“Not well-received in the department?”
“No, no, that’s not what I’m getting at. She was brilliant, I’m sure the book made her money, but she wasn’t much for . . . affiliation.”
“No time for colleagues.”
“Exactly.”
“What about students?”
“Students?” As if it were a foreign word. “I assume she had some. Well, nice seeing you, Alex.”
“The committee,” I said. “You’re telling me it was solely her project?”
He licked his lips.
“What was it all about, Ed?”
“I really can’t get into that. It’s a closed issue, anyway.”
“Not anymore. Murder changes everything.”
“Does it?” He began walking.
“At least tell me—”
“All I’ll tell you,” he said, stretching the whine, “is that I can’t tell you anything. Take it up with a higher power.”
“Such as?”
“The dean of students.”
When I told the dean’s secretary what I was after, her voice closed up like a fat-laden artery and she said she’d get back to me. Hanging up without getting my number, I phoned Milo again.
He said, “Ass-covering. I like it. Okay, I’ll take on the dean myself. Thanks for reading that resume so carefully.”
“That’s what you pay me for.”
He laughed, then turned serious. “So obviously Hope ruffled someone’s feathers with this committee. And speaking of ruffling, I’ve got a number for the assistant producer of the Mayhew show. Want to follow through for me so I can concentrate on persecuting academics?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Suzette Band,” he said, reading off a Hollywood exchange. “She probably won’t call back without a hassle, so feel free to be extremely annoying.”
It took five times to reach Suzette Band, but when she finally came on her voice was pleasant and amused.
“The police? One Adam Twelve, One Adam Twelve?”
Committing felony impersonation of a police officer seemed easier than explaining my precise role, so I said, “Do you remember a guest you had on last year, Professor Hope Devane?”
“Oh . . . yes, of course, that was terrible. Has her murderer been caught?”
“No.”
“Well, please tell us when he is. We’d love to do a follow-up. I’m serious.”
Bet you are.
“I’ll do my best, Ms. Band. In the meantime, maybe you can help us. There was another guest on with Professor Devane, a man named Karl Neese—”
“What about him?”
“We’d like to speak to him.”
“Why—oh, no, you can’t be serious.” She laughed. “That’s a scream. No, I can see why you’d—but don’t waste your time with Karl.”
“Why not?”
Long pause.
“Is this on tape or something?”
“No.”
Silence.
“Ms. Band?”
“You’re sure this isn’t being taped?”
“Positive. What’s the problem?”
“Well . . . the person you really want to speak to is Eileen Pietsch, the producer. But she’s traveling. I’ll have her office call you when—”
“Why waste time if Karl’s someone we shouldn’t worry about?”
“He really isn’t. It’s just that we . . . our show . . . Karl’s a . . .”
“Professional guest?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then why shouldn’t we worry about him?”
“Listen—I shouldn’t be talking to you at all but I don’t want you making a big deal about this and getting the show bad exposure. Lord knows we’ve had plenty of that with all the bluenoses in Washington hunting for scapegoats. We feel we provide a bona fide public service.”
“And Karl was part of that?”
I heard a sigh on the other end.
“Okay,” I said. “So he was paid to come on and be the professor’s foil.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“But he’s an actor, right? If I go through the SAG book or the agent rosters I can probably find him.”
“Look,” she said, louder. Then she sighed again. “Yes, he’s an actor. But for all I know he really does hold those views.”
“Then why shouldn’t I worry about him? Things got pretty nasty between him and Professor Devane.”
“But that was . . . boy, you don’t let up . . . okay, to be perfectly honest, Karl is a pro. But he’s a really nice guy. We’ve used him before and so have other shows. We bring guys like him on to spice things up. Especially with professors because those types can be dry. All the shows do it. Some of the others even salt the audience. We never do that.”