wagon leaving the school. Millgate’s people?” Jill tensed. “What if they were waiting in case we came here?”
“I think they’d have moved against us before now.”
“Unless they didn’t want to cause trouble at the school. All those kids. Too many witnesses. Maybe a few miles down the road, they’ll catch up to us and…”
Jill crested the hill. The lane sloped sharply toward the building that reminded Pittman of a sentry’s station. He lifted the back of his sports coat and pulled the.45 from behind his back.
“What are you doing?” Jill asked nervously.
“Just in case,” Pittman said.
At once Jill was past the small building, driving through the open gate, reaching the country road.
“No, don’t turn left. Go the other way,” Pittman said.
“But left takes us back toward Montpelier.”
“That’s the way they’ll expect us to go. If Millgate’s people are in that station wagon… For now, they can’t see us from the other side of the hill.”
Jill veered right, tires squealing, onto the narrow country road. She stepped on the accelerator so hard that Pittman was pressed against the back of his seat. He gripped the dashboard as she swung around a curve.
Pine trees lined the road.
“Take it easy.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my driving.”
“That’s not what I meant. You’re doing great. But I want to get off the road. Look for a-There. Between those trees.”
Faster than Pittman expected, Jill stamped on the brake, twisted the steering wheel, and jolted off the road onto a semiovergrown, wheel-rutted lane that disappeared among pine trees. Sunlight became shadows as the Duster scraped past bushes. The impact of lurching over a rock slammed Pittman harder against the seat.
He stared through the rear window. “We’re hidden from the road. Stop.”
The moment Jill did, Pittman shoved his driver’s door open and hurried out. Stooping, doing his best not to expose himself, he chose an angle through the pine trees that would lead him back to the curve in the road. Sensing that he was close, he slowed, stepped carefully over a log, and crept among undergrowth. Immediately he came into sunlight and sank to the ground, seeing the road.
Across from him, to his right, was the open gate that led to the academy. Beyond it, the station wagon came rapidly into sight at the top of the wooded hill. As it sped down toward the gate, Pittman saw two husky men in the vehicle. They didn’t look happy.
But to Pittman’s surprise, the station wagon didn’t pull out onto the road and speed toward Montpelier in pursuit of the Duster. Instead, it skidded to a stop at the gate. The two men got out angrily, swung the gate shut, and secured a chain and lock to it. With the gate fully in view, Pittman noticed a sign that he hadn’t been able to see before: NO TRESPASSING. VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.
I bet they will, Pittman thought as the two men stalked back to the station wagon, slammed their doors shut behind them, and drove back up the hill, disappearing over it toward the school.
Pittman waited to make sure that no one else was coming, then slowly stood. As he turned toward the forest, he saw Jill rise from bushes not far behind him.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “If they were Millgate’s people, wouldn’t they have followed us?”
“Maybe they were ordered not to leave the campus.” Pittman entered the cover of the trees.
“Or maybe that’s just Grollier’s physical education staff,” Jill said. “The football coach. The rowing instructor. Bennett might have told them to make sure we were off the property, and if we weren’t, to give us some physical incentive.”