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Aligned Design

Ch 29

"So, how did I do?" he asked Dr. Stephens.

"You did fine, Detective," she replied with a smile. "What do you think about this?"

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. "I, I just want to get better. I want things to be like they were." He said this looking at the floor.

"Well, that's what we are going to do, get you better. I'll see you Monday morning. Have a good weekend."

"You, too."

Bobby left and Dr. Stephens sat at her desk, making notes on the previous ninety minutes. She wrote fast as there was a lot to record. She wrote what she saw him do and heard him say. She wrote comments and questions. The last thing she wrote was, 'I want things to be like they were.' She added, 'what things? Abandonment – mother, Gleason?

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"Here you go Father Picard," Bobby said to the priest who ran St. Michael's Men's Shelter. "I've got another bag here, too."

"Bobby, thank you so much! This is wonderful. It's very generous."

"Well, I needed the space. I'm glad you can use these things."

"Come in, let me get you a cup of coffee. Do you want a donut? They're relatively fresh this morning," he said with a smile.

"No, no. Thank you. I need to get going."

"Alright, then. Thanks again, Bobby."

Bobby waved as he stepped to the SUV. He stopped, turned back and said, "Father, would you say a prayer for me?"

Father Picard looked at Bobby questioningly, "Of course. Of course I will."

Bobby nodded and got into his car.

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Eames was on her third cup of coffee and it was ten thirty-five. She was off tea; it took too much time.

"All right, thanks. No, there's no rush. Send it up when you finish it. Thanks." She hung up the phone and ran her hands through her hair. Jesus Christ, where did Navicky go? We need him.

She saw Bobby turn the corner from the lifts. He looked normal. I am taking no shit from him today, she said to herself. She was crampy, cranky and armed for bear.

"Morning," he said, hanging up his coat. "Anything new?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. The unmarked outside Navicky's place said he was a no-show. They're going to send up the report later."

"Yeah, well, I would have been surprised if he did show. He's either gone or dead," Bobby said, taking his seat, opening his portfolio and begin looking for something.

Eames stared at him. "Oh, you kind of figured, huh? What makes you think he's either dead or gone?" Her tone was clear.

Bobby stopped flipping pages and looked up. "Eames, he did not pull this heist by himself. He's probably long gone with his accomplice. Or, his accomplice got greedy and off-ed him. Those are the only logical explanations." He resumed flipping pages in his tablet.

"You know, I hate it when you go Spock on me. Do you want some coffee?"

"Yeah, thanks." She took his cup and walked to the coffee room.

Deakins saw his best detective sitting at his desk and walked over. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm ok," Bobby responded.

"How did it go with Dr. Stephens?"

"Fine."

"Good, good." Silence hung between them. Bobby continued flipping pages in his portfolio, obviously looking for something. "Did you go to the range last night?"

Bobby stopped flipping pages. He didn't move. He didn't say anything. He was barely holding on. Deakins saw him take a deep breath. And another. He watched Bobby's fingers fist. Bobby tilted his head to the left and closed his eyes. Deakins waited and then saw it pass. He waited still.

"Yeah, I went to the range. I shot a dozen targets. My high was nine of twelve rounds, my low was six. I'm not going back until Monday evening. I'll see Dr. Stephens Monday morning. Anything else I can tell you?" Bobby finally looked up and his anger was visible.

"No, Bobby. It's good." He walked back to his office. At his desk, he thought to himself, this is going to be neither easy nor quick.

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"What is of particular interest to you, Dr. Wintermantle?" asked the chair of the classics department, a woman named Dr. Willow Cheswick.

"I have several interests. Among ancient studies, I especially enjoy investigating evidence of classical antiquity in medieval culture. I find fascinating the ways ancient studies predate medieval studies and the residual influence of the ancients on the medieval period."

"Tell us about your newest book," suggested Dr. Malcolm Conway, the youngest of the faculty at the table. He's older than I am, about Bobby's age, Gleason thought. He sounded like a southern Scot. Dr. Conway looked steadily at her. She felt his eyes. Gleason glanced at his hands, no ring. That didn't mean anything, few men from the UK wore a band.

"Aye, this book deals with rune alignments found in ancient languages. It investigates the origins of rudimentary expression and traces the elaboration."

"When is this book expected?" Dr. Manlowe inquired.

"First draft deadline is three months hence," Gleason replied.

