The Spire (13 page)

Mark thought of Angela at the party, seemingly bent on losing herself. 'You both were drunk. The next day, you said you could barely remember whether you'd had sex with her or not.'

Tillman stared at him. 'I liked her sober, Mark.'

'So did I.' Saying this, Darrow felt twisted up inside. 'I should have stayed in touch, Steve. I haven't known how to deal with everything that happened. Including my own role.'

Steve's gaze was unyielding. 'That's a lot of guilt to carry. Wondering if you failed me, then wondering if I strangled her. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you to wonder if I might be innocent.'

Again, Darrow chose not to respond. 'Maybe you don't want to see me,' he said at length. 'But if you don't mind, I'll come back next Sunday. Maybe there's something I can bring.'

Steve gave him a crooked smile. 'They don't usually let you 'bring' stuff. Just your own psychic baggage.'

Darrow's own smile was strained. 'Sixteen years, and you've become portentous.'

'And you've got a truckload of new baggage. The price of freedom, I guess.' Steve's voice became less biting. 'Sorry about your wife'I saw the reports on television. Locked up here, you forget that life outside this place has moments of darkness.'

'More than a moment.' Darrow hesitated, then said, 'Our time ran out. Sometimes people forget that all of us live a few feet, or a few seconds, from tragedy'some random accident that just misses us without our even knowing. I should have a wife and a two-year-old son. Instead Lee hit a patch of ice she could have missed.'

After a moment, Steve nodded. 'I think that's what happened to me, Mark. I only wish I knew.'

THAT NIGHT D ARROW stood in the semidarkness of what had been Clark Durbin's home. It needed more lighting; the furniture was sterile; the representational art on the walls was at odds with the decor and Darrow's tastes. But then, it wasn't his home. It was still the place where Lionel Farr had prepared Durbin to cope with Angela Hall's murder. Coupled with the arrest of Steve Tillman, that crucial hour had enabled Durbin to survive so that, sixteen years later, he could bring Caldwell to the brink of permanent decline again.

Darrow thought of Steve's fate, then Durbin's; in each case, their guilt in some way served to insulate Caldwell from further damage. It had been hard to imagine his friend a murderer; now, if one believed the available evidence, Durbin was a thief. It was another humbling example, Darrow supposed, of the mysteries of character'how little you understood the people you thought you knew unless, by chance, you happened on some unguarded window on their lives. For a moment he wished Lee were here. Then he remembered that, in ways that shamed him now, he had not truly known her either.

Darrow went to the bedroom and unpacked another box.

D

ARROW'S FIRST DAY AS PRESIDENT OF C ALDWELL C OLLEGE began quietly.

He walked from his residence to College Hall, the site of his office, a 160-year-old Gothic brownstone with a steeple far more modest than the Spire. The morning was already warm, and summer students were heading to early classes in T-shirts and jeans or shorts, among them a few kids from India or the Far East, a much rarer sight when Darrow himself had attended Caldwell. With a sense of mild wonder at his return, Darrow climbed the steps to the front entrance.

Inside, the floors were marble, the hallways hushed and shadowy, the wood-paneled walls darkly stained. Along the spacious corridor leading to Darrow's new office were oil paintings of the past presidents of Caldwell College'save Clark Durbin'beginning with the Reverend Caldwell himself, whose deep-set brown eyes stared at Darrow with a fierce and unbending rectitude. Darrow remembered these portraits well; it struck him that, if he helped save the school, his own would hang here long after he was dead. He found the thought amusing and more than a little jarring.

Feeling like an impostor, he proceeded to the president's suite. He greeted his assistant, Lisa Forbes, then stepped into his office and shut the door. Instantly the spacious room felt sealed off, its decor'a Louis XIV desk, leather chairs and couch, an oil painting of the Spire'like a movie set waiting to be occupied. In fifteen minutes, when Joe Betts appeared, Darrow's history at Caldwell would resume. He used the time to carefully consider his approach to this most delicate of subjects, the embezzlement that had triggered his return.

WHEN THE DOOR opened, Lisa ushered in the forensic accountant hired to investigate Durbin's theft, followed by Joseph C. Betts III'as the day's schedule had listed him'chair of the investment committee of Caldwell's board of trustees.

Joe stopped in the doorway, eyeing Darrow with mock astonishment. 'Oh my God,' he said. 'He's b-a-a-ack.'

Darrow emitted the appropriate laugh. 'Just like Freddy Krueger.'

