The Geographer's Library

The Geographer’ s Library
“Good. So,” said Gomes, dabbing his mouth daintily with a napkin,
“maybe we should talk about the dead professor.”
“we both of us did some legwork for you,” said Joe, pulling a manila
folder out of his desk. “Like I said, I got nothing but time these days, and
Uncle Abe’s recommendation goes a long way with me. Means a lot, too.
Don’t let the manners fool you: he doesn’t really like that many people. But
you didn’t hear that from me. And Gomes here ...well, he retrogressed—
isn’t that what that fake psychic we busted off of Tavey Street called it?—he
retrogressed into a former life for you.”
“Painful, too,” said Gomes. “All those repressed memories and shit. In my
‘former life,’ I was a distinguished officer of the United States federal government,
in the employ of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Made a few calls
to some former colleagues about your boy. I’ll tell you about that after Joey
does his thing.”
Joe opened his folder, then opened a can of grape soda, draining it in two
swallows, crushing the can in his paw, and hook-shooting it into a wastebasket
about fifteen feet away. He cracked open a second can and downed half of
it. “So my question,” he said, belching loudly, “after looking at this guy’s
arrest records, is why the university would let him keep teaching.”
“Your uncle told me about that.”
“Yeah, I talked to him, too. Probably the same story he told you.” He
pulled a reporter’s spiral, the same kind I used (I felt tough by proxy), from
the top drawer of his desk and flipped through the pages. “Let’s see, first
time this Crowley guy kept him on, second time it was Abe’s decision?”
“That’s right.”
“That’s not right. Or not entirely right. What Abe told us is why the history
department kept him. What I wanted to know was why the university
kept him.”
“But he said nobody except a few history professors even knew about it.”
“I know that’s what he said, and I know that’s what he thinks, but in this
case he’s wrong.”
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