Wonder Boys - Michael Chabon [57]
“We brought you here last night. None of us was in good enough shape to get you all the way to Mt. Lebanon.”
We watched for a moment while George Sanders lit himself a long white cigarette. I looked over at the imperturbable stack of paper on my desk, at the six new sheets lying scattered beside it, covered in useless black words.
“Did I do anything last night?” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Anything bad.”
“Well, James,” I said. “You stole Marilyn Monroe’s nuptial jacket out of Dr. Gaskell’s closet. How about that?”
There was a knock at the door, three deliberate taps, like someone testing the wood for evidence of dry rot. I looked at James. George Sanders raised a flashing monocle to his eye.
“Someone’s at the door,” I said.
It was a policeman, bearing an apologetic smile and the morning’s rolled-up Post-Gazette. He was a young guy, not much older than James Leer. Like James he was tall and pale, with a sharp, mobile Adam’s apple. His cheeks were a mass of tiny nicks and missed whiskers, and he was wearing some kind of sugary, varsity-halfback aftershave. His hat was a quarter size too large for his head. He had the young cop’s way of standing with his chest poked out, speaking too quickly, as though rattling off, to a mock civilian, sample dialogue memorized from the training manual, at the threshold of a simulated house. His name tag said PUPCIK. I didn’t ask him in.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Professor Tripp,” he said. “I’m investigating a break-in at the Gaskells’ house last night, and I have a couple of questions.”
“Surely,” I said, filling up the doorway with my frame. “What can I do for you?”
“There was a break-in at the Gaskells’ house last night.”
“Uh huh.”
“They’re friends of yours.”
“Good friends,” I said.
“Anyway, I understand there was some kind of party-type event at their house last night? And that you were one of the last to leave?”
“I guess I was.”
“Okay, good.” Officer Pupcik looked pleased with himself. Things were starting to add up. “And did you see anything? Anyone hanging around, or something, that maybe you didn’t really know them?”
“I don’t believe so.” I looked up at the sky and bit my lip. I was thinking it over. I wanted him to know that. “No, uh-uh.”
Officer Pupcik’s eyebrows gathered in disappointment over his nose.
“Oh,” he said.
“What’d they get?”
“What’s that? Oh. They got into Dr. Gaskell’s collection.”
“Oh no.”
“Yeah. Damn,” he said, deviating somewhat from his script, “he has some pretty cool stuff.” I agreed with this assessment. “Anyway, looks like they picked the lock on his vault.” He shrugged. “Oh, and the dog’s missing.”
“That’s weird.”
“I know it. We figure he must have let him out. The perpetrator, I mean. He’s blind and we figure he just wandered off and maybe got run over.”
“The perpetrator.”
“No, the dog.”
“Just kidding,” I said.
He nodded, then cocked his head and gave me a sharp, policemanlike look, as though realizing that he had been on the wrong page with me all along. I fell under the heading of Dealing with Assholes.
“Well,” I said. “I hope you find him. Them. Good luck.”
“Well, thanks. Okay.” Officer Pupcik simulated a smile. “That’s all, then. I won’t trouble you anymore.”
“If I think of anything—”
“Yes, that’s right. If you think of anything, give us a call. Here.” He reached into the pocket of his shirt and handed me a business card. He started to turn away, then stopped and looked back at me. “Oh,” he said, “about this kid, this, uh, Leer. James Leer.”
“He’s a student of mine.”
“That’s what I understand. Do you know how I could get in touch with him, by any chance?”
“I think he lives with his aunt, out in Mt. Lebanon,” I said. “I might have his number in my office on campus, if you need it.”
He watched me for a few seconds, pulling at the lobe of his right ear as if trying to hear all over again all the things I’d just told him.
“That’s all right,” he said at last. “It can wait until Monday.”
“Whatever you say.”
He went down the steps to his car.
“That’s a nice one,” he said, nodding toward the Galaxie in the