Crossing the room, Joe gave him a quick embrace. 'It's terrific to find you in this office, man. Truly.' Turning to his companion, he said, 'Mark, I'd like you to meet Greg Fox, financial bloodhound par excellence.'

Darrow took in Fox, a small, neatly dressed man in his forties with salt-and-pepper hair, black eyes, and a shrewd expression that suggested quiet confidence. Shaking his hand, Darrow said, 'Thanks for coming. I hear you do terrific work.'

Smiling, Fox took a chair beside Joe, enabling Darrow to take a closer look at his old friend. Joe looked youthful and healthy, his face virtually unlined, with modish swept-back hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and a jovial demeanor somewhat at odds with his watchful eyes. He seemed the epitome of an East Coast financial adviser, sound as a pre'9/11 dollar, save that Darrow caught'or imagined'a glimmer of the uneasy college student beneath. 'Is it true,' Darrow asked him in a parody of amazement, 'that some misguided woman actually agreed to marry you''

It was not, Darrow realized at once, the most artful thing to say: for an instant Joe's face darkened, as though Darrow were reopening old wounds. But he answered lightly enough. 'Not only to marry, but to procreate. We have a boy and a girl'both blond-haired paradigms of brilliance. Clearly Katie's kids. All I did was light the match.'

Greg Fox, Mark noticed, took in this badinage with smiling but careful attention, as though listening for distant signals on a crystal set. 'Congratulations,' Mark told Joe. 'As Somerset Maugham once said, 'Luck is a talent.' ' He smiled again. 'It's really great to see you, Joe.'

'Likewise,' Joe rejoined dryly. 'As the spider said to the fly.'

At once Darrow became serious. To both Joe and the accountant, Mark said, 'Dealing with this embezzlement is critical. I'm grateful for all you're doing.'

Joe's eyes narrowed slightly, as though Darrow had rebuked him. 'I'm just trying to help fix what I helped screw up. If I hadn't been so trusting, Clark couldn't have stolen close to a million bucks.'

Glancing at Fox, Darrow shook his head. '_I'd_ have trusted Durbin, Joe'certainly about money. But I'd still like your take on how it all happened.'

'Stupidity,' Joe said with a grimace. 'Greg can give you an outline. More, if you like.'

Darrow shook his head. 'For now the Cliffs Notes version's fine.'

Fox glanced from Joe to Darrow. 'Okay,' he said briskly. 'Caldwell's board has a five-man investment committee. Including Joe, all the outside members'Ed Rardin, Paul Johns, and John Stewart'are well-off and financially sophisticated.' Fox's midwestern twang sharpened. 'The fifth member was Clark Durbin.

'Each member of the committee had the authority to direct transactions under one million dollars''

'Obviously a mistake,' Darrow interjected.

'Which we're correcting,' Joe said swiftly. 'Going forward, we'll require the written authorization of three committee members, a majority.'

'In any event,' Fox told Darrow, 'we had nine hundred thousand dollars sitting at Joe's firm, Buckeye Capital in Columbus. Durbin e-mailed Joe, directing that he transfer the proceeds to the Wayne County Bank, where Clark had opened an account in the name of Caldwell College. His signature is on all the papers.'

'I sent an e-mail back to Clark,' Joe put in, 'confirming his instructions and copying the bank. It all checked out.'

Darrow nodded. 'And from there, it appears, Durbin transferred the nine hundred thousand to an account in Switzerland. Cutting off our ability to get the cash back, or even find out where it went.'

'Exactly,' Fox responded. 'As I expect you also know, the only entity that can persuade the Swiss to lift their veil of secrecy is the U.S. government. In our case, Uncle Sam won't even try. The money's not enough to care about, and our government reserves its leverage for tracking transfers by known terrorists.'

Joe shook his head in disgust. 'Durbin turned out to be smarter than I'd ever have imagined.'

'To a point,' Darrow said. 'I gather our auditors tumbled to this soon enough.'

'Routinely,' Fox confirmed, 'and inevitably. They tried to verify the amount of the CDs at Joe's firm and wound up tracing the money all the way to Switzerland. At which point they contacted the audit committee of the board.'

Darrow considered this. 'What's so jarring is that Durbin was clever in the service of a stupid crime. Embezzlers always get caught; the only difference here is that most crooks steal money in small amounts, hoping to escape detection'at least for as long as possible. Stealing a larger amount of money, as Durbin did, exponentially accelerates the timetable for getting caught. Unless the embezzler disappears.'

