War at Home: A Smokey Dalton Novel (12 page)

“Even though I do act as the college’s link to the administration, my interactions with the students should be primarily social.
Your son, Mr. Kirkland, saw me as someone who made policy, as someone to push against, not someone to work with.
And that is what I meant by his tone.”

“Daniel was thrown out because he was rude to you?”

“I never said that young Mr. Kirkland was thrown out of Yale.
I’m not sure why he’s no longer with us, only that he did leave.”
He thumbed through the file.
“There are many reprimands here, a few disciplinary actions, and one somewhat egregious incident last fall.
According to the file, the university and your son mutually decided that they were not suited for each other.”

“You make it sound like you weren’t involved.”

“I wasn’t,” Robinson said.
“The dean handles the administrative tasks.
You should really be talking to him.”

“He was on my list,” I said. “I haven’t been able to reach him.”

“Because he’s been in meetings on this coeducation matter,” Robinson said.
“But let me set up an appointment with him.
He’ll be better able to answer your questions.”

“Maybe I could just take a look at the file—”

“It’s for Yale only,” Robinson said.
“Besides, I read you the pertinent language.
I’m sure Dean Sidbury will know the exact incidents and probably some of the other precipitating events.
I do know that young Daniel wasn’t happy here.
That became painfully obvious.
We assumed he went home after he left.
It was Christmastime, after all.
There’s nothing in the file after that.”

I swallowed.
A bead of sweat ran down one side of my face.
The room wasn’t as cool as I had thought.

“Daniel couldn’t afford to go home for Christmas,” I said softly.
“Surely your file would tell you that.”

“My file tells me he had a full scholarship, he was a straight-A student his first semester, his grades went down slightly in the second, and that he participated in some of the more radical societies on campus.
He stopped attending all but a few classes in his third semester, became quite active in Bee-Say—”

“What’s Bee-Say?” I asked.

“B
-
S
-
A
-
Y.,” he said, enunciating each letter.
“It is the Black Student Alliance at Yale.
BSAY is an informal group that the students originally put together.
Over the years it has become militant, making demands and protesting the smallest slight.
This afternoon, a handful of the BSAY students still on campus are at the courthouse, protesting the arrest of some Black Panthers who murdered one of their own this spring.”

He shook his head.

“If Daniel were still in New Haven, I would expect him to be there, not here.”

I nodded, suddenly wanting to get out of this oppressively opulent room.

“Where’s the courthouse?” I asked.

“On
the
corner of Church and Elm,” he said, obviously glad he had diverted me.
“Across from the Green.
Not far from here at all.”

I stood.
“Come on, Jim,” I said. “We’ll see if we find him there.”

Jimmy stood, looking a bit confused. I hadn’t gotten my questions answered, but I wasn’t sure if I could talk to this man much longer and remain polite.

“I’d still like that appointment with your dean,” I said, putting my hand on Jimmy’s shoulder to lead him out of the room.

“I’ll get in touch with you,” Robinson said.

“Is it possible to set it up now?” I asked.
“I’m hard to reach.
We’re in a motel.”

I stressed the word “motel.” Robinson had probably never stayed in one in his life.

“Let me call his secretary.” Robinson picked up the phone.
Jimmy and I walked toward the books on the far wall.

“He didn’t say nothing,” Jimmy whispered.
“Just a bunch of junk about girls.”

I smiled at him.
Jimmy had never really helped me on a case before, and he was putting his entire self into this.

“Sometimes it’s what people don’t say,” I whispered.
“I’ll tell you when we leave.”

Jimmy grunted.
He hated nuance more than I did.

“Mr. Kirkland?”

I turned.
Robinson still had his hand on the top of the phone.
“He’ll see you tomorrow at eight
A
.
M
. sharp.”

I nodded to Robinson.
“I appreciate your help.
If you find out anything else, we’re at the Motor Court near the Yale Bowl.
Or you can call Daniel’s mother.
She’ll be able to get in touch with us.”

Robinson closed the file.
“I’m sure Dean Sidbury will be of more help.
Good luck finding the young man.”

Neither Robinson nor I tried for other amenities.
This time, I didn’t even offer him my hand.
I opened one of the double doors and let us out.

“Jeez—,” Jimmy started as the door closed, but I put a finger over his mouth.

“Outside,” I said.

“Okay,” he whispered and ran ahead of me down the hall.
Jeez was right.
If these were the attitudes “
y
oung Daniel” faced, I was amazed he had survived even a year at Yale.

Jimmy and I headed down the stairs and out of the building.
When we reached the quad, I pulled off my suit
coat, wishing I could remove my sweat-stained shirt as well.

“Jeez,” Jimmy said again, louder than he should have, probably because I had stifled him before.
“That guy was a jerk.”

I grinned.
“Better brace yourself, Jim.
I have a hunch he’s not the only one we’re going to encounter on this trip.”

“How come you didn’t ask him more questions?”

