The Third Twin - Ken Follett [78]
“Find a middle way,” Jeannie pleaded. “Say you’re looking into the problem. Set up a committee. We’ll develop further privacy safeguards, if necessary.”
Oh, no, Berrington thought. That was dangerously sensible. “We have an ethics committee, of course,” he said, playing for time. “It’s a subcommittee of the senate.” The senate was the university’s ruling council and consisted of all the tenured professors, but the work was done by committees. “You could announce that you’re handing over the problem to them.”
“No good,” Maurice said abruptly. “Everyone will know that’s a stall.”
Jeannie protested: “Don’t you see that by insisting on immediate action you’re practically ruling out any thoughtful discussion!”
This would be a good time to bring the meeting to a close, Berrington decided. The two were at loggerheads, both entrenched in their positions. He should finish it before they started to think about compromise again. “A good point, Jeannie,” Berrington said. “Let me make a proposal here—if you permit, Maurice.”
“Sure, let’s hear it.”
“We have two separate problems. One is to find a way to progress Jeannie’s research without bringing a scandal down upon the university. That’s something Jeannie and I have to resolve, and we should discuss it at length, later. The second question is how the department and the university present this to the world. That’s a matter for you and me to talk about, Maurice.”
Maurice looked relieved. “Very sensible,” he said. Berrington said: “Thank you for joining us at short notice, Jeannie.”
She realized she was being dismissed. She got up with a puzzled frown. She knew she had been outmaneuvered, but she could not figure out how. “You’ll call me?” she said to Berrington.
“Of course.”
“All right.” She hesitated, then went out.
“Difficult woman,” Maurice said.
Berrington leaned forward, clasping his hands together, and looked down, in an attitude of humility. “I feel at fault here, Maurice.” Maurice shook his head, but Berrington went on. “I hired Jeannie Ferrami. Of course, I had no idea that she would devise this method of work—but all the same it’s my responsibility, and I think I have to get you out of it.”
“What do you propose?”
“I can’t ask you not to release that press statement. I don’t have the right. You can’t put one research project above the welfare of the entire university, I realize that.” He looked up.
Maurice hesitated. For a split second Berrington wondered fearfully if he suspected he was being maneuvered into a corner. But if the thought crossed his mind it did not linger. “I appreciate your saying that, Berry. But what will you do about Jeannie?”
Berrington relaxed. It seemed he had done it. “I guess she’s my problem,” he said. “Leave her to me.”
22
STEVE DROPPED OFF TO SLEEP IN THE EARLY HOURS OF Wednesday morning.
The jail was quiet, Porky was snoring, and Steve had not slept for forty-two hours. He tried to stay awake, rehearsing his bail application speech to the judge for tomorrow, but he kept slipping into a waking dream in which the judge smiled benignly on him and said, “Bail is granted, let this man go free,” and he walked out of the court into the sunny street. Sitting on the floor of the cell in his usual position, with his back to the wall, he caught himself nodding off, and jerked awake several times, but finally nature conquered willpower.
He was in a profound sleep when he was shocked awake by a painful blow to his ribs. He gasped and opened his eyes. Porky had kicked him and was now bending over him, eyes wide with craziness, screaming: “You stole my dope, motherfucker! Where d’you stash it, where? Give it up right now or you’re a dead man!”
Steve reacted without thinking. He came up off the floor like a spring uncoiling, his right arm outstretched rigid, and poked two fingers into Porky’s eyes. Porky yelled in pain and stepped backward. Steve followed, trying to push his fingers right through Porky’s brain to the back of his head. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear a voice that