Scholarly Executions

By Joseph A. McCaffrey

P.I. Bertrand McAbee, former classics professor, has a knack for finding trouble in unlikely places.  Baden College in Iowa is a pretty famous center of higher education.  But a problem haunts the campus, a string of disappearances over many years.  McAbee is hired as a substitute classics professor and has one semester to find out whether or not the disappearances are sinister in nature.  What he finds will bring him to the brink of death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 2, 2005
• ISBN: 9781452032887

Joseph A. McCaffrey

Dr. Joseph McCaffrey is a Professor Emeritus at St. Ambrose University in Davenport, Iowa. Years ago he was offered a job at a private investigation agency. He declined but the proposal renewed a long held objective of his to write a mystery novel around a character who actually took the offer he refused – thus, Bertrand McAbee. A Case of Agency is the 14th book in this series that began in 1997.

Book preview

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations

are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual

persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

© 2005 Joseph A. McCaffrey. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in

a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means

without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 07/25/05

ISBN: 1-4208-5489-5 (sc)

ISBN: 1-4208-5490-9 (dj)

ISBN: 9781452032887 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2005904014

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVII

Afterword

About The Author

For Bill ~

Whose Courage is Matchless

CHAPTER I

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BADEN, IOWA

His watch read 1:58 p.m. He went out to the five-chaired outer-room of his office, but the Dean wasn’t there. The Dean – Cliff Angle – was a punctual son-of-a-bitch – if nothing else, it was unlike him to even hint of tardiness.

I’m sure he’ll be here, Dr. Gregory, Peggy, his secretary, said in her most considerate tone.

Well, I don’t need this meeting. Classes start next Monday, and I’m trying to fill this damn place, he was gruff and he knew it.

Ever-soothing Peggy said, Oh, I know it’s hard.

Gregory strode back into his office, shut the door, and walked toward his beveled windows which gave him a full-frontal shot of the quad and three of the 15 campus buildings. Peering out, he caught sight of Cliff, a 65-year-old man and who had spent the last 25 years at Baden College as the Dean of Student Life. He was the proverbial lifer who was in a job that belonged to someone in his thirties. But like a lot of things at Baden, he never stopped ticking, much to the chagrin of President Wilfred Gregory.

Cliff had blown out both of his knees before he ever came to Baden. Even 25 years ago, Gregory had heard, it was painful to watch him get up from a chair. He’d utter an involuntary gasp, his knees sounding like a distant rumbling thunderstorm. But nonetheless he’d hit people with his contagious smile. That smile, more than anything else, got him the job. After watching Auschwitz Malloy for seven years, the Baden community was relieved to see someone like the smiling, kindly Cliff.

Cliff had knee replacement surgery 13 years ago. Unfortunately, he also gained 90 pounds so the successful surgery was quickly offset by his gluttonous consumption of cookies, cakes, malts, and other midwestern foibles. In Gregory’s increasingly black-and-white world, Cliff was a crippled slob of a misfit.

Gregory watched him limping and listing toward his office. He wondered what necessitated this meeting since Cliff didn’t exactly seek out meetings with him, and if truth be told – no one did.

He heard the muffled conversation between Cliff and Peggy. He awaited the ring of his phone. It was 2:04. Finally, the ring, Yes?

Cliff is here Dr. Gregory, she said in her humblest of ways.

Send him in, he said with no hint of compassion as he sat behind his oversized desk. No equality in seating here – Cliff was a supplicant.

Peggy opened the door and showed Cliff in, and seeing that Gregory was already behind his desk, she pointed to the chair in front of it.

Gregory nodded a hello and said in a neutral way, Sit down Cliff.

Peggy was gone. Cliff looked at him in an expectant way that made Gregory wonder who the hell had called this untimely meeting.

Cliff, he prodded, the ball’s in your court. What’s up?

I have some bad news, I’m afraid.

Gregory mused that when he began his presidency 12 years ago – the announcement of ‘bad news’ wouldn’t have bothered him. In fact, it was only in the last two years that he had noticed that his level of optimism had begun to sag and that his message of efficiency, quality, accountability and fiscal rigor had become hollow. Go on Cliff, he said with a touch of wariness.

