Five Smooth Stones (52 page)

Dr. Edward Sampson, a dark, intent man, medical director of one of the country's largest research institutions, and chairman of the board, waited until the rumble of shocked comment died down, then asked, "John, why were these letters written? I mean, at this late date? And to whom?" He picked up a stapled sheaf of documents from his folder. "This letter, for example, is not addressed to any of the college personnel. At least, any that I know of—"

"No. It is addressed to a student, one of a group that took the action, on their own initiative, of tracking down these former students to protect a classmate they believed was about to get the same treatment, differing perhaps in kind but not in intent. If you'll be patient, Sam—"

"I'll try," said Sampson grimly. "But something smells to high heaven."

"It does. Now—" For almost an hour Vidal reviewed in detail the cases that lay before them, adding to what was documented the information he had been able to gather personally.

At the conclusion he leaned back in his chair for the first time. "These cases have one significant similarity—"

"Don't beat around the bush, John," said Sampson. "They're all Negroes. With one exception. The student"—he flipped through his folder quickly—"the student—Meadows —who became engaged to a Quimby scholarship girl while he was here—and married her later. Damned clever of you to tack that pertinent bit of information on the end, like an afterthought."

Vidal, turning to him almost angrily, spoke bitterly: "I'm not clever. Not even particularly discerning, as I should be in this job. I let these things happen, do you understand? These things happened right under my eyes. Which I did not know were quite so astigmatic."

A man halfway down the table, Dr. Henry Parrish, whose reputation as the Midwest's leading psychiatrist had begun to spread nationwide, said quietly: "Relax, John. We're equally to blame. More than one thing is evident in these reports. The role played by Goodhue sticks out a mile. One can't escape him. Suppose you stop blaming yourself and give us the story of the student these young people are concerned about."

"David Champlin is the student's name," said Vidal. "I am sure none of you has heard of him. I've met him, of course, and been much impressed. Since this broke I have asked for special reports on him from such of his instructors as I could get hold of, and am even more impressed. Now, this story must, of necessity, get into some very unsavory details—"

"Unsavory?" The newest member of the board, a young scientist named Patterson, walked to the side table for coffee, spoke over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

"Unsavory. And it will be climaxed by another story, and grave charges."

Vidal told them of what he had learned about the incident involving David and Clevenger, and then of the apparently unrelated incident of Sutherland's unofficial departure from the Infirmary and trip home on Thanksgiving weekend. "It was in my opinion a minor, very minor, infringement of rules under the circumstances. The pressures involved in an impulsive action like that must be taken into account. It most certainly was not grave enough to prompt the dean to call a committee meeting to consider Champlin's expulsion. Unless some additional charges could be brought forward." Vidal sighed, his first evidence of nervous fatigue. "No charge was forthcoming, at least then, but a rumor popped up that was rather startlingly coincident with the Sutherland episode. And that was a rumor that Champlin was a homosexual. If enough substantiation could be found for it, it would, of course, have justified a quiet request that he leave. Or expulsion, if he proved uncooperative. I, for one, place absolutely no credence in the rumor and am definitely suspicious of its source. We have pretty well established the fact that Clevenger was in a position to clear Champlin of a charge of sneaking Sutherland out of the Infirmary. Also, of course, Clevenger was in a position to spike any homosexual rumors, although he could hardly be expected to do so. In fact, there is evidence that the rumor might have originated with him, possibly in retaliation for the physical rebuff he received at Champlin's hands.

"You would all be justified in thinking that, after all, a situation like this is unfortunate but hardly justifies a full board meeting; that it could and should be handled by the authorities here. The matter of the expelled students requires further and more detailed investigation, and under ordinary circumstances consultation with the dean. What you have heard so far explains in part why this has not been done. What you will hear in a moment explains it fully." He knew there was only one way, both practically and morally, to lay the full story of Goodhue before them, and that was to support it with the proof that had so horrified him two days before at a meeting in Chicago with the elder Evans.

