The Lost Swimmer (12 page)

‘I have to stop you there.' She held out a surprisingly bony hand. ‘Is this a confession? Because it's not appropriate that we do this without a scribe present.'

‘Absolutely not!' I said, blood flushing up my neck. ‘Professor DiStasio I've done nothing wrong.'

‘Weren't you the Head of School overseeing the accounts? Signing off on the authorisations?'

‘Yes, some of them. And I have an independent expert's report from Professor Loris Gant who sees discrepancies between my signature and the one on the forms for the shadow accounts.' I produced with relish Loris's analysis, which had been well worth the four thousand dollars he charged. DiStasio took his report and scanned it.

‘May I keep this?' She filed it away, scribbling the date, time and manner in which she'd come by it at the top. ‘You know we have two experts who say the signatures are all yours?'

‘I'm aware of that – which is why I sought my own. Professor Gant sees differences in the way the signature crawls. Very minor, but he feels the pressure of the writing is inconsistent.'

‘I can read. Look, you've been an investigator yourself on alleged serious-misconduct cases. You know how the system works. Which is why I'm surprised you insisted on seeing me at this point.'

‘I'm just horrified by what's happened.'

‘Even if you didn't authorise the shadow accounts, don't you think you had some responsibility to pick them up?'

‘Yes. And I'm truly sorry I didn't. But now I've looked over them, they're very well hidden.'

‘Hmm. Your own university X account is a case in point. The amount in there wouldn't have raised alarm bells in Medicine. It was only that Alison Wishart is so thorough that she saw it in the process of investigating the original Athens account. Which you did set up incorrectly?'

I sighed. ‘I take full responsibility for that mess-up.'

DiStasio gave me a stern look. ‘As you know, I'll be basing my report on the balance of probabilities as they relate to the evidence. In due course I'll conduct a formal interview with you. At that time you'll be able to offer your full defence. But today I really can't go into detail and I don't think it's appropriate you say too much. I can understand why you're apprehensive, but be assured I'll be conducting myself with the highest professionalism and you will get a fair hearing.'

DiStasio stood and reached out her hand, which I shook. Her grasp was firm and straightforward. The stuffed animals leered.

‘Thanks for coming in and bringing this piece of evidence,' she said.

I delved into my bag and brought out a manila folder full of accounts that I'd found with shadow strings. ‘Just in case these haven't all come to light yet. They're all that I've found.'

‘Thank you.' She looked me up and down.

‘Am I the only person being investigated?' I asked.

‘No. You're one of several.'

‘Several? How many?'

‘We're exploring four avenues.'

So, there was another person apart from myself, Josie and Pam. ‘May I ask who?'

‘No. Nor are we telling any of them that we're investigating you.'

‘I'm very grateful.'

‘Standard protocol, you know that.' She smiled. ‘Hang in there, Rebecca. If you're innocent you have nothing to fear.'

‘I wonder if I could ask you something?'

She cocked her head, at full attention.

‘I'm due to go overseas with my husband. Important conferences and a holiday—'

DiStasio cut me off. ‘Go. This investigation will take some time. I trust you'll be in full communication?'

‘Always. I'll have my phone of course, so – emails, messages, calls.'

‘Good. What are the dates?' She entered them into her computer and looked up brightly. ‘I hope you enjoy your holiday.'

There was a double-edged tone – the clear inference being if I were guilty, it would be my last holiday for a long time.

•  •  •

At least being injured had meant an end to mediation with Priscilla. She had cancelled further sessions on the pretense that I needed time to recuperate, but I suspected it was also because of the investigation and I couldn't help thinking of that as one silver lining.

On my first day back, Rachel and I hurried across to the administration building to a full staff meeting called by Priscilla. I was short of breath from the exertion, but other than that, my body was stronger and I was definitely on the mend.

