Dr. Moore’s middle-aged secretary walked into Dr. Kozinski’s lab and told me, "Dr. Moore would like to see you immediately."

     I went ahead of her and walked through Dr. Moore’s open door and into his office. From behind his desk, Dr. Moore scowled at me and indicated I was not to sit down. He lifted the phone and punched four numbers.

     "He’s here . . . I’ll bring him right down." In one continuous motion, he hung up, rose and walked me to the door.

     "We’re going to have a little chat with the Dean," he said brusquely.

     "Can you tell me what it’s about?"

     "Can’t you guess?"

     "Well, I suppose. It seems that everyone in the Department is getting involved in this thing about Dr. Ledbetter."

     We had no further conversation. As we stepped off the elevator at the first floor, I had the distinct feeling that Dr. Moore wanted to march me out of the building, kick my butt and tell me to never come back again. But instead, he led me to the Dean’s office and pushed me through two layers of secretaries, opening the final door without knocking.

     It was a large, mahogany-appointed office. Sitting behind a massive desk, the Dean made an interesting picture: Mediterranean features, Oxford cloth button-down shirt and bright, preppy tie. His outermost layer was a hip-length white clinician’s jacket. He seemed more like an executioner than the smooth operator described by the faculty senator.

     Seated to the Dean’s right and facing him was a woman in a business suit. Early thirties. Poor complexion. To her right was a dapper-looking gentleman in three-piece suit. His expensive threads and his thin-soled, tasseled loafers immediately identified him as a lawyer. Such ridiculous shoes. The front cut practically extended to the base of his toes, revealing a lot of sock and upper arch. They weren’t shoes. They were god-damned lounge slippers! The things never saw anything more challenging than the pigeon shit on the courthouse steps.

     Dr. Moore said, "Dean Alcibides, this is Mr. Benjamin Candidi, entry-level graduate student in our department."

     I looked to the Dean, ready to extend my hand. But he didn’t extend his. He acted like I was a bag of guano from a Peruvian island.

     "Please sit down," he virtually ordered.

     I took my time lining up with the chair, and looked inquisitively at the lawyer fellow and the woman sitting next to him. If the Dean couldn’t extend me courtesy, at least I could insist on knowing who was in the room with us.

     "Ms. Julia Blanco, Assistant Counsel for the University, and Jason Diamond, Esquire," the Dean said.

     So the Defense was now in the process of discovery. And the topic of the day was whether Candidi had been sent by Westley to gather information on Ledbetter. If the answer was "yes," they might be able to get the case thrown out. If the answer was "no," they could use me to discredit Westley. I was mentally rehearsed for this interview.

     The Dean frowned and patted his well-trimmed, rounded head of gray hair. "Mr. Candidi, is it correct that you were an employee of the Dade County Medical Examiner’s Office immediately before coming to us as a graduate student?"

     "Yes, sir," I answered.

     Then came a sharp click. The Dean’s secretary sitting behind me had snapped on a medium-sized tape recorder. I turned around and stared at her. She lurched and looked away.

     "We are recording this interview for accuracy," the Dean said. "We hope that you will understand."

     "Oh, yes, of course. I do this myself, quite often for exactly the same purpose — accuracy in lectures, that is."

     I tried to sound innocent and diffident. This time, Ben Candidi, failed expert witness, was going to enjoy the game of cat and mouse.

     "Mr. Candidi, could you tell us why you applied to the Department of Pharmacology."

     "Yes. I want to get a Ph.D."

     "A Ph.D.?" he asked, as if this were a strange aspiration on my part.

     "Yes. I wasn’t getting anywhere career-wise."

     "So that is the reason why you applied to Pharmacology?"

     "Yes!"

     I looked at him and then at the two lawyers in turn. The power people watched me closely and said nothing. Like I had to justify myself to them!

     "Is there more I should say?" I asked, feigning amazement.

     "And your choice of pharmacology?"

     Like my choice was stranger than tropical lepidopterology!