“Because he was making me mad, and I can’t do a good job when I’m angry.
If I need to, I’ll talk to him again.”

“I’m glad I know Laura,” Jimmy said.
“So that I know all rich people aren’t like that.”

“Here’s a tip, Jim.
That man isn’t rich.”

Jimmy looked up at me.
“But he lives in a mansion.”

“Paid for by the school.
Owned by the school.
For his name, which is a famous one, and the work he does for the school.”

“Wow,” Jimmy said.
“Wish I could get a job like that.”

“You can,” I said.
“It takes a lot of education and a specialty in an important field.
Anyone can do it, if they want to.”

Jimmy’s eyes lit up.
“And they pay you to live here?”

I nodded.

“That’s just cool,” he said and ran ahead of me down the path, through the students.

Of course, it wasn’t as easy as it sounded, but that was the first time I’d seen Jimmy interested in anything that had to do with school.

I followed him across the quad, happy to be leaving Yale, and hoping we’d be lucky enough to find Daniel at the courthouse.

TEN

The courthouse was hard to miss.
It was a massive stone building that wasn’t Colonial or Federal, but appeared to have been built at the turn of the century.

Initially, the courthouse had been white, but time, dirt
,
and pollution had turned it a dusky gray.
Still, it had a grandeur that a lot of other old buildings lacked. Big stone columns, marble steps
,
and two statues bridging those steps like guardians.
I didn’t recognize the men who formed the statues, but I didn’t look that hard.

The sidewalk was relatively empty.
No one protested on the steps, and no large group of black students stood near the entry.

Jimmy and I entered, and stopped in surprise.

The interior was stunning.
The ceiling was vaulted, with amazing amounts of light.
Bridges and mezzanines floated above us, like some kind of Escher drawing.

“Wow,” Jimmy said, his voice echoing in all that stone. “How come they don’t have stuff like this in Chicago?”

I didn’t know the answer to that, so I didn’t even try to guess.
Instead, I walked to the information board
,
which listed the day’s uses for each courtroom.

The
g
rand
j
ury room was on the second floor.
I took Jimmy’s hand, pulling him forward, and we walked up one of the staircases.

I
couldn’t hear the sounds of protest coming from any level. And if someone spoke too loudly in these hallways, the sound would carry.
It probably wouldn’t be understandable, but it would be audible.

We reached the top, and I turned right.
Jimmy ran to the railing so that he could look down at the main floor, then up at the vaulted ceiling.

“C’mon Jim,” I said, still heading forward.

No group of black students stood in the corridors.
In fact, no one was in the corridors at all, except a few lawyers scurrying to their next court date and a couple of bailiffs guarding the doors.

I figured that behind one of those doors would be the Black Panthers.
Jimmy hurried after me, catching up as I reached the
g
rand
j
ury room.

One of the bailiffs stood in front of it.
He wore a gray uniform, a black belt with a truncheon and handcuffs, and a walkie
-
talkie.
His skin was darker than mine, and as I approached, he watched me out of the corner of his eye.

“Can I ask you a couple of questions?” I asked as I approached.

“Information’s downstairs.”

“I know,” I said, “but this’ll only take a minute.”

“Downstairs,” he repeated.
I knew what he was thinking; he worried that I would distract him so that I
—
or a cohort of mine — could cause a disruption in the
g
rand
j
ury room.

“I was told by one of the professors at Yale that the Black Students Alliance had planned a protest here today.”

The bailiff snorted.

“I’m looking for a missing student, and I thought he might be with them.”

“He’s my brother,” Jimmy piped up.

I hadn’t planned to use the Kirkland identity here, but Jimmy’s comment caught the bailiff’s attention.

“Where’s he missing from?” The bailiff spoke to Jimmy, not me.

“Yale,” I said.
“He didn’t report for the last semester, and we only just found out about it.”

“So they sent you here?”

“One of the so-called special masters.”

The bailiff’s gaze caught mine.
He clearly disapproved of the title these men held as much as I did.

“We didn’t have no protest today,” the bailiff said, moving his gaze to the far wall.
He hadn’t moved from his position near the door.
“Those students haven’t come near here all summer.
Last seen students in May.”

“Black students?” I asked.

He nodded.
“When those Panthers got arrested, the students came as a ‘show of support.’
”

Again, he didn’t seem to approve.

“You think the Panthers are guilty,” I said.

He shrugged.
“That’s what this’s for.
To see if there’s enough to indict ’em.
There’ll be another grand jury tomorrow, but it’ll be in Middletown.
Looks like they get the murder charges, not us.”

I frowned. “What’s the case?”

“One of their own got found, murdered, in a marsh.
Looks now like the killing might’ve happened in Middlesex County, not here.
So we’re getting kidnapping, at least that’s what the DA said.”

“How many Panthers are being indicted?” I asked.

“That’s for the
g
rand
j
ury,” he repeated.

I hadn’t asked my question correctly. “How many were arrested?”

“Eleven.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Them kids—”

Meaning the students.

“—they see it as a cause.”