He still had time enough when he reached Rammaford, to make his way to the building’s second floor, eliminating the chance of missing the almond-shaped face and blonde hair in the crush of students outside the building. He reached Room 212 just as a bell rang harshly and with his back arched against an opposite wall, Bannen waited for the face of Carmine Baggroli to appear. Which, seven faces later, it did.
As he pulled her to one side out of traffic, Bannen was aware of the hard faces recognizing him.
“Excuse me, Miss Baggroli, but I’d like to talk with you a minute. Do you mind?”
The pretty blonde sophomore blinked her eyes in confusion. “Professor Bannen, isn’t it? No, I really haven’t time. I’ve got an eleven-o’clock clear across campus.”
Bannen looked at her evenly. “I’ve checked with the registrar’s office, Carmine. Your next class doesn’t meet until one o’clock.”
If he’d caught her in one lie, how many more could he expect?
“You’re Mark Prosser’s girl, aren’t you?” Bannen said.
“His girl? I’m totally liberated, Professor Bannen Mark just happens to be another name in my book. And you’re detaining me against my will.”
Krieg Bannen knew precisely what he was doing. But he had to go carefully.
“I’m doing nothing of the sort, Carmine. You’re free to go anytime you wish. It’s just that I’ve been asked by Professor Whittly of the philosophy department to contact you regarding Mark.”
“Regarding Mark about what?” The pale blue eyes had darkened defensively when Bannen had first confronted them. But now they were softening to their natural color.
“About his work in my course, Moral Philosophy 206. As you may or may not know, Mark Prosser is in jeopardy of failing my course, an eventuality that would very likely negate any chances he has of transferring to State University this year.”
Bannen was counting on one vital thing: that Mark Prosser, though he may have thoroughly discussed his blackmail plan with Carmine Baggroli, hadn’t, yet had time to tell Carmine that the blackmail plan was set in motion. What he hoped she would read in his conversation was just a simple plea for Prosser’s delicate status.
“All he needs is a C plus or D,” Carmine Baggroli said. “And Mark says that won’t be tough to swing.”
“The fact of the matter is it will be tough to swing,” Bannen told Carmine Baggroli. “And that is why Professor Whittly has asked me to talk to you. He would like a short conference session with you. He feels that as Mark’s friend, you may possibly be able to shed some light on the reasons for his difficulties.”
He could faintly sense in her expression now, a knowingness that Bannen had not yet been hit with Mark Prosser’s trump card. She smiled easily.
“Well, Professor Bannen, I really don’t think a conference session will be necessary. Mark has a way of finishing with a good kick. I have a hunch he’ll pull himself out before Spring Finals.”
“Then, if I read you right, Miss Baggroli, you’d rather not consent to a conference with Professor Whittly,” Bannen said.
“You read me correctly, Professor Bannen.”
“Well then, for the record, Professor Whittly must have a signed waiver to that effect, or a telephonic denial in the presence of a witness. Will you accompany me to his office for that, or would you rather call him?”
“Well, I’m meeting some kids in the Student Union in a few minutes,” Carmine Baggroli said.
“There’s a telephone in Professor Mallory’s office in 201,” Bannen said. “I’m sorry, but it has to be done. As I say, we’re trying to give Mark every chance to pass this course.”
So liberally naive was Bannen’s wan expression, he expected Carmine Baggroli to break into instant laughter.
“Well, I have a hunch Mark won’t need any preferential guidance, Professor. Sure, I’ll call Professor Whittly.”
In Room 201, Krieg Bannen managed to confiscate the telephone from the impending clutches of a student and put through his call. By ritual, Calvin Whittly never left his office before twelve-thirty. Bannen could only hope that Whittly, in the face of all the recent unusual happenings, hadn’t suddenly decided to break from tradition. And he hoped, too, that Whittly would lock-on to the gist of his plan.
Bannen’s luck was holding firm. He instantly recognized Whittly’s tired, urbane voice as it came across the line.
“Professor Whittly, this is Krieg Bannen. I’m at Rammaford Hall and I’ve contacted Carmine Baggroli, as you’ve asked. She has declined the conference session regarding Mark Prosser. I have her here now, to inform you of her declination over the telephone. Can you speak with her? Good. I’ll put her on.”
Krieg Bannen smiled at Carmine Baggroli and handed her the receiver. Would she have the presence of mind to consider the consequences of what she was about to do? Bannen hoped not.
“Professor Whittly? Yes, this is Carmine Baggroli speaking. I’m told that I must make a formal refusal to a conference regarding Mark Prosser’s status in Professor Bannen’s Philosophy course. I don’t feel a conference is necessary. I believe that is all you need, isn’t it?”
There followed a short pause. Then, Carmine Baggroli was presenting the receiver to Bannen. “He wants to talk to you.”
Whittly’s first words were not the ones Bannen wanted to hear. “What the devil is this all about, Bannen? There is no conference set up with this girl! And what is all this business about Mark Prosser?”
From the corner of his eye, Bannen got the Baggroli girl moving back a few steps. He placed the receiver tightly against his lips and said: “The voice, Calvin! Do... you... recognize... the... voice!”
Bannen held his breath. He could feel the perforations, each small hole, against his ear. He waited for the response that could save his life and his career, his pride, his marriage... everything. He waited desperately.
And then Calvin Whittly’s voice was exploding across the line. “That’s her, Krieg! That’s the girl who called me on the phone this morning!”
“You’re sure?” Banned said.
“Yes, I’m sure. Just don’t let that girl get out of your hands, or you’ll never make your way to the source of this thing!”
It was a prophetic statement because, out of the edge of his eye, Bannen how caught the Baggroli girl breaking into a Sprint down the hallway.
Bannen left the phone hanging and broke out after her. The mass of wild blonde hair descended in a disappearing act down the U-shaped staircase leading to the first floor of Rammaford Hall. Shorter legs and heeled shoes were not the best apparatus for escape.
Bannen caught her at the apex of the U, spun Carmine Baggroli around and pinned her against an unyielding wall. He was in no mood to pussyfoot. His thumbs dug into the slender shoulders.
“It was you who made that phone call to my wife, wasn’t it, Carmine! And the call to Professor Whittly this morning! Wasn’t it! Wasn’t it!”
Trapped into a monumental error, Carmine Baggroli was trembling now like a caged animal.
“Please. You’re hurting my shoulders.”
“Hurt? You don’t know the meaning of the word. Do you know what it’s like to lose your self-respect in your community? In your profession? In your marriage? Give me the name of the girl who slandered me and the names of the people behind all this. If you don’t, so help me I’ll break your collar bones right here and walk away from you without a backward glance!”
Bannen was going all the way with her now. He was on the raw edge of losing everything and there was really nothing else left to lose.
“Tell me! Or heaven help me—”
“It was Mark’s idea, Professor Bannen,” came the words now, rushing out like water from a tap opened wide. “He said it couldn’t fail and no one would get hurt.”