He looked at his watch. "If he has been prompt, a man named Stewart Prentiss is waiting to make a report to us. When I was in Chicago on Tuesday I read this report. Mr. Prentiss is a semiretired private investigator of excellent repute. He is a friend of Bull Evans. It is not easy for anyone in my position to admit that there has been any kind—any kind whatsoever—of espionage going on in his own domain. In fact, it's damnably humiliating. My resignation is yours for the asking—"

"What the hell! Cut out that kind of talk, John—" The exclamation came from a stormy and unorthodox academician whose fame rested on his devastating attacks in print on most current theories of human behavior.

Vidal stood and walked to the door, called, "Miss Ames—" and when his secretary appeared, asked, "Is Mr. Prentiss here yet?"

"He just arrived, Mr. Vidal."

"Ask him to be kind enough to wait just a few moments. I'll call him shortly."

When he returned to the head of the table he did not sit down, but stood behind his chair, his hands grasping its back. "So far," he said, "we've been more or less formal. Now I want to be informal. Unlike many colleges, Pengard has chosen its governors, not for wealth or influence, but because of their acknowledged positions in the vanguard of human thought. We let the wealthy in on the less-important jobs. They're just as pleased. After you have heard what Mr. Prentiss has to tell you, it's my hope that each one of you will forget his vanguard position, so to speak, and become, mentally, an old-fashioned parent, with an old-fashioned concern for the moral and psychological welfare of a well-loved son. I am conversant with the modern theories of psychiatrists, doctors, and psychologists in the field of homosexuality. I am in accord with many of them. However, at this point I choose to ignore all of them because I am emotionally involved in the welfare of young men—all young men. The future of the students who are involved in what you are about to hear is a problem we must approach prayerfully, and with all the understanding, compassion, and knowledge that we possess. This problem can be considered later. The problem of the faculty member involved is one that I, for one, cannot approach with objectivity. Perhaps it will come later. Right now, though, let's forget if we can the joy and peace of objectivity and become involved."

He walked to the door again, nodded to his secretary, and when Stu Prentiss entered, placed a chair beside his own at the head of the table. He introduced each man individually to the newcomer, certain in his own mind that Prentiss would remember them all.

Stu Prentiss talked well, was awed by no one, knew all mankind to be frail and full of faults, including members of college boards of governors, trustees, regents, or overseers. He had never minced words with any client, and he did not mince them now; he merely tailored them, as he always had, to fit the minds of his audience.

He took a folder from his briefcase and laid it on the table in front of him. "That is a long and very detailed report. There are only two copies of it, this original and a carbon. I retain the carbon, President Vidal has the original. When you learn what it contains I am sure you'll agree with us that it wouldn't do to have multiple copies of it floating around. Because of its length and detail I am not going to read it. I prefer to tell the story in my own words, and refer to the report for answers to any questions."

Prentiss leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, apparently relaxed and very much at ease. He might have been discussing a survey of weather conditions in the Appalachian Mountains during the spring months. Only a marked reddening of the scar on his forehead showed any emotional involvement in the subject matter of the report.

"During the first week in December the father of one of the students at Pengard College, a man I have known for many years, called on me to investigate what appeared to be the homosexual activities of the dean of men, Merriwether Goodhue." He had known his opening statement would set off a tumult of comment, like firecrackers on a string, and he waited for it to die down. "I hope none of you gentlemen feel inclined to blame the authorities here for not spotting it before. This accusation, particularly in a place like this, is about as vicious a weapon as a man can wield. You don't toss it around carelessly. And like so many things, those closest to it are often the last to know. Like the wronged wife. It is not an accusation that a parent can make on the basis of a 'hunch' by his son, based on some trick of the accused's personality or some vaguely suspicious circumstance. Proof is needed, and proof is damned hard to get. I shall tell you how I went about securing proof, and if you are interested in exact dates, times, that sort of thing, you will find these details in the written report."

