CHAPTER NINETEEN
"Flew the Coop"
Strunk and White's offices were in an old two-story Victorian off Courthouse Square on Mason St. Beadles parked his Mustang down the block, waiting until he saw his lawyer arrive before getting out of his car. He met Ruby on the stoop and they went inside. The middle-aged secretary ushered them into a conference room looking out on a rose garden and asked if they wanted something to drink.
Beadles asked for a Coke. Ruby sat pat.
"I've spoken with Asst. DA Nancy Warner and the state has agreed to reduce the charges regarding Mr. Whitfield to criminal negligence. The state has no desire to crucify you for something that was obviously out of your control," Ruby said softly. "You'll be sentenced to six months community service."
"If I plead guilty."
"That's right. As for the Whitfield suit, I'm not qualified to speak to that. Ask Mel. He'll know."
The door opened admitting a slight senior citizen with close-cropped white hair and rectangular glasses.
Old Elihu White himself, class of '51. His body was frail but his mind was as sharp as ever as laid a manila folder on the mahogany table and shook Ruby's and Beadles' hands.
They all sat.
"Gentlemen," White said in a phlegmy voice. "The University will drop all charges if Professor Beadles will turn in his letter of resignation."
Beadles started to speak but Ruby laid his hand on the professor's wrist. "Mr. White, we have reason to believe that my client was framed. Will you give us a week to prove it?"
White held the manila folder. "Gentlemen, the University is very eager to put this behind them. As you know, this is a critical time with the upcoming Alumni Foundation meeting. You have until the end of the week. I'll need your decision Friday."
Outside they walked to Ruby's Lexus.
"Have you heard from Panny?" Beadles said.
"No. He'll phone me when he finds something. He's a good man. If anyone can find this girl he can."
Beadles had turned his cell off during the conference. He got in his car and turned it back on. The PI had returned his call.
"I'll try again later," the man said with a faint Germanic accent.
There was also a call from a reporter for the Creighton Sun Courier which he did not return.
Beadles drove by a sub shop near campus. Some idiot started pointing at him and whispering as he stood in line. At home he sat on his front porch and ate his sandwich. Let them stare. He couldn't control anybody's behavior but his own. It was his house. It was his porch. He had a perfect right to be there.
He was innocent of grand larceny, innocent of manslaughter.
He felt the warmth of the medallion through the pocket of his blue jeans. As if it had been sitting in the sun.
The university owed him that.
There was still the matter of his ethnicity claim. It had seemed like a no-brainer at the time. Native Americans were automatically fast-tracked so the university could wave the all important banner of diversity. And his mother did used to joke that he must be part Indian.
The phone rang. Berenson. His civil attorney as opposed to his criminal attorney.
"Vaughan, what about this janitor who was there? We'll need to get a statement from him."
Beadles explained that Cerveros had vamoosed.
"Phil has a private investigator he uses."
"Already on it, Mel."
"All right. Let me know if there's anything I can do."
A couple kids cruised by on their boards with a glance-over. The living room drapes across the street at the Carsons' moved a little.
Beadles phoned Betty and got her voice mail.
"Call me."
It wasn't a conversation he should have on the front porch anyway. He went inside. His cell beeped and this time it was Panny.
"Professor Beadles, Stephanie Byrd boarded United Flight #2658, O'Hare to Belize City by way of Mexico City, at 9:15 Sunday morning."
Beadles collapsed onto the living roof sofa jerking it back into the wall. The air flew out of him.
"What?"
"I have confirmed her arrival in Belize. The US has no extradition agreement and she's wanted for no crime. It would be very costly to go after her if only for a statement."
"Jesus."
"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I know some people in Central America who might be able to help."
Beadles was already counting his losses. He'd have to sell the Mustang.
"I don't know what to do, Mr. Panny. Wait! Wait. There's someone here in the United States, I pray to God, who's still here. I want you to find him."
"Who, Professor?"
"Anatole Cerveros. He's a Navajo Indian used to work at the university. He was there the day the scorpion bit Rob."
"Can we meet? I'm available this afternoon."
***