Deviations Page 10

  I said, “And you mentioned some fraud problems?”

  “Yes,” Professor Fredericks said. “Nothing particularly interesting there, unfortunately. Like many of the militia leaders of his generation, he existed on or at least near the threadbare fringes of respectability. Online marketing of questionable vacation properties, currency-conversion schemes, commodity futures. In the seventies he spent eighteen months as a guest of the state of Texas for insurance fraud involving several warehouses that caught fire unexpectedly. All in all, he truly lives up to the phrase ‘the banality of evil.’” He looked to Ryan, assuming I wouldn’t get the reference. He was right.

  Ryan said, “Hannah Arendt?”

  Willson Fredericks simply nodded his head.

  “So, Professor,” I said, putting my hands on my thighs, ready to wrap up the interview, “you’re saying you don’t see the Montana Patriot Front as a violent group.” I was starting to stand up.

  He looked at me. “I don’t believe I said that, Detective.”

  Chapter 9

  “What do you think?” I said as we were driving back to headquarters.

  “I had a professor like him, at BYU. He was a classics teacher. Dr. Harkins. We were supposed to spend the whole semester covering classical literature, but we spent about half the time on ‘the exquisite Sappho.’ That was his term: ‘the exquisite Sappho.’”

  I had to concentrate on driving because most of the kids didn’t bother looking up from their phones as they flip-flopped across campus. “Am I supposed to know who the hell the exquisite Sappho is?” I slowed down as a boy and a girl met in the middle of the street right in front of us and went into a big hug. I inched up a little closer to them, the V-8 on the Crown Vic putting out a macho rumble. The boy shot me a pissed-off look. When the girl saw us, she mouthed “Sorry,” dragging the boy off toward the curb.

  “I’ll give you a hint,” Ryan said, playfully. He knew all kinds of stuff I didn’t. I don’t think it was because Brigham Young was a real university and my state college wasn’t, although that’s probably true. It was more that he was sober and actually went to classes. “How ’bout I tell you where Sappho came from?”

  “All right, Alex, you tell me where he came from.”

  Ryan laughed. “First thing, Karen: Sappho was female. Second thing: she came from the island called Lesbos.”

  “No shit,” I said. “What are the odds of that? The island’s called Lesbians, and she turns out lesbian.”

  “Weird, huh?” Ryan said, wearing a big grin. “Like Lou Gehrig getting Lou Gehrig’s Disease.”

  “As enlightening as this has been, partner, when I asked about the professor, I was thinking more in terms of him helping us understand, you know, who killed Dolores Weston. Him being a big-ass liar and all.”

  “Yeah, I’m going to have to think about that,” he said. “When I said he reminded me of my old professor, I wasn’t getting at the gay thing—”

  “So you see Fredericks as gay.”

  “Without a doubt,” Ryan said.

  “And you know that how?”

  “The fact that he didn’t come right out and say it.”

  We were streaking across campus at four miles per hour. “Ryan, I’m trying to not kill any students here. Would you consider talking in a straight line?”

  “The thing you need to understand about professors—and I can say this because my father is one—is that they don’t make any money and the students call them by their first names, so they want to protect the little bit of dignity they have. It makes them feel important. They love to play these games where they hint around at things without saying them.”

  “And that’s what he’s doing with being gay.”

  “The way I see it. He’s standing inside the closet, but he’s got the door wide open so everyone can see inside, see him standing there. He doesn’t want to come right out and tell the kids he’s gay, so he just signals it. You know: the bow tie and everything. He sees it as a teachable moment—that’s a phrase my father uses.”

  “Or maybe he just doesn’t want to come out.”

  “Probably some of that, too. He might rationalize it as he’s making the kids think, which is good for them.”

  “Okay, tell me about him lying that he hasn’t been to Lake Hollow.”

  “Well, I admit he has made inconsistent and evasive statements, so I guess he’s probably a liar.”

  “Did you go to law school while I was gone?”

  He smiled at me. “No need for personal insults, Karen. Yes, either he was lying in those articles where he said he’s been out to Lake Hollow, or just now when he implied he’s never been to the compound.”

  “Okay, which is it? Could you tell from the articles if he was making that shit up?”

  “You mean, if he was really there or he just pieced things together from videos and newsletters and things?”

  “Yeah, that’s the question, Holmes.”

  “I’m going to have to go back and read them again.”

  I stopped the cruiser and turned to him. “You get off on this?”

  “Are you asking me if I enjoy my job? Yes, thank you, Detective, I enjoy it very much.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. I’m a cranky, overtired alcoholic. Could you give me a straight answer?”

  “Straight answer is, I’m not sure. I could see him lying in those articles, giving himself that Indiana Jones Nazi-hunter mystique. And I could see him not wanting to put himself at Lake Hollow if he knows there’s a connection to the Weston murder.”

  “You could see someone from the Montana Patriot Front hitting Weston?”

  “Sure. Why not? On the other hand, that could just be him puffing himself up, like a kid from the suburbs recording his own gangsta rap on an iPad.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “First he gives us this story about Christopher Barry being a small-time tax cheat and grifter. Then he hints around that the group might be dangerous. That doesn’t add up.”