     "It’s an important scientific discipline. Just like I wrote in my letter of application." Turning to Dr. Moore, I asked, "You must have read it, didn’t you?" Dr. Moore grunted an incomprehensible monosyllable. "Like it says in your brochure, pharmacology is a crossroads discipline between chemistry, biochemistry, physiology and medicine."

     As I ended with the word "medicine," I threw my face to the Dean, trying to project the mindless gaze of a doe frozen before automobile headlights. He immediately turned his head in disgust, and the room was silent for several seconds.

     "How are you enjoying your studies in pharmacology?" he asked ironically.

     "Well, my studies are fine, but the Department seems to be in turmoil, if you don’t mind my saying so."

     The Dean wrinkled his nose in disgust, like I even smelled like a bag of Peruvian guano. Then he glanced down at a sheet of paper on his desk — apparently a list of questions.

     "Are you in the employ of the Dade County Medical Examiner’s Office?"

     "No, I’m a graduate student."

     "Do you feel that you have certain obligations to the Dade County Medical Examiner’s Office?"

     "No," I answered, after hesitating like I didn’t understand.

     "Very well, but I will note that you did not answer my previous question completely truthfully."

     "I beg your pardon, sir! I told you the exact truth. I am not an employee of the Dade County Medical Examiner’s Office. I resigned my job when I was accepted into Pharmacology. I’m still doing some instrument maintenance work for them for pay. But I’m not employed by them. I am an independent contractor, and it takes only a small fraction of my time. I have read the Graduate Bulletin and the Department’s Welcome Aboard Package, and I know that I am expected to devote full time to my studies."

     "Well," Mr. Jason Diamond Esq. interrupted, "maintenance work would be a form of connection, wouldn’t it?"

     "Call it whatever you want, but I have read the Graduate Bulletin and the Welcome Aboard Package, and neither of those documents forbids me to do some outside work to pick up a little money here and there."

     "And did you have an obligation toward them?"

     "Only that I feel sorry for them when their instruments break down and they don’t know how to fix them."

     Dr. Moore chuckled. Tassel-Toe Diamond frowned for a second and then nodded to the Dean, who continued the interrogation.

     "When you were at the DCME Office, did your duties ever involve solving cases of unexplained death?"

     "No, sir, I was just a chemist. They never consulted anyone like me on such things. I just did the assays. You know, finding certain chemicals in blood samples. The ones that decided cause of death were the doctors."

     The word "doctors" caught the Dean’s attention. I got a little flash of nasty inspiration.

     "You know what I mean: The doctors who are specialized in forensic medicine."

     He made a face like he didn’t approve of this specialty. Ms. Blanco stared vacuously into space. Tassel-Toe got the Dean’s attention by clearing his throat, and nodded to him in a prearranged signal. Apparently they had reached the Continental Divide of their strategy. The Dean lifted a pair of half-cut reading glasses to his face and glanced down at a paper. After a few seconds of hesitation, he resumed.

     "So it’s correct that you did not consult for anyone with the Dade County M.E.’s Office on any cases involving death since leaving their employ? Is that correct?"

     Tassel-Toe was nodding in approval of his well-trained physician.

     "That is correct. I did not consult for any of them on human death or any other human condition."

     "Aside from your moonlighting as an instrument service technician, did you have any contact with employees of the M.E.’s Office?"

     "Well, sir, I did see Dr. Westley . . . how shall I say . . . socially."

     "Could you tell me the nature of these social meetings?"

     Of course, this question had to be in the script, but I was offended by the Dean’s manner. The guy thought he had the right to ask me anything.

     "Sir, may I ask why you are interrogating me on my social relations?"

     The Dean fumed silently. The guy wasn’t used to having his motives questioned by underlings.

     "My only interest is in a possible connection between recent actions of the Dade County M.E.’s Office and your . . . status as a student here."

     Tassel-Toe signalled more approval. I tried to act surprised.

