The One-Eyed Judge by Ponsor Michael;

Author:Ponsor, Michael;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Mystery & Thriller
Published: 2017-03-28T14:37:09+00:00

27

Patterson decided he might have the best luck approaching Elizabeth Spencer after class. That afternoon, he waited on a bench outside Converse Hall until he spotted her coming down the long steps. Even from a distance, she was a strikingly poised young woman—curvy but not flaunting it too much, with medium-length light-brown hair framing an intelligent, heart-shaped face. She was wearing a bright-red fleece and, fortunately, she was on her own. A couple of the boys hurrying into the building smiled at her as they passed. Her quick return twinkle told them she was friendly but happened to be in a hurry to get somewhere. The young lady had already mastered the art of the gracious brush-off.

“Ms. Spencer?” He approached from the side, and she had to stop to turn and see him.

“Uh-huh.” Her eyes, widening slightly, marked him as an enemy. She looked around to make sure there were other people in the vicinity, on her guard.

“I’m sure you remember me. I’m Mike Patterson from the FBI.” He held out his badge. “You did a terrific job at the hearing the other day. We’re trying to straighten a few things out, and I was wondering if I could ask you a couple quick questions?”

“I remember you. What do you want to talk about?”

“This isn’t the best spot.” He smiled. “Maybe we could find an empty classroom.” He nodded up at the building she’d just left.

“No, this is fine.” Her eyes narrowed, and she shifted a strap of her backpack. “I’m in kind of a hurry.”

“Let me just get some basic information. Your family’s from Minnesota, right?”

“You know all that. Come on.”

“Well …”

“Listen. I know you are doing your job, Mr. Patterson, and I don’t want to be a problem. But my uncle always told me never to speak to the police—or the FBI, or whatever—without having a lawyer. If you want to talk to me, then I want to talk to a lawyer first, and you can contact him. Or her. You’re a nice person, I guess, but I really don’t want to talk to you like this, coming up to me out of the blue and all. I’m sorry.”

She started to turn away.

“Fair enough. Can I just leave you my card?”

“Sure.” She took the card and gave him a slightly apologetic smile. “Usually, I’m not such a crab.”

“Well …”

“Bye.”

She walked off, increasing her speed a little and not looking back. Without suggesting panic, her posture underlined her decision to have nothing to do with him. It was exactly the way he’d want his daughter to handle a situation like this if some cop ever approached her. The young lady had left him with absolutely no idea whether she had anything to hide.

The attempted contact with Harlan Graves, a half hour later, produced something approaching outright fireworks. In response to Patterson’s knock, Graves opened his door halfway and peeped out at him suspiciously. The professor was wearing a threadbare olive cardigan, a pair of wrinkled khakis, and carpet slippers.

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