Right to Die

final.”
    “I certainly did weigh that factor, Nina, but I weighed others as well.” He gave her a funeral director’s smile. “I’m sorry.”
    “Yeah. Right. Thanks.”
    Nina seemed disgusted as she stomped by me, the knapsack bonking the top of her rump.
    Strock was entering his office when I said, “Professor?” He turned. “Yes?”
    “I wonder if I could have a word with you?”
    “I’m rather busy. Do I know you?”
    “It’s about Professor Andrus.”
    “Ah, yes. The man she favored over her institutional obligations.”
    “That’s part of what I’d like to talk with you about.”
    Strock looked me up and down, tugging on an earlobe. “For that, I always have time. Come in, come in.”
    His office stood in marked contrast to Andrus’s bomb site. A polished wooden desk was the centerpiece of the room, several folders and books on it but not a paper out of place. One wall was covered by plaques and framed documents, a couch like the people eater in my landlord’s condo nestling underneath them. The other walls sported lowboy oak filing cabinets, Currier and Ives hunting prints, and bookshelves. On the shelves stood trophies for riflery and a statue of Star Wars’ C3PO holding a sign saying may divorce be with you. Two captain’s chairs emblazoned with the school’s logo were arranged in front of the desk. I took one of them as Strock sank into a judge’s large swivel chair, swaying arrogantly.
    “And you are?”
    “John Cuddy, Professor.” I nodded back toward the door. “I sure hope I’m not catching you at a bad time?”
    “Bad...? Ah, Nina. No, no, just one of many disappointments she will suffer. In a mediocre career stretching long and lonely in front of her.”
    A sweetheart, old Walter. “Professor, let me get right to it. My lawyer is thinking of involving Professor Andrus on this case I have, and...” I did my best to wring my hands. “Well, I have to keep this confidential.”
    “As you wish, but...”
    “I wonder, I couldn’t help but overhear you with the professor’s secretary—”
    “Ah, the lovely Inés. Pity she’s a bit frigid. A Marielito, something to do with an incident on the boat coming over from Castroland. Tried to help her talk it out once upon a time, but she just won’t open up.”
    I swallowed hard. “I’ve always believed, you want to know about a person, first talk to somebody who doesn’t like them.”
    “Then you’ve come to the right place regarding Dame Andrus, sir.” Tilting his chair back, Strock entreated the gods. “But where to begin, where to begin?”
    “I thought you said something about her missing committee assignments?”
    “The tip of the iceberg. Maisy fancies herself a latter-day Joan of Arc, you see. Believes that a faculty appointment here is merely the springboard for her cause, her great crusade.”
    “Which is?”
    “To turn the sick of this planet into creatures with no more rights than an incontinent household pet.”
    “The right to die, you mean?”
    “No, but that’s how she’d phrase it for you.”
    “Aren’t there ‘living wills’ or something now?”
    “Yes, yes. The Supreme Court in the Cruzan case validated the concept. About forty states have statutes on that, allowing hospitals to withhold or withdraw heroic measures, even food and water. Our own compassionate Commonwealth has no such statute yet, but it doesn’t matter much.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because Massachusetts has a lot of case law on termination of treatment, and even in the living-will states, only ten percent of the citizens ever reach the stage of executing one.”
    “Sounds like you’ve made quite a study of it yourself.” Strock preened the hair at his temples. “Only to make the point, Mr.... ah, sorry?”
    “Cuddy.”
    “Cuddy, yes, Cuddy. You see, Maisy doesn’t teach here to improve the hearts and minds of our students. She doesn’t give the proverbial rat’s ass about whether they’re minimally competent to pass the bar examination and actually enter practice. No, our Maisy cares only about her crusade.”
    “Then why does she bother to teach at all?”
    “Not for the money, I assure you. Maisy’s in fine shape that way.” Strock pitched forward in his chair. “Do you know how she came to have that money?”
    I short-circuited a little. “My lawyer said her husband died and left it to her.”
    Strock laughed meanly. “Ah, very good. I’d have been proud to teach your lawyer, sir. He makes accurate