"Do you think you'll make that deadline?" Dr. Conway asked.

"Oh, aye, I am three-quarters finished. I had a block of time off to write." She did not want to get into the reason for that block of time. The stalking, shooting and her recovery were in the past and she planned to keep them there.

The chairs of the linguistics, archeology, history, anthropology, and classics departments talked with Gleason as if in a conversation rather than an interview. They enjoyed each other for more than two hours.

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"Yes, it's P-a-l-m-e-r T-i-l-l-m-a-n. Will you run him to see if he's in your system? . . . We think he's an accomplice in an art heist here. . . . Once you get an address, can you send a car to pick him up? Hold him on suspicion of grand theft, insurance fraud, and murder. . . . Yes, thanks. Let us know what you find out. Thanks." Eames hung up and said to Bobby, "Well, that part is started. I hope that pans out and we get this case going again."

"Uh huh. Eames, did you see a piece of paper with phone numbers written on it?" he asked.

"Bobby, all I have is pieces of paper with phone numbers written on them. Throw me a bone here."

"Ah, never mind, found it. Good." Bobby withdrew the folded sheet of paper from behind others in one of the pocket folders in his portfolio. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialed a number from the sheet, and put it to his ear.

Eames watched him listen to the number ring. When someone picked up, Bobby rose and strode away. Now what's he up to, she wondered.

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"Does anyone have anything else for Dr. Wintermantle? No?" Dr. Manlowe looked at each of his colleagues. Everyone smiled back silently. He turned to Gleason and said, "Well, Dr. Wintermantle, I think we are agreed that we'd like you to join our program here at Northwestern."

Gleason was surprised to get the offer right here, today at the table. "Oh, well, thank you. I'm surprised to learn of your decision so soon. Thank you." She was delighted.

"We're creating a position for you. We would like to offer you a tenure-track, full professorship shared among each of our departments. This means you are free to write your own syllabi. Of course, we will send you copies of the current syllabi. Your job will be to develop a course for each department that supplements existing courses. The challenge will be to ensure that your courses supplement and do not supplant. We would like you to start in the fall semester, which would be mid-August. Are you interested in that proposition?" Dr. Manlowe looked at Gleason fully expecting her to say yes.

Gleason looked at each individual. Suddenly she wasn't sure. She would be leaving New York behind. Leaving Bobby behind. But she'd already made those decisions. Now she wasn't so sure. Oh God. "May I have a day or two to think about this? May I let you know Monday morning?"

Malcolm Conway asked, "Will you be moving family if you join us?"

Gleason looked straight at him and thought, you are sly, aren't you? "I need to consider several things in making this decision. I'm sure all of you understand, eh?" Everyone nodded encouragingly.

"Very good, Dr. Wintermantle. I look forward to your response on Monday." Dr. Manlowe stood to signal the end of the meeting, the others rose as well. "Thank you for making the trip to talk with us. Where do you need to go from here, dear?" He leaned on the back of his chair.

"I would like to head to O'Hare and stand by for a flight home," she answered.

"Of course. Willow, would you ask Gerald to call Dr. Wintermantle a cab, please."

The head of the Classics department smiled at her boss and at Gleason and headed through the pocket doors.

Each member of the group took a turn speaking with Gleason. Everyone was encouraging, complimentary and kind. Dr. Conway was the last to speak with her.

"It would be a pleasure to work with you, Dr. Wintermantle."

"Gleason, please. I would enjoy working with all of you. This is a wonderful university. You have quite a cadre here."

"Yes, it is an unusual collection, but we compliment each other so well. The antiquaties program immerses students in interdisciplinary learning. Every content area is taught within a multi-departmentalized context. No other university has this structure." He looked at her, searching her face. She was just about to feel uncomfortable when he ended the moment with, "If you decide to join us, I would be honored to serve as a mentor of sorts. You know, show you around, procedures and the like." He smiled an incredible smile.

Gleason looked at this man. He was coming on to her. And she liked it. It was nice. He was tall, like Bobby. Not as big or broad or strong, but he was tall and lean. Sandy curls topped his head and hung a wee bit long in the back. His eyes were ice blue, like Christian's eyes.

She smiled back at him, "That is generous and kind of you, Dr. Conway. Thank you."

"Please, call me Malcolm. I hear the highlands in your voice. Where are you from?" He took a step closer.