  “I bet part of it was the professor’s ego,” Ryan said. “He was having a great time, our coming over to talk to him. It’s flattering, you know? Couple of detectives stopping by. That’s why he told us he figured out we were working on the Weston murder. Thing about professors: they like to believe they’re smarter than everyone else, but if you just let them talk for a few minutes, they’ll tell you everything they’re thinking—plus some stuff they don’t even realize they’re thinking.”

  “Bottom line,” I said, “we should look harder at this guy—and at the group.”

  “I think we have to. Remember, Fredericks said Barry’s got half-a-dozen true believers, I think he called them. Barry himself is pushing eighty, so he’s not the muscle, but we can’t rule out one of his people. What do you want to do? Talk to the chief?”

  “No, first I want to see what the university has to say about Willson Fredericks.” I turned the cruiser around and drove back to the parking lot outside Fredericks’ building. “Get me the office of the university counsel, will ya’?”

  He swiveled the computer toward me and I dialed on my cell. “Hello, this is Detective Karen Seagate, Rawlings Police Department. Yes, I need to see Ms. Brandt. In fifteen minutes would be good.” I waited. “Fine, thanks very much.” I hung up. “We’re gonna interview a lawyer.”

  * * * *

  The receptionist in the university’s executive offices looked up and smiled with tight lips. I returned the smile. “Detective Seagate, Detective Miner. We have an appointment with Ms. Brandt.”

  “Just one moment, please.” The secretary picked up the phone and dialed her. “She’ll be right out, Detectives. Won’t you have a seat?”

  I took the plush upholstered couch. Ryan took a matching chair. I looked around at the oak paneling, the oak desk and matching file cabinets, the deep carpet with the university logo on it. That must have cost a few bucks. I looked at Ryan, my hand doing a Vanna White at the classy furniture. He nodded. Good to see our tax dollars hard at work.

>   We both stood as Cynthia Brandt, the university attorney, strode out of her office, extending her hand to me. A tall, thin woman of about sixty, with short-cropped gray hair, she took off her reading glasses, which hung from a gold chain around her neck. She was wearing a two-button double-breasted blazer, navy, with a high-neck rose silk blouse. The tweed skirt, in rust and gray, went a few inches below her knees. The hose had a slight tint to cover up her legs, which were a little roadmappy. All in all, she was doing what she could. She gave me a big smile, like when she woke up this morning she was really hoping Ryan and I would swing by. “Detective, I’m Cynthia Brandt. Can I get you some coffee?”

  I remembered that Ryan can’t drink coffee or Coke or Jack Daniel’s—really, he can’t drink anything I like. We’re very different people. “Just one, please, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all. Jackie, would you mind? Two coffees. Please, Detectives, come right in,” gesturing me and Ryan into her office and offering us chairs. No trouble for you, I thought, watching the secretary scurry away for the coffee.

  Brandt took a matching chair facing me. The secretary came in with the coffee service and placed it on the low table between me and her. “Thank you, Jackie,” Cynthia Brandt said as the secretary left the office and closed the door.

  “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice, Ms. Brandt.”

  “Not at all.” She paused. My turn.

  “Let me tell you why we’re here, Ms. Brandt. We’re investigating a case, and the name of one of the university employees came up.”

  The attorney paused as she was lifting her coffee cup. “I see.”

  “He’s a history professor. Willson Fredericks.” I’d been in this position a few times, informing executives that an investigation had led to their companies. The suits always go into stammer mode, expressing shock, then disbelief and denial. Then comes Quiz the Detective, where they demand to know precisely what evidence the police have, like they get to choose whether to cooperate.

  Cynthia Brandt’s face became blank. To buy time, she took a long sip of coffee. “Willson Fredericks, you say?”

  “Yes, we need to follow up some leads on his relationship with the Montana Patriot Front.”

  The lawyer’s shoulders seemed to relax. “Oh, I think I can clear this up,” she said. “Professor Fredericks has a national—no, an international reputation for his work on the neo-Nazi movement. We are immensely proud of his magnificent scholarship.” She smiled. No problem, see? I just explained it to you—and it only took a few seconds! You run along now, please. Jackie will clear the coffee.

  I try to keep my prejudices in a back room, but I’ve never had a good encounter with a lawyer, and I was starting to not like this one. Treating us like we’re the Library Patrol, and we’re a little concerned about some of the books the professor has been checking out.

  Ryan must have seen me starting to look a little nasty, so he broke in. “Yes, Ms. Brandt, we’re familiar with Professor Fredericks’ reputation. We know about his research on the neo-Nazi groups.”

  I thought I had it under control, so I spoke. “Ms. Brandt, we’re conducting a criminal investigation and, like I said, we want to pursue some leads about Professor Fredericks.”

  “Tell me what you need,” she said. “We will of course cooperate with any legitimate request for information.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said. “We’re investigating a possible hate crime, and we want to better understand Professor Fredericks’ relationship with the Montana Patriot Front. We’re not here to make an arrest. We’re merely following up some leads at this point. We need access to his email.”

