Final Exam: A Legal Thriller (5 page)

“Say,” Brian said pointing to an article in the paper, “did you hear about Greenfield?”
 

“Greenfield?
 
Do you mean Professor Greenfield at school?”
 

“Yeah, the one and only.”
 

Both Ben and Brian attended the Chicago College of Law, Ben graduating in 1992 and Brian not until 1996.
 
“No, what about him?
 
What did he do?”
 

“He died, that’s what he did.”
 

Ben looked up from the paper.
 
“Died?
 
What do you mean died?”
 

“Died.
 
You know, died as in dead.
 
Look here at the article.
 
See for yourself.”
 
There was a small article in a box on page 10 of the
Sun-Times
.
 
The small headline read, “Law Professor Found Dead.”
 
Ben leaned over Brian’s shoulder and read the article aloud.
 

Police sources confirmed late Wednesday night that the body of a local law professor, Daniel Greenfield, age 54, was found in his office at the law school on Wednesday morning by one of his colleagues.
 
Neither the cause nor the
date of his death were
immediately available.
 
Greenfield had been a professor at the Chicago College of Law since 1978.
 
He specialized in criminal law and criminal procedure.
 
A spokesman for the Cook County Medical Examiner’s Office indicated that further information would be available upon completion of the autopsy.

 
Ben looked up at Brian.
 
“Holy shit.
  
That’s awfully weird, don’t you think?”
 

“Yes I do,” Brian replied.
 
“I wonder how he died.
 
You think maybe he had a female student up on the desk and had a grabber?”
 

“Who knows?” Ben said with a shrug, “but jeez, he wasn’t that old, 54.
 
That’s kind of young to have a grabber, don’t you think?
 
I mean, it’s not like he was a big, fat slob or anything.”
 

Brian nodded.
 
“You had him for a teacher, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ben answered.
 
“Both Criminal Law and Criminal Procedure.
 
I had him for both.
 
Except for my grades, I thought he was pretty good.
 
His classes were fairly interesting, and he wasn’t, you know, a big asshole or anything.”
 

“No, I kind of liked him too, actually.”
 

Ben put the paper down.
 
“You know, it’s kind of funny really.
 
Here we are making comments about him and female students.
 
And, of course, that was his reputation while I was in school and, I guess, while you were in school, but to tell you the truth, I don’t think I ever knew of anybody that he actually had sex with, or hit on, or anything.”
 

“Maybe not,” Brian replied, “but there was a story going around that he and
Dorlund
both had been called on the carpet by the administration over these kinds of allegations.
 
I don’t remember the details, but the story was that they got into quite a bit of hot water over stuff like that.”
 

Ben looked surprised.
 
“I hadn’t heard that.
 
Both of those guys have been there forever.
 
I’m surprised the school would really do much of anything to them.
 
But then, I don’t hear much of what’s going on there anymore, so how would I know?”
 

“Me neither, but the story is the law school came down on them pretty hard.
 
In fact, I think Greenfield even stopped having those lunches with students that you had to have every semester if you wanted to get a decent grade.”
 

“Hmmm,” Ben said scratching his head, “I wonder how they got caught.
 
I wonder if they hit on some student who didn’t like it or whether they made a successful pass, but the girl didn’t get the grade she was hoping for.”
 
He paused.
 
“I really wonder how he died.”
 
Ben grabbed the
Tribune
sports section again, took a brief look at it, then tossed it back on the table.
 
“What are we doing for lunch today?
 
I’m getting hungry.”
 

Brian shook his head.
 
“Don’t know.
 
Never know ‘til we get there.”
 

6

Ben didn’t have Court on Monday morning, so he dropped the kids off at school and finally pulled into the parking lot of the office at about nine-fifteen.
 
His secretary, Nancy, heard him reach the top of the stairs on the way to his office.
 
“Ben, is that you?” she called from her office across the way.
 

“Yeah, what’s up?”
 

“I just got a call for you from your friend, Megan.
 
She seemed kind of upset.
 
She said she’d call back.”
 

Ben reached the door to her office as she finished, and she turned and handed him a note with Megan’s name and phone number on it.
 
“Any idea what that’s about?” she asked with a mock suspicious raise of her eyebrow.
 

Ben took the note and shrugged.
 
“Not a clue.”
 
He turned and headed for his office while repeating, “Not a clue.”
 
Ben called her back and found out.
 

“Megan, my dear, what could possibly be troubling you this fine morning?” he asked when she picked up.

“What’s troubling me?
 
What’s
troubling me is the police.
 
That’s who.”
 
Ben sat up.
 
“They’ve been asking me all sorts of questions about Greenfield’s death.”
 
She spoke frantically.
 
The words seemed to gush out of her like a water balloon with a hole in it.
 
“They came here unannounced.
 
