cultivated lunacy of Foolishness and the inadvertent
insanity of a murderer."
"Well, I guess. Actually, I was hoping that if he had been a
member of this... movement, there might be records, or someone who
might know who Erasmus is."
"The Fools movement was short-lived, and fairly
comprehensively dispersed. It was also never the sort of thing to have
any formalized membership--that would have been seen as
oxymoronic. If you will pardon the pun." She chuckled, and Kate
smiled politely, not having the faintest idea what the woman was
talking about. "What you require," she continued, sounding
every bit the academic, "is background information. However, as I
told you over the telephone, my day is fairly full. I'm afraid
that I've loaned out my only copies of the book I edited on the
subject, but may I suggest that I give you a couple of papers and you
come back and talk with me when you've had a chance to digest
them? This evening or tomorrow, or whenever."
Without waiting for Kate to agree, she slid down from her chair and
went out of the room and through a doorway on the other side of the
hall. When Kate reached the door, she found Professor Whitlaw with her
head in a filing cabinet. She laid three manila folders on the desk,
opened the first two, and took out some papers, leaving a stapled sheaf
of papers in each one. The third one, she hesitated over, then opened
it and began to sift through the contents thoughtfully.
The doorbell rang. Professor Whitlaw glanced at her wrist in
surprise, thumbed through two or three more sheets of paper in the
file, and then snapped it shut and handed it to Kate along with the
other two folders.
"I don't have photocopies of the loose material,"
she said, "and it would be very inconvenient if you lost it. But
if one cannot trust a policewoman, whom can one trust? Give me a ring
when you've had a chance to formulate some questions. The next
two nights are good for me."
The professor remembered the chain this time. Kate changed places on
the doorstep with an anemic young man wearing a skullcap and went to do
her assignment.
"What are you doing home?" demanded Jon. "Did you get fired?"
"The teacher gave me homework. Ooh,
love
your outfit,
Jonnie." It was quite fetching--a lacy apron over his
Balinese sarong and nothing else--as he leaned on the table,
making a pie crust on the marble pastry board, the rolling pin in his
hand and a smudge of flour on one cheekbone. It always surprised Kate
to see how muscular Jon was, for all his languid act. She wiggled her
fingers at him and went looking for Lee.
Her voice answered Kate from upstairs, and Kate followed it to the
room they used as a study. Lee was in her upstairs wheelchair at the
computer terminal. A scattering of notepads and a long-dry coffee cup
bore witness to a lengthy session.
"Hi there," Lee said. "I didn't expect to see you so soon."
"I'm obviously getting too predictable in my old
age," complained Kate. "You and Jon can plan your orgies
around my absences. I had some reading to do and it's too noisy
at work," she explained, waving the folders. "Look, I
don't know if you want to go on with your search. Dr.
Whitlaw--Professor Whit-law--is a real find, and if
you're getting tired..."
"Oh, I'm not working on your stuff. This is something
else." Feeling both piqued and amused at her sensation of being
abandoned, Kate went to look over Lee's shoulder at the screen,
which was displaying a graph.
"What is it?"
"I had an interesting visit this morning from a woman I worked
with on a project two or three years ago,- she said she'd seen
you in Berkeley recently."
"Rosalyn something?" Kate tossed the folders onto a table and sat down.
"Hall. She's putting together a grant proposal for a
mental-health program targeting homeless women, wondered if I might
help with it. Remember that paper I gave at the Glide conference? She
wants me to update it so she can use it as an appendix. I was just
reviewing it, seeing how much I'd have to
insanity of a murderer."
"Well, I guess. Actually, I was hoping that if he had been a
member of this... movement, there might be records, or someone who
might know who Erasmus is."
"The Fools movement was short-lived, and fairly
comprehensively dispersed. It was also never the sort of thing to have
any formalized membership--that would have been seen as
oxymoronic. If you will pardon the pun." She chuckled, and Kate
smiled politely, not having the faintest idea what the woman was
talking about. "What you require," she continued, sounding
every bit the academic, "is background information. However, as I
told you over the telephone, my day is fairly full. I'm afraid
that I've loaned out my only copies of the book I edited on the
subject, but may I suggest that I give you a couple of papers and you
come back and talk with me when you've had a chance to digest
them? This evening or tomorrow, or whenever."
Without waiting for Kate to agree, she slid down from her chair and
went out of the room and through a doorway on the other side of the
hall. When Kate reached the door, she found Professor Whitlaw with her
head in a filing cabinet. She laid three manila folders on the desk,
opened the first two, and took out some papers, leaving a stapled sheaf
of papers in each one. The third one, she hesitated over, then opened
it and began to sift through the contents thoughtfully.
The doorbell rang. Professor Whitlaw glanced at her wrist in
surprise, thumbed through two or three more sheets of paper in the
file, and then snapped it shut and handed it to Kate along with the
other two folders.
"I don't have photocopies of the loose material,"
she said, "and it would be very inconvenient if you lost it. But
if one cannot trust a policewoman, whom can one trust? Give me a ring
when you've had a chance to formulate some questions. The next
two nights are good for me."
The professor remembered the chain this time. Kate changed places on
the doorstep with an anemic young man wearing a skullcap and went to do
her assignment.
"What are you doing home?" demanded Jon. "Did you get fired?"
"The teacher gave me homework. Ooh,
love
your outfit,
Jonnie." It was quite fetching--a lacy apron over his
Balinese sarong and nothing else--as he leaned on the table,
making a pie crust on the marble pastry board, the rolling pin in his
hand and a smudge of flour on one cheekbone. It always surprised Kate
to see how muscular Jon was, for all his languid act. She wiggled her
fingers at him and went looking for Lee.
Her voice answered Kate from upstairs, and Kate followed it to the
room they used as a study. Lee was in her upstairs wheelchair at the
computer terminal. A scattering of notepads and a long-dry coffee cup
bore witness to a lengthy session.
"Hi there," Lee said. "I didn't expect to see you so soon."
"I'm obviously getting too predictable in my old
age," complained Kate. "You and Jon can plan your orgies
around my absences. I had some reading to do and it's too noisy
at work," she explained, waving the folders. "Look, I
don't know if you want to go on with your search. Dr.
Whitlaw--Professor Whit-law--is a real find, and if
you're getting tired..."
"Oh, I'm not working on your stuff. This is something
else." Feeling both piqued and amused at her sensation of being
abandoned, Kate went to look over Lee's shoulder at the screen,
which was displaying a graph.
"What is it?"
"I had an interesting visit this morning from a woman I worked
with on a project two or three years ago,- she said she'd seen
you in Berkeley recently."
"Rosalyn something?" Kate tossed the folders onto a table and sat down.
"Hall. She's putting together a grant proposal for a
mental-health program targeting homeless women, wondered if I might
help with it. Remember that paper I gave at the Glide conference? She
wants me to update it so she can use it as an appendix. I was just
reviewing it, seeing how much I'd have to
Similar Books
