FACETS (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS Book 6) (8 page)
Read FACETS (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS Book 6) Online
Authors: Lawrence De Maria
“Sister Mary Marmalade over at Our Lady of the Missionary Position,” Dudley said. “She claims I gave her the clap.”
Bobo started laughing. Alice looked at Scarne and rolled her eyes.
“These two adolescents think that’s funny.”
Scarne, who also thought it pretty funny, remained silent.
“I’m going in the house to change,” Alice said. “When I come out I expect a cocktail and want to smell Bambi cooking on the grill.” She crooked a finger at Sambuca. “Bobo, I want to talk to you. Now.”
Bobo meekly put down his beer and trailed her inside.
“I warned the huge lug about my sister,” Mack said, laughing. “He’s fucked. There are guys who would turn over in the graves Bobo put them in if they could see him being led around by his pecker now.”
Scarne looked at Mack.
“Our Lady of the Missionary Position?”
Barnard's sylvan four-acre campus stretched along Broadway between 116th and 120th Street, and was situated directly across Broadway from Columbia University. Scarne knew little about Barnard other than it was considered the most exclusive of the private women's liberal arts college that make up the so-called Seven Sisters, a group of schools recognized as the equivalent of their Ivy League counterparts. With the help of a harried student’s pointed finger, Scarne had no trouble finding Milbank Hall in the concentrated campus that contained fewer than a dozen buildings. Although Milbank was, of course, the furthest facility from the entrance he used on Broadway near 116th Street. He could not recall ever entering a strange college campus anywhere near his ultimate destination.
But it was a fine spring day and the walk was pleasant. The few students he passed all had an air of seriousness about them.There was a wide mixture of races among the young women and he noted, without a hint of political correctness, that many of them were exceedingly attractive. None of the girls gave him a glance, which annoyed the hell out of him.
Dean Russell’s office was in the northwest corner of the first floor of Milbank Hall. Scarne was surprised there were not any students waiting in the outer office when he announced himself to the pleasant black woman who was the dean’s assistant. He was even more surprised when he was told to go right into Russell’s office.
The dean stood when Scarne entered and came around her desk to shake his hand.
“Mr. Scarne, how nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine, Dean Russell. Thank you for seeing me so promptly. I have to say that it’s a first for me. I usually wind up sitting in a waiting room feeling like I did when I was called to the principal’s office in grade school.”
She laughed. It was a good, deep laugh.
“You’ve caught me on a good day. It’s exam week. Most of the students are either in class or studying in their rooms or the library.”
Scarne’s ego was somewhat salved. No wonder none of the girls on campus paid any attention to him. But he noticed that Regina Russell seemed to be paying attention. Without being too obvious, she was sizing him up with her eyes.
“Let’s sit on the couch,” Russell said, smiling. “It will be more comfortable.”
She picked up a small folder from her desk. Scarne noted that she wore no rings. They walked over to a brown leather couch by a window that overlooked 120th Street. There was a small table in front of the couch. She put the folder on it and turned to Scarne.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“If it’s no trouble.”
“None at all. I live on the stuff. How do you take it?”
It had been a late and liquid night at Dudley Mack’s.
“Black.”
“Please sit. I’ll be right back.”
Russell walked to her door, which was open, and said something to her assistant. Scarne noted that she had very good legs. In fact, she had very good everything. As she walked back to the couch, he finished his appraisal. He guessed she was about his age and at least five-foot-nine. Her tailored dark gray suit could not hide what was obviously a wonderful figure. Her wavy dark brown hair fell to the base of her neck. Her blue eyes were set wide apart and her eyelashes were dark and long. She had a strong, but not overly large nose over a wide mouth. She was, all in all, a beautiful woman. And her smile told him that she noticed that he noticed.
Russell sat and arranged herself on the couch opposite Scarne. She put one arm across the back of the couch and slowly crossed her legs, giving him the view of her knees and ankles, of which she was apparently justifiably proud. Their eyes met and they smiled simultaneously as something as old as the invention of fire passed between them.
“I received a call this morning from a Maura Dallas,” the dean said. “She said you were acting on her behalf and I was to talk to you as if I was talking to her. You would have questions about her daughter, Alana.”
Scarne had called Maura at her hotel earlier.
“That’s correct.”
“She told me that she was very concerned. Apparently her daughter is missing.”
“Yes. She was home recovering from an illness. There was an argument. Mother and daughter type of thing. Alana upped and left without saying where she was going. Her mother thought she might have come back to New York. And that’s where I come in.”
It was the story Scarne and Maura Dallas had agreed he would use whenever he questioned anyone. No mention of a kidnapping.
“You want to know if she’s back in school?”
“No. That’s been checked. But she had friends here, acquaintances. Perhaps they know something.”
“Have you spoken to her roommates?”
“Not yet.”
“Has the family gone to the police?”
Scarne was ready for that. He smiled.
“She has done this before. The family has money. They do not believe she is any danger, or real trouble. Maybe she did a bunk with a boyfriend. But this is the longest she’s been out of contact. Naturally, they want to be sure.”
Russell’s assistant walked into the room carrying two steaming mugs. The mugs were off-white with thick handles and thick rounded rims, and looked like the ones every diner in America served coffee in, when there were diners. They even had faint surface cracks.
“Thank you, Shana,” Russell said as the woman placed the mugs down.
“Don’t forget the root canal at 11,” Shana said as she walked away.
“Can’t wait.”
Scarne looked at her and she laughed.
“Faculty meeting. Inside joke.”
The coffee was good.
“These mugs bring back some memories,” Scarne said.
“My grandfather owned a diner in Ohio until an interstate put him out of business. He had cases of them. Everyone in the family has a bunch. I think coffee tastes better in them, don’t you?”