     "I see. So that’s why — " I made as if lost in thought. Then I pulled myself together and said, "He invited me for dinner — I think as a farewell gesture. He invited me to his condo, and I drank tea with him and his wife. He took an interest in me and invited me back a few times. We talked about science, Egyptology and philosophy. A lot of things. He is a really well-rounded, fine gentleman."

     "Did you talk with Dr. Westley about the expertise and research interests of the faculty in your department?" asked Tassel-Toe.

     "Yes, sir, about every one of them. He was very interested in the different research projects that were going on."

     Best to leave the courthouse pigeon a trail of bread crumbs.

     "Did you speak to him about Dr. Ledbetter’s research interests?"

     Tassel-Toe stared at me intently. Ms. Blanco showed more interest. Peter Moore watched from the sidelines like his favorite team was just coming out of a huddle.

     "Yes. We spoke about Dr. Ledbetter’s research, about his work on cell surface attachment molecules, about selectins, lymphocytes homing, and so forth. I told him some scuttlebutt that Dr. Ledbetter had patented selectins as a means of oral delivery of proteins into the blood stream. You know, that proteins like insulin can’t be taken by mouth. The word was that Dr. Ledbetter had invented a way to do it."

     A bowl of walnuts in front of a squirrel. Put it out there, all at once. Otherwise, the "discovery" might have taken all day. Dr. Moore chuckled and started to say something, but the Dean waved him off.

     "Was Dr. Westley interested in what you told him about Dr. Ledbetter’s research?"

     "Yes. He asked me a lot of questions about it. More than I could answer. You see, I learned about Dr. Ledbetter’s invention second hand — from some med students who took Sophomore Pharmacology. They said that he told them parts of his invention in one of his lectures."

     Tassel-Toe said softly to Ms. Blanco, "Please check into this." Then he turned to me and asked, "Do you have any opinion or know any reason as to why Dr. Westley was interested in Dr. Ledbetter’s research?"

     "Well, he has an inquiring mind. He’s interested in everything."

     Should I lay it on thicker? What did these people deserve? The Dean who wouldn’t shake my hand, the manipulative lawyer and the gruff drug metabolism expert? Go for it, Ben! Give them a "jolly good show."

     First tentatively and cautiously.

     "Well, at least I think that was the only reason that Dr. Westley was so interested in Dr. Ledbetter’s research."

     Like it was slowly dawning on me that it wasn’t true.

     "But — " I lingered.

     Acting myopic and engrossed in thought, I focussed on the Dean’s University paperweight.

     "But . . . but . . . but, no! I don’t think that there was any other reason other than being generally interested."

     "Are you sure?" asked Tassel-Toe.

     "Yes," I said, pulling myself together, acting resolute and looking inquisitively from one to another.

     "Did Dr. Westley give you indications that he suspected Dr. Ledbetter of having murdered Dr. Cooper?" asked Tassel-Toe.

     "No."

     "Did he tell you he was going to use the information in a criminal investigation."

     "No."

     "Then it must have — strike that — then did it come to you as a surprise when you were questioned by the police about statements that you had made to Dr. Westley about Dr. Ledbetter’s research?"

     "Yes," I said excitedly. "The whole thing was quite surprising: getting visited by police officers; being taken downtown; being asked a lot of ‘routine questions’ about things that I knew nothing about. I wasn’t even there when Dr. Cooper died. And then when I tried to ask them questions, they told me to shut up. Said they were the only ones asking the questions."

     I paused for several seconds to catch my breath. You could have heard a pin drop on the carpet. I resumed at a slower pace.

     "But when I got back to the Department and asked around, it turned out that the police had asked a lot of people lots of questions right after Dr. Cooper died. So I didn’t make too much of the whole thing. I was a little disappointed that Dr. Westley didn’t tell me that I was going to be questioned. But maybe there was some reason, some legal reason why it wasn’t proper for him to tell me what he had told them . . ."

     Seasoned interrogators don’t interrupt a spontaneous confession. Savoring my temporary mastery of the situation, I pretended to submerge in thought.

