This guy relies on smiling and flirting to get thru the semester. Ridiculously easy grader. Plays favs., esp. if you’re a hot female.
Perv Alert! Makes sexual innuendos in class. Can find eros in a Grecian urn. Women: Smile and get an A. Go braless and get an A+.
For comparison sake, Steve clicked on other instructor evaluations at random. The general tone and observations were consistent with Pendergast’s, except for the few personal claims. Most sounded fair-minded regarding the teaching quality. Steve e-mailed copies to Reardon and the unit detectives. Then he left and headed back to Boston for a four o’clock meeting, his mind playing over the tidbits: Plays favs. Wants to be loved.
Hard to fault him on that. But Perv Alert! warmed his heart with possibilities.
On the way, he called the answering machine at his apartment. There was a single message from Dana. The cosmetic surgeon had called to say that he could see her Friday morning for a Restylane procedure that would take only half an hour. The fee was only four hundred dollars and a good place to start. She was calling because Lanie would be out of town on Friday, her own car was in the garage on a recall, and she needed a ride again.
What nagged at him was that she had left him a message instead of calling him on his PDA. It was her way of keeping her distance. Once husband, now cosmetic chauffeur hot line.
24
“Seems our Professor Cute Butt’s got a bunch of flags on his report card,” Reardon said, and gave Steve a nod of acknowledgment.
Around the conference table with Steve were Neil, Sergeants Marie Dacey, Lenny Vaughn, and Kevin Hogan, plus two investigators from Jamaica Plain. Since Steve’s return from Hawthorne, they had probed Pendergast’s past and come up with more particulars, which animated Chief Reardon, who had been feeling the heat from the D.A.’s office because the Boston homicide rate was at a twelve-year high. The summer hadn’t even officially begun and the number of murders in Boston was at thirty-nine, seven ahead of last year’s pace. And the mayor, the statehouse, the media, and the public were demanding that something be done.
“Besides the sexual harassment charges, he’s got a prior at Clark University in Worcester where he used to teach summer courses. He was released for trading grades for sex.”
“Always good to find a teacher with standards,” Steve said, feeling buoyed by the finds. “What’s interesting is that he had targeted one particular female, a twenty-one-year-old redhead.”
“Is that right?” Neil said.
A few hours earlier Neil had attended Terry Farina’s funeral, so he, too, welcomed the news. Steve handed him a folder. “He also has a five-year-old charge for a lewd and lash in New Hampshire for sex with a minor of seventeen, a student at another summer course he taught at UNH. He had claimed the girl told him she was twenty. The charge was later dropped.”
“We looked into the suspension and talked to the dean,” Dacey said. “What he’d do was drop notes or e-mails to females, complimenting them on their sexy outfits, saying things like he’d like to get to know them better, then invite them to concerts and movies.”
“He also had a habit of using sexual language in class,” Vaughn added. “He’d read sexually provocative passages from books, or make sexual metaphors in his composition classes.” Vaught read from his notes: “‘Good writing begins with a sharp focus—like sex. You’re working to a climactic effect, creating ripples of associations.’”
“Subtle,” Steve said.
“What else do we know about him?” Neil asked.
“Single, divorced for about fifteen years. No kids. Been at Hawthorne for twenty-three. Voted Instructor of the Year in ’94 then again in ’98,” Steve continued. “His sexual harassment suspension expired last week, the end of the academic year.”
“So, he’ll be back in class in September.”
“Right.”
“Another thing,” Reardon said, glancing at his notes. “Detective Hogan talked to a Marsha Verchovny a.k.a. Jinxy who said that Terry Farina told her that she’d gone out with him but wasn’t sure how often. She also wasn’t looking for a relationship.”
“So we’ve got a guy with some prior sexual improprieties, but no violence. He frequented the strip club, was taken by the victim, and dated her at least once. He lines up better than anyone else we’ve got so far,” Steve said. “But what’s the motive?”
“Yeah, Bunky, what’s the motive?”
From nowhere that voice was back, like Jiminy Cricket with fangs.
“Seeing if they can fill you in?”
Steve squeezed it down.
“How about he goes to collect on his options?” Neil said. “They begin to get sexual, she turns him down, he loses it, and chokes her.”
“So she’s naked before he kills her?” Steve said.
Neil looked at him. “As opposed to what?”
“To him stripping her after he kills her. If they were consensual, then the rage might have surfaced while they were being sexual.”
“How about he’s impotent? Which may explain the porn sites: he’s trying to see if he can get aroused.”
Impotent? Not getting much action of late, but the old mojo’s still working.
“So you’re saying he comes in, he gets her to do a little private strip, but he can’t get it up so he murders her.”
“Why not?”
Reardon was studying Steve. “I think you’ve got a problem with that.” It was a flat statement to draw Steve out.
“Sounds logical, except what little profile we have says he looks more like a guy who likes women than hates them.”
“That’s my feeling,” Dacey said.
Sergeant McCarthy from J.P.P.D. picked up a photo of Xena. “With all due respect, I think she could have aroused a dead man.”
That got a chuckle from the others. “Whatever. He’s all we got,” Neil said. “I think we should check him out. Might also want to get a paper for his computers.”
“Already in process. Also his home PC and any laptop. We’re waiting for the court magistrate on that.”
Reardon checked his watch. “We called the English Department, and according to the secretary he’s in his office until around five—which gives you time if you hustle.” He directed the statement to Steve and Neil.
They got up to leave.
“By the way,” Reardon said, “the secretary says he’s leaving the country next week for a month. So if he’s our man, we’re going to have to show it fast, because we don’t have the funds to chase him all over Europe.”
25
“I haven’t even laid eyes on the son of a bitch,” Neil said, “but I’ve got a gut for him.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.” Please. And for the second time today Steve drove to Hawthorne State.
The English Department was located on the fourth floor of an old redbrick building across the street from a student dormitory. An office roster led them to Pendergast’s office. Steve tapped at the door, and the man from the Web site photo opened it. “Professor Pendergast?”
“Yes.” He gave them a slightly annoyed look.
When Steve introduced himself and Neil and flashed his badge, Pendergast flinched. “Sorry to disturb you, but we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“What about?”
“The death of Terry Farina.”
Pendergast blanched and Steve’s heart surged with promise.
Pendergast pulled open the door so that they could enter. He glanced down the halls to see if anyone had noticed, then closed the door behind them. “Have a seat.” He nearly stumbled over himself setting out chairs for Steve and Neil.