“Always did.”
“Well, the good news Mr. Scarne is that I will tell you everything I can about Alana Dallas. The bad news is that there is not much I am allowed to even tell her mother. Most colleges protect the privacy of their students, and Barnard, being the liberal bastion it is, is even more anal in that regard.”
The “liberal bastion” and “anal” gave Dean Russell away. She thought the policy was a crock. Scarne knew he could push the envelope.
“What
can
you tell me?”
She picked up the folder and opened it.
“Alana Dallas is an excellent student. Her marks are superior and her instructors have generally favorable things to say about her.”
“Generally?”
Russell looked at Scarne. She considered what to say.
“Barnard is a superb institution,” she said, carefully, “which relishes open discourse and original thinking. We want to turn out well-rounded women capable of succeeding in whatever fields they choose.” She paused. “But like most elite colleges, no, that’s not accurate, like most colleges, political correctness reigns supreme. Some of Alana’s instructors have commented that she rebels against that.”
“You are saying she doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”
“She has been called a wiseass, on occasion.”
Scarne laughed.
“Is that an academic phrase?”
“No, just an accurate one.”
“I’ve been called that. I consider it a badge of honor.”
“I bet you do.”
“So, there have been complaints?”
“Alana and I have had a few discussions.”
“What did you tell her?’
“I told her to be more diplomatic when discussing politics and history with some of the highbrows here.”
“How did she take it?”
“Very well, since I also told her she was usually right.”
“Would any of these professors hold a grudge? Perhaps, wish her harm.”
Russell looked at Scarne.
“I thought she ran off.”
Sharp lady, Scarne thought.
“I’m sure she did. But you never know.”
“Why do I think you are not telling me everything, Mr. Scarne?”
“Because I’m not. And someday you may thank me for it.”
He smiled, but there was something in his eyes that made her pause.
“None of her teachers would hold a grudge, Mr. Scarne. As I said, they all gave her top marks, despite whatever differences they may have had. I can only speak for the Barnard instructors of course. But her marks at Columbia are just as stellar.”
“Alana took courses at Columbia?”
“Many of our women do. Barnard was founded in 1889. The relationship with Columbia was formalized the following year. We are not a large institution. Our total undergraduate enrollment is about 2,400. You have seen our campus. Our facilities are limited. Columbia offers a world of opportunities to our students. As for Alana, I never heard about any conflicts over there.”
“Would you know?”
“Well, I’m on pretty good terms with Josh Swartzberg. You might want to talk with him. He is the Dean of Columbia’s Department of English and Comparative Literature. Alana was taking one of his courses and the adjunct teaching it thought so much of Alana that he was worried her prolonged absence would hurt her standing. He and Josh wanted me to know that she could work from home to keep her grade up. But I think they expected she would be back by now. I guess it’s all moot if you don’t find her. She’s missing all her finals here at Barnard.”
Scarne stood, and so did Russell.
“I want to thank you for your help,” he said. He took out his card and gave it to her. “If you think of anything else, I’d appreciate a call.”
“I can’t imagine I was much help,” she said.
“I learned enough,” Scarne said. “You were honest with me. You didn’t throw me out of your office. The coffee was good and you know your mugs. And I am going to risk being assassinated by the lurking PC brigade and say that no time spent with a beautiful woman is ever wasted.”
Russell laughed.
“Don’t worry. It will be our little secret. I happen to like the occasional sexist remark, as long as it’s directed at me.”
She put out her hand and Scarne took it. Her grip was firm and warm. If one could tell something by a simple handshake, Scarne thought, Regina Russell was someone he wanted to get to know better.
“One more thing, Doctor,” he said. “I think I’ll go chat with Swartzberg over at Columbia. “Where’s his office?”
***
Regina Russell watched Scarne walk down the hallway. She looked at his card. She guessed that she had a 50-50 chance he would call her and ask if she’d like to meet for a drink, perhaps dinner. She had already decided that she would accept. In fact, she had decided that if he did not call, she would call him.
Russell had been married and divorced early, and over the years had occasional and usually unsatisfactory affairs. But not in the last two years. She wanted no part of the so-called singles scene. She thought bar hopping at her age was unseemly. And most men in the academic community simply did not interest her. They were invariably self-centered and tried to prove that they knew more than she did, which was rarely the case. But Jake Scarne was different. There had been an immediate attraction that she was positive was reciprocated. He was a good-looking devil who radiated something she never felt with the men who made the occasional pass at her – danger.
“He’s got quite the reputation, Regina. I just did an Internet search on him.”
Russell turned and smiled at her assistant, who had walked up beside her.
“And why would you do that?”
“I saw how you two were looking at each other,” Shana said. “You should call him. He’s a hunk. Got killer eyes, don’t you think? Speaking of which, wait until you see some of the stories about him in the press. I put them on your desk. He’s the real deal. And unattached, as far as I can tell.”
“What are you, my mother?”
“I’m just looking out for you, girl. I’m getting tired of fending off those losers with the patches on the elbows of their jackets.”
“They are not all losers, Shana.”
“Oh yeah. What about Professor Dickless?”
“Shana!”
Earl Dickens, who taught European Folk Art, was a frequent visitor to the office.
“Earl is a wonderful guy,” Russell protested. “We’re just good friends. And he’s gay, for God’s sake.”
“I rest my case. So, when are you gonna call the private dick? I mean, eye.”
“I’ll wait to see if he calls me.”
“How long are you gonna wait?”
“Not very.”
Both women laughed.
Regina Russell went back to her desk and began perusing the material on Scarne that Shana had printed out. She now vaguely recalled reading about the man. Some of his cases were lurid, involving murder, espionage and huge financial schemes. Dead bodies seemed to be the norm.