There’s a student missing, another disappearance.

People are missing all the time Cliff, he said with immediacy and finality.

Cliff’s doleful eyes held Gregory with an uncommon determination. Gregory looked away.

This is the last thing I want to bring up. I’m busy with the dorms, the new students, parents, you name it, and I know that you’re under a lot of pressure too. Neither of us needs this. He nervously ran his fingers through his hair. But I haven’t slept more than a few hours over the last week. I tried to keep it from you, but I can’t. It’s still another one – it has all of the earmarks. What can I say? He held out his hands in supplication.

Gregory’s stomach muscles tightened. He knew that Cliff was thorough, his coming to his office was no tentative statement. At that moment, he reflected, there was no worse news he could receive. It was a stick of dynamite whose fuse had been lit those many years ago. Several times he thought it had been snuffed out only to be re-sighted, burning with a glowing persistency.

Go ahead Cliff, I’m listening, he said with feigned calmness.

Summer school ended in mid-July. One of our students, Tina Tallon, left here. She comes from Winterset, Iowa. She told her parents that she was going to the Dakotas for a week or two, then she’d be home. At the outside that would take her into early August. Her parents called here about two weeks ago wondering what I knew. Of course, I didn’t know anything – for all I knew she was in the Dakotas like she had said. There were some beads of sweat on his forehead. These kind of things are not all that uncommon. After all, when you say a week or two, it could turn into three or four quite easily. Her calling home or not calling home is hardly our responsibility, the last sentence was given with a halting bravado.

Gregory noticed that Cliff became more animated as he went on. Was he already preparing a defense? Gregory also tried to bring to his mind what the last disappearance entailed and when exactly it occurred. He looked back at Cliff, who was staring at him. Yes – Cliff, I’m listening, go on.

Well I looked around – she left some of her stuff here – there wasn’t anything suggesting a problem. I called them back and said as much. They said they’d wait awhile, then they called again to see whether I heard anything. When they called back and I said I hadn’t heard anything – they got angry with me and hung up. I hadn’t heard from them again until this morning. There was a … terror in their voices.

And?

Well … no Tina.

I don’t like the sound of this.

There’s more, he said with a dour look on his face.

I’m listening Cliff … out with it. Gregory’s stomach was in a knot.

The Baden PD got in touch with me last Thursday asking about Tina. I pretty much told them what I just told you. They had been notified of a missing person by both South and North Dakota Highway Patrols who had been called by Tina’s parents.

Gregory was of two minds. On the one hand, he was disturbed about not having been kept more informed by Cliff, but, on the other hand, he appreciated being left out. He said nothing as he dropped a waiting gaze onto Cliff.

I want you to appreciate that I tried to keep you out of this.

I realize that Cliff, but I think that you should have called me. Don’t you?

In retrospect – yes.

Cliff, have you done any checking with her friends or classmates relative to her plans?

No – I didn’t. The whole thing just didn’t raise an alarm in me. But I gave the Baden PD a class list and a list of apparent friends. They’ve been checking.

So, what did the parents say this morning?

Besides screaming obscenities at me, they said they were going to call you. So I had to see you and get you up on this. But I have more. Since the cops called I haven’t slept. It brings it all back. I’m truly … terrified. It just seems that every time I start to relax about the spectrum that sits over this campus, I’m sent a bolt of lightening from the sky. President Gregory, I hate to say this but this is similar to the others. I think that we’re back to square one. I’m not trying to be melodramatic here, but there’s an evil presence on this campus. After all of these years it’s still very much here.

Okay Cliff, Gregory held out his hands, as if restraining Cliff’s dire looks and comments. I think that you could have been more proactive on this, that you should have notified me of the issue. At the latest – when the police called you. I, however, see no reason to link this with past problems, he lied. He was now in his well-mastered C.Y.A. mode. In all probability, she went to the Dakotas and for all we know is still up there somewhere, camped out and worry-free. Just the way she said it to her parents – a week or two – suggests that time is a pretty flexible concept with her. Could she have fallen into something bad? Of course. But, Cliff, up there in the Dakotas, for God’s sake, not here! He slammed the desk pretty hard. This was his practiced impact statement. Cut out the terror stuff, please. We don’t need that kind of talk from a senior administrator here at Baden College. There’s no connection – anywhere, anytime.