     "The practice of law is a very complicated thing, and I’m afraid that I don’t understand it very well."

     "Mr. Candidi, did you ask Dr. Westley afterward about the interview by the police?" Tassel-Toe asked.

     "Yes, I called him up that evening. He said that some of the things I had told him might be significant. Yes, those were the words he used! He said it was just a routine matter, but he had to get the information into the record. He was sorry if it had inconvenienced me, but there wasn’t any other way to do it."

     "Have you visited with Dr. Westley since the interview with the police?"

     "No"

     "Why?"

     "He told me that he was getting very busy with some professional matter." The Dean and Tassel-Toe nodded to each other. "Those were his words. He said he was getting very busy, and also that his wife was getting sicker. He wished me well. There wasn’t very much more that I could say but to wish him well and to wish her better health. Perhaps you know Mrs. Westley," I said, looking to the Dean. "She is in your Ladies’ Auxiliary. She has very bad rheumatoid arthritis and some cardiovascular complications. Maybe you could recommend a specialist here at the Medical Center."

     The Dean gave a weak smile and shook his head at the improbability of his knowing who was in his Ladies’ Auxiliary. I stopped talking. The silence was overwhelming. My interrogators exchanged glances, as if checking whether they had left any loose ends. Then Tassel-Toe capped it off.

     "Thank you very much, Mr. Candidi. You have been extremely helpful. This must be very confusing to you, having so many people asking you so many questions. We probably won’t have any more questions. Here’s my card. If more should occur to you, as to why Dr. Westley was so interested in Dr. Ledbetter’s research, could you give me a call?"

     "Sure," I said, making a show of admiring his card and stroking the raised letters: Jason Diamond, Esq., of Emerson, Waxer and Wanker — at a Bayshore Avenue, Coconut Grove address. It was the Mayan Temple-like building that loomed over my anchorage.

     "Mr. Candidi, you would, of course, be willing to reaffirm what you have told us with a sworn statement, if necessary."

     "Of course, Mr. Diamond Esquire," I said, extending my hand slowly. He took it and shook it properly. Following his example, Ms. Blanco smiled and extended her hand. The secretary returned my nod and clicked off the tape recorder.

     Now was time to see what His Deanship would do. I turned slowly to him with a weak, embarrassed smile. He quickly extended his hand one-third of the way across his desk. I reached across the remaining two-thirds, making a show of leaning across his desk. I received half a shake with no eye contact.

     "Dean Alcibides, I hope that I have . . . not — "

     I let my deliberately inarticulate words hang painfully in the air.

     "No, it’s okay."

     An Untouchable with leprosy dismissed by a Brahman. Dr. Peter Moore followed me out.

     As Moore closed the door, I heard Tassel-Toe saying, "This is clearly a case of — "

     This time the elevator ride with Dr. Moore wasn’t completely silent. He chuckled.

     "So old Westley was interested in what’s going on in our Department, was he? He should have come to our seminars. Well, we can’t blame you for that, Candidi. There was a big cow-pad on the path, and you just stepped in the middle of it and tracked it into the house."

     No further reprimand. Would this be the last interrogation? Probably not. They might play cat and mouse with me right up to the trial. Which ever way they tried to make me hop, it would be bad. If they continued to believe me, they might want to subpoena me as a witness as to how Dr. Westley jumped to conclusions. If they didn’t believe me, they’d grill me on the witness stand about what was so attractive about those English dinners. I couldn’t lie on the witness stand. Right after my last exam, I’d get out of Miami and stay away until the trial was over. I would have to get Rebecca out, too. I couldn’t allow her to learn enough to become suspicious of me. It would be impossible for me to lie to her.

     That evening, I broached to Rebecca the idea of sailing to the Bahamas after finals. She could study for her Board Examinations on the boat. She liked the idea as long as there was some way for her to check up on her father once a week.

     The spirit of the department became Kafkaesque. And a voice from my recent past came back to haunt me.