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stole things. The fact that nothing was missing from Edmund’s office strongly pointed away from Walter’s burglar theory. Walter couldn’t help but agree. You didn’t have to be Einstein to work this out. He knew the stranger theory was a long shot, but a more comforting idea than the alternative. That one of them...a Pug…
    “Was there a member of your faculty who disliked Edmund DeBeyer?”
    Walter snorted with laughter at the two policemen sitting on the other side of his desk. They hadn’t worked this out already? He was lowering their IQ estimate to 60.
    No. There was not “a member” of the faculty who disliked Edmund DeBeyer. However, there was “a faculty” that disliked Edmund DeBeyer. The closest thing he had to a friend was Jefferson Daniels. As he said before, they worked together.
    “How much did the faculty dislike Edmund DeBeyer?”
    Walter paused, trying to select an Edmund story that would make the situation clear.
    “Five years ago,” began Walter, “before Jefferson joined the faculty, Edmund ran for the position of Chair of the department unopposed. I was on sabbatical, in case you were wondering. Even without an opponent, Edmund lost. The by-laws state you have to get a vote to be appointed, and Edmund DeBeyer didn’t get a single one.”
    Walter could see the policemen had many more questions, but he escorted them rather impolitely out of his office. He did not have the time or inclination to provide the answers.
    Walter had been summoned to the office of the President of the University. Under any circumstances, Walter Scovill did not enjoy the company of men with more power than he. When he was on the defensive, it was intolerable.
    *****
    Stephen Choi spent the morning pacing back and forth in his small cupboard of an office. He was so confused. Yesterday was so confusing. He thought it would make everything better, but it had just muddled things in his brain. His friends had told him “confront your nemesis” and “face your troubles head on,” but it hadn’t worked out as he thought it would. Now he simply didn’t know what to do.
    Perhaps he should leave. Disappear. But that didn’t seem right somehow. He was sure running away would be frowned upon. What if he left a letter? Explaining everything. Then he could leave with a clear conscience. Better, but still... an apology. Multiple apologies. To everyone in the department. Stephen was beginning to feel like he had struck on a plan. That would atone for his actions. Then he could go.
    *****
    The President’s secretary gave Walter a pitying look. Her phone buzzed and she said “You can go in now, Professor Scovill.” Her look said, “You poor, poor thing.”
    Walter squared his shoulders. He had nothing to apologize for. A colleague had unfortunately been killed. It was a tragedy. He could talk to the President about it, man to man.
    Walter opened the heavy oak door of the President’s office and saw not one man, but three. Sitting in the office was the President, the Provost and the Dean of Arts and Sciences.
    “Walt! Take a seat!” boomed the President.
    Walter sat on the edge of a leather armchair. He hated being called Walt. Especially by someone he knew about as well as an airline ticketing agent on the phone in Bangalore. He grimaced at the President, trying to exude the required air of collegiality that he was incapable of feeling. To be fair, none of the other men in the room were invested in collaboration or team-building either, but they had perfected the art of faking it, hence their rise to prominent administrative positions within the college.
    This meeting had been called for one reason and one reason only. The death of Edmund DeBeyer had upset the administrative equilibrium at Eaton University, and all three men waiting for Walter were determined to ensure it was set right. The questions and instructions began to ricochet around the room.
    The Dean wanted to know Walter’s plan for having someone teach