'He was desperate,' Joe said simply. 'His kid was a junkie; his wife has Lou Gehrig's disease; his own investments went south. Serial disasters caused Durbin to look into his character and find a thief.' Joe's voice softened. 'Then he looked at me and must have seen a fool.'

'You'd be surprised,' Fox told both men in a mollifying tone. 'At small schools like Caldwell, people know each other over long periods of time. So trust builds up. That explains the lax policy on transfers of money'which, I might add, was known to every member of the committee. The only reason Joe became the fall guy is that his investment firm served as advisers to the school. So Joe was sitting on the money Durbin wanted.'

'At my suggestion,' Joe told Darrow hastily, 'we've decided that no member of the committee should profit in any way from Caldwell's investments.'

'All good,' Darrow concurred. 'By the time your work is through, I'm confident that what Durbin did would be impossible. What still troubles me is accepting that he did this in the first place.'

Joe shook his head. 'Why, Mark' It's Occam's razor'sometimes the simplest explanation is the right one.'

Still unsatisfied, Darrow turned to Fox. 'Up until a few weeks ago, my job was trying financial fraud cases. Mind if I have one of my old experts take a look at what happened here''

For an instant Fox looked mildly annoyed; then his expression eased. 'Sure,' he answered. 'As I always say, two heads are better than one. As long as they're not on the same body.'

Darrow smiled at this. 'Then I won't take more of your time.'

Both men stood, Darrow shaking Fox's hand. With a final thanks, Darrow walked Fox to the door, closing it behind him.

Joe stood with his hands in his pockets. 'Not that you weren't gracious, Mark. But Greg's top-flight, and you may have stepped on his pride a little. Sure you need to bring in your own expert''

Darrow nodded. 'Maybe you're right, Joe. I'll ponder it.' He waved Joe to the couch, sitting companionably at the other end. 'So tell me how you've been.'

'Good.' Nodding in self-affirmation, Joe said, 'Really good, actually. In college, I never thought marriage could be this great. As you'll recall, my parents' marriage sure as hell wasn't.'

'How
is
your mom''

'Good enough. In her mind, my dad's become a saint. I guess it helps that he's still dead.' A moment's unease crossed Joe's face. 'About Lee, I don't know what to say. I can't even say that I know how you feel. Only that I feel for you.'

Darrow mustered a smile. 'That's all anyone can say, Joe. In a very real sense, we all go through life alone. Although some days alone is lonely any way you slice it.'

Joe nodded in commiseration. 'So what's it like for you, being back''

'A lot of different things'I guess you could say it's complicated.' He looked at Joe more closely. 'Yesterday I went to visit Steve.'

Joe blinked. 'In the pen' How was he''

'Different. Extremely buff, not to mention an eclectic reader. Also highly articulate.'

'You're joking, right''

Darrow shook his head. 'Not at all. Steve's a stellar example of what can happen if you take an inherently good mind and eliminate all distractions.'

Joe looked away. After a moment, he said, 'I guess you know about the trial.'

'Of course.'

Joe nodded to himself, eyes still averted. 'Did my name come up''

Mark weighed his response. 'It did. Steve has a point of view, and he's had sixteen years to perfect it.' More quietly, he added, 'Whatever you saw that night couldn't be helped, Joe. No reasonable person could expect you to lie on the witness stand.'

Joe looked up. 'Did Steve talk about that''

'Only that he doesn't remember being outside the dorm. But then he claims not to remember much about Angela, either. Including whether he strangled her.'

'That's bullshit,' Joe said with sudden harshness. 'Either he killed her or he didn't. But he sure as hell didn't forget about it.'

'Yeah. That's what I think, too.'

Joe seemed to ponder this. Then he stood, mustering a reasonable facsimile of the smile he had entered with. 'It really is wonderful to see you, Mark. And even better that you're doing this for the school.'

Darrow shrugged. 'I owe this place,' he answered. 'I only hope I can give Caldwell what it deserves.'

ALONE, D ARROW CONSIDERED the last hour, then called Mike Riley, the forensic accountant he had used in Boston.

'Mark,' Riley said in a jocular tone, 'I thought you'd returned to the Poison Ivy League.'

'Fucking Harvard snob,' Darrow said. 'Though it pains me, I'd like a moment of your time. The halls of ivy are crawling with crooks.'