  “I’m sorry, Detective, that’s out of the question. Electronic mail is private correspondence, just as letters are, and is therefore protected. In addition, there is the concept of academic freedom. We could not possibly let you into the professor’s account.”

  “I agree with you that his computer would be a gray area. It’s the email on the university’s email server we want to see.”

  “Well, there wouldn’t be anything there, would there? Certainly, a faculty member wouldn’t retain controversial email on the server. He or she would erase it, no?”

  Ryan said, “People do erase their email all the time. But servers in large organizations are backed up at least once a week, sometimes every day, in case of a virus or some other problem that crashes the system or just one computer.”

  “Well, you apparently know more about this than I do. But I maintain that this material is protected. The faculty member would have to give you permission to search.”

  “Actually, no,” I said. “The university would. The faculty member is out of the loop on this one. The organization—a business or a non-profit like a university—has legal ownership of its electronic network. Any correspondence through that network, including email or Web sites downloaded, is accessible to the organization’s management. We don’t need to inform the faculty member at all. We just need the university’s permission.”

  “Well, I’m going to need some time to consider your request.”

  “We have to move as quickly as possible to increase our chances of finding incriminating evidence—or ruling him out as a suspect. When it’s electronic evidence, every minute we wait increases the possibility that it will be corrupted or compromised in some other way.”

  “All right, I see your perspective, Detective Seagate. I’m prepared to bring this to our Executive Council, which meets this next Tuesday. I’m sure your arguments will prove—”

  “No, Ms. Brandt. I need the permission now.”

  “That’s out of the question. At the very least, I would have to meet with the university president, who is away at an all-day meeting of the State Board of Education, which—”

  “You don’t have a phone number?”

  “Detective, these meetings are arranged months in advance, and the agenda is extremely full—”

  “Ms. Brandt, let me be clear about this.” I was leaning towards her. “I am willing to get a court order to crack your server, and I can get it before this coffee is cold. If that’s the way we play it, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’ll have three computer technicians here by one o’clock this afternoon. The first thing I’m gonna do is pull the plug on all the networks in the university. The Registrar’s office, all the labs, all the faculty computers—all the screens will go black. And they won’t come on again until I say they do.”

  I had no idea whether I could get a court order; it depended on which judge heard my request. Most likely, I’d be able to isolate the one network with the suspect’s account. But I wasn’t thinking it through, weighing the factors and putting together a strategy for getting her to cooperate with me. I was pissed. She was slowing us down, and for no good reason. If Fredericks was just yanking our chains, as he probably was, we’d be in and out in an hour. He’d never know we’d looked at his mail—and neither would anyone else. We had a legitimate right to find out if he knew anything about the Weston murder, and it wasn’t up to Cynthia Brandt to decide how we get to exercise that right.

  “I will personally look through every piece of email received by every person who’s got a university account. And I will look at every Web site visited by every university member. That will take a while, ’cause we’ll have to print out a lot of material. In the meantime, we’ll file the papers for the obstruction-of-justice case against the university. Probably best to hold a news conference. Maybe Ron Gershen, the editor of the Herald, will get his hands on some of the stuff we print out. You can’t tell with these cases.

  “So if even one of your people has tried to find someone to adopt her kitty, it’ll be in the paper. If one of your people has downloaded a picture showing some tit, it’ll be in the paper. Am I communicating with you here?”

  “Really, Detective, I fail to see the need for—”

  “If you’ve got a student buying a term paper, it’ll be in the paper. If you’ve got a student cal
ling someone a faggot, it’ll be in the paper. If you’ve got someone looking at pictures of naked children, it’ll be in the paper.

  “And I tell you what, if you’ve got a faculty member who’s in bed with the Nazis, I’m going to find him. And you can bet that’ll make it into the paper. When I’m done with your server, you might as well hang a For Sale sign on this place, because you’re gonna be out of business.

  “I don’t like to talk like this, Ms. Brandt, but we’re investigating a homicide. We need to understand if one of your faculty members was involved—or knows someone who was. So let’s not talk about how the president’s schedule is very full today. Because I am going to solve this case, and I just don’t give a shit if I have to embarrass this university in doing it. Are we starting to come to an understanding on this, Ms. Brandt?”

  “I will get back to you by noon today, Detective,” Cynthia Brandt said, standing up and looking at me not so friendly anymore.

  “Thank you for the coffee, Ms. Brandt.”

  * * * *

  “You okay, Karen?” I was gripping the steering wheel pretty hard.

  I shot Ryan a look. “Yeah, I’m okay, but she was treating us like dumb shits. She had to know the university owns those emails. They’re not the employee’s property. And she had to know we couldn’t touch the emails without permission or a court order. I was treating her politely, giving her a heads-up rather than just walking in with the court order and shutting down the whole system.”

  “Yeah, I know that,” Ryan said. “She was just testing us.”

  “I understand that, Ryan. But I don’t need her testing me. I’m done with tests—from her, from the chief, from anyone. I’m trying to find out who raped Weston and bashed her head in. And if the lawyer thought about it for just a moment, she’d realize that the smartest thing for her to do is let us get in and out and cross Fredericks off the list.”