When we arrived in the airy room I glanced about. Since I had been away it was like a black hole had opened at Coastal and swallowed all the elderly professors. Old turtleneck McCall had taken early retirement, so too Oliver Yeats, who had never really coped with his downsized office. They'd both phoned me to say goodbye and the conversations were incalculably sad. There had been no official farewell and I'd been too unwell to fight Lisa Clements, who, to our collective horror, had been appointed Acting Head in my absence. And so the professors had just faded into the ether, sent off with their packages after thirty years of service without so much as a thank you.

Most of the staff from Classics and History had gathered and the room was becoming hot and close. I scanned my colleagues. Who was the fourth person under investigation?

Alison Wishart met my eye. I turned away and then realised it would be better to meet her face to face. I looked back but her gaze was now fixed firmly on the front of the room. Was she the perpetrator?

‘Thank you all for coming,' said Priscilla, rising. ‘I have an announcement. We have a serious financial problem.' I held my breath.

‘As a School you have seriously overspent. We are going to undertake a complete review. Changes will be made. I realise that some of us are about to head overseas to conferences and for research on semester break.'
I certainly haven't forgotten that you'll be in Paris when we're there
.

‘But the consultants will need to interview you,' she continued. ‘We expect your full cooperation.'

I breathed out, relieved. Consultants on anything at Coastal meant a protracted period of nothing, usually followed by nothing. And it seemed a broader context than just the embezzlement. Still, I was responsible for the School and wondered how I could have done things differently. Perhaps the consultants could get answers to aspects I couldn't? I felt humiliated, but I knew that my colleagues on the School Executive Committee shared my view that we could never see from the accounts why we were in the debt the Faculty claimed.

‘So, how does that work if we're away?' roared Robert from the back of the room.

‘Don't you think the start of next semester would be a better time?' exclaimed Constance. ‘I thought we were supposed to travel to give papers?' She stood like a prizefighter as she talked. ‘Aren't we appraised on that too?' Clearly tensions had increased in my absence.

‘The review can't wait. Your situation is dire. Now, I won't take any questions at this point. Thanks for coming, I'll let you get back to your classes.'

‘Why didn't you just email us?' called Robert loudly.

‘I fear some of you don't read my emails.' A ripple of laughter spread through the room. ‘Safe travels,' said Priscilla and looked directly at me. ‘Even those of you I counselled to stay at home.'

I left the meeting at full speed, not looking back.

•  •  •

When I arose the next morning, defeated by hours of sleepless speculation as to who the unknown fourth person might be, the landscape had transformed into a magical wonderland. A heavy fog blanketed the trees, muting even the harsh shriek of a chainsaw. Downstairs in the gloom, peeking out from a pile of bills on the kitchen table, lay Stephen's phone.

I flew across and snatched it up, scrolling through his address book. There were very few contacts, mostly male professors in his department and on the Academic Board, myself, James and Erin, and a handful of friends.

I went to recently dialled numbers. Empty.

Incoming calls. Empty.

I checked his texts and emails. No record of anything of interest.

He had to be hiding something.

As I waited for the kettle to boil, the phone buzzed and the screen sprang alive.

Fingers trembling, I opened the message: a confirmation
order for twenty bank shares. My jaw clenched tight: so, Stephen was in the market against my wishes. But twenty shares seemed very few. I re-read the text. Actually they weren't shares at all but sell options or ‘puts', each one covering one hundred shares, which made two thousand shares in total. I cursed that I hadn't paid more attention in the past. I wasn't sure what exchange traded options were. I feared they were a testosterone-fuelled product for those in the know or gamblers and that Stephen was attracted for both reasons.

He'd deceived me and here was the proof in my hand, but I couldn't be as upset as I should be. How much worse if the text had been from a woman? From Priscilla?

•  •  •

‘Hi honey!' he called as I heard him fossicking about. I checked my computer, where I sat working on my conference paper. One o'clock.

‘You're home early,' I said calmly as I came down the stairs.

‘Have you seen my phone?'

