Jonathan Kellerman - When The Bough Breaks

It took several false starts and stops to reach the right person at Jedson College.

"Public relations, Ms. Dopplemeier." "Ms. Dopplemeier, this is Alex Delaware. I'm a writer with the Los Angeles Times."

"What can I do for you, Mr. Delaware?" "I'm doing a feature on the small colleges of the West, concentrating on institutions that are not well known but academically excellent nonetheless. Claremont, Occidental, Reed, etcetera. We'd like to include Jedson in the piece."

"Oh, really?" She sounded surprised, as if it was the first time anyone had labeled Jedson academically excellent. "That would be very nice, Mr. Delaware. I'd be happy to talk to you right now and answer any questions you might have."

"That wasn't exactly what I had in mind. I'm aiming for a more personal approach. My editor is less interested in statistics than in color. The tenor of the story is that small colleges offer a degree of personal contact and - intimacy - that is missing from the larger universities."

"How true."

"I'm actually visiting the campuses, chatting with staff and students - it's an impression piece."

"I understand exactly what you mean. You want to come across with a voice that's human."

"Exactly. That's a marvelous way of putting it."

"I did two years at a trade paper in New Jersey before coming to Jedson." Within the soul of every flack there lurks a journalistic homunculus, chafing to be released to proclaim "Scoop!" to the ears of the world.

"Ah, a kindred soul."

"Well, I've left it, but I do think of going back from time to time."

"It's not way to get rich, but it does keep me hopping, Ms. Dopplemeier."

"Margaret."

"Margaret. I'm planning to fly up tonight and wondered if I might come by tomorrow and pay you a visit."

"Let me check." I heard paper rustling. "How about at eleven?"

"Fine."

"Is there anything you'd like me to do by way of preparation?"

"One thing we're looking at is what happens to graduates of small colleges. I'd be interested in hearing about some of your notable alumni. Doctors, lawyers, that sort of thing."

"I haven't had a chance to thoroughly acquaint myself with the alumni roster - I've only been here for a few months. But I'll ask around and find out who can help you."

"I'd appreciate that."

"Where can I reach you if I need to?"

"I'll be in transit most of the time. You can leave any message with my colleague at the Times, Edward Biondi." I gave her Ned's number.

"Very good. It's all set for tomorrow at eleven. The college is in Bellevue, just outside of Seattle. Do you know where that is?"

"On the east shore of Lake Washington?" Years back I'd been a guest lecturer at the University of Washington and had visited my host's home in Bellevue. I remembered it as an upper - middle - class bedroom community of aggressively contemporary homes, straight - edge lawns and low - rise shopping centers occupied by gourmet shops, antique galleries and high - priced haberdasheries.

"That's correct. If you're coming from downtown take 1 - 5 to 520 which turns into the Evergreen Point Floating Bridge. Drive all the way across the bridge to the east shore, turn south at Fairweather and continue along the coastline. Jedson is on Meydenbauer Bay, right next to the yacht club. I'm on the first floor of Crespi Hall. Will you be staying for lunch?"

"I can't say for sure. It depends upon how my time is running." And what I find.

"I'll have something prepared for you, just in case."

"That's very kind of you, Margaret."

"Anything for a fellow journalist, Alex."

My next call was to Robin. It took her nine rings to answer.

"Hi." She was out of breath. "I had the big saw going, didn't hear you. What's up?"

"I'm going out of town for a couple of days."

"Tahiti, without me?"

"Nothing quite so romantic. Seattle."

"Oh. Detective work?"

"Call it biographical research." I told her about Towle's having attended Jedson.

"You're really going after this guy."

"He's going after me. When I was at W.P. this morning Henry Bork grabbed me in the hall, trundled me off to his office and delivered a not - so - subtle version of the old arm twist. Seems Towle's been questioning my ethics in public. He keeps cropping up, like toadstools after a flood. He and Kruger share an alma mater and it makes me want to know more about the ivy - covered halls of Jedson."

"Let me come up with you."

"No. It's going to be all business. I'll take you on a real vacation, after this is all over."

"The thought of you going up there all alone depresses me. It's dreary this time of year."

"I'll be fine. You just take care of yourself and get some work done. I'll call you when I get settled."

"You're sure you don't want me to come along?"

"You know I love your company, but there'll be no time for sightseeing. You'd be miserable."

"All right," she said reluctantly. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too. I love you. Take care."

"The same goes for you. Love you, sweetie. Bye bye."

"Bye."

I took a 9 p.m. flight out of LAX and landed at Sea - Tac Airport at 11:25. I picked up a rented Nova at a Hertz desk. It was no Seville but it did have an EM. radio that someone had left on a classical station. A Bach organ fugue in a minor key unraveled out of the dash speaker and I didn't cut it off: the music matched my mood. I confirmed my reservation at the Westin, drove away from the airport, connected to the Interstate highway and headed north toward downtown Seattle.

The sky was as cold and hard as a handgun. Minutes after I hit the blacktop the gun proved to be loaded: it fired a blast of thunder and the water started coming down. Soon it was one of those angry Northwest torrents that transforms a highway into miles of drive - thru car wash.

"Welcome to the Pacific Northwest," I said out loud.

Pine, spruce and fir grew in opaque stands on both sides of the road. Starlit billboards advertised rustic motels and diners offering logger's breakfasts. Except for semis groaning under loads of timber I was the road's sole traveler. I thought to myself how nice it would be to be heading for a mountain cabin, Robin at my side, with a trunk load of fishing gear and provisions. I felt a sudden pang of loneliness and longed for human contact.

I reached downtown shortly after midnight. The Westin rose like a giant steel - and - glass test tube amid the darkened laboratory of the city. My seventh - floor room was decent, with a view of Puget Sound and the harbor to the west, Lake Washington and the islands to the east. I kicked off my shoes and stretched out on the bed, tired, but too jumpy for sleep.

I caught the sign - off edition of the news on a local station. The anchor man was wooden - jawed and shifty - eyed, and reported the day's events impersonally. He lent identical emphasis to an account of mass murder in Ohio and the hockey scores. I cut him off in mid - sentence, turned off the lights, stripped down in darkness and stared at the harbor lights until I fell asleep.

A thousand yards of rain forest shielded the Jedson campus from the coastal road. The forest yielded to twin stone columns engraved with Roman numerals that marked the origin of a cobbled drive running through the center of the college. The drive terminated in a circular turn - around punctuated by a pockmarked sundial under a towering pine.

At fist glance, Jedson resembled one of those small colleges back East that specialize in looking like dwarf Harvards. The buildings were fashioned of weathered brick and embellished with stone and marble cornices, slate and copper roofing - designed in an era when labor was cheap and intricate moldings, expansive arches, gargoyles and goddesses the order of the day. Even the ivy looked authentic, tumbling from slate peaks, sucking the brick, trimmed topiary - fashion to bypass recessed, leaded windows.