They called me up on the telephone.
 
They have all sorts of questions.
 
They must think I know something.”
 

Ben was confused.
 
“Hold on, hold on, just hold on a second, will you please?” he said trying to slow her down.
 
“Now, I don’t know what in the world you’re talking about.
 
So why don’t you take a deep breath, maybe two deep breaths, and start from the beginning.”
 
He could feel her exasperation even over the phone.
 

She sighed and said, “Okay, okay.
 
I’ll try to explain it to you.
 
It started when they called me on the telephone.”

“Okay,” Ben said, “just relax a second.
 
Start from the beginning like I said, but I need to know when, and how, and where these things took place, so don’t leave anything out.”
 

“Okay, okay.
 
It started on Friday.
 
I was at work, you know, then I went to lunch about eleven-thirty.
 
These two detectives stopped by at work while I was out to lunch.
 
Can you believe it?
 
They came looking for me.”
 

“I’m assuming they did that, Megan, because that’s where they expected to find you.
 
But wait a second.
 
We don’t even know how Greenfield died yet.
 
At least I don’t.
 
It wasn’t in the paper.
 
Did they tell you anything?”
 

“Well, no, they didn’t, but they came and asked for me in front of all the people I work with.
 
Do you know how that looks?”
 

“Not yet.
 
Go on,” Ben said.
 
His spider sense was tingling.
 
He didn’t like where this was heading.

“Well, like I said, I wasn’t there, but they called back at about three.
 
They asked me if I knew Professor Greenfield and if I knew that he was dead.”
 

“When you say ‘they,’ who do you mean?
 
Who asked you about Greenfield?”
 

“It was a detective with the Chicago Police, a Detective Nelson.”
 

“Scott Nelson?” Ben asked.
 

“Yes, I think so.
 
Why?
 
Do you know him?”
 

“Yeah, maybe.”
 
Ben rubbed his forehead.
 
This wasn’t going to get any better.
 
Nelson was a homicide detective.
 
Greenfield must have been murdered, or at least may have been murdered.
 
The heart attack theory looked unlikely now.
 
“I had a couple of cases with Scott Nelson when I was a prosecutor.
 
So yeah, if it’s the same guy, I do know him.
 
He’s okay.
 
What else did he say?”
 

“Well, he acted like he was trying to be nice and reasonable, but I didn’t like it at all.
 
He started by asking if I knew Professor Greenfield.
 
Of course, I said that I did.
 
I had him as a professor in law school years ago.
 
Then he asked me if I knew that he was dead and, of course, I knew that too.
 
You know, Fran called me two seconds after she found out.
 
Also, it was on TV and it was in the newspaper, so how could I not know?”
 

“I’m sure,” Ben said, “that he wasn’t expecting that you wouldn’t know, nor do I think he probably read anything into the fact that you did know.
 
Anyway, go on.”
 

“Well, he asked me a few more questions about how I knew him, about Professor Greenfield in class, things like that.
 
Then he tells me that my name is on some notes in Greenfield’s office where they found the body.”
 

“Did he tell you anything about how Greenfield was killed, I mean, died?”
 

“No, not at that point.
 
Wait, you said killed.
 
Do you think someone killed him?”

“No, not necessarily.
 
It could be a lot of things.”
 
Ben didn’t really believe that, but could feel her freaking out on the phone.
 
“What else did he say?”

“Well, we talked for a few more minutes and then he asked me if he could stop by at some point to ask me some more questions.
 
What am I supposed to say?
 
He’s a police detective.
 
I can’t just tell him no.”
 

“No, probably not,” Ben agreed.
 

“So, of course,” she continued, “I’m a nervous wreck about this all weekend, then yesterday afternoon, he just shows up here unannounced.
 
Just knocks on my door.”
 

“Here?
 
Where’s here?
 
Are you at home?”
 

“Yes, I’m here at the condo.”
 

“Didn’t you work today?”
 

“Yes, but then I came home.
 
I’m too upset.
 
So, like I was saying, they just showed up here yesterday afternoon about three.
 
Thank God A.J. was gone.
 
He was at his father’s.
 
They just knocked right on the door.
 
I suppose since they’re the police, the people downstairs just let them in.
 
So much for security.”
 

Ben shook his head.
 
Normally you wouldn’t need security from the police, he thought, but said nothing.
 
“Go on,” he finally said.
 

“Well, I opened the door and there they stood, the two of them.
 
That Detective Nelson that you must know and a tall, black man named Cole, another detective.
 
They just stood there right in front of my door.
 
What was I going to do?”
 

“Let them in?”
 

“Well, yes, of course I let them in.”
 

“What happened next?”
 

“Well, they had more questions.
 
You know, more of the same.
 
All these questions about Greenfield, how I knew him, when did I know him, when did I see him last, stuff like that.”