Jonathan Kellerman - Silent Partner

I moved to the edge of my chair, picked up the yellow marker and put it down. “The issue, Professor, isn’t my maturity. It’s the sorry state of your ethics. Selling the department to the highest bidder. How much did Kruse pay to have you step down and let him take over? Was it in a lump sum or monthly installments? Check or credit card? Or did he bring you cash in a plain brown bag?”

He paled, started to rise from his chair, sank back down and shook a wobbly finger at me. “Watch your tongue! Don’t be crass!”

“ Crass ,” I said, “is a quick-buck, mail-order stop-smoking scheme targeted at the sucker market. What kind of scientific rigor did you muster to come up with that one?”

He opened his mouth and closed it, moved his head and shoulders in a way that made his clothing seem to swallow him up. “You’ve no comprehension of the situation, Delaware. Not a whit.”

“Then educate me. What was the payoff?”

He swiveled away, stared at a thousand books, pretended to be studying the spine on one of the volumes.

“If you’re clogged,” I said, “let me prime your pump. Kruse funded your little stab at free enterprise- all the ad money, the printing, the manufacture of the tapes. Either his own money or he tapped Mrs. Blalock. What did it come out to- ten thousand? Fifteen? He spent more on his summer wardrobe. But for you it would be major venture capital.”

He said nothing.

“No doubt he was the one who suggested the con in the first place,” I said. “Ads in the back of the magazine that ran his column.”

More silence, but he’d gone pale.

“Add to that the nonstop flow of Blalock money for your academic research and it was a sweet deal for both of you. No more brown-nosing for grants or pretending to be relevant for you. And Kruse got tenure, instant respectability. In order to avoid wagging tongues and petty jealousies, he probably arranged some funding for the other faculty members too. All you rigorous researchers would be coasting- doing your own thing. Though I suspect the rest of the senior staff would be surprised to learn how much extra Kruse kicked back to you- make for a terrific staff meeting, wouldn’t it, Professor?”

“No,” he said feebly. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. My regimen for smokers is based on sound behavioral principles. Obtaining private endowments for research is a time-honored tradition. Given the state of our national economy, it’s certainly the wave of the future.”

“You were never one for the future, Frazier. Kruse shoved you into it.”

“Why are you doing this, Delaware? Attacking the department? We made you.”

“I’m not talking about the department. Just you. And Kruse.”

He made cud-chewing motions with his lips, as if trying to bring up the right word. When he finally spoke, his voice was weak. “You’ll find no scandal here. Everything’s been done through proper channels.”

“I’m willing to test that hypothesis.”

“Delaware-”

“I spent the morning reading a fascinating document, Frazier. ‘The Silent Partner. Identity Crisis and Ego Dysfunction in a Case of Multiple Personality,’ et cetera. Ring a bell?”

He looked genuinely blank.

“The doctoral dissertation of Sharon Ransom, Ph.D. Submitted to the department in partial fulfillment. And approved- by you. A single case study, not a shred of empirical research- a clear violation of every rule you pushed through. You signed your name to the damn thing. How’d she get away with it? How much did Kruse pay you to bend that far?”

“Sometimes,” he said, “allowances are made.”

“This went beyond allowances. This was fraud.”

“I fail to understand just what-”

“She wrote about herself . About her own psychopathology . Camouflaged it as a case history and palmed it off as research. What do you think the Board of Regents would make of that? Not to mention APA’s ethics committee. Time and Newsweek .”

Whatever remained of his composure crumbled and his color got bad. I remembered what Larry had said about a heart attack and wondered if I’d pushed too hard.

“Jesus God,” he said. “Don’t pursue this. I didn’t know- an aberration. I assure you it will never happen again.”

“True. Kruse is dead.”

“Let the dead rest , Delaware. Please!”

“All I want is information,” I said softly. “Give me some truth and the matter’s dropped.”

“What? What do you want to know?”

“The connection between Ransom and Kruse.”

“I don’t know much about that. That’s the Lord’s truth. Only that she was his protégée.”

I remembered how soon it was after Sharon arrived that Kruse had filmed her.

“He brought her with him, didn’t he? Sponsored her application.”

“Yes, but-”

“Where did he bring her from?”

“Wherever he was from, I assume.”

“Where was that?”

“Florida.”

“Palm Beach?”

He nodded.

“Was she from Palm Beach too?”

“I have no idea-”

“We could find out by checking her application records.”

“When did she graduate?”

“’81.”

He picked up the phone, called the department, and mouthed a few orders. A moment later he was frowning, saying, “Are you sure? Double-check.” Silence. “All right, all right.” He hung up and said, “Her file is gone.”

“How convenient.”

“Delaware-”

“Call the registrar’s office.”

“All they’d have would be her transcript.”

“Transcripts list prior institutions attended.”

He nodded, dialed a number, pulled rank with a clerk, and waited. Then he used the yellow marker to write something in a column of the manuscript and hung up. “Not Florida. Long Island, New York. A place called Forsythe Teachers College.”

I used his paper and pen to copy that down.

“By the way,” he said, “her grades were superb- undergraduate and graduate. Unblemished A’s. No indication of anything other than exceptional scholarship. She might very well have gotten in without his help.”

“What else do you know about her?”

“Why do you need to know all of this?”

I stared at him, said nothing.

“I had nothing to do with her,” he said. “Kruse was the one with a personal interest in her.”

“How personal?”

“If you’re assuming something… corrupt, I wouldn’t know about that.”

“Why would I assume that?”

He hesitated, looked queasy. “It’s no secret that he was known for certain… proclivities. Drives.”

“Were those drives directed toward Sharon Ransom?”

“No, I… That’s not the kind of thing I pay much attention to.”

I believed him. “Think those drives helped her get straight A’s?”

“Absolutely not. That’s simply-”

“How’d he manage to get her in?”

“He didn’t get her in. He sponsored her. Her grades were perfect . His sponsorship was simply an additional factor in her favor- nothing unusual. Faculty members have always been allowed to sponsor applicants.”

“Tenured faculty,” I said. “When have clinical associates ever had that kind of clout?”

A long silence. “I’m sure you know the answer to that.”

“Tell me anyway.”

He cleared his throat, as if ready to spit. Expelled a single word: “ Money .”

“Blalock money?”

“As well as his own- he came from a wealthy family, ran in the same social circle as Mrs. Blalock and her ilk. You know how rare those kinds of contacts are among academics, especially at a public university. He was regarded as more than just another clinical associate.”