He gave them a broad outline of how he had gathered his information, how he learned from Mrs. Goodhue of the trips to Chicago and New York, of their dates and frequency, and the hotels her husband preferred to stay in when she did not accompany him.

"Good God!" said Patterson. "The man's own wife—"

Prentiss looked at him impassively. "I'm afraid we live in different ethical climates, Mr. Patterson. No matter what the source of my evidence, it cannot be ignored. Constitutional rights or any other kind don't mean much in a case like this, at least as far as getting information is concerned—"

He told of persuading a young friend, a former newspaper reporter and now a free-lance photo-journalist, to help him tie the dean's out-of-town visits to the absences from the campus of certain students, and then of the final routine steps of checking with hotel detectives. "The dean was under a common misapprehension—that you can lose yourself in a large hotel. Actually, the house detectives in a large hotel are much more observant and inquiring of mind than those in the smaller, family-type hotels. For one thing, they are better trained, with better backgrounds; for another, they are usually on the lookout for the very people I mentioned— those who think they can lose themselves. My writer friend was able to get several candid pictures of the dean on campus. He was readily identified in several places as the man who had been traveling with, in some instances, his son; in others, his nephew. In one New York hotel, and one Chicago hotel, we were fortunate enough to get an identification of the boys, also using photographs that were taken without the subjects' being aware of it."

"How did he explain to his wife that he stayed in a different hotel when he was traveling without her?" asked Patterson, who seemed to be the only man at the table able to formulate words.

Prentiss shrugged. "I have the impression that he has her pretty well under his thumb. The trips, ostensibly, were to meet some professor friend or attend some special lecture, something like that, and the other hotel was more conveniently located. And, of course, he convinced her that he could not afford to take her. As for his companions—they attended concerts, stage presentations, were escorted around art galleries—the bait, as you can see, specially chosen to appeal to their individual enthusiasms. Even major-league baseball."

The specialist on human behavior gave a short bark. "He'd have had a ball if he could have wangled half a dozen tickets to the World Series." He looked around at his fellow governors. "This is a helluva thing," he said. "I don't mean to be flip about it. It's a sort of cockeyed reaction to shock, I guess—"

Prentiss said: "I'm almost through. There's a clincher, however. It's a situation that I think would have resulted in his exposure even if I had not been called in. My investigate tipped me off to a youngster here named Sessions, who lives in Detroit. Something the boy said about passing up a number of chances to go to Chicago and New York to attend some concerts—he's majoring in music—made my man suspicious. I talked to the boy myself. He's a nice kid. He was leery of me at first, but with young people you have to be honest. You can fool an astute businessman, but it's hard to fool that astute adult in the formative stages. Eventually he seemed relieved to have someone to talk to about it. He and his family, or at least his father, apparently aren't very close. The boy told me Goodhue finally gave up on him and seemed to be concentrating on a student named Clevenger. This was after Sessions had shied away from Goodhue's discreet and indirect advances."

Prentiss did his work well. There were few questions to be asked when he finished; all that remained was the need to adjust to the shock of his revelations, and to plan future action. When he left them, declining Vidal's invitation to dinner on plea of taking an evening plane to New York, he had performed the minor miracle of being a bringer of bad tidings who had made friends. After the door had closed behind him Sampson said, "Who's paying him?"

"Bull Evans," said Vidal. "He told me Prentiss was an old friend and a sort of courtesy uncle to his son. Prentiss refused a fee, agreeing only to accept actual expenses. I'm certain the other two men have insisted on sharing that."

"We pay it," said Sampson. "Plus whatever his fee would have been. This isn't entirely generosity. I want it on the record that Pengard hired him, not outsiders, even if they are parents. Will you make arrangements, John?"

"I was hoping someone would say that. I would have proposed it later if no one had. It will take a formal motion at the after-dinner meeting."

"You'll have it."