FACETS (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS Book 6) by Lawrence de Maria Page A
Authors: Lawrence de Maria
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friend?”
Scarne took out his credentials and passed them to Swartzberg.
“No. I’m a private investigator hired by the family to locate her.”
Swartzberg looked at the license and passed it back.
“I don’t understand. I thought she was sick.”
“Oh, she was,” Scarne lied. “But she recovered and then took off. Naturally, her family is concerned. She is still supposed to be on medication. They thought she might have come back to New York. It’s a long shot, but I wondered if she might have been in touch with someone at Columbia.”
“I did not know the Dallas girl personally,” Swartzberg said, “and I don’t know what I can do, legally. We have so many rules about student confidentiality. I probably can’t give you a class list without some sort of court order and it doesn’t sound as if this situation warrants one. I mean, is the girl in danger, or anything?”
Scarne sensed that Swartzberg was a decent guy and was trying to be helpful. He had to lie, again. It was becoming a habit.
“No.”
“I don’t know what good a class list would be to you, anyway. If I recall, Dallas was taking Mr. Willet’s English Literature courses.” Swartzberg looked slightly abashed. “While we here at Columbia pride ourselves at keeping class sizes small, averaging 20 students per instructor, that particular course does not help the ratio. It’s taught in a lecture hall. Must have 70 students.”
“Willet must be a hell of a teacher.”
Now Swartzberg did look embarrassed.
“That has little to do with it. He’s an adjunct. Now, that doesn’t mean he is not a fine teacher. But a lot of students, both at Colombia and Barnard, need that course to fill out their majors. So, it is very popular. Your best bet would be to talk to Willet. He might know if she was close to anyone in his class. If he was willing, and I don’t see why he wouldn’t be, he might talk to them on your behalf and set something up.”
“Where do I find him?”
The Dean pressed a button on his phone and picked up the receiver.
“Mary, will you see if Mr. Willet has a class today, or is proctoring an exam? Willet. Luke Willet. The adjunct who teaches English Lit. He was here recently inquiring about one of his students who went ill. Alana Dallas. A Barnard girl. Thank you.”
Swartzberg smiled.
“Mary tends to look down on adjuncts,” he explained. “It is a common prejudice around here. Probably at all universities. It’s unfair, really. Some of them are quite good, and they do a lot of the heavy lifting. Some full professors think that teaching a class is beneath them. Luke is talented. Nice guy. I hardly recognized him when he was in here. He’d shaved his mustache and beard.”
Scarne decided that his first impression was correct. Dean Swartzberg was one of the good ones. He took out one of his cards and passed it over to him.
“If anything comes up, Doctor, or if you hear something, especially if it strikes you as out of the ordinary, I’d appreciate a call.”
“Of course.”
The phone buzzed and the Dean picked it up.
“Really. That’s too bad. Thank you.” He started to put the phone down, then stopped. “Wait. Do we have his contact information? Phone number, address? Write it down and give it to Mr. Scarne when he leaves.” He listened to something Mulcready said. “Yes. I know. But I want to make an exception in this case.”
He hung up.
“You were almost in luck, Mr. Scarne. Willet was supposed to proctor a class today, but apparently he called in sick.”
“I’m going to get my shots up to date,” Scarne commented. “Lots of illness going around here.”
Swartzberg laughed.
“Well, you heard me. I told Mary to give you his contact info. I don’t see what harm that can do. You can probably do an Internet search and get it.”
They shook and Scarne left. When he got to Mulcready’s desk she handed him a slip of paper.
“Thank you, Mary,” he said. “By the way, I love what
Scarne took out his credentials and passed them to Swartzberg.
“No. I’m a private investigator hired by the family to locate her.”
Swartzberg looked at the license and passed it back.
“I don’t understand. I thought she was sick.”
“Oh, she was,” Scarne lied. “But she recovered and then took off. Naturally, her family is concerned. She is still supposed to be on medication. They thought she might have come back to New York. It’s a long shot, but I wondered if she might have been in touch with someone at Columbia.”
“I did not know the Dallas girl personally,” Swartzberg said, “and I don’t know what I can do, legally. We have so many rules about student confidentiality. I probably can’t give you a class list without some sort of court order and it doesn’t sound as if this situation warrants one. I mean, is the girl in danger, or anything?”
Scarne sensed that Swartzberg was a decent guy and was trying to be helpful. He had to lie, again. It was becoming a habit.
“No.”
“I don’t know what good a class list would be to you, anyway. If I recall, Dallas was taking Mr. Willet’s English Literature courses.” Swartzberg looked slightly abashed. “While we here at Columbia pride ourselves at keeping class sizes small, averaging 20 students per instructor, that particular course does not help the ratio. It’s taught in a lecture hall. Must have 70 students.”
“Willet must be a hell of a teacher.”
Now Swartzberg did look embarrassed.
“That has little to do with it. He’s an adjunct. Now, that doesn’t mean he is not a fine teacher. But a lot of students, both at Colombia and Barnard, need that course to fill out their majors. So, it is very popular. Your best bet would be to talk to Willet. He might know if she was close to anyone in his class. If he was willing, and I don’t see why he wouldn’t be, he might talk to them on your behalf and set something up.”
“Where do I find him?”
The Dean pressed a button on his phone and picked up the receiver.
“Mary, will you see if Mr. Willet has a class today, or is proctoring an exam? Willet. Luke Willet. The adjunct who teaches English Lit. He was here recently inquiring about one of his students who went ill. Alana Dallas. A Barnard girl. Thank you.”
Swartzberg smiled.
“Mary tends to look down on adjuncts,” he explained. “It is a common prejudice around here. Probably at all universities. It’s unfair, really. Some of them are quite good, and they do a lot of the heavy lifting. Some full professors think that teaching a class is beneath them. Luke is talented. Nice guy. I hardly recognized him when he was in here. He’d shaved his mustache and beard.”
Scarne decided that his first impression was correct. Dean Swartzberg was one of the good ones. He took out one of his cards and passed it over to him.
“If anything comes up, Doctor, or if you hear something, especially if it strikes you as out of the ordinary, I’d appreciate a call.”
“Of course.”
The phone buzzed and the Dean picked it up.
“Really. That’s too bad. Thank you.” He started to put the phone down, then stopped. “Wait. Do we have his contact information? Phone number, address? Write it down and give it to Mr. Scarne when he leaves.” He listened to something Mulcready said. “Yes. I know. But I want to make an exception in this case.”
He hung up.
“You were almost in luck, Mr. Scarne. Willet was supposed to proctor a class today, but apparently he called in sick.”
“I’m going to get my shots up to date,” Scarne commented. “Lots of illness going around here.”
Swartzberg laughed.
“Well, you heard me. I told Mary to give you his contact info. I don’t see what harm that can do. You can probably do an Internet search and get it.”
They shook and Scarne left. When he got to Mulcready’s desk she handed him a slip of paper.
“Thank you, Mary,” he said. “By the way, I love what
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