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Dr. Brockton, this is Officer Sutton from the UT Police calling. We have an
alarm going off in the Anthropology Department. Our protocols call for us to
notify you when that happens.
I lunged for the remote and switched off the television. We d had the alarms
installed only a few months before, after a break-in and the theft of two sets
of bones from the forensic skeletal collection.
We ve got alarms in two places, I said, cradling the phone with my shoulder
and jamming on a pair of shoes. One s in the collection room, the other s in
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the bone lab. Which one s going off?
I m not sure it s either one of those, he said. It s labeled Osteology.
That s the bone lab. Damn. I ll be right there. I hung up and dashed out the
door.
My tires squealed as I careened around the serpentine streets leading out of
Sequoyah Hills. The speed limit here was twenty-five, but tonight I was doing
twice that. As soon as I turned onto Kingston Pike and had a straight stretch
of road, I dialed Miranda s cell phone. She d been planning to stay late and
work tonight, whittling away at the backlog of skeletal measurements awaiting
entry into the Forensic Data Bank. She didn t answer, which was unlike
Miranda, whom I d seen juggle four or five calls at once. The fact that I got
her voice mail alarmed me.
Miranda, it s Bill. It s just after eleven. Give me a call as soon as you get
this.
I skidded around the corner from Kingston Pike onto Neyland and then floored
the accelerator. Flying past the sewage treatment plant, I nearly rear-ended a
street sweeper that was poking along at twenty or thirty miles an hour. As I
yanked the wheel to avoid the machine, I fishtailed into the oncoming lane and
nearly hit another car head-on. The oncoming car veered onto the shoulder and
fishtailed slightly, too, then corrected and sped away, its horn blaring. Only
after the other car was out of sight did it register that I d nearly crashed
head-on into a yellow SUV. A yellow Nissan Pathfinder, I realized.
I could see the blue strobes of the police lights long before I threaded my
way down the drive to the foot of the stadium. The lights throbbed up through
the tracery of girders, transforming the stadium into an ominous set for a
suspense movie. Another set of strobes, red ones, was pulsing too, and I
nearly threw up when I realized that the red strobes belonged to an ambulance,
backed up to the double doors behind a white Jetta. The truck was still
skidding forward when I slammed the transmission into Park and leaped out. I
left the door open and sprinted the fifty yards to the ambulance.
A figure in dark blue stepped toward me. Police! he shouted. Stop right
there!
It s Dr. Brockton, I yelled. I think I ve got a student in there. I ve got
to see.
Hold on. Hold on, he said.
I kept running. He stepped directly into my path and spread his arms wide.
Hold on, Dr. Brockton. Wait just a minute.
I tried to sidestep him, but he was too quick. He wrapped both arms around me.
I can t let you in there until I know it s safe, he said.
I struggled to break free of his grip. I ve got to check on Miranda, I said.
I have to see about her.
Dr. Brockton, listen up now. You have got to calm down. You have got to stop
struggling, or I will handcuff you, sir. Do you understand me? He gave me a
powerful squeeze. He was no taller than I was, but he was twenty years younger
and probably outweighed me by forty pounds, all of it muscle. Dr. Brockton,
please don t make me handcuff you. Do you understand me?
I went limp. Yes, I said. I understand. Tell me what s going on. Is Miranda
in there?
We do have someone in there, he said. I don t know the status. If I can
turn loose of you, I ll radio and ask what s going on and if it s all right
for you to come in.
Please, I said.
Have you got ahold of yourself? he asked. If I let you go, you re not gonna
go charging in there to be a hero, are you?
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