The Lesson of Her Death

was
in
is large. The Civil War Centennial course is very popular. I try to know as many students as I can. I think it’s important. Any personal attention in class can be very inspiring. Don’t you remember?”
    Corde, who had spent most of his school years trying to avoid the attention of teachers, said, “Why was she working for you? I assume she didn’t need the money.”
    “Why do you assume that?” Sayles asked dourly.
    “She wasn’t in the work-study program and didn’thave any student loans or scholarships. Seems she would’ve followed those routes before she’d get a part-time job paying five-ten an hour.”
    “There’s something altruistic about disbursing money to needy students. Jennie helped organize last year’s AIDS walkathon. And she was also a Meals on Wheels volunteer.”
    “For a month or two,” Corde said.
    “For a month or two.”
    “But how did she come to work for you?”
    “We got to talking about how curious it was that I—a history professor—ended up in charge of financial aid and she asked if she could assist me.”
    “What were the circumstances of this conversation?”
    “Officer.” Sayles was riled. “I hardly recall.”
    “Was there anybody in class she was particularly friendly with?”
    “I never paid any attention.”
    “Did you ever see her with anyone who wasn’t a student?”
    Sayles shrugged. “No.”
    “How often did you work together?”
    “Several times a week.”
    “You see her socially?”
    “No, not socially. We’d have dinner after work sometimes. Often with other people. That was all.”
    “You don’t consider that social?”
    “No, I don’t,”
    Corde watched the man’s dark eyes, which in turn studied three dirty fingernails on his right hand.
    “Professor, were you asked by Loyola College to stop teaching there?”
    Sayles started to reach for his red-and-blue striped tie. He stopped and tilted his head slightly, adjusting the needle valve on his indignation. “I was, yes.”
    “That was because you’d been involved with a student?”
    “Involved with? Yes.”
    “And you assaulted her?”
    “I did not. We had an affair. I broke it off. She wasn’t happy about that and called the police to report that I’d assaulted her. It was a lie.”
    “Were you having an affair with Jennie Gebben?”
    “No. And I believe I resent your asking me that.”
    “I have my job to do,” Corde said wearily.
    “And if you think anyone from the university had something to do with her death …” Sayles’s voice grew harsh. “… you’re badly mistaken. There are enough unfounded rumors about the murder already. It’s hard enough running a school and raising money for it without spooking parents and benefactors. Read the paper.
Your
department said it was a demonic killing.”
    “We have to look at all possibilities.”
    The watch was again gravely consulted. “I have a class in five minutes.”
    “Where were you on the night she was killed, Professor?”
    He laughed. “Are you serious?” Corde lifted an eyebrow and Sayles said, “I was home.”
    “Is there anyone who can verify that?” Corde glanced at the narrow gold ring. “Your wife maybe?”
    His voice grew soft in anger. “I was by myself. My wife was doing research at the library until midnight.”
    “I understand that Brian Okun was seeing Jennie?”
    “Seeing her? I’d say he was seeing her. He was sleeping with her.”
    In his Chinese handwriting Corde made a small notation on a three-by-five card. “Could you tell me who you heard that from?”
    “I can’t recall.”
    “What’s your opinion of him?”
    “Of Brian? You can’t suspect Brian of hurting Jennie.”
    “Your opinion?”
    “He’s brilliant. He needs to temper his intelligence somewhat. He’s a little arrogant for his own good. Buthe’d never hurt Jennie.” Sayles watched Corde slowly write. “May I go now?”
    Corde completed the card and looked up. “I—”
    “Look, I can’t help you. I have nothing more to say.” Sayles stood and his grim surliness was at a high pitch now.
    This anger seemed out of proportion to the circumstances of the questioning. At first this reinforced Corde’s suspicion of the man. But one look into Sayles’s face told another story. The source of the professor’s indignation was contempt. Contempt at himself for loving Jennie Gebben. Whatever her talents in bed, which Corde guessed were pretty damn plentiful if both Sayles and Okun had risked their jobs to