Well I have to say that helps, sir. I guess that I’ve been too close to this. I needed the reassurance.

OK Cliff, here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll cooperate with every police department and agency that we can, but never, ever, will we admit any connections to past events. No comments if the press starts to work on this. I’ll soothe the parents and hopefully it’ll come to a fast end. Keep me informed of every detail, please. And Cliff … no more talk about evil presences – clear?

Sure.

After Cliff left – Gregory asked Peggy to come in.

Peggy, I need to mull something over. I’ll need about a half-hour. No interruptions.

Gregory had a lounge chair on the south side of his large office. He sat down, took off his glasses and put his head back. It was time to think and unfortunately become terribly depressed all over again. In his heart, he agreed with Cliff’s assessment. Somewhere deep in the heart of Baden College there was a monster.

DAVENPORT, IOWA

Bertrand McAbee was in his up-and-down battle with distance running. If he had a scar for every injury he had suffered over his 58 years he wondered if he’d have a clear patch of skin anywhere on his body. It was, then, with a respectful fear that he pondered the fact that he had run relatively free of injury for the past eight months. In fact, he thought that he had a chance at the unthinkable. He had built up his stamina enough to seriously consider a local marathon called the Quad City Marathon which was scheduled for late September. He was doing this in spite of contrary advice from his orthopod and chiropractor, both of whom felt that physical conditioning would be better served in a swimming pool where the many inflamed and damaged parts of his legs would be free of the constant pounding that running inflicted on them.

However, since last December he had been in a steady period of training. Except for a week off here and there for heeding a problem with a heel or knee, he had recently managed to get up to 20 miles in one run which he felt positioned him for the assault on the 26.2 mile marathon. Depending on the heat, he was staying in the 11-to-12-minute-mile range which, while painfully slow to others, was keeping him injury-free.

On occasion, McAbee took Scorpio, his white German Shepherd, who would cynically turn his head and look at McAbee as if to say, ‘When do we start running?’ He had also taken to running with a former client who had used his investigation agency to compromise a computer hacker who had taken over her identity. In her mid-thirties, she had turned her back on an executive job with Deere Manufacturing in Moline, Illinois and had gone back to school in order to earn a doctorate in statistics from the University of Iowa. Their schedules were very compatible as well as their training objectives. Judy Pappas was also committed to running the Quad City Marathon.

August in Iowa can be stifling. The heat and humidity frequently combined to create perspiration in a matter of seconds. McAbee noticed that he had only run about 100 steps and beads of sweat had already formed on his rapidly thinning scalp and high forehead. He and Judy planned on running 10 miles, but they were quick to warn each other that very careful pacing was imperative. They had seen some nasty accidents on the bikepath that cut a swath through the adjoined Iowa cities of Davenport and Bettendorf, which straddled the Mississippi River – parallel to Rock Island and Moline in Illinois.

They steadily paced through the 10 miles, finishing the run in 118 minutes. They were both soaked and exhausted as they drove a few blocks to the Panera Bread Company for a shared bagel and a cup of coffee – a pretty regular routine that they both figured made more sense during the winter months. But they continued the custom anyway.

So Bertrand – are we going to make it to the marathon?

Sure. We’ll make it there – whether or not we’ll run is an entirely different question, he said ironically.

It’s beyond me how this thing developed into 26.2 miles. Why not 27 or 24?

Don’t you know the story?

Not really. I know it’s a Greek thing – that’s about it. Hey! You’re a former classics prof – give me the lowdown, she said smiling.

Are you sure you want a lecture?

Yeah, it’s good for me. I need a break from the damn numbers.

Well, I’ll give you the short version from Herodotus – a pretty notorious teller and repeater of tales. There’s a 20-percent chance that some of this is true.

The floor’s yours.

Ancient Greece was composed of a furiously independent group of cities and islands. They plotted like hell against each other, like rival gangs. The one thing that brought them together, but even that had its exceptions, was an attack from non-Greeks. Specifically, it was the Persians, who came out of the Iran and Turkey area, Asia Minor. In 500 BC, the Persian Empire was immense. As the Persians looked west from the coast of Turkey, which was heavily populated by Greeks, they saw more Greeks and decided that it was time to conquer them. He stopped and ate a piece of bagel and sipped his coffee.