"Off the north shore, a small island in the North Sea. What about you? I hear the south in your voice, right?"

"Aye, you have a good ear. I've been in the States a long time and delude myself in thinking I've lost any trace. Apparently not."

Dr. Manlowe watched his youngest faculty members – well one faculty member and one hopefully – chatting. They would make a nice couple, he thought. Dr. Manlowe was like an old woman in his matchmaking. He smiled and saw great things from Gleason. She's lovely and smart. I hope she decides to take the offer.

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"Hi, this is Detective Robert Goren with Major Case NYPD. Is Tom Derwin in? Thanks." Bobby waited with his cell to his ear. He was in the hall, near the lifts. He had called LaGuardia to search for Gleason's name on Metro-Air flights from O'Hare to LaGuardia for that evening.

"Hey, Tom, this is Robert Goren at Major Case. I spoke with you earlier this week about a Metro-Air flight to O'Hare. . . . Yeah, that's right. Tell you what, I need to know what flight that same person is returning on this evening. . . . Metro-Air from O'Hare. Tonight. Gleason Wintermantle. . . . Yes, I'll wait, thanks."

Bobby was excited. He'd meet her flight and surprise her. He'd take her back to his place. They would be together. Things would be- "Yes, what? Are you sure? Yes, tonight." Gleason's name didn't appear on any manifest for any of today's flights from O'Hare. She said she was coming home tonight.

"Uh, yeah, I'm here. . . . Oh, she might be a stand-by. Yes, that is a real possibility. How do I find out which flight she gets on? . . . Would you do that? You'd flag her name and then call me with the flight information? That would be terrific. . . . No, no, you don't need to have marshals standing by to escort her off. . . . Uh, no, she's not a threat. . . . Not a fugitive. . . . Not a suspect, either. . . . Yeah, something like that. Thanks for understanding. . . . I really appreciate this, Tom. Let me give you my cell number."

Bobby Goren had a new best friend.

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Gleason's cab arrived and Dr. Manlowe shook her hand and then gave her a quick embrace. "I do hope I get good news on Monday, dear." He squinted up his eyes in what she took as an expression of excitement. What a sweet man, she thought.

Malcolm Conway picked up Gleason's carpetbag and said, "Let me see you to the cab." He opened the front door and let her step through. A little thing, that meant everything. They walked together to the curb. Gleason was enchanted with this man.

Malcolm handed her bag to the cabbie and opened the back passenger door. He leaned into her and said, "I don't want to pressure you into anything, but, if you don't accept this position, I think you will be responsible for bringing on Milton's next coronary." He smiled that smile.

"Well, I don't know that I could live with that guilt. I'm sure I'll factor that possibility into my decision-making." She put out her hand and Malcolm took it, placing his left hand over her right. Neither said another word. Their looks said it all.

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Bobby and Eames worked steadily through the lunch hour and early afternoon. At one-twenty, Eames' phone rang, "Eames. . . . Yes. Are you serious? . . . How long ago? . . . Ok, thanks. . . . Yeah, do you have our fax number? . . . I appreciate it. Thanks again. Bye."

She hung up and looked at Bobby who was looking at her. "What? Tillman is gone?" he asked.

"Yes, he was in the St. Louis system. They're faxing his rap sheet as we speak. They sent a car out to his home and office. They say it looks like he left one or two days ago. He took clothes from his place and files and records from his office. Son of a gun, we are never going to solve this. That was our last chance."

"Eames, we have the murder weapon and we know where to search it. Either Navicky is out there using a credit card or he's lying dead, rotting somewhere. Besides, we'll notify all the insurance companies that sell that kind of policy and have them alert us of any new purchases. This case isn't over. It's barely begun. Good grief, don't give up."

"You are right. Again." Eames was struck by how normal Bobby seemed. He was relaxed, calm. This was the old Bobby. I wonder what happened, she thought.

"You always think the wor-" Bobby's cell phone rang and he grabbed it from the desk top. "Goren. . . . Yeah, got it. Hey, Tom, thanks a lot. I owe you." Bobby flipped his phone shut and wrote something quickly. He began to organize his desk stacking folders, shutting down his computer, he stopped and looked at his watch. He moved faster.

"Hey, I'm heading out. Tell Deakins I went to the range." He grabbed his coat and turned to leave.

"Bobby." He stopped and turned back. "Are you going to the range?" He just looked at her and strode toward the lifts.

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