The Lesson of Her Death

streaked, bug-dotted windshield goes opaque. He is out of the glare immediately, dropping rollercoaster over the hill and sees before him a three-mile straightaway of cambered gray asphalt.His foot aims for the accelerator then waffles and goes suddenly to the brake.
    His skid is as precariously controlled as the ones he practiced for weeks on the State Police course. The Dodge comes to rest dead center in the road, at the head of twin black stripes. The cloud of burnt rubber and dust catches up with the cruiser, encloses it, then passes away intact on an impossibly gentle breeze.
    Corde’s car sat askew in front of his own house, half on the lawn, engine still running, next to Tom’s cruiser, which was parked civilly in the center of the driveway.
    Inside Diane looked up at her husband’s wide green eyes as he burst through the door. He took her hands and placed her on the couch.
    “You’re scaring me, Bill.” As if speaking to a stranger. “Is it Jamie? What’s happened?”
    Corde sat next to her. His breath was rapid. He didn’t let go of her hands. She squirmed. “What?” she said, then louder: “What
is
it?”
    “I think …” He squeezed her cold fingers. “I think Ben Breck is Leon Gilchrist.”

“O h, God, no.…” Diane’s voice crumbled. “No, it’s not true.…”
    “Gilchrist is a special education lecturer at Auden. Isn’t that the department where the tutors work?”
    She nodded, her eyes sweeping the floor at her feet.
    “He could’ve read Sarah’s file and known all about her problem.”
    “No, Bill,” she protested. “No!”
    “What does he look like?”
    “No, no, no.… He wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t do it! …” Her voice vanished in hysterical sobbing.
    “Diane,” Corde said harshly, “you’ve got to help me on this. Think.”
    “Oh, Bill, no!”
    He gripped her shoulders. “Describe him!”
    She did, as best she could, her words punctuatedwith sobs. When she finished she cried, “Oh, God, it can’t be. I know it can’t.”
    Diane’s description was vague but it did depict someone who could resemble Gilchrist. “Where’s he staying?”
    “I don’t know! Near here somewhere. He never told me.
    “He never
told
you?” Corde shouted. “How did you call him?”
    “Usually
he
called me. When I called I left messages at the library. I never saw his office.” Every word grew weaker as the evidence mounted.
    “What kind of car does he drive?”
    “I don’t
know!
Quit cross-examining me!”
    Corde gripped his wife by her shoulders. “Think. You must’ve seen it. Is it green?”
    “I don’t know. Just a car. American, I think. A four-door of some kind. I don’t remember the color. I think it was dark. No.… Oh, and I just saw it! When he picked her up.…” Her hands flew to her face. “Oh Bill!”
    “Sarah?” Corde shouted. “Sarah’s with him now?”
    He grabbed the phone and dialed Auden. He heard a click.
“You have reached Auden University. The school will be closed until summer session registration on June 10. If you would like to leave a message, press the number of the extension for the department you wish to reach and at the tone leave your message. If you
—”
    He slammed the phone down. He paused a moment then picked up the receiver again, intending to dial directory assistance. In his frazzled state of mind he dialed 911 by mistake. He shuddered at the error and pressed the receiver cradle down then released it. The line wouldn’t disconnect. He held it again for three seconds. Still no dial tone. Then five seconds. GOD STRIKE THEM DEAD! Finally he heard the tone.
    Four. One. One
.
    “Operator, this is the New Lebanon Sheriff’s Department. We have a police emergency. I need the numberand address of a man named Breck. In New Lebanon.”
    “Breck? First name?”
    How many Brecks do you have?
“Ben. Benjamin.”
    The wait was a huge black pit. He heard the clattering of keys. He heard pages riffling. He heard a onesided conversation—another operator saying “I’ll bring ’em home but you have to cook ’em. I won’t have time.”
    “Sir?”
    “Yes?” Corde asked.
    “How would you be spelling that?”
    “Spell it? How do you think? B-R-E-C-K.”
    “There’s no listing of Ben, Benjamin or B. Breck in New Lebanon or Fredericksberg. Would he—”
    He jammed the button on the phone down again. Shaking his head, he made another call. Dr. Parker’s receptionist said she was with a patient and Corde said,