I smell a war, she said.

I’ll say. There were two major wars, one in 490 and the other in 480-479. The Greeks snatched victory from the jaws of defeat in both instances – Hail Mary-type victories. In fact, the Persians would never again try to conquer them even though they certainly had the numbers on their side. But when you lose two like they did – I guess you also lose heart. In 490, Darius was the Persian king, and Datis, his main general. Darius also sent into the fray Artaphernes, his own brother.

McAbee had learned a long time ago from his teaching the classics at St. Anselm College in Davenport that these great Greek stories had tremendous cachet. Judy’s brown eyes were fully attentive as she leaned in across the table, getting caught up in the story.

The Persians already had taken the island of Euboea and its main city Eretria when they saw across the water that an Athenian army was to their west on the mainland near a plain called Marathon. Before taking their fleet south to come at Athens, they decided to land a force and engage the Athenians and their allies from nearby Plataea at Marathon. The Greeks were out-manned and out-weaponed and no serious bettor would give them much of a chance. But they had a great tactical general – Miltiades who was said to have slain 6400 Persians while only losing 192 on the Athenian side in that battle. McAbee stopped and looked at her.

Bertrand, she said with an expectant smile, there’s got to be more to this story. Come on – cough it up. I don’t get the 26.2 miles.

There is. I’m getting there. But it’s not really in Herodotus who doesn’t speak about the infamous run. This is why it’s seen as a make-believe story since Herodotus was never shy about repeating a good story, even if it was probably far-fetched. It’s a good story nonetheless, and it is the story that will lead us to our suicidal effort next month. It’s the 26.2 mile story.

Okay already. Out with it, she said with a playful smile.

The name to remember is Phidippides – a famed distance runner.

Oh. So I can forget all those needless details and names like Artaphernes and Miltiades?

McAbee was quickly mindful of her brightness, convinced that she could almost repeat what he had said verbatim. Her memory for details always impressed him. But, he reflected, she was right. Why was he mixing into the simple story of Marathon all of those damn names when the only important ones were Phidippides and Marathon?

Supposedly, Phidippides had run all the way to Sparta asking for its assistance to Athens. A run like that was probably around 150 miles. When he got there, he hit a wall. He was told by the Spartans that for a project as big as aiding the Athenians, they would have to wait for a full moon – nine days away.

What’s with that?

Religion, he said flatly. Phidippides ran all the way back to Marathon and told Miltiades the bad news. The Athenians and their allies the Plataeans were on their own against the Persians. The allies were out-numbered by about 3:1. So, the battle started on the plain of Marathon as the Persians charged forward. The Greeks let them have a soft centerline and managed to encircle the Persians and the slaughter began. The Persians took terrible losses, Marathon became a celebrated victory for the Greeks.

I don’t get it. What does this have to do with our insanity for running 26.2 miles.

I thought you’d never ask, he smiled.

Yeah. I know – I’m the straight-man.

Well the Greeks knew that the main Persian thrust was coming at Athens, which point to point is 26.2 miles from the victory at Marathon. It was imperative that the Athenians knew that the Greeks were victorious. So, who else other than the renowned runner Phidippides to bring the news. He ran to the Parthenon as fast as he could and blurted out NIKE, NIKE which means ‘victory, victory’ in English. Now you know why I wear Nike shoes. But the story is sad, supposedly when he cried these words out he dropped dead. But I’ll tell you now the Greeks are master storytellers, not to be trusted with the truth especially when their pride is at stake.

So, the marathon is a tribute to Phidippides?

Sure. Why not? McAbee said, Why not?