‘It's in the kitchen by the kettle.'

‘Is that where I put it?' Stephen muttered, frowning.

‘You left it on the table.'

‘Right.' He picked up the phone and quickly scrolled down. He looked up at me, seemingly off-guard.

‘You opened my text?'

‘I thought we'd agreed?'

‘On you going through my stuff?' Anger made his voice rise.

‘You promised not to go into the market. And options can be risky, can't they? Don't they magnify profits and losses?' I'd attempted to read up on them during the morning, their complexity finally overwhelming me. ‘You can make a lot, but lose even more than your investment if things go against you?'

‘Oh, fuck off.' Stephen stormed out, turning back only for his briefcase.

‘Stephen! Wait!'

‘You read my things, then this is what you get!' He was livid with rage.

In the empty house I was stuck to the spot. I'd never seen him like this before. Even the last time he'd been invested years ago when things went wrong, he'd been measured and rational. This was an entirely different side.

Tyres screeched as he sped away. Looking out the window I saw Clarkey leap to his feet and stare in surprise, and instinctively glance up at the house. He spotted me in the window and I waved.

I was so shaken by what had happened I sank back at my desk and forced myself to focus on my paper, absorbing myself in the minutiae of Macedonian gold coins minted during the reign of Philip II in the fourth century BC. I let not the slightest sliver of worry about Stephen break my concentration as I pored over the head of Heracles, his profiled eye ablaze with passion even now.

•  •  •

As lights on the hillside peeked out like fireflies, Stephen and I sat by the flames of an open fire, eating dinner on our laps. The news was on but neither of us was watching. Nor were we communicating.

When I stood to collect his plate he looked up crossly.

‘Oh come on, it's okay. I just wish you hadn't done it,' I said.

‘I'm an Economics Professor, for God's sake. Don't you think I know what I'm doing?'

‘But you should have told me.'

‘What? And got your criticism? Markets are extremely volatile at the moment. It's not the best time to be in this.'

‘Then why are you?' I said keenly.

‘Because someone in this family has to take responsibility for seeing we have enough finances for our retirement.'

‘We'll be fine. We're both going to get good payouts from our super.'

‘With the way the world is? We need as much as we can get.'

‘But retirement's years off.'

‘Don't be so sure. In this climate, any of us could be asked to take early redundancy.'

I sat down close to him. ‘Is something happening at work?'

Stephen shrugged. ‘Not really.'

‘But?'

‘I need to publish more.'

‘You've published more than most of them.'

‘It needs to be more.' He stood and went to the kitchen, refilling his glass with wine.

‘I'm sure you'll be all right.'

‘And you? Everything fine with you?' He scrutinised me, and suddenly beneath his gaze I felt alarmed. Had he heard something?

‘Yes.' I watched his face. He just seemed angry.

‘Good. I'm going to work on my paper. Could you please dryclean two suits? I won't have time to do it myself before we go.'

‘Of course,' I said. ‘Is there anything else?'

His expression softened, his dark eyes looked vulnerable.

‘No,' he said. ‘That's all.'

B
ig Boy sat by the glass doors into the airport, tail swishing filthy old cigarette butts as he looked up. I bent and kissed him, wrapping my arms around his massive chest, black with a white blaze.

James held his leash. ‘Don't worry, we'll take perfect care of him. Lots of walks.'

Big Boy leaped to his feet at the ‘w' word and barked hysterically.

‘See, he's forgotten you already,' said Klair, who was back on the scene, much to our displeasure.

‘No he hasn't!' blurted James, frustrated.

‘We'd better get on,' said Stephen.

‘Are you sure you don't want us to come in with you?' Erin's forehead creased with concern.

‘We're fine, darling.' I pinned her beneath my arm and squeezed as hard as I could. Tears welled in her eyes. I took James under my other arm and kissed him. ‘Just make sure you all look after yourselves.'

Klair gave a happy, sarcastic smile.