CHAPTER II

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BADEN, IOWA

At seven a.m. President Wilfred Gregory got the bad news from Joe Murphy who sat on the Board of Directors of Baden College for over 30 years. Murphy was a gruff old Irishman who inherited a fortune from his father’s timber business. His father was rumored to have had some connection to old Joe Kennedy. Because of his money and his willingness to give significant percentages of it to Baden, he had what amounted to having a lifelong pass to be a pain in the ass for any Baden president. Gregory remembered the parting words of his predecessor – Peter Strunk, "And Murphy – an idiot who will cause you much pain. He has the subtlety of a freight train. He is a man who is never happy, and he passes this along to everyone with whom he comes into contact. Whatever you do, keep your distance from him. The rest of the Board can usually control him, but he is dangerous. He thinks that he’s the president of the place."

Doctor Gregory – Joe Murphy here.

Yes Joe, hello. What Murphy didn’t know was that Gregory was just pulling on his pants and thinking about a quick breakfast. The last thing he needed was a call from this maggot.

"Have you read The Des Moines Register this morning?" He asked with an accusatory blast.

Uh … Joe, I haven’t. I’m just about to go downstairs in fact. What’s up?

What’s the deal with this young coed – who’s gone missing? What do you know about this?

Gregory was hammering down an urge to tell the bastard to get lost and to work through the Chair of the Board who happened to be the richest man in the goddamn free world.

"Joe, I’m aware that she’s been missing, and I’ve instructed my Dean of Student Life to cooperate with every law enforcement agency that has a legitimate interest in this case. Now, will you kindly tell me what the Register is saying?"

Well, that her parents called you guys on several occasions and you were callous. They felt like their daughter was unimportant to you. Is this true? Murphy was picking up anger as he went on.

Gregory wished that he had gotten downstairs for some coffee before this testy call had come through. Joe I’ll tell you what. I’ll read the article, and I’ll call you back. But I can tell you in advance that we didn’t disrespect this student. Of course she’s important to us. I’ll make sure that this impression is changed.

Well, I should hope so, at the very least. I really do want to hear about this, Doctor Gregory, he hung up with an edgy loudness.

The Des Moines Register is the closest thing that Iowa has to a statewide paper. It was not nearly as influential now as it was from the 1980s and before. Its irrevocable decision to cut back on stories across Iowa and to intensify stories about Des Moines damaged its reputation. Even still, it was an estimable newspaper.

Gregory opened his front door and picked up three newspapers, the local Herald, The Des Moines Register, and the New York Times. His four-cup coffee brewer was almost done as he drank down his apple juice while gazing intently at the Register’s story on the lower-right first page.

Baden College Coed Missing, Parents Angered

In mid-July, when summer school ended at Baden College, sophomore Tina Tallon, from Winterset, told her friends and parents that she was heading for the Dakotas. No one has heard from her since. Her parents started calling school authorities in early August, but in Helen Tallon’s words, They treated us like vermin. And that’s suppose to be a caring college.

Baden College Dean of Student Life – Cliff Angle – responded that, Tina Tallon is very important to us. We have fully cooperated with every police agency on the matter, and quite frankly I’m as exasperated as her parents are. Unfortunately, I know as little as they do. We feel terrible.

Authorities from a number of agencies are now making every effort to coordinate an investigation that now includes the Baden Police Department, both the North and South Dakota Departments of Investigation, and the Iowa Department of Criminal Investigation (ICI). Homer Strub, Deputy Director of the ICI said, We have no reason to suspect foul play, per se. Her car is also missing, there is the chance that Ms. Tallon is simply on an adventure. At least we must keep our hopes up as we pursue the matter with the utmost urgency.

Gregory quickly looked through the Herald and found nothing pertaining to the incident. He called Peggy, his secretary, at home. She answered, Hello.

"Peggy, Doctor Gregory, good morning. When you get in, call a press conference for 11 a.m. today. Call the Register and the rest. We’ll have it in my office."

Why … yes. I’ll leave for the office in a few minutes. Has something come up?

He purposely hesitated for a few seconds, silently warning her that she was stepping out a bit too far. Finally, he answered, "The Register took a pretty little mean slice this morning. I’ll see you soon." He hung up.

He sat in the stillness of his house and wondered where it was all going to go. Would anyone remember the other disappearances? They had all happened at such a slow and metered pace that seemingly no one had ever tied them together. Fortunately, the Herald, like many papers of its size, was a way station for bigger opportunities for its reporters. They were aiming for the bigs, the Chicago